by Beverly Long
“I do have to go,” he said, his voice quiet. There was no point discussing this anymore. He looked up and down the street. “I’m going to get the pulley. I don’t like the idea of leaving you here by yourself.”
She stuck her nose in the air. “Don’t worry about me. I’m used to being alone and that doesn’t look like its going to change anytime soon.”
“Melody,” he said, trying to convince her to be reasonable.
She waved a hand, cutting him off. “You know what really gets me?” she asked. “It’s your ego. You’ve turned me down now a couple times. I’ve gotten the message. So, maybe, just maybe, when I asked the question about sex, I wasn’t even thinking about you.”
He wiped the back of his hand across his sweating forehead. He could feel the sandwiches Bessie had made for him turn in his stomach. “What?”
She shrugged. “Maybe there are other people who might not be as picky.”
The thought of her with another man made him see red around the edge of his vision. “Last time I checked, Mrs. Johnson,” he said, “you were married to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “For now,” she said, dismissing him. She stared at the door. “Can we please just get this over with and go home?”
He got out. “Lock the doors,” he said.
She let out a sigh. But she did it.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She didn’t answer. He was fairly certain she didn’t care if he ever came back.
***
She was a shrew. A rip-roaring bitch. An evil, needy, clingy, little woman. She was. . .oh, just face it, pathetic. That was really the best adjective to describe her.
As soon as George got inside the building, Melody rolled down her window and let some air into the hot car. Given the way her mouth had been going, she figured it was a toss-up as to whether there was more hot air outside or inside the vehicle.
George wasn’t the bad guy here. She’d hired him to do a job. She should probably appreciate that he wasn’t the kind of man to sleep with his female boss. It was admirable. Frustrating as hell, but admirable.
When she’d decided to seduce him, she hadn’t factored in a will of pure steel. She’d given up gracefully the night before but today, his just say no attitude had put her in a tailspin. Maybe it was because of what had happened in the doctor’s office. He’d been holding her hand when she’d gotten her first glimpse of Jingle. They’d been connected, the three of them. And maybe for just a minute she let herself believe that they really were a family.
But it wasn’t true. He was leaving soon���with her threats of sleeping with someone else ringing in his ears. Earlier she’d felt sophomoric. Well, this was worse. She’d been deliberately hurtful.
It wasn’t how she wanted him to remember her. She owed him an apology. She’d had every right to invite him to her bed, but he also had every right to turn her down. It hurt but she couldn’t argue that she was getting anything worse than she deserved.
Ten minutes later, she saw him exit Peterson’s Plumbing, his arms wrapped around a large box. She pressed the trunk release and felt the back end of the car sink down when he loaded it. He opened the door. “Here,” he said and handed her a plastic cup. “I put it in my pocket but I spilled a little on the way.”
He’d brought her water.
She felt the hot rush of tears and she blinked hard.
He got in the car and reached for the cup. “Melody, you don’t have to drink it,” he said, his voice thick with concern.
She hung onto the cup with both hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Look, I was an idiot earlier and I’m being an idiot now. I’d like to blame my hormones or the swelling in my ankles but I can’t.”
She stopped and waited for a response. He didn’t say anything.
She started the car and pressed on the gas, pretending to be totally focused on pulling out onto the street. After a minute, she risked a quick look at him. George was studying her, frowning.
She returned her focus to the road—it was so much easier not looking at him. “There’s a strip mall a mile or so up the road,” she said, changing subjects. “We should probably stop there. We didn’t buy you anything the other day that will be appropriate for Grandmother’s dinner party. You’ll need pants for sure. Maybe a jacket. I don’t know about a tie.”
My God, she was babbling. But since there was only silence from his side of the car, somebody needed to fill it. “That sound okay to you?” she asked and forced herself not to cringe. She sounded like an overanxious used car salesperson trying to convince somebody to buy a lemon. That sound okay to you that it only gets seven miles to the gallon? That sound okay to you that it only starts about half the time?
“Melody,” he said finally, his voice soft.
“Yes.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you.”
She bit the inside of her mouth. She would not cry. She would not. She gripped the steering wheel and took a sharp left. She took her time looking for a parking spot, then busied herself shutting off the car and putting her keys into her purse.
Without looking at him, she opened her door. She started to get out but he gently grabbed her wrist. “Melody,” he said.
She was so not going to have any more conversation about this. There wasn’t enough tea in China. She turned toward him and gave him a big, if not sincere, smile. “Great. Glad we could clear that up. Now, let’s get those pants.”
For a minute she thought he was going to push the issue but then he got out and followed her across the parking lot. She was relieved. Maybe he’d realized how close to the edge she was, how slim her handle on control was, and had decided that he didn’t want to risk a full-fledged meltdown in the mall parking lot.
Once inside the store, she let the over-attentive salesman take charge and in less than fifteen minutes, they were back in the car with a new pair of charcoal-gray dress pants and a blue dress shirt.
“I want to pay for my own clothes,” George said.
She’d seen the set of his jaw when she’d handed over her credit card to pay for his clothes and figured that it galled him to be so dependent upon her. “I owe you money, anyway. Just think of it as an advance against your salary.”
“Fine. Don’t forget about what you bought the other day at the Target store.”
It was clear. He didn’t intend to be indebted to her. That was fine with her. After all, this was business.
It’s not that I don’t want you.
She gripped the steering wheel. It had stopped being business a long time ago. Now, it was very, very personal. She started the car and pulled out of the lot. She needed to get home and get away from him. Before she did something really stupid—like start begging.
She reached over and turned on the radio. George sat forward in his seat and stared at the dashboard. “I hope you like talk radio,” she said. Because if he didn’t, it was too damn bad. She was done talking.
He nodded and from the look in his eye, he was intrigued with the discussion about home rule and the impact that recent noise legislation might have on the fall harvest. Fifteen minutes later, she parked her car in her grandmother’s driveway and turned it off, once again blasting them into silence. She frowned at George when he ran his hand across the dash. What was he doing?
“Look, I think people will begin to arrive by five or so,” she said. Oh Lord, how was she going to pull this off?
“I’ll be ready,” he promised. He touched her hand. Gently. “It’ll be fine, Melody. We can do this.”
No. She didn’t think so. He wanted her. But it didn’t matter because for some crazy reason, that wasn’t enough. “You better get that pulley down to the shed,” she said briskly, hoping to change the subject. “I imagine Arturo’s back by now and chomping at the bit to get it installed.”
“I’ll take it to him now,” he said.
Great. That meant he’d be out of the room. She pushed the trunk-release button with a renewed sense of co
nfidence. Maybe it would be okay. She’d get herself under control and he’d never know that with seven simple words, he’d rocked her world.
It’s not that I don’t want you.
She reached into the backseat for the sacks. “I’ll take these in for you.” She opened her door at exactly the same moment the front door opened and Tilly came out of the house. She was wearing a low-cut, tight, yellow sweater, even tighter white pants, and when she walked toward the car, on ridiculously high-heeled white sandals, she wobbled as if she might have gotten into the wine early.
Melody expected George to grab the pulley and run but he calmly got out and stood by her side. “Hello, Tilly,” she said.
Her aunt eyed the packages. “I thought you had a doctor’s appointment.”
“I did. We did a little shopping afterwards.”
Tilly swayed toward George. “I love to shop,” she declared, then she giggled.
Oh, brother. As she had suspected, the woman was drunk or close to it. “Where’s Grandmother?” Melody asked.
Tilly rolled her eyes. “Killing the fatted calf in your honor.”
So she and George weren’t the only ones not crazy about the idea of a dinner party to celebrate their marriage. “I should probably check on her,” Melody said to George.
“I’ll be happy to keep your husband company,” Tilly announced.
George’s face never even changed expressions. “I’ve got to get this pulley to the shed.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Tilly said.
“Ma’am, with all due respect,” he said in a tone that made it clear that he didn’t think much respect was due, “you don’t look all that steady in those shoes. I think you better go on inside.”
He’d said he could handle Tilly and gosh darn, he could. It was sweetly satisfying to see her aunt’s face turn red.
“I’ve got better things to do anyway,” Tilly said, tossing her hair. “Maybe I won’t even come to this damn party.” Then she hiccuped, ruining the effect of outrage. “For once,” Tilly added, “Genevieve seems to have beaten me to the punch.”
“What?” Melody asked.
“Your great-aunt has disappeared into her room again.”
Melody knew Tilly wasn’t lying. Dionysos and Hermes hadn’t bounded out of the house when they’d pulled in. If she’d have been thinking, she’d have realized how odd that was. It could only mean that they’d taken their positions outside the door of Aunt Genevieve’s room.
Melody wanted to tell Tilly not to bother to come, that it wouldn’t be any skin off her back, but she held her tongue. No doubt her grandmother would be upset with Genevieve’s behavior but she’d be even more devastated if Tilly and Louis weren’t there for the party. There’d be too many questions from the neighbors, too many explanations to have to make.
“I’ve got to go check on Grandmother,” Melody said.
George nodded, grabbed the box out of the trunk, and took off for the shed.
When Melody got to the house, she turned around to look. Tilly still stood next to the car, looking angrier than Melody had ever seen her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When George walked down the stairs, he realized that guests had already started to arrive. Melody, standing near the front door, talked with a man and woman who looked to be in their early sixties. George ignored them and focused on his wife.
She was lovely. She’d put her long hair up on top of her head and she had on a black dress that hugged her belly and ended at her ankles. She’d taken off the shoes that showed her pink toenails and put on some flat-heeled, shiny black shoes with ribbons on them.
She was the most delicately made woman. And he desperately wanted to bed her.
She looked up and caught him staring at her. Her eyes widened and he knew that he had been too slow, that he hadn’t been able to wipe the longing off his face.
Christ, now what? Nothing had changed from this afternoon. He couldn’t take her and then leave. He just needed to somehow, someway, get through this night.
She motioned for him to join her. When he got close, she said, “George, this is Margaret and Donald Trippert. They own the next property north of here.” She turned to the older couple. “This is my husband, George Johnson.”
“It’s a pleasure,” George said, shaking their hands.
“Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Margaret said. “Melody has practically been like a daughter to us. In fact,” she added, smiling, “we always hoped she and our son Mark would pair up. You know, they dated all through high school. He’ll be disappointed to know that he’s out of the race.”
“Mark is such a great guy,” Melody said.
What the hell did she mean by that? Was she just being nice?
Mrs. Trippert beamed. “You know he’s coming home in September for the class reunion. Maybe the two of you can get together, catch up on old times.”
“I’d love that,” Melody said.
George kept a smile on his face even though he suddenly wanted to kill the faceless Mark. Maybe it was Mark who Melody had been thinking of when she’d asked the doctor if she could have sex?
Would it be Mark who raised Melody’s child? Would Baby Girl Jingle call this man Father?
He tugged on Melody’s hand. “I think your grandmother wants us in there,” he said, nodding toward the dining room.
Melody motioned for the Tripperts to proceed them. “Oh, god,” she murmured.
His heart stopped. “The baby?”
“No. Rebecca Fields is here. I bet she’s Bernard’s date.”
He searched the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find Rebecca. She wore a bright red dress that ended more than six inches above her knee and she had on gold shoes that had at least a three-inch heel.
“She really is beautiful,” Melody said, her tone almost wistful.
She was, he supposed, but all he could think about was that Rebecca’s bare knees did nothing for him while Melody’s made him want to pant like a rabid dog. It wasn’t fair.
Maybe Mark Trippert liked Melody’s knees, too. “So, how come you haven’t mentioned this Mark Trippert?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because I haven’t thought about him in years.”
“It sounds like you were close. Maybe he’d have liked the opportunity to play husband?” he whispered, feeling the need to vent a little of his frustration.
She laughed and leaned closer to his ear. Her breath was warm and sweet and her skin smelled like summer flowers. “Mark Trippert is an incredibly sweet, handsome man who, last I heard, was living with his boyfriend in San Francisco. I’m not sure if his parents don’t know or simply pretend to not know.”
In his time, there’d been men who preferred men, too. He’d never understood it but never judged either. Now it just made him incredibly happy.
They’d reached the arched doorway leading to the piano room. The double doors were open to the balcony outside and he could see a woman in a long dress in the far corner playing a harp. There were candles everywhere, flowers poured from vases, and there were platters and platters of food scattered around the room.
It made him think about Tilly and her comment that Pearl was killing the fatted calf. He glanced around the room and found both Tilly and Louis at the edge of the gathering. Each had a drink in hand and bored looks on their faces.
Bernard sat next to Rebecca Fields, but her attention seemed to be focused on the two younger men who hung on her other side. She was trouble, and he hoped Bernard soon tired of waiting on her.
“There you are,” Pearl said. She leaned forward and gave Melody a kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely, dear. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Grandmother, this is a wonderful party. I. . .uh, we weren’t expecting all this. You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure to be able to celebrate your marriage and the impending birth of my great-grandchild.” She turned around and with a flourish clapped her hands several times. “M
ay I have your attention, please. May I have your attention.”
It took a moment for the room to quiet down but soon enough all eyes were on them. He hoped like hell he’d remembered to pull up the zipper on his trousers.
“My friends know that I’m not one for speeches,” Pearl said. “But there are some occasions in life that simply call for it.” She paused and the crowd waited.
“I’m a blessed woman. I have my home, and all of you as my friends, and my dear family. I have lived a life of great joy. But little gives me more happiness than to be able to present my granddaughter, Melody, and her new husband, George.”
The crowd clapped and he could feel Melody start to shake. “Speech, speech,” someone cried out.
Christ. If she started to talk, she’d probably blurt out the truth. Aw, shucks, we’re not really married.
It might be the thing to get Tilly and Louis to perk up. Maybe even get Aunt Genevieve out of her room. George stepped forward. “I suspect I’m even less for speeches than Pearl Song,” he said. The folks in the room smiled at him. It didn’t make him any less nervous.
He glanced at Melody and she was smiling at him, suddenly looking relaxed, as if she were confident that he could handle this. He stood up straighter. “My wife and I are grateful to have all of you here tonight to help us celebrate, and I am thankful for the chance to meet all of you who are important to her.”
He stepped back and everyone in the room clapped. Everyone except Tilly. She drained her glass and reached for the bottle.
Pearl looked pleased. “Thank you, George. We’re delighted to have you as part of the family. Now, if you’ll all follow me, we’ll have dinner.”
The next hour went fairly smoothly. Melody was to his right and Bernard to his left. Bernard generally ignored him except to pass a dish—his attention being solely focused on Rebecca Fields, who entertained their end of the table with stories of mishaps on her television show. George now understood the whole television thing, having witnessed Pearl watching the news.