by Eileen Wilks
Her heart beat a little harder. "I know. But if…" It was ridiculously hard to come out and say it. She made herself press on. "If I did agree to marry you, they'd be my family, too. And I like that idea. I like them."
His grip tightened. "I'd like to think there's more to like about me than my brothers."
She felt an urge to yank her hand back. He was holding it too tightly. Not hurting her – Ben would always be careful of his strength with a woman. Just … holding on when she didn't want him to. "There is, of course, but I'm going to be blunt. We aren't in love. If we were to marry, it would be for other reasons, and your family is one of the reasons I'm considering it. Zach needs family."
"I care about you."
"I'm glad. But, Ben…" Gently she tugged until he released her hand. She used it to smooth the napkin in her lap and tried a teasing smile. "Admit it. You would have asked me to marry you if I'd been … oh, Cruella DeVille or Lucretia Borgia. Because of Zach."
His face relaxed into a slight smile. "Maybe. But if you were Lucretia Borgia, I'd be having some second thoughts."
She laughed. "Well, then. Honesty is a good starting point, isn't it?"
"If honesty is what you want, I'm in luck." He was still smiling, but his eyes were very direct, very dark. "I'm better at saying things straight out than I am at tact. I want you, Gwen."
She believed him. For the first time, she felt that he wanted her, not just her son. It stirred her, made her feel uncertain, flattered – and restless. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way. "But what do you want or expect from marriage? Other than Zach, that is."
"Family. I want a family. I want kids running around on the lawn, getting in trouble and needing bedtime stories read to them. I want to be there the next time a child of mine is born."
Quietly she said, "I'm not sure I want to have more children. It's a health issue for me."
That bothered him. She saw it in the way his eyes left hers, in the slight twitch of his shoulders, as if he'd tried to shrug it off. And couldn't. She waited for him to ask what was wrong, to ask why.
He didn't. "There's adoption, if we decide we want more children."
Duncan would have asked. As quickly as the thought arose, she shoved it away. "I don't know. It might not be easy for me – for us – to adopt. I'm not sure an adoption agency would consider a woman who's had breast cancer a good candidate."
His face took on a stubborn look she recognized from having seen it on her son's face at times. "Kids aren't all I want. I want someone in my bed at night and across the breakfast table from me in the morning."
"Don't we all," she said wistfully. She thought of the dream-fuzzy images that came to her at 2 a.m. when Zach was running a fever, images of a faceless man who shared the work and the worry. A man she could bitch to when things went wrong at work. One who would lie down with her at night and be there in the morning.
How many times had she longed for someone to hold her? Just hold her. Someone who loved her, who would let her talk about the cancer and how it had changed her life. Her mother hadn't been able to do that.
Ben wasn't, either, she thought sadly. He slid off the topic as if it were greased every time she brought it up. "It makes a difference, though, who that someone is. I'm not sure we have enough in common to make a marriage work."
"Sure we do. There's Zach, of course. We both want what's best for him, and it's best for a kid to have his parents together if at all possible. And we're both stubborn. That might lead to arguments sometimes, but if we get stubborn about making our marriage work, what's to stop us?"
"If all it took to make a marriage was stubbornness, there wouldn't be so many divorces." She took a deep breath, let it out. "What about my money?"
He claimed her hand again. "I'm not saying we won't have a lot to work out. Just deciding where we're going to live will probably take some high-powered negotiating."
This time she did yank her hand away. "You're going too fast. I'm not ready to start negotiating yet. I'm not ready."
"You're leaving in four days. That doesn't give me much time."
"And is that the last you'll ever see of me? You can't come to Florida?"
He shook his head impatiently. "You know what I mean."
Actually, she didn't. She felt pressured, defeated by his lack of understanding. She picked up her fork and fiddled with the dessert she didn't want.
"We have other things in common," Ben said. "Remember what we talked about the night we met?"
That made her smile. "As I recall, we argued about politics."
"That wasn't all we talked about. I complained about the bureaucratic hoops a builder has to jump through."
"And I said you needed a good real-estate attorney." She smiled. This was the first time either of them had referred to that night. That was progress, wasn't it?
"We started something then, something that could have been good for both of us. I screwed it up, I know that. I want another chance."
"That's what this is about, isn't it? Tonight, I mean." Nervous, she picked up her coffee and took a sip. It had grown cold. "Ben … did you have any regrets? Did you…" Think about me at all? She put the coffee cup down. It was too cold to drink. "Be honest, now. You said you were good at honesty."
He grimaced. "Blunt is what I'm usually called. Yeah, I had regrets. I'd like to say I was sorry I broke off with you, but I didn't think of it that way. I thought I'd done what I had to do, so mostly I regretted the necessity."
"You were sorry I had money." She fiddled with the handle of her cup. "You still are. So what's changed?"
"I'll be forty next December. And I think you need me now in a way you didn't then."
What did that mean – that he was desperate enough to take her, money and all? Well, she'd asked for honesty. "Because of Zach, you mean."
He shifted uncomfortably. "Partly."
Maybe he meant that he wasn't the same person he had been. Lord knew that was true of her. "I guess I could stay a little longer. Another few days, anyway."
"Yeah?" He brightened. "That would be great, Gwen."
He seemed so cheered by her concession that she felt guilty. She turned the conversation to more impersonal matters, and they talked about Highpoint, the construction business and their opposing views on the current president until the waiter brought the check.
She'd forgotten how much fun she'd had arguing politics with him. She was laughing at a crack he made about lawyers when they got in his pickup, and she stayed relaxed until they neared his house. Then it occurred to her what came next.
He wouldn't try to pressure her into bed. That wasn't his style, especially when his brothers were there, and Zach. But he'd expect a good-night kiss.
Her ease and pleasure slipped away, much to her irritation. Good grief. This was one of the reasons she'd gone out with him – to find out if there was a spark waiting to be rekindled. She didn't exactly owe him a kiss, but…
"Dammit," he muttered. "I thought those idiots had a few grains of tact. Looks like I was wrong."
"What?" she said, dragged out of the confusion of her thoughts. "Who?"
"My brothers," he growled, turning into the driveway.
She realized the lights were on downstairs – every light except the porch light. "You're mad because they forgot to turn on the porch light?"
He shut off the engine and turned to her, draping one arm over the back of the seat. It was hard to tell in the uncertain light, but she thought he looked sheepish. "I probably shouldn't admit this, but we have this understanding. If one of us goes out with a woman, anyone who's home stays back in the den and turns out the rest of the lights."
"Oh." She was amused. "Just in case you, ah, get lucky?"
"Something like that." Definitely sheepish.
She chuckled. "Relax, Ben. I haven't been picturing you living like a monk the last five years."
"Thank God for that. You're a rare woman, Gwen." He touched her hair lightly. "Sensible and
rare and lovely."
She didn't let herself stiffen.
His hand slid down to her shoulder. "You never said what you want from marriage."
Someone to love who loves me. She shook her head, trying to be sensible. "The same things as you, I suppose. Fidelity. That's important to me."
His mouth crooked up. "Something else we have in common." He pulled gently, bringing her closer. "Here's another."
He kissed her. His mouth was firm and gentle, clever in its courting of hers. One big hand cupped her head while the other stroked her arm. After a moment she put her hand on his shoulder and kissed him back, and her body stirred, drifting toward pleasure in a way that was easy, familiar – and distant.
Only her body was involved. The rest of her was sitting back, watching to see what happened, how she reacted. Wondering if Duncan knew she was out here kissing his brother.
Gwen pulled her head back, distressed.
He smiled and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Don't worry. I won't push for more than you're ready for."
Ben sounded satisfied. She turned away the moment he released her, too agitated to wait for him to open her door as he undoubtedly intended to do. She climbed out and took in a deep lungful of air.
Ben's kiss had been pleasant. It had proved she could respond to him. It had upset her badly, and she didn't know why. She didn't want to know why. It was all she could do to keep from scurrying ahead of him into the brightly lit house.
He took her hand again when he joined her. She let him, mostly because she was too lost in confusion to care. They walked in silence to the door. He stopped.
When he tugged on her hand as if he would turn her to him, kiss her again, her breath caught sharply. She pulled away, summoning an apologetic smile.
He studied her face for a moment, but whatever he thought of her refusal he kept to himself, getting out his key and opening the door.
Moving from the shadowy porch to the brightness inside made her feel exposed. Even the hall light was on. She ran her hand up and down the strap of her purse. "I should check on Zach."
"He's bound to be asleep by now. It's after eleven. How about a drink to relax with before you go to bed?"
"I don't think so. I—"
"Gwen." Duncan stood in the arched doorway to the living room. His face and body were utterly still. For no reason at all her heart began to pound in alarm. "Your mother called."
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
The soprano's clear voice soared into the refrain of "Amazing Grace." Other voices, less perfectly pitched, joined hers in the muggy air that carried the scent of carnations and lilies. Overhead the sky was a strong, bright blue.
Gwen couldn't sing. Every time she tried, her throat closed up on her, so she swallowed and waited. Her eyes were hot and dry.
She hadn't cried when Duncan gave her the news two nights ago. She'd been too shocked, disbelieving. Her first tears had come on the plane, with her head turned toward the window for whatever privacy she could find. Last night, home in the empty house where she'd lived the past four years, she'd all but cried her eyes shut. She'd wanted Zach. She'd wanted Natasha, but her cat was with her mother.
She'd wanted to be held. By Duncan.
This morning her insides felt like her eyes did – tender, puffy and tired, but all cried out.
The singing ended and the minister suggested a moment of silent prayer or contemplation according to their faiths. She bowed her head and prayed for her friend, and for the man standing in the front row with what was left of his family.
Someone sniffed. She glanced to her left and saw tears running down Kelly's face. Silently she slipped an arm around her waist. It was a lopsided hug; Kelly was a full seven inches taller than Gwen.
Ed finished the simple service with a reading from the Torah followed by a Zen koan and a quotation from Joan Rivers that brought watery laughter from most of the mourners. It was so very Hillary. When she'd known she was dying, she'd written her own funeral service reflecting her eclectic beliefs and had asked Linda's minister husband to lead it.
"I am so mad at her," Kelly said as they walked away from the gravesite. "I can't believe she didn't tell us the cancer had metastasized."
It had spread fast. Only four months had passed from the day Hillary had realized something was wrong to the day she died. The first two months she'd been able to keep coming to their meetings; after that she'd claimed that the hospital had switched her shift. "It's just like her, though. Hardheaded. She didn't want us dripping tears all over her."
"I had a right to drip tears if I wanted to," Kelly said furiously, and sniffed.
It felt strange to be the one doing the comforting. Kelly was usually the one to offer counsel, often with a quip. "You okay?"
"Of course not. I hate it when people die on me. I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm scared. If Hillary's cancer could come back like that, it could happen to any of us."
Gwen nodded. Most of her tears last night had been for Hillary and her family. Not all of them, though. It was one thing to know intellectually that the cancer might return. It was another to see it happen to one of them, and especially frightening, in a way, for that one to be Hillary Friedman.
As a nurse, Hillary had known what her odds were and how to better them. Of all of them, she'd been the most knowledgeable about both traditional medical treatments and the untraditional, ranging from herbal remedies to meditation. She'd done every thing right, dammit. She'd fought her cancer with everything she had.
And still she'd lost.
Gwen and Kelly walked on in silence, trailing some of those who had attended the graveside service while others followed behind. The grounds of the cemetery were lush, fragrant with flowers. Birds called. The quiet voices of others, now seen, now hidden as the path curved among the trees, blended with the birdsong. Somewhere a child exclaimed in excitement.
Life seemed to burst from every bush, blade and petal, vibrant and beautiful, as the path they walked wandered among the graves of the dead. Gwen thought of the words from the thirteenth century poem with which Ed had opened the service: "In the waves and underneath, there is no volition, no hypocrisy. Just love forming and unfolding."
The juxtaposition of life and death wasn't incongruous. It was natural. Hillary was underneath, part of all that was or had been. Part of the mystery. Something that had been clenched inside Gwen relaxed. She felt sad, yet fiercely glad to be alive.
Stepping from the graveled path to the hard, sun-warmed asphalt felt like another goodbye. She turned to Kelly. "Doughnuts?"
"We'll take your car."
* * *
They went to the Krispy Kreme shop near Gwen's house. Somehow it had become their "deal with it" spot, the place they went when one or both of them needed a burst of pure indulgence. At this hour – eleven in the morning – it wasn't crowded.
Gwen ordered two chocolate-cake doughnuts with chocolate frosting. Kelly had her usual cinnamon roll. The coffee was hot and reviving.
Kelly sat across from her, a small frown making a V between the straight slashes of her eyebrows. Those eyebrows were the only straight thing about her. Everything else was curves. Gwen had told her once she looked like a redheaded Sophia Loren.
"Sophia plus fifty, maybe," Kelly had grumbled, referring to her weight – and, as usual, exaggerating how many extra pounds she carried. She'd been on one of her diets at the time, obsessing over calories. Gwen had been delighted when Kelly remarried Freddie. He agreed with her that Kelly's weight suited her. She looked voluptuous, robust.
"I'm really glad you're here," Gwen told her.
"Me, too." She pulled off a strip of cinnamon roll.
For a moment they concentrated on the calories they were splurging on.
Kelly spoke first. "I miss Freddie. I wish I hadn't talked him out of coming with me."
"You wouldn't want him getting sick all over again."
She and Kels, Linda and Louise and Emma ha
d met before the funeral to hold their own version of a wake for Hillary, sharing memories. That was when Gwen learned that Kelly and Freddie's cruise had come to a screeching halt two days before when Freddie had come down with stomach bug. They'd left the ship and were staying in a hotel in Bermuda when Linda tracked them down with the news of Hillary's death. Kelly had flown back to the States alone, not wanting Freddie to get on a plane when he was still nauseous.
"Well, no. But funerals make me horny."
Gwen choked on a laugh that insisted on coming out while a bite of doughnut was trying to go down.
"What?" Kelly demanded. "There's nothing wrong with that. It's the old reaffirm-life-in-the-face-of-death bit."
A sip of coffee helped get the bite of doughnut down. "It's just the way you come out with whatever's in your mind – do not pass Go, do not collect any inhibitions. Anyway, if Freddie's sick, he wouldn't be able to, ah, help you out."
"The man would have to be dying before he lost interest in helping me out that way." She sounded smug. And happy. "So why are you here by yourself? Did things not work out with Zach's dad?"
Kelly was the only one she'd confided in about that. Now she wished she hadn't. Gwen grimaced. "You know that old saying, Be careful what you wish for?"
"You mean you've got him, only now you don't want him?"
"Something like that." She sighed. "I've been doing it again."
"What?" Kelly grinned. "Having sex?"
"I wish." Her answering grin faded. "No, I've been trying to do everything right again – be sensible, be responsible, follow the rules. If I'm a good little girl, Mom and Dad will love me."
"Your mother wasn't exactly thrilled with you taking Zach to Colorado to meet his dad."
"No, and my father's dead, so I can't please him anymore. But that's not what I mean, exactly." She crumbled a bit of doughnut. "I've been trying to be safe. To do the right thing, color inside the lines, so bad things wouldn't happen anymore. But there's no way to keep bad things from happening. There are big risks and little risks, but there's no such thing as safety."