by Jenny Jacobs
He could always turn off the television and read a book. His gaze strayed over to the bookshelf in the corner, stocked full of Disney titles and Little Golden books. They must belong to Tess’s daughter. Tess and Michael’s daughter, he should say, because Michael certainly seemed to think she was his. Belinda was a sweet kid. Despite — or maybe because of — her challenges, her cheerfulness and steadiness in dealing with her problems made her the kind of child anyone would be glad to claim.
He wondered why Greta had never had any children. She certainly doted on Belinda, from what he could see and what he heard in casual conversation with Tess and Michael. Had she just never found a man she wanted to make a family with?
What did Greta see in that pompous windbag? There was no sparky feuding between the two of them, he’d seen that right off. They were probably excruciatingly polite to each other. May I request that you change the topic of conversation before I fall asleep in my soup? Please forgive me for being the world’s longest-winded bore.
Agnes came over and rested her head on his knees. Absently he scratched the top of her head. Then with a subtle move he wasn’t expecting, she nudged the box off his lap and onto the floor, then leapt delightedly on the contents, slurping up the last of his pad thai.
Women, Ian thought, picking up the remains of the styrofoam container and tossing it in the trash. Canine or human, you never could figure them out. You never knew what they were going to do next. In the case of Greta, a man would go nuts just trying to figure out why she did anything she did. At least Agnes’s actions, though unexpected, made sense. Put a dog and food together, and said dog would attempt to acquire said food.
Right. Fine. But Ian couldn’t help feeling the lawyer was a personal affront. Greta could have a man like Ian — okay, not a man like Ian, she could have Ian himself — and yet she chose the lawyer? Why? And why did he think he should do something to save her from herself?
Chapter Nine
Thank heavens you’re back, Greta wanted to say the moment she saw Tess but she restrained herself. She should give her sister a minute to adjust to being back at work. It couldn’t have been easy to go on a honeymoon with Belinda and Michael and make sure everyone got equal attention. The last thing she needed was someone else demanding her attention and time.
Even so, Greta uncharacteristically threw her arms around her little sister, artfully avoiding the cups of coffee she was carrying, and hugged her tightly. Then she let Tess up for air and asked, “Did you have a great time?”
“I was on vacation with a nine-year-old,” Tess said, setting her shoulder bag down. She handed a cup of coffee to Greta and kept the other for herself. Greta took the cup gratefully. It meant some things hadn’t changed, even though everything had.
“But you had a good time?” she persisted. Someone should be having a good time, and since she herself seemed constitutionally incapable of it —
“I was on my honeymoon,” Tess said with a grin. “Yes, I had a good time.”
“TMI,” Greta said, holding up a hand.
“Too much information? I haven’t given you any much information,” Tess protested, peeling the top off her coffee and taking a deep slug, then sighing in appreciation.
“But you’re about to.” Greta didn’t mind sharing her sister’s joy in her life but she had to draw the line somewhere. There was such a thing as being obnoxiously happy and it was up to Greta to prevent Tess from straying into that territory.
Tess rolled her eyes and threw herself into the armchair next to the bed. The only reason she didn’t throw herself on the bed as usual was because it was piled with Greta’s laptop and files and other accoutrements.
“Been busy?” Tess asked, raising an eyebrow at the mess. Looking at the scattering the way someone like Tess might see it, Greta realized that she had let the work fill up every part of her life so that there was hardly any room for anything else.
With a guilty start she wondered if she’d have any time for Tess if Tess weren’t part of the business. Of course I would, she reassured herself, but she hoped she was never forced to find out the truth.
Besides, work wasn’t the only thing in her life. “I had a date while you were gone, I’ll have you know.” She pronounced the words with satisfaction. There. Tess couldn’t fault her for not getting out and socializing. She’d socialized. She wasn’t all that eager to do it again soon but Tess didn’t have to know that.
“Was it with Ian or that icky lawyer?” Tess asked. “Michael’s mother felt compelled to invite him to the wedding for reasons I can’t fathom.”
“What makes you think I would ever go on a date with Ian?” Greta demanded.
“Uh huh,” Tess said, slurping coffee. “So?”
“So?”
“So who was it?”
“The icky lawyer,” Greta said, not even the slightest bit compelled to defend the man. Defensiveness only served to fan the flames of Tess’s curiosity, as Greta had years of experience to prove.
“Oh.” Tess sounded disappointed. She cocked her head and gave Greta a considering look. “Somehow I can’t see you with him.”
Greta shook her head. Of course Tess could see them together. They matched perfectly well. Tess didn’t want to see them together, and that was something different. She was probably envisioning Donald as an excruciatingly proper brother-in-law, so Greta set her mind at rest.
“Just because you’re married doesn’t mean I want to follow suit,” she pointed out. “There’s nothing wrong with dating a companionable man without starting to plan which caterers to hire.”
“Right. A companion so you don’t have to go to movies alone,” Tess said. “Because you go to so many movies. And you don’t have any female friends, or even a sister, to go with you.”
“Precisely.”
Tess studied her for a moment. She took a sip of coffee, then blurted out, “I worry about you.”
“Me?” Greta asked, taken aback. When had anyone ever had to worry about her? Not for a long time, not since she’d finally left her husband and started building a new life, piece by piece, a life that didn’t require anyone else in it for it to be complete. “You have nothing to worry about,” she assured her sister. “I’m not going to do anything foolish.”
“Precisely,” Tess said in a fairly good imitation of Greta’s tone. “That’s my point, Greta. You haven’t cut loose in — wait, in all the time I’ve known you.” She grinned at Greta, but Greta knew her concern was serious. She also knew Tess would continue down this road unless Greta convinced her to stop.
“Oh, I’ve cut loose,” Greta said, a warning in her voice.
“You mean Paul?” Tess guessed, ignoring the warning.
Greta took an unsteady breath. Tess had no compunction about asking the most annoying personal questions. But something about the way she did it made you willing to answer the question. It was probably the knowledge that she’d keep asking if you didn’t, and the longer you went without answering the harder the questions started to get.
It was also because she cared, about the questions and the answers.
“Yes,” Greta said. There. That was the way to deal with Tess. Respond, but not elucidate. Eventually, she’d get tired of asking. Wouldn’t she? Greta tried to remember if Tess had ever quit in the teeth of opposition.
“So the last time you sort of … stopped being so controlled, you ended up with Paul.”
“Yes.” She bit her tongue. There. That was all she needed to admit.
“Yeah, that’d be enough to cure anyone of romantic impulses,” Tess said.
Greta frowned at her. “That’s not exactly how I would put it.” Tess waited. Greta struggled to define how she would put it, then gave up and said, “You’re right. My willingness to risk that part of myself is not the same as yours.”
“You gotta
risk what you have to get something better,” Tess said.
“You sound like a get-rich-quick-in-real-estate infomercial,” Greta said disagreeably. She eyed her sister and tried to remember how she’d felt when Tess had first walked in the room. Thank heavens you’re back, she’d wanted to say. She wasn’t so sure at the moment.
“You just don’t want to admit I’m right.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re right,” Greta said. “I’m not a risk-taker. Not in my personal life anyway. I’m a lot more fragile than you are.”
“You always say that,” Tess said impatiently. “But you’re the toughest woman I know.”
Greta shook her head but didn’t respond. To respond, she would have to be more vulnerable than she wanted, to say that she was afraid she would not be able to tolerate another loss, that she was afraid another failure would make her shatter and she didn’t think she could pick up the pieces again. There had been so very many the last time and it had taken so long to gather them all together and to piece them back into a whole and to smooth the edges so no one could see where the breaks had happened. And she didn’t think the process had made her stronger, the way some people believed. It had made her aware of how fragile she truly was.
“I’ll be here,” Tess said gently. “To hold your coat while you wade in there and to pick you up when you land on your behind, and to say, ‘atta girl.’”
• • •
“But did you have to invite the lawyer to your wedding?” Ian asked, taking a sip of his root beer, keeping track of the Chiefs’ offensive drive out of the corner of his eye. He had Agnes firmly by the collar but she didn’t seem offended. In fact, her tail wagged happily and she leaned against his knee like a lovesick groupie. Probably hoping for more pad thai. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“I’ve gotta go with Ian on this one,” Tess said, from her place on the floor, looking up from the puzzle she was putting together with Belinda. Ian had known Belinda long enough to recognize the theme of the puzzle right off: Finding Nemo. He even knew the blue fish — he had no idea what species it was — was named Dory, and that Dory made Belinda laugh.
“Although you are my husband and I love, honor, cherish, and respect you — did I get it all in? — I have to support Ian’s position here,” Tess said.
“What’s wrong with Donald?” Michael asked, not looking away from the television, so completely oblivious to the nuances of the conversation that for the first time in his life, Ian thought disgustedly, Men. “Throw the ball!” Michael exclaimed. “Throw it! Why do they always run the ball?” He addressed the question to no one in particular. “Look at that. Yet another sack. Why do you care who was at the wedding?”
Ian pretended not to hear the question, leaning closer to the television as the chains were moved on the field. What on earth was he doing? Just because he was interested in Greta, he didn’t have to reveal that fact to the entire universe. What was wrong with him? He’d brought it on himself, he knew, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking the question. Because if Donald hadn’t been at the wedding, then Greta wouldn’t be going out with him and ergo — what? She’d be going out with Ian? Even he could see the gaping error in logic there. Yet somehow his frustration was not susceptible to logic.
“Greta’s been on a couple dates with Donald,” Tess said slyly, giving Ian a challenging look under her lashes.
“Yeah,” Michael said, oblivious to Tess’s subtext. An ad came on and he leaned back and looked at Tess. Then he smiled, because he always smiled when he looked at Tess. It was enough to make a man gag. “He called and asked for her number.”
“And you gave it?” Ian demanded. “Do you give her number out to every bozo who asks for it?”
“Donald is not a bozo.” Ian noted he had Michael’s full attention now. Michael had stopped looking at Tess, and he had also stopped grinning. “What’s biting you?” he asked, as if Ian were capable of explaining.
Ian leaned forward again, concentrating intensely on the ad for a nearby car dealership. He was provided with a luxury sedan as part of his employment contract — a man did not spend twenty years in the Army without developing a sense of how to negotiate for what you wanted — but maybe he needed a truck. This was a part of the country where men drove trucks.
“Ian?” Oh, now Michael was acting like a concerned friend. After Ian had already determined he was an idiot for bringing up the subject of the lawyer in the first place and wished everyone would let it drop.
“Never mind,” he muttered.
Fortunately, the game resumed then and Michael turned his attention back to the television. They watched in companionable silence for a few minutes. Tess looked at Michael, then Ian, then back to Michael again.
“You can’t just drop it!” she exclaimed. “He’s got to spill.”
“I said it was nothing,” Ian said. “I just don’t like him and I don’t think he’s good for Greta.” There. That sounded pompous but detached, didn’t it? No one would guess, would they?
Tess gave him a skeptical look but then Tess was skeptical about everything. For such a romantic soul, she was very cynical.
“She’ll hound you until you spill,” Michael said. Not as if it were a character flaw, just as if it were a fact Ian should be aware of.
“I’ve stood tougher questioning,” Ian said confidently. Which might have been why it took him all of ten minutes to surrender. He weakened at half-time, and by the start of the third quarter, he had revealed the terrible truth.
“I knew it,” Tess crowed. “But I have to say, so far you have not impressed me with your style.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” Ian muttered.
“You have a thing for Greta?” Michael demanded, his attention drawn away from the game.
“Try to follow along.”
Tess got to her feet and kissed Michael on the cheek, then said, “Don’t mind him. He’s just upset because he can’t get anywhere with Greta, and yet she goes out with Donald.”
“Greta?” Michael said again.
“What? You don’t think I’m good enough for her?” Ian knew he sounded belligerent and defensive. He also knew he couldn’t help himself because that was exactly how he felt.
“That’s not it,” Michael said hastily. “You’re great for her. You’re great for anyone. Just … Greta?”
“What’s wrong with Greta?” Tess demanded, glaring at her newly wedded husband. Thankful to have the heat on his friend, not himself, Ian grinned and said, “Yeah, what’s wrong with Greta?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Greta. You just don’t seem her type,” Michael said, wincing as Tess elbowed him in the ribs. Belinda looked up from her puzzle, glancing from Michael to Tess. Then she smiled and said, “Stay on Greta’s good side.”
Tess smiled back at her daughter and said, “You bet.” She glanced at Ian and explained, “We made that rule when Greta hurt her knee and we didn’t want to accidentally bump it.”
“Then we realized getting on Greta’s good side was a great rule even when she’s not injured,” Michael said, and Tess elbowed him in the ribs again, before turning to Ian and saying, “I think you’d be terrific together.” Then her face turned serious and she said, “Look, Ian. Greta’s got her reasons for shying off. So you have to — well, you have to let her be in control, okay? Let her initiate things.”
“She’s not going to initiate anything with me,” Ian said glumly. He was a man; he could face the truth. He might not like it, but he could handle it.
“Oh, I have faith in you,” Tess said, leaning forward like she was going to pat his hand or something, good grief, but she stopped herself in time. “I haven’t seen her this bent out of shape in, well, ever.” She gave him an encouraging smile, like Greta’s being bent out of shape was a good thing. He failed to see how that could be true.
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“She won’t even talk to me.” He was feeling morose now, not to mention enormously embarrassed to be talking to Michael’s wife like this. Next he would be sharing his emotions. And how do you feel about that, Ian? Well, let me tell you how I feel. If he hadn’t already retired from the Army, they’d have to kick him out for conduct unbecoming.
“Listen,” Tess said. “You just plant the idea and let her make the move. Let her know you’re interested, but don’t be aggressive. Easy, gentle. You can manage that.”
“I can?”
“You can.”
“But how do I get to the point where she’ll listen to me planting the idea?”
“I’ll work on that.”
“You will?”
“I’m just returning a favor,” Tess said, and Ian suspected if Greta saw Tess’s smile, she would not like it one bit.
Chapter Ten
“Greta?”
Greta sighed, wishing she’d checked the caller i.d. screen before answering. Didn’t she know better by now? Tess was out of the office, so she couldn’t hand the phone over to her. What could Ian possibly want now? Hadn’t she given him everything he wanted? Hadn’t she explained that Michael and Tess would finish putting his house together for him? What, then, required him to call her and ruffle her up?
“Yes?” she responded in her most patient tone.
“There’s a paperhanger here.”
“I’m sure there is,” Greta said, although just because she’d arranged it didn’t mean the paperhanger would show up when he promised. Working with contractors in the field had made her distrustful of promises.
“But which paper goes where?”
“It’s clearly indicated — ”
She heard Ian fumble with the phone. Now an unfamiliar voice came on the line.
“Miz Ferguson? I’ve got three patterns here, not quite sure what goes where.”
Hadn’t Tess written a list and given it to him? Of course she had. “Hold on a minute.” She knew he would charge her — or actually Ian — for the time he sat waiting, even though he had been given clear instructions. She found her copy of the neatly written list. “All right. The asparagus fern wallpaper goes into the bedroom. The master bedroom.”