Warm Hearts

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Do your friends know that?”

  “On one level they do, but I don’t harp on it. And I know that’s my problem, too. If I were to say something or be more demanding, things might be different. But I get so wrapped up in their lives that I don’t think of my own until afterward. Take Jessica Wright. We met at an aerobics class two years ago and became friends. I really like her. She works at a local TV station, so she’s interesting and she’s fun. But her social life is like a soap opera. She called me last month—I still can’t believe this—she called me in a panic because she’d mistakenly made dates with two guys on the same day. Now, theoretically she’d have been okay. She was seeing Donald in the afternoon and Malcolm in the evening. Except she’d promised Malcolm dinner at seven, which was just about the time Donald said he’d have her back.”

  Brendan could anticipate the problem. “But she couldn’t say anything to either, because neither was supposed to know about the other?”

  She nodded. “Would you believe that both men work at the station?”

  He winced, but his thoughts were already moving ahead. “What did she have you do?” he asked cautiously.

  “I went over to her place at five, set the table and put dinner on to cook—none of which she could do earlier, or Donald would have suspected something when he picked her up.”

  “Couldn’t she have said a girlfriend was coming over?”

  “With fine china, starched linens and candlelight?”

  Brendan conceded the point with an appreciative “Not bad. So, what happened then?”

  “By the time seven rolled around, I had everything ready. Jessie had Donald drop her at another friend’s apartment. She raced through the back alleys and climbed up the fire escape to her bedroom, while I did my best to occupy Malcolm.” She combed her fingers through her bangs, which were damp again from the heat. “Forget the fact that I was late for a date myself. Jessie was so apologetic and so grateful that it didn’t seem to matter at the time. I told myself that it was one instance, that’s all. But if it isn’t Jessie, it’s someone else.” She paused for the quickest of breaths before barreling on. “Take my partners at work. They’re all wonderful, and I never mind covering for them when something comes up, but there has to be a limit somewhere, somehow, on their other demands. Maren insists that I take her shopping—”

  “You have great taste in clothes.”

  Caroline didn’t have to ask how he knew what she wore, so she asked more softly, “Do you think so?”

  He nodded.

  The pleasure his compliment brought broke the momentum of her diatribe. She smiled and sat quietly for a minute.

  “Go on,” he prompted.

  Her shoulder settled with the release of tension. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I sound just like my mother.”

  “You’re human. You need to sound off once in a while. When was the last time you did it?”

  She shrugged.

  “Then it’s long overdue. Please. Go on.”

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “You don’t need this.”

  “Go on.”

  “I must be boring you silly.”

  “You’re making me feel useful. Besides, there’s a message that’s coming for me at the end—that ‘but’ about our future together. Since I’m not sure I want to hear it, the longer you take getting there, the better.” He cleared his throat. “Now, then, you were talking about your partner, Maren, with whom you go shopping. I take it she has lousy taste in clothes?”

  Caroline sent him a you-should-only-know look. “On top of that, she has bright-red, almost orange hair and she’s on the chubby side, so the challenge of finding things that become her is that much greater.”

  “How about your other partners?”

  She raised a finger. “There’s Peter, who is a single father and needs a recreation director when his thirteen-year-old daughter is with him, which is every other weekend.” A second finger joined the first. “There’s Norman, who’s at war with his mother-in-law and needs a full-time strategist—and who, by the way, happens to be Elliot’s brother, a lovely situation.” A third finger went up. “And there’s Jason, our part-time secretary, who has discovered that he gets better grades on his college papers after I’ve done some editing.”

  “And you can’t say no?”

  “How can I? They’re my friends. They need help, so they come to me. They know I won’t refuse. But it’s been so tiring lately. Always another demand. Maybe it’s the heat—” The phone rang. Her gaze flew to the offensive instrument, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I knew it was too good to be true. Not a call all evening. This one is bound to be a doozy.”

  Brendan had to work hard to keep from laughing at her beleaguered expression. The phone rang again. “Should I get it?”

  She seriously considered that, then shook her head. “If it’s Elliot, he’d be crushed.” She glanced at the digital clock on the face of the microwave oven. “It’s pretty late. With the time difference, though, it could easily be my mother in some kind of dither. Even without the time difference, it could be Karen going into labor, or Carl about to strangle Diane—” A third ring came and Caroline pressed a fist to her forehead. “I can’t stand this.” Jumping up from the table, she snatched at the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Gladys?” asked a slow, elderly male voice.

  “Gladys,” Caroline echoed in a chagrined whisper, then said full voice, “No, this isn’t Gladys.”

  “Well, may I speak with her?” the man asked haltingly.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head, unable to restrain a smile at the humor in the situation. “I’m sorry, but there’s no Gladys here.”

  “Could you … tell me when she’ll be back?”

  She pressed two fingers to her forehead, rotated them in a slow circle. “You misunderstand. No one by the name of Gladys lives at this number.”

  “What number is this?”

  “What number are you calling?”

  There was the rustle of paper over the line. Lifting her hair off her neck with one hand, Caroline waited patiently. She looked first at Brendan then at the ceiling.

  “Here it is,” the man said slowly, and read off the number he wanted.

  “You’ve dialed wrong, sir. Why don’t you hang up and try again?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said in genuine dismay. “My fingers aren’t as steady as they used to be. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s perfectly all right,” she said, and hung up the phone. “That’s the second time he’s called,” she told Brendan. “Poor old fellow—he sounds to be close to eighty. Why do you think he’s calling Gladys so late at night?”

  “Beats me,” Brendan said with a grin.

  The grin was a little too smug. “Do you know that man?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you know something.”

  He shrugged. “Just that certain urges are timeless.”

  Caroline looked doubtful as she returned to the table. “You don’t really think that that old man…”

  Brendan shrugged again. “You could always ask him next time he calls.”

  “Mmm. Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because,” he drawled, “you’re a la-dy.”

  The smile she tried to hide came out crooked. She didn’t know how any man could be as adorable as Brendan. He was sprawled in his chair with his legs crossed at the ankles. He’d long since kicked off his sneakers. His arms were folded over his chest, and his shirt had come free of his shorts. The way he was looking at her made her heart melt, and when he used that playful drawl … On impulse, she coiled an arm around his neck, leaned down and planted a wet, loudly sputtering kiss on his beard-shadowed cheek.

  “What was that?” he asked, pulling her onto his lap.

  “A zerbert.”

  “What’s a zerbert?”

  “Haven’t you ever watched The Cosby Show? No, you haven’t, because you don’t have a telev
ision, but I do. When I heard all the hullabaloo about this terrific show, I had to watch it one time. Actually, it was funny enough to tune in more than once, but either I’m not home at the right time, or I’m on the phone, or I don’t think to turn on the TV until it’s too late.”

  “So what’s a zerbert?”

  “It’s the thing that Rudy gives Cliff, the thing I just gave you.” Levering herself from his lap, she reached for the container of Moo Shu Beef.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Reheating it.”

  “You don’t like sitting on my lap?”

  She was facing the kitchen, with her back to him. At his question, she dropped her chin to her chest. Didn’t she like sitting on his lap? A foolish question. Her arms were alive where they’d made contact with his shoulders, and the backs of her thighs weren’t the only things still tingling. “I think,” she said, letting her head fall back with an intake of breath, “that I could happily sit on your lap for the rest of tonight and most of tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that,” Brendan murmured in her ear. With barely a sound, he’d come up behind her. The length of his body conformed to hers. His arms framed her sides.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and relaxed her head against his shoulder. “Make that a week,” she breathed.

  He touched his lips to her temple. “Uh, could be a problem there. I’m supposed to fly to Detroit on Monday.”

  “For how long?”

  “Four days.”

  “Do you do things like that often?”

  “Several times a month.”

  She turned her head so that her face was against his neck. “Then I won’t have your light to look forward to at night?”

  “I could buy a timer.”

  “Not the same.”

  “You could come with me.” He made a low crisscross of his arms on her middle, bringing her that much more snugly against his thighs. “We could do all kinds of naughty things before and after my meetings.”

  “But I have to work.” Of her own accord, she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re an awesome temptation, though,” she said, and met his lowering mouth. His kiss was deep and thorough. By the time he let her up for air, she was clinging to his shoulders for support. “And an awesome kisser,” she added breathlessly.

  “Look who’s talking. Here I am, doing my best to show you that I have drives beyond the sexual, and you move this way or twist that way or come up with an expression that reduces me to a mass of live-wire hormones, when we still have to talk.”

  The moment’s silence was profound. Caroline could clearly feel both his arousal and the tiny tremors caused by the flow of desire through his limbs. She was similarly aroused, though less visibly so, and one part of her wanted nothing more than to reach down and touch him. The other part recognized the truth in his words, and her facial expression acknowledged it.

  He took her face in his hands and bent his head until their eyes met. “Tell me you’ll sleep with me tonight. I can take all the talking in the world as long as I know that.”

  “I’ll sleep with you tonight.”

  He sighed in relief, then abruptly shifted gears. Grabbing the carton of fried rice from the table, he set it in the microwave beside the Moo Shu Beef. “How long?”

  “Uh … uh … two minutes?”

  He programed in the time, turned on the microwave, then put some very necessary distance between himself and Caroline by walking around the far side of the table and resuming his seat. “Where were we?”

  “Kissing.”

  He punished her with a scowl. “Before that.”

  “Zerberts?” The teasing was a help. Her heartbeat, racing moments earlier when she’d been in his arms, was gradually returning to normal.

  He made a rewinding gesture with his hand.

  Caroline complied. “Way back then I was complaining about the people at work. But I need a break from ranting and raving. Tell me about you.”

  Brendan didn’t respond at first. He was trying to gather his wits. From time to time—like now—he caught an overall glimpse of what was happening to him and he was shaken. He couldn’t quite believe that Caroline was Caroline and that she was real and that he was suspiciously close to being head over heels in love. The last thought was the most incredible, but he didn’t know how else to explain the way his heart seemed to open up and reach for her each time she looked his way.

  “Brendan…?”

  He blinked once and regained his presence of mind. “You haven’t finished telling me about you.”

  “I’ll finish later.”

  “But I need to hear the moral of your story.”

  “It’ll come.”

  “You’d leave me in suspense?”

  She nodded. “Have you ever been married?”

  He wanted to argue more, because, despite the light-hearted tone he worked so admirably to produce, he really was anxious to hear what she had to say. But he understood her curiosity. She had a right to it. Hadn’t she just agreed to spend the night with him? Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to lay his cards on the table at the start.

  “No. I’ve never married. I came pretty close once, but the relationship died a very vocal and angry death.”

  Caroline tossed a glance toward the window and spoke softly. “When I was … fantasizing, I made a list of the reasons why you might still be single.”

  “How did you know I was—I mean, before tonight?”

  “I don’t get involved with married men,” she said, as though the simple statement answered his question.

  “You were planning on involvement?”

  “Not planning. Fantasizing. I thought that maybe you’d had an early, unhappy marriage and were divorced. Or that you’d been too involved with your career to marry. Or that you’d never found the right woman.” She paused, and her voice gentled all the more. “What happened?”

  Before he had a chance to explain, the microwave dinged. She held up a finger, pivoted to remove the containers and set them on the table. Only after she’d doled out first rice, then beef did she give a go-ahead wave with her chopsticks.

  Brendan gaped at the mound of food on his plate. “You didn’t divvy this up too evenly.”

  “I just want a little.”

  “Do you want me to talk or eat?”

  “Both.”

  “That’ll be cute.”

  “You’ll find a way.”

  Indeed, he found that by alternating between talking and eating and looking at Caroline, there was less pain in the telling of his story. “Gwen and I met as first-year law students in Boston. She was different from me—very aggressive, very sophisticated—and I found that exciting. As a couple, we worked well. We saw different sides of issues and argued them through until we’d both benefited from the debate. I had imagination, she had technique. We learned from each other.” He took time to eat some, then resumed. “I really thought that was it. We were in love. We’d graduate, get jobs, live happily ever after.”

  In her customary role now, Caroline listened intently. Brendan had no idea that her heart was beating faster as she waited for the punch line.

  “The trouble probably started in the summer before our third year, when we took jobs that theoretically were apprenticeships for what we’d be doing once we passed the bar. Gwen was interning with a corporate-law firm, I was in the district attorney’s office. We’d have good-natured arguments—at least, I thought they were good-natured, though some of them were pretty heated—about private practice versus public service. Gwen felt that the true prestige and the only stability were in private practice. I felt that the real respect and the major challenge were in public service. We each had our own, very different convictions, and they became a constant issue between us. Our arguments went on through that entire third year, and toward the end, heated was a mild word to describe them.” His features wore the memory without grace.

  “So you went your own ways after graduation?”

&nb
sp; “Oh, yes. I could have accepted Gwen’s work—even though she talked like a fat cat—if she could have accepted mine. But she wanted money, and I knew damn well that as a public servant I’d never earn it in the big way she wanted.”

  “You were angry.”

  “Yeah, I was angry. And hurt. I felt as though she’d rejected me for the pettiest of reasons. Then I realized that the reasons weren’t petty at all, and the rejection wasn’t one-sided. Gwen and I had totally different value systems. The money issue was just the final straw. In hindsight, I’m amazed that we lasted together as long as we did. I could only guess that it was because we were students and living in that kind of limbo.”

  He paused to eat, but his heart wasn’t in it. After pushing a piece of beef around his plate, he set down his fork and raised his eyes to hers. “I live well, Caroline—not extravagantly but well. Over the years I’ve saved and invested, but I’ve never been impressed with conspicuous consumption. The loft may be modest by some people’s standards, but it suits my needs. I choose to live there. Someday I may choose to live elsewhere. If so, great. Likewise, when I take a vacation, I do it the way I want. That may mean staying in a posh Caribbean resort or in a crude ski lodge, but I have the option of choosing and I exercise it.”

  Caroline could find no fault with his philosophy, which was similar to her own. Nor could she fault the candor in his eyes, the urgency, the vulnerability. Knowing that he wasn’t finished speaking, she remained quiet.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say,” he went on, propping his forearms on the table, “is that I don’t have all the money in the world, nor do I want it or need it. I love my job. Working for the government gives me rewards far beyond green stuff. Sooner or later, this attorney general will resign or be replaced in the natural transition of power, in which case I’ll be looking for a new job. Given my record, it won’t be a problem. Don’t ask me where I’ll look, because I don’t know. But I do know that I want to remain in public service.”

  Caroline felt admiration and a great deal of pride. “You sound defensive about it. There’s no need.”