by Susan Wiggs
“Nothing.” He didn’t really know how to explain it, but he felt better about stuff when he was around her, like it was okay to be mad and not pretend everything was fine all the time. “I’d better go. Time to get geared up for the game.” He called to Opal, but she was either ignoring him or too far to hear. He tried whistling.
“You’re a lame whistler,” Chelsea pointed out. With practiced ease, she wedged two fingers into the sides of her mouth and blew a loud, shrill note. A moment later, Opal came bounding over a hedge and churned through the snow until she practically bowled them over.
“Not bad,” Max said. “How did you do that?”
“Practice. You have to figure out how to make the air whistle through your mouth. See, I use these two fingers.” She demonstrated. “Some people like to use their finger and thumb.”
Max took off his glove and gave it a try, but only managed an airy, hollow sound. Opal stared at him, uncomprehending. Chelsea laughed. “Don’t worry, it takes a lot of time, and you’ll drool all over yourself. It took my dad about one minute to show me how, but I had to try for hours before I got it.”
“Your dad taught you to whistle?”
“Yep, he…” She stuffed her hand back into her mitten. “It was a really long time ago.” She hunched up her shoulders.
Max clipped on Opal’s leash and caught up, but he didn’t push her to talk more about her father. Some things you didn’t talk about, like his mom and The Hague. And someone who was a true friend didn’t make you. Max could see players heading toward the building, sticks and duffel bags over their shoulders.
“Hey, Bellamy, who’s the hound?” yelled Altshuler.
Max patted the dog trotting by his side. “Opal. You’ve seen her before.”
“No, I mean the hound, who’s the hound?” Altshuler snickered.
Two perfectly round spots of humiliation appeared on Chelsea’s cheeks. Max wished she would speak up, tell Altshuler to piss off, but she kept her eyes down. For about a nanosecond, it occurred to Max to speak up, but all the words dried up in his mouth.
“Anyway, I’ll see you after the game,” she muttered, then took the dog’s leash and scurried away.
Max felt a twist in his gut. He shot Altshuler a look. “Not cool,” he said.
“Whoa, you’re defending her? She’s a freak, man. A hound. Nobody likes her.”
I do. No way would Max own up to it, though. Not to Kurt Altshuler. He was one of the popular kids at school. Everybody wanted to be his friend. But you had to watch what you said around him. That pisses me off. He could hear Chelsea’s voice in his head.
“Hey, Max.” His mom came walking up to them. She looked bright and smiling, and Max flashed on Daisy. His mom and Daisy looked a lot alike.
“Hey, Mom.”
She turned to Altshuler. “Hello, Kurt. Ready for the big game?”
“Um, yeah. Sure am.” Altshuler was all phony politeness as he straightened up his posture and practically saluted her like a Boy Scout.
“Noah should be here soon,” she said. “We’ll be sitting by the bank sign in the usual spot.”
We. Mom and Noah. Max felt a drumming in his chest. “Okay.”
“Good luck, Max-a-megamillion. And I’m sorry to have to do this in front of your friend, but…” She gave him a quick hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Have a great game. You too, Kurt.”
Altshuler stood with his mouth hanging open, watching her go. “Man, your mom is such a MILF.”
“A what?” asked Max.
“A mother I’d like to—”
“Shut up,” Max said, catching on, “or I’ll have to hurt you. I swear to God, I will.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared.” Altshuler punctuated his speech by shoving Max’s shoulder once, twice, three times. “Bring it, Bellamy. Let’s see what you got.”
Max shoved back, knowing he was about to start something but still unable to hold back. Somewhere, way deep in his brain, he knew it was a bad idea to get in a fight before a game. And with a teammate, too. But that knowledge was blotted out by a big red blotch of anger. He made a lunge for Altshuler.
Something held him back. A giant fist, clutching the fabric of his parka stopped him in midlunge and hauled him back.
“Hey, guys,” Noah Shepherd said in a big, hearty voice. “It’s about time to gear up.”
Altshuler looked daggers at Max. “That’s right, Dr. Shepherd.” He scooped up his bag and stalked away.
“Good luck to you both,” Noah said.
“Thanks,” Max muttered, grabbing his gear and heading for the entrance.
“Hey,” Noah called.
Max stopped and turned. He wondered if this guy thought the same way as Altshuler did about his mom. “Yeah?”
“Whatever it is, save it for the game, Max.”
Sophie felt like a prom queen as she entered the arena with Noah Shepherd at her side. It was a bit juvenile to take such pleasure in swanning about on the arm of the best-looking guy in the place, but she couldn’t help herself. She was buoyant with her decision to be in this relationship—to be in love.
They found seats in the bleachers with Daisy, Charlie and Daisy’s friend, Julian Gastineaux. Sophie found herself wondering if there was something more to Daisy’s friendship with Julian. The two of them seemed unusually attuned to each other, and Daisy’s face was aglow. Sophie knew how hard it was to be a young mother and to be in a relationship at the same time. She hoped her daughter would find the balance.
Greg and Nina arrived, offering a polite wave and settling a diplomatic distance away. They were with Nina’s sister Maria, who had been so charming to Sophie. She caught some of the other moms looking at her and Noah, and leaning toward each other to whisper.
“My ex,” she murmured to Noah, indicating Greg.
The awkwardness was dispelled by the noise of the crowd and the fast action of the game. Noah merely nodded and turned his attention to the ice. Sophie found herself wishing she could be more like him, accepting things at face value and not caring so much about what anyone thought.
Max was a defenseman, working as a unit with his friend Kurt to protect their goaltender. Max looked so grown-up in his bulky gear, assuming the stance and posture of a professional. Each time an opposing player made a shot, he reacted with lightning reflexes. During the third period, with the score tied, he moved to block a shot, colliding with his teammate, Kurt. Instead of getting back into play, the collision escalated into a shoving match. Sophie jumped to her feet, not that it helped her see any better. Through his mask, Max’s face seemed to be red with fury.
The momentary distraction opened a window of opportunity for the opposing team. The puck slammed past the boys and slung into the goal. The crowd erupted, but Max and Kurt found themselves confined to the penalty box, their coach yelling at them.
“What on earth was that?” Sophie asked. “Should I check on him?”
Noah slid his arm around her. “No biggie. They’re just being kids.”
After the game, Max went home with his father, Greg promised to talk to him about the incident. Noah walked outside with Sophie. “Go get us some coffee at the concession stand. I’ll go find Chelsea and Opal.”
Feeling a bit unsettled, Sophie went to the concession stand, located in the skating house at the edge of the lake. People were skating, admiring the ice sculptures that graced the park. She joined the crowd milling around, and ordered two coffees. And there—just my luck, she thought—was Kurt’s mother. Ilsa Altshuler offered a tight smile of greeting.
“Well. It’s a shame about the game, isn’t it?” she commented.
“Definitely,” Sophie agreed. “It’s never fun to lose. I know the coach had plenty to say to Max and Kurt about their scuffle, and his father and I will both be talking to him, as well.”
“Kurt will get more than a talking-to from us,” Ilsa stated.
Sophie nodded. “Max will be grounded, too.”
“He should be. He’s got to learn to hold his temper.”<
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Sophie bit the inside of her lower lip, forbidding herself to respond. From her vantage point, it had looked as though Kurt had instigated the scuffle, but the last thing Sophie wanted to do was quibble with this woman. She simply nodded. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the festivities this weekend, Ilsa,” she said.
Ilsa offered a sour look. “Maybe. We’re planning to go to the dance on Saturday. I saw you with Noah Shepherd,” she remarked. “Our dog, Sammy, is his patient.”
Maybe she was going to play nice, Sophie thought hopefully.
“It’s awfully brave of you, dating such a young guy,” Ilsa continued. “I’d be far too self-conscious.”
A young guy? It was true that Sophie didn’t know Noah’s exact age. The topic had never come up between them. She hadn’t asked; she’d asked nothing beyond, Do you have protection? before falling into bed with him. Now, for the first time, a niggling doubt crept in through a back door of her mind.
“It never occurred to me to feel self-conscious,” she said, determined not to let the comment derail her. “But thanks for your concern.”
“Oh, it’s not really a concern. I admire you, dating someone so much younger. I’d better be going.” She brushed past Sophie and headed toward the parking lot.
Sophie took her time making her way to Noah. So much younger… The words echoed through her mind. Good Lord, how much younger?
He was waiting by the car, watching Opal dig in a snowbank. She handed a cup of coffee to Noah. “How old are you?” she asked bluntly.
He looked momentarily startled; then his eyes darted back and forth. “Why do you ask?”
“There are things I need to know if we’re going to be…There are things I need to know. Like your age. Is it a secret?”
“Heck, no. How old do you think I am?”
“This isn’t a guessing game. Just tell me.”
“I turned twenty-nine in January.”
She laughed, despite feeling a lurch of discomfort. “I mean it, Noah. I’m not playing games.”
He dug his wallet from his back pocket, flipped it open. He was smiling in his driver’s license photo. Who on earth smiled for a driver’s license photo?
People who were born in 1979, that’s who. She blanched, feeling the color drop from her cheeks as her heart sank into her shoes. Good Lord. It was true. He was a full ten years younger than Sophie. She’d thought—when she thought about it at all—he might be a year or two younger. Three, perhaps, or five, tops. Six was edging toward indecent. Seven and up—clearly forbidden. Out of the question.
But…ten. It was a hugely unpleasant discovery, like biting into a perfect, delicious apple and finding a worm. Half a worm.
Ten years.
Ten. Double digits. He was closer in age to Sophie’s daughter than to Sophie. And how had she missed this? She used to pride herself on her analytical mind, on being a stickler for detail. She was shocked at her lapse in failing to find out every fact and nuance about Noah. Perhaps he was turning her brains to mush. Was that a side effect of the best sex she’d ever had?
She backed away from him, nearly slipping on the icy surface of the parking lot, not seeing the Noah she knew, but someone entirely different. Not a man she was falling in love with but a…a boy. A boy toy.
Oh, God. She felt like a fool for not figuring it out sooner. It explained so much. The Peter Pan lifestyle. The garage band. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see it and hadn’t allowed her mind to go there, like the buyer who falls in love with a car but refuses to check under the hood. No wonder his appetite for sex was never ending, his taste in movies and music decidedly juvenile. No wonder he lived like an adolescent, with his house full of toys. He was one, practically. She was dating a child. A laughing, sexy man-child. She was Mrs. Robinson to his Graduate. Demi Moore to his Ashton Kutcher.
An urban cougar.
She was going to burn in hell.
“Hey, come on,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s big to me. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
He paused. And in that pause, she realized he’d known this for some time.
“Unbelievable,” she said. “You kept it from me.”
“I didn’t mention it because it doesn’t matter. And because I knew you’d let it bug you.”
“And that’s a reason to keep this from me? Because you thought it would ‘bug’ me?”
“You’re no picnic when you’re like this, Sophie.”
“It’s not my job to be a picnic,” she snapped.
He spread his hands, gloves out. “I got nothing to hide. You’ve been to my office. You’ve seen my diploma on the wall. You could have looked at the date.”
“I did look. I saw the year you graduated, but I assumed you’d had some gap years. Most people do. I thought you must have had another career before vet school—”
“Yeah, I had a paper route.” He grinned. “Kidding. There was no gap. And seriously, this is no big deal. Age is just a number.”
“And those are just words. What about my kids? What are they supposed to think?”
He laughed. “You’re making this too easy. You’re their mom. They want you to be happy. I want to make you happy. All you have to do is let me.”
“But—”
“Maybe all this overthinking makes you a good lawyer, but you’re making yourself crazy over a nonissue.”
“I don’t like this, Noah. It’s…it feels wrong.”
“Did it feel wrong five minutes ago, before somebody who can’t mind her own business brought it up?”
She couldn’t lie. “It seemed more right than anything I’ve felt in a long time.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m not a girl. I’m a grandmother.”
“And I totally love you. And you’re nuts if you let somebody else’s opinion influence the way we feel about one another.”
Twenty-Nine
“I told him I needed time to think this over,” Sophie told Gayle the next day, when she stopped in with the dog after her morning run. She considered Gayle her first true friend in Avalon. Her neighbor’s household was always warm, cluttered and full of life. At the moment, the three kids were playing with Opal in a living room filled with more toys than furniture. She loved Gayle’s generous heart and sturdy common sense, and knowing Gayle’s situation helped Sophie put things into perspective. With her husband deployed, Gayle lived in the shadow of an anxiety only a military spouse could understand. It made Sophie feel silly, fretting over Noah, but Gayle claimed it kept her from focusing too much on her own worries.
“Is it just bizarre and terrible, being with a guy ten years younger than me?” Sophie asked her. “Does it make me look desperate? Pathetic? Desperate and pathetic?”
Gayle handed a sippy cup to her youngest and wiped his nose with the dexterity of long practice. “You’re the one who needs to answer that. Not me. And not the hockey moms. You.”
“I can’t be objective about this.”
Gayle laughed heartily. “Then there’s your answer.”
“You know, in some cultures, women often take younger men as their mates.”
“Biologically, it makes sense,” Gayle agreed.
“I talked to my daughter about it for a long time last night. Daisy says she has no problem with me dating anyone I want.”
“Sophie, you don’t have to justify anything to anyone.”
What a concept—simply be with him. Simply be in love. Why did she have to do anything more?
Little George, who went by the name of Bear, toddled over to her, holding out his cup as an offering. “Ooh, delicious,” she said, pretending to take a drink. “I’m a sucker for younger guys.”
“How’s it going with your daughter’s baby? Are you liking the grandma role?”
“Loving it. Charlie’s proof that I really can be a good mom.”
“I can’t imagine you were ever a bad mom.”
“I was never the parent I wish I’d been.”
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Gayle laughed. “Is anybody? Some nights I go to bed, wondering what in the world I did that day besides yell at the kids, clean up messes, fold laundry and eat leftovers standing up.”
“You were present—that’s what’s important. Now that I’m taking care of Charlie, I can see how ridiculously simple some things are. A lot of the time, trying hard isn’t as important as being in the moment. Years ago, Max or Daisy would do something and I’d rush to the child-rearing books to figure out how to respond. What I really should have done was what my ex always did—be in the moment. Be present. Don’t dash off to consult some authority. Greg didn’t love them more, but he did a better job of simply being with them. Although he had his own firm in the city, and a lot of the time, he was busy, too, he managed to balance things better than I ever did. He wasn’t perfect, either, though. There was one time I remember…when Max was eight or nine, Greg and I both forgot to pick him up from an after-school program. Max waited for a couple of hours, just sat there at the school trying our mobile phones. Finally he called Greg’s parents, and they picked him up. Maybe that was it, the moment we both realized our lifestyle was toxic to our kids. But actually, there were a lot of little moments like that.”
“Every parent makes mistakes.”
Sophie nodded. “We both had different responses to the wake-up call. Greg wanted to retreat and circle the wagons. I wanted to run—as far and fast as I could.”
“And now you’re back, and everything’s going to be all right,” Gayle assured her.
Sophie wanted to believe it. With all her heart, she wanted to. She felt better every day about her children. This thing with Noah—it wasn’t really a problem unless she decided to turn it into one. So she was involved with a younger man. Being involved with any man was fraught with peril. Maybe she ought to simply accept it and move forward.
The difference in their ages was something completely out of her control. Accepting it would be a major step for her. If she quit focusing on his age and instead let herself be in love, what would happen?
Her mobile phone rang. She was surprised to see the name “Fordham, Brooks” in the caller ID. “I should take this,” she told Gayle.