Second Honeymoon
His mother sat on his bed looking worried. “Is it on the right side?”
Jeez, he wasn’t angling for an appendectomy. He just wanted to stay home.
“No, it’s kinda all over.” He scrunched up his face, hoping she’d figure he was in agony.
Just when he thought he had her convinced, she put on one of those mother looks, like she could see straight through him. “I’ll tell you what. Get dressed and come downstairs. Try to eat something. Then we’ll see.”
He hated it when she said, “We’ll see.” That almost always meant no.
“You’ve worked so hard on your book report. I don’t want you to miss school today.”
“I’m not supposed to give my report until next week.” She didn’t look convinced. He tried one last ploy. “What if I go to school and puke?”
“I’ll come get you.”
Great. Now he’d have to take the dumb math test and worry about how to fake his book report in a few days. If his dad knew his current grade in English was a D, he’d flip.
But what else was new? Everything in his life was off track. The coach had moved him from goalie to center, his grades were in the toilet, his father was never around and when he was, all he did was criticize him. But Dad wasn’t the Lone Ranger. Both his parents nagged all the time. And argued with each other. He was sick of it. Some days he wondered why they’d gotten married in the first place. If that’s what love was like, no question about it—he’d stay a bachelor his whole life.
He closed his eyes. That might be okay. Yeah, he’d be a big-league pitcher or a pro soccer player and have lots of blond girlfriends with big boobs. But he wouldn’t have to marry any of them. Ever.
“Now, young man. Up.”
His mother ripped off the sheet, leaving him exposed. Thank God he didn’t have an early-morning boner. But that was the only good thing about the day so far.
SATURDAY EVENING Meg sat at the linen-covered table, nursing a gin and tonic, listening to the Earl Hines Orchestra and trying to muster a smile for Ward Jordan seated to her right. He and his inane wife, Melody, were their guests for the country-club dance. More importantly, they were potential clients. Meg bent forward to hear the punch line of Ward’s joke, finding it in questionable taste but managing to keep her mouth shut. Scott had come a long way. The chain of department stores the Jordans owned was well known locally. Now they were expanding throughout the Southwest, and Scott’s firm was bidding for the ad campaign. Meg sighed. More work, more travel for Scott.
His success and their affluence were a mixed blessing. Growing up with her hardworking, widowed mother in a cramped house on the wrong side of town she could never have imagined all the luxuries her marriage provided—stylish clothes, exclusive memberships, a lovely decorator home. She should’ve been satisfied. But something was missing.
She glanced over Ward Jordan’s head to see Scott steering Melody around the dance floor. The petite redhead had flung back her head to laugh up at Scott, who towered above her. They were flirting. Meg felt a pang of jealousy. Scott had that effect on women and he capitalized on his charm. Once, she’d been secure in his love and had found such innocent flirtation amusing. Not anymore.
Back then, there’d been no Brenda Sampson to worry about. Scott claimed his creative director maintained her professional distance, that her easy familiarity was simply a result of their working closely together. Brenda was a knockout—a big-boned Scandinavian blonde, comfortable with her own sexuality. Of course, she and Scott needed to stay late some evenings to work. Or… Meg shook her head impatiently. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough problems without the disturbing mental picture that had just popped into her head. She paused, considering her choice of words. Disturbing because it highlighted yet another flaw in their marriage? Or because the image left a sudden emptiness in her chest?
Around her she heard a smattering of applause for the band. Scott escorted Melody to the table and helped her into her chair. Then he put a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Dance?”
The band had segued into a slow number. Scott ushered her onto the floor and took her in his arms. He danced just as he did everything else—smoothly. He held her close, seemingly preoccupied. “How do you think it’s going?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the table.
“I have no idea. I’m doing my part, though.”
“You always do.” He whirled her around, then leaned closer. “I appreciate it. You’re a great asset.”
Wonderful. Just the sweet nothing every woman hopes to hear. Didn’t he understand she wanted to be his beloved, his everything? Not a business asset. Not just his housekeeper and the mother of his children. She ground her teeth in frustration. She ached for love and affirmation, knowing it was asking too much to expect romance. She longed to feel like an interesting, desirable woman again.
She stared, unseeing, over his shoulder at the kaleidoscope of moving colors. Twenty years. Simultaneously, it seemed like forever and a mere blip on the radar screen of her life.
When Scott nuzzled her cheek with his chin, she could hardly hold back the tears. She used to feel special in his arms, used to snuggle closer, teasing him with the pressure of her breasts against his chest. Suddenly, he dropped his hands and moved past her. “Lloyd, you son of a gun, good to see you,” he said, and he was off, schmoozing with a former client. Almost as an afterthought he turned to her and, encircling her waist, included her in the conversation.
Meg surreptitiously consulted the diamond watch Scott had given her last Christmas, a gift that had felt more like a payoff than a sentimental gesture. Another hour and a half to go. Somehow she would survive. But when they got home, it was time for a serious talk.
SCOTT ROLLED UP the sleeves of his dress shirt, fixed himself a brandy, then sat down in the family room, like the proverbial condemned prisoner awaiting his executioner. Meg had gone upstairs to change and check on the kids. On the way home from the country club she’d uttered the words no husband welcomed: We need to talk. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Why now, for God’s sake? He was on the brink of exhaustion.
After midnight there was no one to interrupt them, no phone call to distract her, no reason for him to hurry back to the office. Reluctantly, he acknowledged that they needed to settle some things. They couldn’t live in limbo indefinitely. Yet he couldn’t ignore the fear in the pit of his stomach.
He braced himself when Meg came into the room, her feet bare, her thin nightgown covered by an old chenille bathrobe she’d had since she was pregnant with Hayley. Her security blanket?
He lifted his glass. “Can I get you something?”
She shook her head, then took a seat in the big armchair, tucking her feet under her. She wrapped her arms around her chest and peered around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Or the last. His heart plummeted.
That was exactly where they were in their relationship. “So?” he finally said. “Talk.”
“What are we going to do? I don’t know about you, but I can’t go on like this, just coexisting in the same house. Wearing a phony smile in public.”
“Are you that unhappy?”
She glanced up. “Aren’t you?”
He thought about her question. About his feelings of entrapment and the weight of overwhelming expectations. “What happened to us?”
She shrugged. “We’ve been over everything more times than I care to count. Is there any point in rehashing it?”
“Do you want us to go back to Dr. Jacobs?” Scott knew he was clutching at straws. The marriage counselor had identified some of their problems, but had been of little real help. Whose fault that was, Scott didn’t want to think about. “Or find someone else?”
“We’re far beyond that.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Her eyes held sadness. “A trial separation.”
Before, he’d always sensed that their discussions about separating had been rhetorical. The brandy warming his stomach turned to acid. “You’re serious?”
“I need some space.”
She needed space? Terrific.
“I’d hate to move the kids. Maybe you could rent an apartment.”
So he was supposed to pack his things and go merrily off into the night? Anger radiated through his body. Why him? Why not her? Oh, right, moving out was what spurned husbands did. One last measure of gallantry. He stood up and paced to the hearth, then turned to face her. “You expect me to make other living arrangements, just like that? And what are you proposing we tell the kids?”
“What we’ve already talked about. That we need some time to step back and figure out where we’re going.” She lifted her chin. “You don’t imagine they’re oblivious to the tension between us, do you?”
“No.” His gut curled in on itself. “When?”
“As soon as your parents leave.”
He groaned. He’d all but forgotten their upcoming visit, meant to coincide with his and Meg’s twentieth anniversary the very next weekend. Tulsa was one of his parents’ first stops on what they were calling their “big adventure.” They’d sold their house in Nashville and bought a huge motor home and were embarking on a two-year odyssey across the country.
“Are you suggesting we put on the happy-family front while they’re here?” He knew his parents better than that. They’d spot the act from a hundred feet away. His mother, who had been cool to Meg early in their relationship, might even utter the dreaded words I told you so.
“We could try. At least until we talk with the kids. Then I guess we’ll need to tell your folks, too.”
Scott felt his control slipping. This conversation bordered on the surreal. “Why not cut to the chase? Do you want a divorce?”
Her cheeks reddened and she ducked her head. “I don’t know.”
Scott waved his hands helplessly. “Hell, Meg, I don’t think you have a clue what you want. But I’ll tell you one thing. I can’t handle any more stress in my life. One way or the other, we need to decide this, once and for all. I’m not interested in putting the kids through any more suffering than necessary.”
She frowned at him. “You think I am?”
Weariness overwhelmed him. “I’m tired of arguing. I’m tired of accusations. This hasn’t been a marriage for quite a while.”
“No, it’s been a business arrangement.”
He couldn’t help raising his voice. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
He felt them moving perilously close to words they might regret. “Okay. You win.” He slumped back on the sofa. “After Mom and Pops leave, I’ll find an apartment.”
“Fine.” She gathered her robe around her. “We can work out the details later. Right now, I’m going to bed.” She started toward their bedroom, then turned back. “Maybe if you struggle really hard you can remember Justin’s soccer game tomorrow. Five-thirty at the south fields.”
He didn’t even bother to reply. He might not win any Father of the Year Award, but he cared about his son. Last week, he’d entered the game in his Palm Pilot. After Meg was gone, he reached for the brandy, swirling it in the snifter as he stared into space.
Fear—and an overpowering sense of failure—slowly drove out his anger. He was facing the big unknown, financially and emotionally. Yet there was no denying he and Meg were both miserable.
But what good could come of a separation?
He downed the contents of the snifter, knowing the liquor couldn’t begin to touch the emptiness growing inside.
CHAPTER TWO
“DO YOU THINK Meg and Scott will be surprised?”
Bud Harper took his eyes off the road momentarily to glance at his wife, who was dwarfed by the leather passenger seat of their new motor home. “They will be if our grandkids have kept their mouths shut.”
“Oh, I don’t think they’d spoil it for anything. I’m so excited.” Marie practically squirmed with satisfaction. “Twenty years. Why, it seems like only yesterday that Scotty brought Meg home to meet us.”
“Remember how you thought no one would ever be good enough for your baby?”
“Scott was—and is—pretty special. But so is Meg. Even if she did take some getting used to.”
Bud let the remark pass. Over the years, the arrival of grandchildren—and geographic distance—had mellowed the relationship between the two women. “Scott works too hard,” he said, remembering their last visit to Tulsa, when his son had been frantically trying to meet a client’s unrealistic deadline.
Marie raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I wonder where he learned that work ethic?”
“Guilty as charged,” Bud admitted, recalling the strains in their marriage when he’d been putting in eighteen-hour days to get his plumbing business up and running. “But look here.” He waved his arm expansively to indicate the interior of their rig and the open road before them. “If you wait long enough, there are compensations.”
“There always were,” his wife said, smiling fondly.
“Even as busy as I was, we had some good times. Maybe I’m an old fogy, but back then, families didn’t have the added frustration of learning how to operate all these doodads. Computers, Palm Pilots, cell phones, DVD players—it’s enough to boggle the mind.” Simply figuring out all the intricacies of the motor home had been enough to tax his ingenuity and patience.
But now there were months of camping by rushing mountain streams to look forward to. No schedules. No obligations. Time for the two of them at last. He and Marie had dreamed of this trip for years. She had boxes filled with articles and photos she’d clipped from travel magazines. Lulled by the hum of the powerful engine, he mentally ticked off some of their destinations: Yellowstone Park, Bryce and Zion canyons, Crater Lake, Vancouver Island. And that was only the first leg of the journey.
Hearing the comforting click of Marie’s knitting needles, he thought back to the first time he’d ever seen her at his marine buddy’s wedding. A little bit of a thing in a picture hat and flouncy bridesmaid gown. Summer of 1957. He’d taken one look and made an instant decision. Sidling up to the groom, he’d asked Marie’s name and then announced, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” And, by God, he had. From that day on, he’d never had a single regret.
They’d spent last night in Memphis and done the Graceland tour. He wasn’t a big fan of the King, but he’d never let on. Marie still listened to Elvis CDs, and he had to admit the songs restored an era for him.
West of Little Rock, Highway 40 ran in gentle ups and downs along the Arkansas River. Soon they’d roll into Oklahoma and catch the turnpike to Tulsa.
“Only two more days. I hope our little surprise works out,” Marie said. “It’s hard planning things long distance.”
He patted her knee. “Everything will be fine. I’ve never known anything you organized to bomb.”
She blushed. A seventy-two-year-old woman, still capable of enjoying a compliment and still as beautiful, wrinkles and all, as the first day he’d laid eyes on her.
He was a lucky man.
THURSDAY AFTERNOON Justin got off the school bus, flipped the bird at Sam Grider, then glared at the departing vehicle, choking on the noxious exhaust fumes. He’d had it with that guy’s bullying. Sam had ragged on him unmercifully for his stupid oral book report in English. “Whatsa matter, Harper? Can’t ya read? That’s not how the story ends, dork.”
Whether Mrs. Kelly, his English teacher, knew that or not, she sure did when Grider got finished. Even now, remembering the snickers and stares of his classmates, Justin reddened. Crap. He hated Grider, he hated books, he hated school. Actually, he hated his whole lousy life.
Which was about to get worse. Thrusting his hand in his pocket, he fingered the note that would probably get him grounded for a month. Mrs. Kelly had kept him after class, her steely gray eyes boring into him. “Justin, I’m extremely disappointed in you.” Then she’d written the note informing his parents that not only had he not finished the book, he’d “prevaricated”—Jeez, who talked like that in real life?—a form of cheating she found a “serious breach of morality.”
In other words, he’d screwed up royally.
He wondered briefly what would happen if he threw the note away. But Mrs. Kelly had asked him to have his parents sign it and return it to her. Ha! If he lived long enough after his father got through with him.
The only thing that might save his bacon was that his grandparents were coming that afternoon. Maybe his dad wouldn’t make a big stink in front of them. Or maybe his grandfather would remember some ancient story about a time when the perfect Scott Harper had actually messed up. Fat chance!
Out of the blue, an idea came to him. Tomorrow was Friday. He could tell Mrs. Kelly his parents hadn’t been home to sign the note, that he’d have it for her Monday. Lots of things could happen between now and then. Especially if his parents were pleased with the surprise.
He scuffed his toe against the curb, then started slowly for home. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be pleased. Not when they barely even talked to each other. Mom was always rolling her eyes at Dad when he was late getting home from work, and he kept telling her how important every darn business deal was. They acted like they didn’t even love each other, and it was enough to make Justin puke.
With a jolt, the familiar sick feeling punched him in the gut. He closed his eyes, holding back tears—and fear.
What if they didn’t love each other?
He crossed his fingers. The surprise just had to work.
MEG HAULED THE LAST BAG out of the grocery cart and stuffed it into the back seat of her Lexus. She glanced at her watch and swore. The Harpers would be arriving any time within the next hour and she still had to pick up Hayley at cheerleading practice, unload the groceries, marinate the steak, toss the salad and set the table. No doubt Marie, in her day, would’ve finished most of her chores by noon. Easing from the parking lot into the flow of traffic, Meg grimaced. Her mother-in-law was a wonderful person, but she was a hard act to follow and always made her feel like a Martha Stewart dropout.
Halfway to the high school, her cell phone rang. One hand on the wheel, she groped around in her purse, finally coming up with it. The caller was Jannie reminding her of their scheduled Saturday tennis game. “I’m sorry, but Scott’s parents will be here. I should’ve let you know.”
“No problem. I’ll find another game. Enjoy the in-laws.”
“I’ll try.” Meg steeled herself, wondering how on earth she could hide the state of her marriage from Scott’s parents. “They’re really nice people.”
“Right. That must explain why you get so uptight every time they come to Tulsa.”
Meg raced through an intersection on the yellow light. “I like them. But…they dote on Scott. He can do no wrong.” She could hardly restrain her sarcasm—or her sense of inadequacy.
“Ah, the golden-boy syndrome,” Jannie said knowingly.
“That about sums it up.”
“And you feel…what? Snubbed? Like you don’t measure up?”
Waves of insecurity swept over Meg, dating back to the first time she’d met the Harpers and realized no one would ever be good enough for Scott, at least in his mother’s mind. “Something like that.”
“Join the crowd, honey. But what these mamas don’t know is how happy we make their little boys, right?”
Happy? Meg controlled a snort. It was easier just to agree. Saying anything else would open the flood-gates of her emotions. “Oh, yes. What Mrs. Harper doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The irony of her intentional double meaning brought her up short.
After setting another tennis date, Meg hung up, wondering what had happened to her sense of humor. “Mamas” and “little boys” once would’ve provoked a grin.
When she turned into the circular drive in front of the high-school gymnasium, she spotted Hayley and three other girls sitting on the concrete wall, their tanned legs swinging, talking to two young men wearing low-slung jeans and baggy shirts. Hayley hadn’t dated much, to Meg’s relief, but there was something in her expression, the high color in her cheeks, that made Meg suspect her daughter had more than a passing interest in one of these boys. Meg sighed. She wasn’t ready for the angst of teenage love. Especially with a kid who looked like a wannabe rap star.
Recognizing the car, Hayley hopped off the wall, waved at her friends and climbed in the front seat. “Who were those boys?” Meg asked as she pulled out from the school.
“Oh, just Zach Simon and some other guy in my biology class.”
“They looked like they were into you. What’s up?”
Hayley shrugged her shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell—”
Meg bought it until Hayley added, “Really.”
Acknowledging that her daughter probably wouldn’t welcome further inquiries, Meg dropped it. She glanced at the dash and realized she was speeding.
After several minutes of silence, Hayley turned to her. “When do Gramma and Grampa get here? I can’t wait to see them.”
“Not for about an hour.” Meg prayed that was true. She had too much to do in the meantime.
“Will Dad be home for dinner?”
Was Scott’s presence at the evening meal so rare that Hayley had to ask? “I certainly hope so. After all, your grandparents would be disappointed if he wasn’t.”
Meg thought she heard a catch in her daughter’s voice. “So would I.” Hayley’s mask of nonchalance slipped. In its place was—yearning?
Good Lord. How would Hayley react when she and Scott separated and she only saw her father on prearranged visits? If Scott took his role as a parent seriously.
Even as she formed that thought, she admitted it was unfair. Scott loved the kids. She’d never doubted that. But he loved his ad agency, too. And it was hard to compete with Harper Concepts. Especially when you were only fifteen.
“He’ll be there,” Meg said in a firm voice, as if emphasizing it would make it true. Hayley picked at the strap of her backpack but said nothing.
The sun was low in the sky when Meg turned onto their tree-lined street.
“What’s that thing?” Hayley asked, her tone of disgust unmistakable.
Meg followed Hayley’s gaze. There, parked in front of their third garage and taking up most of the length of their driveway, was a huge brown-and-beige motor home. Why, oh why, hadn’t there been a tie-up on the freeway, a rainstorm, anything to slow the Harpers down? No one but Justin had been home to greet them, no cooking aromas wafted from a dinner simmering on the stove, no welcome flag flew from the pole. Once again, Meg had failed the domesticity challenge.
“That’s your grandparents’ new motor home.”
“I didn’t know it would be so big.” Hayley stared incredulously. “It’s gross. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why on earth would you say that?”
“The other kids’ll laugh. Mom, it’s total senior-citizen geekdom!”
Meg stifled a giggle. The motor home did scream AARP. “Get over it. You will be gracious and accepting of your grandparents.”
Hayley gave her a mock salute. “Aye, aye, captain.” Then, to Meg’s surprise, she relented. “I’m sorry. It’s just…so big. But I do love Gramma and Grampa.”
“I know you do, honey.” Meg decided to capitalize on Hayley’s temporary good graces. “I could use your help with dinner.”
“Ask Gramma. She loves to putter in the kitchen.”
In one fell swoop, Hayley had removed herself from consideration and volunteered her grandmother—the very person whose help Meg had hoped to avoid.
But what did she deserve? Her marriage was falling apart, and now she couldn’t even pull off being a gracious hostess. Easing past the behemoth and into the garage, she muttered a silent prayer, then told her daughter, “The least you can do is help carry in the groceries.”
WHERE THE HELL was Scott? Meg’s face was a mask of good cheer, but internally she was boiling. Did she have to entertain by herself? The Harpers were his parents, after all. Somehow she’d managed to light the gas grill, and Bud and Justin were presiding over the steaks. Marie, however, had not left her side during the rest of the food preparation, inserting culinary tips into the conversation like “You’ll want to chill the salad bowls, Meg”—which necessitated rearranging the refrigerator. Hayley had willingly set the table under her grandmother’s direction, but heaven forbid the salad forks went on the inside of the dinner forks.