Finding Mr. Right

by Gwynne Forster

  Suddenly, he wheeled around, went to his office and got his camera. Nearly a dozen times, he snapped pictures of the scene with his child asleep and nestled in the arms of the woman he loved. Unable to resist longer, he knelt beside the chair, gathered the two of them in his arms and kissed them. Her eyes opened, then closed and opened again. Then she recognized him.

  “Oh dear, I…shh.” Andy snuggled to her still asleep and unaware of the drama around him as Tyra gazed into Byron’s eyes and saw in them, more plainly than words could tell her, that he loved her. She reached out, caressed his cheek and parted her lips for his kiss.

  “Do you want me to put him in his bed?” Byron asked her.

  “Please don’t. He’ll think I didn’t want him here. Besides, I’m enjoying this. It’s the first time I ever held a child this way, and he’s so sweet.”

  “Wasn’t he too heavy for you to lift?

  She nodded. “Yes, so I asked him to crawl into my lap, and he did. The next minute, he was asleep. I don’t know when I dozed off. I didn’t realize I was sleepy.”

  “If I wasn’t looking at this, I probably wouldn’t believe it. What did you do, wave a magic wand?”

  “You told him that I was coming to see him, and he tried to be a little gentleman toward his guest. He didn’t want to take a nap because I was here to see him, so I told him we’d both take one.” She kissed the boy’s head, and he turned and moved his head to her other breast.

  “He’ll wrinkle your pants.”

  “So what? Maggie will be glad to press them. She claims she doesn’t have enough to do.”

  Andy turned again, and then he opened his eyes. “Daddy? Did Miss Tyra go home?”

  “She’s holding you in her lap.”

  “Oh.” He put his head back on the sweet spot and went to sleep.

  He could see that she didn’t plan to put the child in his bed, and he didn’t want to interrupt their bonding, because it was important to him. He got a chair and sat beside them. He wasn’t comfortable, but he figured that his comfort was of minuscule importance compared to the miracle of his son asleep in Tyra Cunningham’s arms.

  That didn’t mean Andy would accept and love Tyra and he could therefore relax. As a father, he had learned that children could shift with the wind and that Andy was not an exception. But he had hope now, and though she hadn’t said she loved him, she would after their weekend together. He bolted forward. She hadn’t agreed to it.

  “Did you agree to our weekend?” he whispered.

  “Clark got his back up when I told him I was going away with you for a weekend.”

  He was certain that his eyes grew to twice their size. “You told him?”

  “Why not? I’m grown. I never dreamed he was so old-fashioned. If he mentions it to you, you have my permission to poke him in the snoot. I wouldn’t go out of the country without telling a member of my family. I applied for my passport. Did you?”

  “Mine’s in order.” He could only stare at her. She’d just told him that she agreed to something that was going to change both their lives, and she did it with all the casualness of one friend knocking knuckles with another. He let out a long breath and decided he better get used to it.

  He realized that she wasn’t going to budge about putting Andy in his bed, so he put a CD of easy-listening music on his stereo recorder, sat down beside them and took her hand. Was she aware of that scene’s domesticity? He could definitely get used to it and to others of that ilk.

  “Byron, I’m going… Mercy be. Will you look at this?”

  He released Tyra’s hand and went to the door where Jonie stood looking as if she’d seen an aberrant phenomenon. “How’d she get him to do that?”

  “I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Aunt Jonie, and I don’t question Providence. I don’t know how she got him to climb into her lap, but he certainly likes it there.”

  She rubbed her hands together. “I guess I don’t baby him enough these days, but I don’t want him to take me for his mother. I hope you’re considering something permanent with her, Byron, because she’s really a fine woman. I got that when she shook my hand. She isn’t a glamour girl or a party hopper.”

  “Thanks. You’re right. She’s as solid as they come. I’d take you downtown, but I’d rather not leave them.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll take the bus around the corner and get off half a block from the store. Do you need anything from Macy’s?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He hadn’t planned to take Andy with him when he drove Tyra home, but he obviously wasn’t running that show. He sat down, and as he looked at Tyra and Andy, the boy crawled up higher, rested his head on Tyra’s shoulder and put his arms around her neck. Although she didn’t awaken, she adjusted her hold on him. It was too much. He got up, walked to the window and looked down at the tent. Andy loved that tent, but he’d hardly spent half an hour in it.

  She’s the one. He wheeled around to see who had spoken those words. He’d swear that he heard them, but except for Tyra and Andy, both of whom were asleep, he was alone.

  Half an hour went by, and he sat in the silence, enjoying a peacefulness that he often wished for. “Daddy. Miss Tyra, where’s my daddy? I have to go to the bathroom.” Andy scrambled from her lap and, still half asleep, started toward his father’s bedroom. Byron patted her shoulder as she sat up, took Andy’s hand, led him to the bathroom and went back to Tyra.

  “Both of you were sound asleep. Andy thinks he’s too big to take a nap, though he gets one anyway. But I could see that he enjoyed that. Would you like some lemonade, tea or coffee? Aunt Jonie went shopping, but I can get it. Andy will want ice cream.”

  “I’d love some lemonade. You know? I haven’t taken a nap in years. I feel like a million dollars.” He leaned over, teased her lips with his tongue, and when she would have sucked him into her, he released her and straightened up.

  “Daddy, can I have some ice cream? And can Miss Tyra have some too?”

  “Yes, you may, and so may she if she wants some.”

  As they sat at the kitchen table eating ice cream, he made up his mind to wait until Jonie came back. He didn’t want to take Tyra home, kiss her on the cheek and leave her. Every molecule of his body rebelled against the thought.

  “Daddy plays the piano, Miss Tyra. Do you want to hear him play?” He looked at Byron. “You promised to play me the ‘Barcarolle.’”

  “Okay. Wash your hands and we’ll go in the living room.” Byron sat down, flexed his fingers and began to play. It was a piece in which he could lose himself, and soon he did. When he finished, he saw that Andy had taken a seat on the sofa beside Tyra.

  “Play something else, Dad.”

  “What would you like to hear, Tyra?” She asked for Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto, one that he knew well and loved, and soon he let it carry him away.

  “I never dreamed that you played so beautifully. It’s surprising that you didn’t become a concert pianist,” she said. “That was exquisite”

  “I chose law, because I wanted to be able to support myself.”

  “That sure was beautiful, Byron,” Aunt Jonie said, as she entered the living room. “I haven’t heard you play in years. Not since… Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know Miss Cunningham was here.”

  “I was waiting for you to get back, because I’m not taking Andy with me.”

  “But I want to go, daddy.”

  “I can’t get back by your bedtime, so you won’t go with me this time. Tell Miss Tyra goodbye.”

  “Are you coming back to see me?” Andy asked Tyra.

  “Yes, I will. You’re a sweet, darling little boy, and I’m so glad we met. Do you think I could have a hug?”

  He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll ask my daddy to bring you back to see me.”

  Byron didn’t put too much emphasis to the long embrace between Tyra and Andy at his front door, because he knew how capable Andy was of grandstanding to prolong their departure. Still, he was much hap
pier than he would have been if his son had disliked Tyra.

  Tyra wasn’t in a daze. Overwhelmed described more precisely how she felt about her experience at Byron’s home. That she liked his son did not surprise her, because she liked well-mannered children. But the little boy hadn’t only crawled into her lap and made himself at home there, but he had made his way into her heart. Of course, his stunning resemblance to his father could have been the reason, but it went much deeper, far beyond her feeling for Byron. For the first time she had felt maternal, almost as if Andy belonged in her arms.

  “Does the weekend following Labor Day suit you for our time together?” Byron asked her as he parked in front of her house.

  Wondering why he chose a time so far in the future, she frowned. “Okay, but why so far away? That’s ages from now.”

  He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I’m glad you feel that way. It’s exactly two weeks from yesterday.”

  She didn’t back down. “It still seems like forever. Okay. I’ll tell my boss that I’ll be away that Thursday and Friday. When and what time will you come for me?”

  “Thursday morning around eight o’clock. Dress as if you’re going to Miami Beach, and bring two dresses for evening wear. If you’d like to change now, we could go to the jazz festival or the Weinberg Center, but I think we ought to have supper first.”

  “Let’s go inside.” She glanced up at him and the expression of need on his face sent shivers plowing through her body. He wanted what she wanted, but her experience with sex didn’t make the wanting so urgent for her. It was when she was in his arms that she felt she’d die if she didn’t have him.

  It had been a long time since she’d prayed. Really prayed, but as she headed up the stairs to change her clothes, she whispered, “Lord, I don’t ask for much, so please give me Byron Whitley. I need him.”

  Chapter 7

  Tyra watched Byron until he got into his car and drove off, gathered her reserves and made her way up the stairs to her room. Shaken and troubled. In five minutes he had destroyed her will, weakened her resistance and reduced her to putty. Standing in her foyer, she would have given him anything that he asked for, but he had asked only that she let him love her. She had wanted so badly to make love with him right then and right there. The immediacy of it still rocked her as she dropped down on her bed. Did she want him or any man to have such power over her?

  The minute he’d closed her front door, he went at her as if he wanted to devour her. “Love me, Tyra. I need you. Do you hear me? I need you,” he said, his voice urgent and demanding, but sweet and seductive. His big hands encircled her waist, moved up to her back and locked her to him. “Kiss me. Baby, open up to me.”

  She parted her lips and he thrust into her, grasped her buttocks with one hand and the back of her head with the other and pressed her to him, as he dipped in and out of her mouth, showing her what he intended to do to her, heating her to boiling point.

  Her blood raced to her loins and her hard nipples began to pain her. More. She wanted more. She had to have more. Wild with desire, she undulated against him, giving him a sample of what she’d be like when he finally got into her. He bulged against her. And she grabbed his hand and rubbed her aching nipple. He braced her against the wall, unbuttoned her jacket, plunged his hand into her shirt and released her breast. She held her breath until his warm and eager lips pulled the nipple into his mouth and sucked it.

  She bit her lip to keep from screaming. If only she could strip and feel him against her breast to breast and belly to belly. In spite of her efforts at control, moans escaped her and, as if that were a signal, he straightened her clothes, pulled her to him and stroked her with gentle caresses.

  “I’d better go right now while I can,” he said. “I’ll call you later. That’s as close to losing control as I’ve ever been.” She couldn’t look at him, so he nudged her chin upward. “What just happened between us was sweet and sacred, so there’s no reason to fret over it. We’ll talk later.” He didn’t say good-night, merely opened the door and left.

  Tyra sat up straight and tried to think. But after a few minutes she told herself that what had just happened to her with Byron couldn’t be explained or dealt with logically, that she loved him and maybe love automatically made a person susceptible. How would she know? This was her first experience with it. She undressed, slipped on a housecoat and went to the bathroom to prepare for bed. But as she walked, she envisioned herself alone in a private place with Byron free to do with him as she wished and just as free to accept whatever he wanted to give her. She hugged herself and skipped right into her brother, who bounced up the stairs and on to the hallway.

  “You’re very happy about something…or someone,” he said, leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Did you see Byron today?”

  “He brought me home a minute ago. I spent the afternoon at his house with his aunt and his little boy, and then we went to dinner and the jazz concert at Weinberg. It was a wonderful day.”

  “How’d you like his son?”

  “He’s a darling, sweet, but just as no-nonsense as his dad. We got on fine. What’d you do?”

  “I took Darlene to a meeting in Washington. She was ready to drive and didn’t have enough gas to start the engine. I told her she needs a nanny. You still planning on a weekend with Byron?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll let you know. Gosh, Clark. This business of being in love makes you so vulnerable. It gives the other person so much control over your happiness, even if he doesn’t know it.”

  Clark rubbed his hand across his brow, and his expression was that of a wise and experienced man. “Look, Sis. Don’t worry about that as long as you know he loves you. You’ll learn that if the guy loves you, he may be a lot more vulnerable to you than you are to him. Byron’s a tough guy, but I’ll bet you’ve never seen that toughness in him. You probably won’t, either.”

  How easy it was to love the whole world and everybody in it. She hugged him. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that. Good night.” When she returned from the bathroom, her cell phone was buzzing, and she thought she’d fly out of herself. “Hi.”

  “I was just about to hang up. Surely you weren’t already asleep.”

  “No. I was in the shower. I’ll probably never sleep again. I’m on some kind of high, and it’ll be a miracle if I settle down enough to fall asleep.”

  “Tell me about it. Did you ask to have your passport expedited?”

  “Yes, so I should have it in a couple of days.”

  “Good. I’m not sure I could handle a disappointment in this.”

  “Byron, I’m sure you can handle anything that’s given to you.”

  “Thanks for your confidence. You’re good for a guy’s ego.”

  Ego-building wasn’t on her agenda. She wanted him to know what he meant to her, and she didn’t want to come right out and tell him, at least not yet. “I didn’t have your ego in mind, I was thinking of the way I see you.”

  “The effect’s the same. Sleep well, darling. Good night.”

  “Good night, love.” She hung up, wondering when, if ever, she would be with him always.

  Byron had begun to feel uncomfortable in the role of advisor to Murphy Tate. He knew the man was within his rights in refusing his daughter’s request, but he personally did not agree with the man’s position. He had found in his years of law practice that what was legal and considered just by law was not always the humanitarian solution, and this was such a case. He’d do what he could, but his heart was not in it.

  His two hours weekly at the Legal Aid Society had always given him pleasure in helping his fellowman, but he didn’t feel that way now. Perhaps he was tired. He could have taken Tyra to his summerhouse on the Chesapeake Bay, but he didn’t want either of them to have to do housekeeping chores. Besides, it would be too much like marriage or shacking up, and he had a way to go before he reached that point, if indeed he ever did. He could imagine himself married to Tyra and fathering their children, and
if that happened, he’d be a happy man. But he could also imagine himself not doing it if their relationship failed to go smoothly over the next couple of months.

  For himself alone, he knew that Tyra was the one, but he had Andy to think about. So far so good, but time would tell the story. He answered the intercom.

  “This is Whitley.”

  “Mr. Whitley, a Mr. Cameron is on the phone. He wants to consult with you about suing for divorce.”

  “Thanks. Put him on the phone.” The phone light blinked, and he lifted the receiver. “This is Byron Whitley. What may I do for you?” He listened to a litany of accusations against the man’s wife, and decided that he didn’t want to hear more of it. “Mr. Cameron, I’m not an expert on divorce. Louis Chambers, one of my partners, handles divorce for us. If you’d like, I’ll switch you over to him.” He punched Louis’s extension. “This guy’s headed for a long and messy divorce. Take it or leave it.”

  “Thanks, Byron. That’s the kind that pays the most money.”

  He answered his cell phone. “Daddy, can me and you and grandpa go fishing? Aunt Jonie said she wanted fish for dinner.”

  He couldn’t help laughing. Andy always found easy solutions to every problem. He supposed the good thing was that, if things weren’t as he thought they should be, the child always sought a solution. “We can’t go fishing today, son, because I won’t get home early enough, but tell Aunt Jonie that I’ll buy some fish at the market on my way home.”

  “You will? Okay. I’ll tell her. Bye.”

  He hung up, propped his elbows on his desk and cradled his head in his hands. For a little over four years, Andy had been his whole life, and when the pain of loneliness for a different kind of love began to bear upon him, Tyra came into his life, just the woman he needed. It had to work. He’d make it work. He’d teach them to love each other.