by Susan Wiggs
He studied her, trying to see if there was any hint of her pregnancy yet. She wore a womanly, somewhat mysterious smile, yet her eyes were haunted by melancholy. Will suspected he knew why. Expecting a baby was something a couple in love was supposed to savor with happiness and trepidation and anticipation. He was no expert, though. He had never experienced it himself, since Aurora had been five years old when she came into his life. Right from the start, Marisol made it clear that she was completely uninterested in having any more children.
“You’re staring,” Sarah pointed out.
He blinked. “What? Oh, sorry.”
“Why were you staring at me like that?” she persisted, clearly not about to let him off the hook.
Busted, he thought. “I guess because you look...real nice.” Liar, he thought. Tell her what you really think. “You’re beautiful.”
“Whoa. I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”
His smile was unapologetic. “It wasn’t a compliment. I do think you’re beautiful.” He put on his shirt, then fixed her tea and they sat together in a pair of folding wooden lawn chairs under the leafy arms of a huge California oak. He watched her throat work smoothly as she took a long drink. It was strange to think they’d known each other all their lives, yet he was only getting around to feeling attracted to her now.
She set down her glass. “Are you flirting with me?”
“I might be.”
“Flirting with a bitter, pregnant woman. That’s a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“You were such a flirt in high school, it was disgusting.”
“An opinion you made abundantly clear in your comic strip.”
“Yes, well, I was resentful.”
“About what?”
“About the fact that you flirted with everyone except me.”
“No way was I going to flirt with you,” he said, shaking his head. “You were scary.”
She sniffed. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I thought I was making headway when I said you were beautiful.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” she said.
“I don’t get out much these days. My skills are rusty.”
“You’re doing all right,” she said.
We’re some pair, he thought, watching her hold the icy glass to her forehead to cool off. And of course they weren’t any sort of pair at all. Just two people whose paths had unexpectedly crossed. Yet—and this was the insane part—he felt as if he had a crush on her.
Impossible, he thought. If he’d learned nothing else from Marisol, he’d learned it was insane to give his heart to a woman who had another man’s child. Why would he risk that again?
* * *
Aurora went to the station house after school. Her dad always had plenty of cold drinks on hand, and in this heat wave, she was dying of thirst. She also needed to talk to him about the mysterious fires that were occurring in the area. Or maybe not. She hadn’t decided yet.
The pavement was wet, the engine half-washed. Maybe he’d gone in to watch that crazy old show, Peyton Place, on cable. He and Gloria and the others were weirdly bonkers for it. She followed the sound of voices and spotted her dad and Sarah Moon seated together in the shade. The two of them seemed oblivious to everything but each other.
She’s my friend, Aurora wanted to wail. I found her first.
If her dad and Sarah started liking each other, that would ruin everything. There was an unwritten rule that Aurora had to dislike or at least disrespect every woman her dad dated. The trouble was, she liked and respected Sarah. It might not be so simple to turn those feelings off.
She watched them for a minute, noticing the way Sarah’s eyes sparkled like stars when she looked up at Aurora’s dad.
Correction, Aurora thought, hurrying away from the station house before they saw her. It wouldn’t be hard at all.
* * *
“Hey, Dad.” Aurora burst into the kitchen, startling him.
He had just gotten home and had cracked open a beer. That was as far as the celebration went, though. He sat at the desk paying bills. When Aurora came up behind him, he discreetly covered the checkbook with a stray piece of paper so she wouldn’t see who he was writing a check to. “What’s up?”
She studied the framed drawing propped up on the desk. “Is that from Sarah?”
“Uh-huh. You like it?”
She frowned, crossed her arms. “It’s pretty good, I guess. Why’d she give you a drawing?”
“To thank us for helping her.”
Aurora shook back her glossy dark hair. “So are you dating her?”
“No.” His reply was swift and assured. “Why would you think that?”
“You guys were hanging out at the station house today.”
“I hang out with Gloria at the station house. Sometimes Judy deWitt comes to see me there, too. That doesn’t mean I’m dating them.”
“Sarah’s different.”
No shit, he thought. Just because he wasn’t dating her didn’t mean he didn’t want to. It was nuts, they were wrong for each other, the timing couldn’t be worse.
And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her—not-yet-divorced, pregnant as hell, temperamental Sarah Moon.
He had figured out long ago that he couldn’t control his own heart. His heart controlled him.
“We’re friends,” he told Aurora. “You got a problem with that?”
“No.”
“If I did happen to date her, would you have a problem with that?”
“Probably, yes.”
Great. All the child-rearing books in the world warned him that kids her age were prone to lie. In the matter of Sarah Moon, he knew his daughter was being scrupulously honest.
“Okay, why?”
“A zillion reasons. If you date her, where does that leave me? It’ll be weird.”
“So you’re saying I should manage my dating according to whether it makes you feel weird or not.”
She stared at the desk, studying the drawing Sarah had done. “Everything you do affects me.”
“Yeah? Ditto,” he said. “That’s the way it works in a family. The things a person does affects the others in a family. It’s not a bad system.”
“Even if one person makes the other person feel weird?”
“I’m not making you feel weird.”
“Right,” she said.
He wadded up an empty envelope. Damn.
Twenty-Five
Due to the nature of his job, Will tended to fully awaken when a bell rang, even when he was off duty. He simultaneously sat straight up in bed and snatched the receiver off the phone cradle in the middle of its first and only ring.
In that smallest beat of delay, between the ring and hello, he had just one thought. Marisol. Then another—Aurora. She was having a sleepover at her friend Edie’s house.
“Bonner,” he said. His voice was terse and gravelly. He rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. 2:14 a.m.
“I’m so sorry to wake you. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Who...?”
“It’s, um, Sarah Moon.”
The rhythm of his heart changed. So did his breathing. When a pregnant woman called in the middle of the night, it couldn’t be good.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Her father and brother both lived nearby; why wouldn’t she call one of them?
“Yes, completely fine. I feel terrible calling you like this, but—” She broke off, and it sounded as though she dropped the phone. “Can you come over?”
He was already stuffing his legs into blue jeans, the receiver tucked under his chin. “What’s this about?”
“It’s Franny.”
�
��Franny.” He set down the phone momentarily to pull on an old Cal sweatshirt, then picked it up again.
“...babies are coming,” Sarah was saying. “Please, Will, I’m sorry to bother you, but...I just can’t do this alone.”
Finally, his confusion cleared, a ray of clarity piercing through the fog. “Your dog’s having the puppies.”
“I already called the vet’s emergency line. He didn’t want to be contacted unless there’s real trouble.”
“And is there?” His hands made a decision before his head. He yanked on a pair of work boots, leaving them unbuckled as he headed downstairs.
“Only my own,” she admitted.
“I’ll be right there.”
He wasted no time driving to her place. The night was as quiet and empty as only the heart of nowhere could be, the mist-shrouded roads filled with secret life. Toads, deer and raccoons were all invisible until the last moment, flashing past like hazards in a video game. What the hell are you doing, Bonner? His nagging inner voice refused to be stifled.
“She’s in distress,” he muttered, his body registering a sharp craving for coffee. “A damsel in distress.”
He knew what his wiseass sister would say. “That’s the way you like them, Will.”
Did he? Birdie liked to psychoanalyze him, an armchair Dr. Phil. Was he inexplicably attracted to women in trouble? Based on the choices he’d made in the past, that would appear to be the case. And what, precisely, was the attraction? The woman, or the trouble?
He cruised straight through the town’s only stoplight. If Franco was even in the vicinity, he was probably napping in his squad car with the radio on, hoping the dispatcher wouldn’t call.
Will parked in Sarah’s driveway and bounded up the front steps. She was waiting at the door, pale and disheveled in a strange outfit of sweatpants, a pajama top and a bib apron. Her hair was mussed and she looked strangely, unexpectedly appealing.
He dismissed the thought and stepped inside. “Where is she?”
“The hall closet. She won’t come out.”
They went to the short hallway between the living room and kitchen. The closet door was ajar. A flashlight lay on the floor nearby. Slowly, hoping he wouldn’t scare the poor dog, Will eased himself down.
“Hey, Pooch,” he said, “remember me?” He switched on the flashlight, aiming the beam away from the dog so he wouldn’t startle her.
The dog made a sound, a combination whine and growl. Another damsel in distress, for sure. Panting like a bellows, she lay amid a nest of jackets, sweaters and windbreakers and at least one old towel. There was a peculiar smell, not just dog, but a rich scent of dampness. Did a dog’s water break like a woman’s?
“Since I’ve been on the job,” he said, “I’ve never attended an emergency birth. I’ve read up on it, though. In most cases, you leave things up to Mother Nature.”
“Does she look comfortable to you? I fixed her a nice basket a few weeks ago, and she seemed to like sleeping there. Then tonight she disappeared, and I found her here. She pulled some coats off the hangers.” Sarah knelt down beside him. “She has good taste. The coat underneath her is cashmere.”
“You want me to try pulling it out of there?”
“No,” she said quickly. “That coat is...from Chicago.”
She didn’t say so but Will guessed it was something she associated with her ex.
“Poor Franny,” Sarah said. “She looks as if she’s in pain.”
“When was the last time you had her at the vet?”
“A week ago. He said it was likely to be this weekend.”
“So she’s right on schedule.”
“Appears to be. Is it normal for her to be panting like that?”
Will spread his hands. “I’m way out of my realm of expertise here.”
They sat in silence for a while. The dog stirred and got up, then turned in circles before lying down again. Then she was possessed by an urge to lick herself slowly and methodically.
“How about we give her some space,” Will said, faintly embarrassed by the odd intimacy of the moment.
“Good idea.” They stood up together.
He felt clumsy, his leg tingling. “I could use a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll make you some.”
They went into the kitchen and she loaded up an old basket percolator, the kind his grandmother used to use. “Is Peet’s all right with you?”
“My favorite.”
“Oh, my God,” she said, suddenly wide-eyed.
“Something wrong?”
“Aurora. Did you leave her home alone to come here?”
“I wouldn’t have done that, not even in a town like this. I tend to be overprotective in that way. She’s spending the night at her friend’s house.”
Sarah leaned back against the counter. “This whole parenting thing—I’ve got a lot to learn.”
“You’ll learn it,” he said as she handed him a mug. “Kids have a way of giving you a crash course.”
They checked on the dog again—still licking purposefully—and had a seat on the sofa.
“So,” Will said, fully alert now and inordinately happy to see her despite the circumstances, “other than the fact that your dog is about to give birth, is everything all right?”
Sarah smelled of shampoo and vanilla flavoring. When she smiled at him, the truth struck him: The attraction here was definitely the damsel. Not the distress.
She pulled the apron taut to reveal the outline of her stomach. “I have my next doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. I think everything’s right on schedule.”
Will choked on his coffee. Damn. She’d definitely grown a belly since the last time he’d seen her.
She misunderstood his startled reaction. “Sorry. That’s probably more than you want to know. I can’t lie. But I have to admit, except for the morning sickness, I seem to be pretty good at being pregnant. My OB says if there was an Olympics for gestating, I’d be a contender.”
“Uh, that’s great.” He didn’t know what else to say.
She laughed. “I guess you’re sorry you came over. I’m giving you way too much information, I can tell.”
“It’s all right.”
She regarded him speculatively. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“I’m a nice guy. It’s something I’ve been working on, you know. Since high school.” He hoped his answer sounded neutral, noncommittal. Time for a change of subject. “So what else is new with you?”
“Well, I have a syndicate that’s going to distribute my comic strip. They say they have big plans for me, so I’m happy about that.”
“Congratulations.” He touched his mug to hers.
“The downside is that I have a lot of work to do. I kind of let myself get behind, with all that’s going on.” She gestured at a drafting table set up in a corner of the living room.
“Can I have a look?”
“Sure.”
He was surprised at how many sketches she’d done, varying the placement of a character or rewriting the words. Although it wasn’t really evident in the printed comic strip, the artistry and attention to detail came through clearly in the originals. He was intrigued by her comic strip. He recognized that embedded in the humor were her hopes, fears, dreams and aspirations. And her disappointments. “Aurora read all the episodes of Just Breathe in the archives on the Internet. She’s a fan. Her favorite character is Lulu.”
“Lulu’s got her own fan club.” Sarah hesitated, looked away. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s the person my mother would be if Mom was still alive.”
He felt a beat of sympathy for her. Jeanie Moon had died some years ago, while Sarah was away at college. He studied a sketch of Lulu treading water, saying, “Hey, you! Get out of the gene pool!”
“Why’s that?”
“It just seems like the right thing to do. She would’ve been an outstanding grandmother. God, what a mess this is turning out to be.”
“You’ll sort it out,” he said. “Don’t worry.” He shook his head. “That sounds lame as hell, but I know you’re going to be okay.” Sarah had been completely open with Will about her husband—his ambition, his illness, his infidelity. If she could survive all that, she sure as hell could raise a child without him. “You’ll be a good mom. I can tell. I was worried about having a kid but there’s really no secret. Usually the kid tells you everything you need to know.”
She was quiet for so long, he thought she might have fallen asleep. Then she asked, “What’s the story on Aurora’s mother? You don’t talk about her much.”
Whoa. “True,” said Will. “I don’t.”
“In general, or just to me?”
“She left a long time ago,” he said. “What is it you need to know?”
“There’s nothing I need to know.”
Good, he thought. Then let’s leave it at that.
There was another silence. Then she said, “Statistically, a divorced man will remarry within two years of splitting up with his first wife.”
“I’m not a statistic.”
“I know that.” He hoped she’d abandon the topic. Instead, she remarked, “You’re remarkably closemouthed about her.”
He grinned. “And you’re remarkably persistent.”
“Just say the word, and I’ll shut up.”
“I don’t want to shut you up.”
“Then tell me about Aurora’s mom. She doesn’t stay in touch with Aurora?”
“That’s...not her style. Aurora doesn’t hear from her too regularly,” he told Sarah.
“Are these questions too personal?”
“Not yet. They’re headed that way, though.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
He paused. “On whether or not my answers are going to end up in the funny pages.”