by Lilian Darcy
Seven years on Saturday since it had all happened, and if the anniversary, and his parents’ unacknowledged gesture in coming here for it, were a part of what he was feeling right now, he didn’t know how to separate out the strands.
Should I tell Lee about the anniversary?
Bottom line, he still didn’t trust himself on this. Didn’t trust his head or his gut. He didn’t know what he should be looking for, or what she really wanted for the future—not six months from now when the baby came, not a year from now, not ten.
Although apparently she knew what she was looking for right this minute—a little action, a little taste and tease for what might happen later. The bed in his cabin had a big dip in the middle, and it rolled them into each other’s arms all night long. He was getting pretty attached to that.
Maybe he should just think about sex, too. Any other subject had too many ramifications. The ramifications of sex, on the other hand, they’d already gotten into trouble with, so in a weird way they were safe. One of the unsung benefits of pregnancy—you didn’t have to think about contraception anymore.
“You’re right, you’re not cold,” he told Lee, as she pressed her thighs together, imprisoning his moving hand. “Along up here...in here...you’re warm as anything.” He touched her, and turned his cheek against hers, then turned it a little farther so that their mouths met in a long, unhurried kiss.
Chapter Fourteen
Mac’s parents flew into Albany at six-thirty on Friday evening, and he drove down to pick them up. He’d made a reservation at the Adirondack Steakhouse for the four of them at seven-thirty, even though he and Lee had already eaten there once this week. She was still craving red meat, and he’d teased her about it this morning, when she’d confessed that she wanted a repeat visit.
“That’s my woman. None of this nonsense about chocolate, or ice cream with pickles on top. We got man-size cravings here.”
“Predicting a boy?”
“Nope, just proud of you.”
“Proud because I’m craving red meat?”
“Proud of you because I’m just proud of you.”
And in an hour, he would be introducing her to his parents. He was swinging past the hotel he’d booked for them, so that they could check in and unload their bags, and then they were meeting her at the restaurant.
Lee prepared for the evening with a nervous need to make a good first impression.
How did you do that, when you were already pregnant? And especially when you had no marriage plans? Those could be a protective shield at a time like this, and she was shocked at herself for wanting the shield, when it was just another item on her rapidly growing list of bad reasons to get married.
Meanwhile, she wasn’t a dress kind of girl, and the waistbands on most of her pants were beginning to feel a little tight. She ended up choosing some black stretch jeans with the top button unfastened, and a draped white top that came low enough to conceal the fact, then put on heels and makeup and jewelry so that the outfit wouldn’t look too casual.
Because she didn’t want to be late—the whole good-first-impression thing remember?—she arrived ten minutes early, while it took longer than Mac had expected for his parents to check in to their hotel, so they didn’t arrive until nearly a quarter to. This meant almost twenty-five minutes of sitting at the restaurant’s bar on her own, checking the periodic texts telling her, We’re just about to leave, and Sorry, my mom is changing her purse.
When she turned for the fifth time at the sound of the restaurant’s front door opening and it was them at last, the relief must have shown all too clearly on her face—and maybe the anxiety, too. She scrambled down from the bar stool, wondering when she’d last been this nervous and self-aware.
“Hi...”
“We made it.” He added for her ears alone, “Betcha you were wondering if we ever would.”
“Little bit.”
He pulled her against him to drape his arm around her shoulder, linking them together, and said to his mom and dad, “Well, this is Lee, obviously.” And he forgot to let her go, so that his mother, who’d been coming in for a greeting hug, had to stop on a dime and turn it into a handshake instead.
His father stood back a little. “Lee. It’s good to meet you.” He stuck his hand out also, and she had to lean forward and out of Mac’s cloaking arm in order to reach. Mr. Wheeler was gray-haired and blue-eyed, but had the same strong, hard build as his son, and almost the same voice.
Lee could immediately see where Mac had got his athleticism from, while from his mother he’d inherited his coloring. She had inky-black eyes, olive skin that was still beautifully smooth and thick black hair with only threads of gray.
Lee had a baby inside her carrying this same genetic heritage of dark coloring and athletic build, and she couldn’t help wondering how it would mix with the legacy from her side. What hair color did you get if you mixed caramel and dark chocolate? Would the baby’s eyes be blue-green or brown?
Once more, she was confronted with how momentous this was, and how much scope there was for everything to go wrong. These two people had already lost a grandchild, one who’d been conceived by accident in an uncertain relationship. Lee could easily see how they might distrust her, or want things from her that she couldn’t give. The pressure was huge.
The Wheelers were formally dressed, him in a dark suit, her in a rather somber gray-and-white dress, and Lee remembered that they’d been at a funeral today. Clearly, they hadn’t had a chance to change their clothes, and she thought Mac had probably hurried them away from their hotel room too fast because he’d known that she was waiting, and nervous.
“I’m sorry about...” she began, but in the heat of all these new impressions, she couldn’t remember the name of the old friend they’d just lost. An elderly man’s name, she thought. Stan or Reg or...“Ron.” It came to her, thank goodness. “Ronnie. Mr. Halpern.”
“It was a lovely funeral,” Mrs. Wheeler said. Gina. Her name was Gina, and his dad was Paul, Lee coached herself inwardly. Did they want her to use their first names? So far, they weren’t saying, and she didn’t want to make assumptions.
Sometimes, people were invited to call their child’s future grandparents Mom and Dad, and she really didn’t want them to ask her for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She would be acutely uncomfortable about calling them something that implied closeness and intimacy and love, if those things didn’t exist between them.
Mac had said, “This is Lee, obviously,” but there was so much about this that wasn’t obvious at all. She felt as if she was stuck on stage without a script. Her hand in Paul’s grip had felt like a chunk of ham, and she could hear her own pulse beating in her ears.
“More of a celebration,” Gina added, about the funeral. “He’d been ready to go, his daughters said.”
“Much easier when someone’s had a good span of life,” Paul agreed.
A server showed them to their table, and Lee sat beside Mac and opposite his mother. The appearance of menus was a relief. They were big, laminated and folded things that she could hide behind, pretending to be faced with an impossible amount of choice, and they could talk about those choices. What did Gina think looked good? Was she thinking she’d have dessert later on?
An hour and a half later, Lee still hadn’t relaxed, even though outwardly everything had gone fine. Gina had said, “Call us Gina and Paul,” so that was one small problem out of the way. Mac’s mom loved what she’d seen of the hotel, she said. “Such a beautiful setting, right on the lake, almost on an island, and it’s such a beautiful old building. I hope we can explore the whole place tomorrow, maybe eat in one of the restaurants there tomorrow night.”
She seemed warmer than Mac’s father, or maybe she had a woman’s knack of pretending better, of finding the small talk that distracted from any undercurrents.
It wasn’t Lee’s pregnancy. They’d mentioned that. Gina had asked her how she was feeling, and Paul had assured her gruffly that she could trust Mac to take care of her, because he’d been raised the right way.
But when people had been raised the right way and they were having a baby together, they usually got married, or at least made some kind of statement about their long-term commitment. Was Paul hinting that he expected that? Was this the source of the tension? The Wheelers wanted all this to fall into neat, conventional lines, and didn’t quite know how to manage without them.
Paul called for the check, then said to his son, “What are we doing tomorrow? Let’s make a plan.” He looked restless, and eager to have a concrete decision, and a schedule. “There must be some good hiking around here. Or maybe take a boat out on the lake. You know I hate sitting around.”
“Paul!” Gina protested. “Is that really how we want to spend our time with Mac and Lee while we’re here? Sightseeing?”
“I don’t see why not. Hope you’re not suggesting we go shopping or sit in a café for hours. That would drive me crazy.”
Gina laughed and punched him gently in the arm. “Paul, I’ve been married to you way too long to think that shopping and sitting is ever going to be on the agenda. Okay, I guess you’re right. We should plan something to do. We could hike tomorrow, if Mac and Lee are interested.”
“I’m in, if Lee is,” Mac said.
“Lee? Are you?” Paul seemed gruffly eager, and she understood where he was coming from. If this indefinable awkwardness was going to continue, she much preferred to disguise it with something active, also. The restaurant meal had been a strain on all of them, at some level, despite the flow of conversation.
“I always like to be out-of-doors if I can,” she told him.
“Any suggestions about a route?”
“We could go out to the point of Tongue Mountain, where the ridgeline meets the lake. That’s a nice trail, no steep parts, and great views of the water at the end.”
“Sounds beautiful,” Gina said. “And not too strenuous.”
“Mac,” his father said, “could you grab some snacks and water bottles for us, and bring a day pack?”
“Sure.”
“So tomorrow we’ll have breakfast at the hotel, and then set out,” Paul decreed, and it was settled.
“You coming back to my place?” Mac asked Lee quietly on their way out of the restaurant. He stood close, letting his fingers dangle at his side so that they tangled with hers. They clasped them together for a moment and squeezed, and it felt good, a secret connection and confirmation.
“If you want me.”
“Of course I want you. Was it okay tonight? What did you think?”
“I like them,” she told him truthfully. “I can see parts of you in them.”
“Little tense, though, couple of times at the beginning. There’s—”
“It was,” she agreed. “I can’t see how it couldn’t be, even though we were all trying so hard.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he told her, but she couldn’t see how to avoid it.
“What were you going to say? Before I cut in.”
“Nothing. It’s fine. Can’t talk here, anyhow. They’ll be waiting outside.”
“So I’ll see you after you’ve dropped them off?” she asked.
“Probably twenty minutes or so, I guess.”
“I’ll be there, sheets prewarmed.” She had a key to his cabin. She liked having a key.
“And I do like my sheets prewarmed.” He gave her a quick kiss and then hurried to catch up to his parents.
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as Mac thought he’d be in range, he held out his key fob and pressed the button on it, so that the pickup gave a little whoop and unlocked itself, lights flashing. Mom and Dad were still ahead of him and he didn’t want them standing beside the car in the cold while he caught up.
He had almost told Lee about the anniversary just now, but the timing was wrong. And the place—standing in the small entrance of a restaurant, parents waiting for him out here. Lee looking more tired and wrung out than she was admitting to; his dad trying so hard to like and trust her, but deeply suspicious.
Mom was more generous in that area. Dad liked to know where he stood, and right now Mac could tell that he didn’t have any idea. If there’d been an engagement announcement, Mom would have been the one gushing and tearful, but Dad would actually have been the happiest.
Marriage was neat. It let you think that you understood what was happening, even when you really didn’t. Dad would have been totally placated by a wedding in the works, and he would have been wrong.
Mac climbed into the vehicle, waited until they were both strapped in and then set off. They were quiet at first, until Mom broke the silence. “She seems lovely, Mac. I liked her a lot.”
“Good,” he answered. “Because I like her a lot, too.”
He waited for one of them to ask about their plans, but they didn’t, and he knew their silence indicated an inner struggle. He wished he could have satisfied them, but he didn’t know how. At the hotel, he made sure they were settled and comfortable, and then headed back to the cabin, his heart giving a lurch when he saw the lights behind the closed drapes, and Lee’s shadow moving around inside.
“Hey, you promised me warmed sheets,” he told her.
“Sorry.” She gave him an upside-down grin. She was wearing a fluffy robe, and nothing but clean skin underneath. He could see that her hair was wet at the ends. “Decided I wanted a shower, and stayed in there too long. You were quick, dropping them off.”
“I didn’t stay. Didn’t even turn off the engine.” He folded her into his arms and smelled the shower freshness of her.
“I’m secretly glad about that,” she whispered in his ear.
“Oh, secretly?”
“Well, I’ll let you in on the secret, but no one else.”
“No?”
“See, I really, really wanted to be awake when you got back, but I wasn’t sure how long that was going to last.”
“Are you proposing fast sex or sleepy sex?”
“Whatever you’ve got.”
“I probably have both.”
“Both is good.”
“We’d better get down to it, then.” He peeled back the robe, kissed her bared shoulders, then let the garment drop to the floor. He stripped, and she was waiting for him in the bed by the time he got there.
He wanted to treat her as if she was made of glass. He kissed her slowly, all the way up her body and then all the way down, cupping her breasts so gently that his hands seemed as if they were made of paper. She whimpered for more and he told her she was wicked.
“You like me wicked,” she pointed out.
Truthfully.
“I like you any way you want to be.”
That was true, too.
Mostly.
“What if I want to be fierce tonight?” she said.
“You can be fierce.”
She laughed and rolled him over so that she was poised on top, and she felt so amazing, all heavy and round and squishy, but he wouldn’t let her be as fierce as she wanted because the protectiveness kicked up another notch, and he didn’t know how to make it go away.
Something else went away, instead.
“What’s up?” she whispered.
Hell, should he tell her?
“Nothing’s up,” he answered, playing for time. He lay there, breathing hard, while sh
e eased herself off him and lay pressed against his side, head pillowed in the crook of his arm, one leg between his, fingers lazy on his chest and stomach and groin.
“Something is.”
Telling her about the anniversary seemed like ruining the party, like spilling a jug of iced water on a perfect hot meal. It seemed like inviting her into a private place, only to shut her out again seconds later. It seemed like inviting someone else into the bed, and he’d never been into the idea of a threesome.
“It’s fine,” he insisted. “Disappointed in myself.”
It was true, and ambiguous, and she got distracted by it, thinking he was talking about the failure of his performance.
Which turned out to be very temporary. Her fingers worked some magic, and then so did the rest of her body, and he forgot everything and just gave himself to the pure high of making love to her, and then the peace of falling asleep with their bodies wrapped together.
In the night, waking to find her arms flung across his stomach, he decided not to tell her about the anniversary until after his parents had gone. Time enough then. It wasn’t dishonesty, it was kindness—to her, to his parents and to himself. Maybe even kindness to Sloane. The decision felt like a relief, and Mac let all the dark, sad feelings go for now. He rested his palm on her lower belly and felt the first suggestion of a baby there, the gentle curve of a bulge.
Different.
It was very different to last time.
Much, much better.
“I was serious about the sleepy sex, by the way,” she murmured beside him.
“Oh, yeah? How did you know I was awake?”
“When you put your hand on the baby.”
“That was enough to wake you up?”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’m not.”
“I love it when you put your hand on the baby.”
“And I’m very happy to have woken you up enough for sleepy sex.” He began to touch her in all the ways he knew she loved, and she stretched and made some creaky, lazy sounds. It was perfect, and he told himself not to think about anything else.