Turning Thirty-Twelve (10 page)

Sigmund Freud would have had a field day with all of us.

Being around teens on a daily basis allowed me to come to an educated conclusion. Recognition hit me like a blow to the gut. The way Kathy and Nate acted, each tender little caress screamed the fact. They were already intimate. And they were definitely in love.

I thought back to the conversation between David and Nate that day we moved Nate into the dorm, and I hoped in earnest that Nate had heeded his father’s warning and was using protection. It was the only good advice I think David ever dished out. Not that he had practiced what he preached. Patrick was conceived slightly before our wedding, and Ashley walked down the aisle bearing her wedding gift to David in her womb. I only hoped that Nate, and Patrick for that matter, had learned from their father’s mistakes.

Kathy was such a pretty girl, who would obviously make a beautiful woman. I could see why Nate fell for her. Her dark eyes and gorgeous hair were the same things that had attracted me to her father. But she clearly had some reservations about her father being with me because her main topic of conversation was Elaine Brennan. Kathy talked about her mother as if the woman was sitting right next to us. I suppose, in a way, she was. Mark might have let Elaine go, but Kat obviously hadn’t.

It appeared that if Mark and I were going to work this out, we’d only face a few hundred hurdles placed in our path by our offspring. Pat would be the tallest and most imposing of the obstacles. Kathy would be a close second.

Nate and Kat insisted on taking us on a walking tour of Indiana University after our somewhat tense lunch. The campus was gorgeous. Leaves of yellow, orange, and red twisted in the cool breeze. Students played Frisbee, studied in the autumn sunlight, or picnicked on the grassy hills.

Patrick and Carly led the way. He seemed to want to set a pace like an Army drill sergeant trying to work his squad into a good sweat. Carly looked at everything Pat pointed out, taking in his words like he was a tour guide. He turned around from time to time, shooting a glare at Mark as if he thought he was getting too close to me.

Kathy and Nate still held hands as they matched Pat and Carly’s cadence without complaint. The two of them were so lost in each other, they might as well have been alone. They were oblivious to the beauty of the Indiana autumn and the family dynamics bursting like fireworks all around.

Mark and I followed close behind our children. His gaze met mine often, causing me to blush, shyly smile then look away. My tongue was still. It was one of the first times in my life I didn’t chatter away out of nervousness. I just didn’t know what to say. My heart ached for Mark to reach out and take my hand, to soothe my hurt feelings. Instead, he walked with his own hands clasped behind his back like a child trying to resist temptation. When he wasn’t looking at me, his eyes drilled holes through my youngest son’s back.

What an odd little group we made.

The drama before lunch and the walking tour consumed the time of the university’s planned parent activities. I was greatly relieved, too drained to deal with well-meaning guidance counselors. Mark seemed just as happy to head back to our cars.

With heartfelt hugs, we bid Nate and Kathy farewell before they hiked back toward the library.

Patrick embraced me—a little longer than his usual hug—and then shook hands with Mark. The two of them eyed each other warily, the handshake taking on the appearance of the clasp wrestlers offer each other before one throws the other onto the mat.

“Call me if you need anything, even if you just want to talk,” Pat said with a strange parental tone in his voice.

I simply nodded in response.

“Dad, can I...um...go get a soda for the trip?” Carly pointed to a soft drink machine standing right outside the small convenience store that bordered our parking lot.

I realized she was trying to give Mark and me a moment alone, something we both desperately needed.

Thank you, Carly.

He fished his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a couple of dollar bills. “Please get me a Coke,” he said as she took the bills and headed away from us at a leisurely pace.

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he leaned against the front fender of my red monster of a minivan. Not knowing what to do with my anxious hands, I followed suit, kneading my upper arms with my fingers.

“I’m really sorry, Jackie. I hope you believe that.”

“I believe you, Mark.” How could I not? No man could ever come up with such a heart-wrenching story just to placate the feelings of some woman he forgot to call or didn’t really want to see again. “But I just don’t know where we go from—”

He didn’t even give me a chance to finish the sentence. In a cat-like motion, he whipped around to press his body against mine before he settled those heavenly lips against my mouth. I was too shocked at first to even kiss him back.

Then that chemistry kicked in—that chemistry that, no matter what he had or hadn’t done, found me molding myself to him. When he kissed me, there was nothing between us. There was no late wife, no disapproving children, no hesitation. Just heat—pure white heat.

As I looped my arms around his neck, he let a little growl rumble in the back of his throat. The sound instantly sent desire racing through me. His tongue rubbing against mine felt wonderful. His whiskers teasing my face felt like heaven. His embrace felt like home.

Somewhere in the back of the scramble he was making of my wits, I sensed people staring at us as they passed. Knowing we were making a spectacle of ourselves was enough to cool the blaze, at least a little of the blaze.

Mark must have felt my reticence. He eased back and stared into my eyes.

“How about I come over to your place later? We can...watch a movie or–or just talk.” His eyes searched mine. When I didn’t immediately reply, he frowned. “Jackie? Will you let me come over later?”

So, now what?

Are you going to let him come over, Jackie?

Are you going to let him back in?

Are you going to let yourself get hurt again?

“Yes.”
To all of the above.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I puttered around the house, straightening up things I had already straightened at least four times. Not that the house had even needed it. No boys, no mess. An empty nest was a clean nest.

Mark Brennan was coming to my house.

A new man was going to be in
my
house.

He’d called after he was back from Bloomington to ask how I was. The fact he was being so solicitous soothed some of my lingering hurt, and I knew when he asked if he could come over to talk there was an enormous danger that we wouldn’t be
talking
much.

Was I ready for that kind of step?

Just hours ago I loathed the man.

Well, not loathed exactly. But I had been mighty pissed.

There’s a thin line between love and hate after all.

What I needed was to talk to him, to really talk to him about important things—things people spend their lives avoiding discussing. I needed to make him understand. Mark might have come to terms with losing his wife, but I wasn’t sure
I
had. The lunch we’d shared with our kids had opened my eyes to many things. One of those realizations was that I was insanely jealous of a dead woman.

Mark, Kathy, and Carly all talked about Elaine as if she’d been a saint. She’d been the perfect wife, the perfect mother, and the perfect person. A good person dead before her time.

The first week after our dates—when Mark’s silence had been deafening—I let my rampant curiosity drown me. I had called a friend from college who teaches at Kathy’s old high school to see if she knew anything about Elaine. It was immature, but not knowing anything about her, the de facto competition, gnawed at me.

My friend had an awful lot to say. Elaine had volunteered at a local hospital. She’d been the president of the Parent Teacher Association. She’d taken in retired greyhounds to foster before they were given to a permanent home. She’d taught Sunday school, even when she’d lost all her hair because of chemotherapy.

The woman taught freakin’ Sunday school!

And what about me? How did I compare to Saint Elaine Brennan?

My husband had left me because I wasn’t pretty enough, or thin enough, or young enough. He’d knocked up his secretary for pity’s sake.

I stayed in my jammies until noon almost every Sunday instead of going to church. Catholics tend to frown on divorce, and although I hadn’t been the one at fault, I still felt the weight of the stares whenever I was brave enough to take communion. I had slowly become a Christmas-Easter church-goer.

I gagged whenever I went into hospitals because I couldn’t stand the disinfectant smell. It goes back to my childhood when I had my tonsils out. The smell made me think of pain. I didn’t even stay a full twenty-four hours after either of my boys’ births because I had to get the hell out of there.

The only pet I owned loved his mirror more than he loved me, judging from the amount of time Jellybean spent rubbing up against it.

Doesn’t help that I’m allergic to most dog dander.

In other words, I was absolutely nothing like Elaine Brennan.

What in the hell could Mark possibly see in someone like me? He’d probably view me as a step down in the world. The insecurity was racing through my every thought, pushing aside any self-esteem I might have mustered in the last few years.

Tears threatened, but I sniffed them back. I grabbed a pillow off the couch, fluffed it a little too roughly to release some tension, and then threw it back at the sofa.

Somehow, we had made it through that agonizing lunch, but everyone had spent an inordinate amount of time staring at me.

Why? It was because I was quiet. I was never quiet. But as Mark and his girls talked about nothing in general, Elaine came up too often to make me comfortable, especially when Kathy had something to say. All I got out of the conversation was an inferiority complex.

I’d let my stupid mind wander, and it had begun to form the idea that I was just a replacement for Saint Elaine, a poor man’s substitute.

Damn it.

Why had I agreed to let Mark come over? Was it to humiliate myself a little more?

The doorbell set Jellybean to screeching and flying around the room. I really needed to clip his wings.

“Coming!” I chased the silly cockatiel to the draperies.

After he landed on the curtain rod, I stood on my tiptoes, shoved my finger to his chest, and got him to perch on my hand. I carried him to his cage, let him hop inside, and shut the door.

The doorbell rang again. Jellybean screeched a little more, but at least I didn’t have to chase him again. “I’m coming!”

I was a bit breathless when I opened the door, and not simply because I had to catch my wayward bird. It had to be Mark ringing my doorbell, and my heart was pounding just knowing I was going to see him again.

I smoothed my hand over my wild hair, resigned myself to the notion that I probably looked terrible, and answered the door.

David stood there with his finger ready to press the doorbell again.

Son of a bitch.

“Well? Are you going to let me in?” he asked in that old husbandly tone he used whenever he was annoyed with me.

I’d heard it way too often when I was married to him. I sure didn’t think I should have to listen to it now that I wasn’t. “Why?”

“I need to talk to you.” He pushed his way inside.

“Gee. Come right in,” I mumbled to his back.

He headed from the foyer to the kitchen.

I stuck my head outside, gave a quick glance around to see if Mark’s car was on the street, and then I shut the door. “What do you want?” I joined David where he leaned against the counter with his arms folded sternly over his chest.

“Patrick called me. What’s going on, Jackie?”

“Pat called you? Why on earth would he call
you?
”

“He said some guy was taking advantage of you. Damn it, Jackie. Why would you bring some bozo you dated down there to meet the boys?”

What in the hell was my oldest thinking? That his father would “rescue” me from the evil clutches on Mark Brennan? Knowing the animosity Pat nurtured for his father, he must have really hated Mark to think David was a better choice.

How could Pat possibly believe my ex-husband needed to hear about any of this?

“First, I don’t see how anything I do is any business of yours, and—”

“Damn it, Jackie,” David interrupted using his favorite phrase.

“Don’t interrupt me!” I had grown heartily tired of the fact the man had never listened to a single thing I had ever said in the twenty-odd years I’d known him. Well, he was damn well going to listen now! “Second, I didn’t take him to meet the boys. He was there when I got there. But if I had, it
still
wouldn’t be any of your business.”

He narrowed his eyes, getting ready to scold me.

Screw that
. “You can leave now,” I insisted. “I’m expecting company.”

His eyes shot fire, and that surprised the crap out of me. “
Another
guy? Jesus, Jackie. Are you that desperate?
Two
guys in one day?”

“Yeah, two guys in one day.
Three
if you count the sadomasochist I have coming over at midnight. I need to find my leather corset and my barbed whip, so you can go
now
.” I took a couple of steps toward the foyer.

David grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean that. I’m just... Pat sounded concerned. He said this guy hurt you. If you didn’t take him to meet the boys, why was he in Bloomington?”

It took me a moment to decide just how much of the sad little tale I needed to share with him. “His daughter’s dating Nate, and he wanted me to meet her. I guess she wanted Nate to meet her dad.”

“Then how did you hook up with him?”

“His other daughter is one of my freshmen.” I immediately wished I’d have censored that bit of information when I saw his condescending frown.