by Holly Jacobs
"Pretty soon someone will be yelling, 'Hey, Norm,' when we come in," Samantha joked.
Since Cheers was well before the kids' time, the only one who got the joke was Harry, who'd laughed easily. He liked having a small inside joke with her.
Who was he kidding, he liked everything about her.
They ate and joked, and unlike their other meals, Stan joined in and seemed to enjoy himself. Harry wasn't sure what to make of the change, just as he wasn't sure what to do about Samantha's invitation.
The meal finished, Harry said, "I guess I better get going."
"Mr. Rem, could you come home with us?" Stella asked. "Mommy lets me play outside 'til dark, and maybe you could push me on the swing for a while."
"I'm afraid it will be dark before we'd get back to your house," Harry replied.
"But if you come with me, Mommy would still let me go out for a few minutes. We have a big backyard light," Stella wheedled.
"And we have ice cream in the fridge, and we could have dessert," Seton chirped up. "If Mom says so," he hastened to add.
"Mom will say so. We all ate some salad," Shane jumped in with the kind of certainty that only an eleven-year-old could muster.
Harry looked at Samantha and shrugged, not sure how she'd want him to answer.
She seemed to understand his dilemma. "Mr. Rem might have other plans, still Harry, we'd love to have you join us for some ice cream and swinging if you're able to, if not, we'll understand." There was warning in her voice, telling the kids they weren't to whine if his answer was no.
Rather than no, Harry found himself saying, "I'd love to."
AND THAT'S WHAT THEY DID. Some swinging, followed by ice cream sundaes all around. Stan even asked Harry for some help with his algebra homework.
Harry kept thinking he should go, but couldn't seem to manage it, which was why he was still at the Williamses' house when Samantha had disappeared upstairs to get Stella ready for bed.
Harry and the boys were watching wrestling on television, when Stella came down in her pajamas. "Mr. Rem, would you like to read me my story tonight?" she asked. "Mommy said it would be all right."
Something melted in him as he looked at the little girl in her pink nightgown. "Sure, I'd love to."
Harry was soon sitting in the pink bedroom reading a book about ten monkeys in a bed.
"No, no," Stella hollered. "You've got to sing it." She hummed the tune.
"Are you sure you want me to sing?" he asked Stella. "I mean, I don't want to give you nightmares. . .it's bad."
The little girl giggled and nodded, so Harry obliged.
Stella's clapping interrupted him. "You sing real good, Mr. Rem," she said, then snuggled closer as he finished the book, humming along with him until the end of the story.
"I'm glad you're back, Mr. Rem," Stella murmured as he finished the story.
Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm glad to be back, Stella."
He hurried out of the room and simply stood in the hall. He had missed not just the kids, but Samantha, too. Everything seemed. . . He searched for a way to explain it. Brighter. Yes, everything seemed brighter with her around.
Samantha peeked in at Stella, then shut the door gently behind her.
The murmur of the television drifted up the stairs, punctuated by the occasional whoop of one of the boys.
Harry wasn't sure what to say, so he settled for, "Thanks for tonight. I should probably be going. . . ."
Even as the words left his mouth, he realized he didn't want to. His place was too quiet.
Samantha nodded. "You probably should, but before you do, we could do this. . . ."
He didn't have time to be surprised, as her lips touched his. He wrapped his arms around her, loving how she felt against him. Loving the taste of her, the feel of her. Wanting this moment to go on, and on. . .
"Mom, Seton lost the remote, and the wrestling match is over and we want to change the channel," Stan called from the bottom of the stairs.
"I didn't lose it," Seton retorted.
"I guess it's too much to ask that they get up and change the channel manually, or get up and look for the remote?" Samantha called back. She turned to Harry. "Sorry."
"Should we talk—" he started to ask.
"No. We should go find the remote before they start a riot."
"Sam?"
"Listen, Harry. Nothing's changed. We both have baggage and you're still leaving. Going back to your old school, your family and friends, your Saturday morning basketball games. . ."
Harry knew he should be chomping at the bit to get back to Columbus, but for the life of him, he didn't want to be anywhere but here, with Samantha.
"I know, but—"
"And I'm taking my own advice. I'm going to forget about the past, stop worrying about tomorrow and live in the moment. And at the moment, I'd like to invite you out this weekend. My ex has the kids and it would be just the two of us with no interruptions," she added.
"Sami, are you sure?"
"No, but I'm sick to death of second-guessing myself. I'd really like to spend the weekend with you. I know I can get by on my own. This last year has taught me that I don't need anyone to lean on. But Harry, I simply like having you around. I could push you away now, try to save myself some pain when you go, but then I'd miss out on these last few weeks with you. That's just dumb. So, what do you say, want a date this weekend?"
He nodded, what had to be a goofy grin grew on his face. "What do you have in mind? We could go away for the weekend."
She shook her head. "There's Grunge and Marmalade. So if you don't mind, it would be easier to just stay in."
"I don't mind at all," he assured her.
"Mom, we don't want to watch this," Shane called again.
"A weekend with no interruptions," she told him as she started down the stairs. "Oh, my goodness, just look at that. Three boys on the couch. That's six legs and not one of them appears to be broken."
The but-moms started. Harry smiled as he listened to them. He wasn't sure what brought about Samantha's change of heart, but he wasn't going to argue. He would simply take her advice and forget about the past, stop worrying about the future and just enjoy the moment, because right now the moment looked pretty near perfect.
And this weekend looked to be the same.
Chapter Ten
The week should have sped by.
Each morning Samantha left home, dropped the kids off at school, hurried to work, then back to the school for pageant practice. There, she ran lines with thirty kids, and choreographed the staging, as well. She fit costumes, sorted out the scenery and drafted a program. Then dinner, homework, bedtimes. It was grueling and she didn't feel as if she had a minute to catch her breath. . .except when she was in Harry's arms.
That first time he'd touched her she felt as if something had been rekindled in her, and that it was growing as they spent more time together.
Every afternoon, Harry stayed to help with rehearsals, then had dinner with them.
Stan still seemed okay with Harry being around, and the other kids were thrilled. They thrived on Harry's attention, and he lavished it on them, as much as he did on her. It was as if a floodgate had been opened and things she hadn't known she'd been holding on to were finally free to come to the surface.
It wasn't just the sexual tension, although that was a part of it. It was the sharing. Homework, games, his simply watching a show with them.
She warned herself not to get too dependent, too close, and to harden her heart. But every time she saw him roughhousing with the boys, or reading to Stella, she melted.
By Friday, she was a basket case of nerves.
She wasn't really second-guessing her invitation; however, last night as she shaved her legs in anticipation of tonight, it had struck her that no man had seen her post-baby body except her ex. And Phillip had been there as the changes gradually stole away her girlish figure and replaced it with something more. . .well, padded. Things had
rearranged, and stretched. Time had seen to that.
Her stomach sucking had helped. There was definitely a hardness to her abs that had been missing since her teens. Unfortunately, the muscles were covered with a soft cushion that was new.
Friday afternoon, she couldn't seem to keep her place in the poem as the kids recited it.
"Samantha, are you okay?" Harry finally asked.
She wasn't. She needed to be talked down, and there were only two people she trusted to do that for her. "Harry, do you mind running through the poem again with the kids while I go make a call?"
"Sure. No problem."
Samantha hurried out into the hall and made a quick, emergency conference call to Michelle and Carly.
"Sorry to bother you guys, but I need to talk," she began.
"Sure," came their stereo reply.
"Problems with the pageant?" Carly asked. "I can be there next week "
"No. Problems with. . ." Samantha felt a stab of embarrassment. "I. . .you see, I'm about to have Harry over tonight. The kids are going to their Dad's and—"
"Oh, over," Carly said with the proper emphasis on the word.
"Yeah. And the problem is, I haven't had a man over in years." She went on to explain her pre-baby, post-babies predicament
Michelle's voice was soft with sympathy. "You're scared."
"Not scared exactly, more nervous." Samantha caught herself in the lie. "Yes, scared. I'm scared out of my gourd. That's why I called. It couldn't wait until our next meeting."
"I thought you and Harry decided to back off?" Carly asked.
"We did. It didn't stick." She peeked through the door and saw Harry, surrounded by third-graders reciting,
"She's stuffing the turkey
And kneading the rolls.
She's mashing the potatoes
And filling the bowls.
The oven is heating and so are the pots
To fill all the family, her husband and tots."
"He's helping the third-graders with their lines now. How can I resist a man who not only reads bedtime stories to my daughter and puts up swings in the yard, but doesn't mind leading thirty kids in a Thanksgiving poem?"
"Sam, the only thing you've mentioned is how good Harry is with kids. There has to be more to it than that, or it's not worth it," Michelle ventured.
"More to it?" Samantha repeated. "I wish that was all there was to how I feel about Harry. If it was just that he's great with kids, it would be easy to do this, to know I'm going to have him over, and he's still going to leave in a few weeks. There's no rational explanation. He's nice. He's smart. I've never seen him kick a dog. But there are a lot of men who fall into that category."
"Maybe not as many as you think," Carly muttered.
Samantha laughed. "Okay, maybe not. Those reasons are a part of, but not all of, my attraction to Harry. He touches me. Something I thought died a long time ago came back to life the moment he placed his hand on my shoulder, oh, so platonically. Being with him makes me realize how hollow my relationship with Phillip had become. Everything we did centered around the kids. We lost us somewhere along the line. Sometimes I wonder if we really had an us because with Harry, it's there. There's an us. The kids are part of it, but there would be an us without the kids. There's an indescribable connection. I tried to ignore it, to pretend it away, but I couldn't. Even though I know it won't last, I want more with him."
"Then from everything you've said about him, if Harry feels even a percentage of what you feel, he's not going to notice that your body's been lived in. He's only going to see you, Sam. And you are one of the most beautiful ladies I've ever known," Michelle reassured her. "If it's right, it will be all right. Does that make sense?"
"I'd say something as moving and brilliant," Carly said, "but I'd never manage it, so I'll just say ditto."
Samantha laughed again. Some of the unbearable pressure seemed to have eased. "Thanks, guys."
"You call again if you need us," Michelle said.
"Any time you need us," Carly added. "And you might want to warn Harry that if he hurts you, we'll track him down."
"I'm going into this with my eyes wide open. I know he's not here to stay, and I also know that the pain of him leaving is worth this."
She promised to call them next week, and hurried back to the gym, feeling much better.
". . .then Mother sat down at her holiday chair,
And looked at the meal she made with such care.
She realized Thanksgiving wasn't the rolls,
The turkey, the stuffing or heaping bowls.
She looked at the faces of Joe, Bob and Ann,
She looked at her husband, she looked at her friends.
Thanksgiving's a day to remember to start
Saying thanks for the things that are near to our
heart."
As if on cue, Harry turned around and looked at her, his smile as warm as his eyes.
It was all she could do not to walk over and throw her arms around him, to tell him that he meant more to her than his attributes she could list. He was more than a man who was good with kids—good with her kids. He was more than his intelligence, or his caring. He was. . . Harry was just more.
When he looked at her like that, with those knowing, warm eyes, she forgot that she was nervous about her body, nervous about a first time with a man. She forgot everything except the fact that Harry was more.
She didn't dare go any further in trying to define what she felt for him, because if she did—if she put a name to the more-ness—it would hurt too much to let him go.
He saw her as a rebound woman, someone he liked, and maybe cared for. But she saw him as more.
"Samantha, are you okay?" Harry called.
She gave herself a mental shake and forced a smile. On her approach, she replied, "I'm fine. How about we run through the play one more time before everyone's parents come?"
"You sure everything's okay?" Harry asked softly.
She smiled. "Everything's fine."
She recited the poem again with the kids, while Harry helped the boys with the set. Parents started trickling in and she made sure all of them got next week's schedule as they gathered kids and backpacks and left for their weekends.
Phillip came in, a tall, lean blonde in tow. "Hi, Samantha."
"Hi, Phillip."
The woman with her ex didn't wait for introductions. "Hi, Samantha. I'm Lois." Her expression said she was nervous and unsure of her reception.
Samantha nodded reassuringly. "I assumed. I'm glad I finally get to meet you."
"I thought it was time. I know if some woman was spending weekends with my kids, I'd want to meet her and check her out." She offered her hand.
Samantha shook it and said, "The kids have mentioned you so frequently and had such good things to say about you. It's nice to have the chance to thank you for taking care of them."
"See, I told you. Samantha and I are going to get along fine." Lois elbowed Phillip, who grinned at her good-natured teasing. "I keep telling him I'm always right, but he doesn't believe me. Someday he will."
Samantha chuckled, liking Phillip's girlfriend more than she'd have imagined she could.
Stella spotted her father and screamed, "Daddy," as she ran across the gym floor and threw herself into his arms.
"We'll be down in a minute, Dad," Seton called from the stage.
While Phillip was busy listening to Stella's litany about her week at school, Lois handed Samantha a piece of paper. "I've put my numbers on it, work, too. If you think of any questions, I'd be happy to answer them and put your mind at ease. Phillip said not to come on too strong. I'm not looking for us to be best friends, but I'd like the two of us to be friendly. So, this isn't me trying to force anything, but rather me just trying to make things as easy on you and on the kids as I can. I'm hoping I'm here to stay." She glanced at Phillip and Stella, and there was a look in her eyes that Samantha recognized.
She suspected she had the same look
when she saw Harry.
Samantha took the paper. "I think I'm hoping you are, too."
"Maybe we could do coffee sometime? You can fill me in on what sort of rules you keep at your house, and I'll try my best to keep them at ours, as well. The kids need consistency, and they need to know they're loved. I'll confess, I'm learning to love them a lot."
"And they sound as if they're learning to love you, too. Coffee sounds great. Maybe over the Thanksgiving holiday?"
"It's a date." Lois's relief was evident on her face.
Phillip came over, Stella wrapped around his neck, and hanging down his back.
"We're going to do coffee over the holiday break," Lois said without preamble.
She kissed Phillip's cheek.
Samantha smiled. "Phillip, we all have to put the kids first. And I'm looking forward to getting to know Lois better."
They walked as a group to her car, where she pulled out the kids' overnight bags. She kissed her children, even Stan, who groaned. "I'll see you guys Sunday night. Call and say goodnight, okay?"
"They'll call," Lois promised. She herded the kids and Phillip toward his car.
Harry had hung back, giving Samantha some time to herself as he locked up the school. "Well, I couldn't help but notice she seems. . .energetic."
Samantha grinned. "That's a good word. She also seems nice. I'm glad for Phillip, and even more, I'm glad for my kids. Lois seems genuine in wanting to do what's best for them. And kids can't have too many people caring about them."
"That's not how these things normally work. People hate their exes."
"I don't. Phillip walking out wasn't all on him. At some point, we'd both stopped trying. How can I hate him for being the first one to realize how. . . well, how not happy we were? I don't approve of how he left, and I really hate what he put the kids through, but he's back on track now and he's trying. And part of that is thanks to Lois. I should get along with her for that reason alone."
Harry was grinning at her with a knowing look on his face.
"I'm no saint," she protested. "And I've heard you talk about Teresa. You don't hate her, either."
"Guilty. And although I'm over her, I do miss Lucas."