by West, Cara
He chuckled. "No. Nothing symbolic. It was just me slipping back into an old role."
"One you're more comfortable with?" she asked shrewdly.
She could tell by his intake of breath that she'd hit a nerve.
"Megan...I'm sorry I left like I did. I've started to call you a dozen times but—"
"A dozen?" she teased him. "It's not like you to be indecisive."
"You bring out a whole other side of me, Megan. I don't usually desert a woman after spending the night with her."
Megan sighed heavily. "Oh, Nate. And the conversation was going so well. Do we have to take a guilt trip together?"
There was a distinct pause before he said silkily, "Not necessarily."
"Well, I'm ready to talk about something else."
"What did you have in mind?"
"We've been invited to dine with your mother and her houseguest this Saturday. I've accepted for both of us. That is, if you don't have another date that night."
"You know damn well I don't have another date—any night."
"You're right. I do know." She sighed again. "I realize I've spoiled you for any other woman."
"So?" he came back immediately. "What do you plan to do about it?"
She almost spoke the words aloud that she'd sworn to keep secret. Her efforts cost her a telling sigh.
"Megan—" his tone was suddenly harsh "—I didn't mean to press you."
"You weren't pressing. But—" there was one thing she had to say "—I don't blame you for questioning me. I haven't been very trustworthy where you're concerned."
"Hey. I thought we'd decided against a trip on the guilt train."
Megan chuckled with relief, and he joined her.
"I'll tell you what," Megan said. "Since I've spoiled you for other women and I couldn't care less about other men, why don't we move on with whatever's between us? I mean, otherwise, we'll get mighty lonely apart."
"It's been mighty lonely this week."
"Since we're not talking guilt, I won't ask you whose fault that is."
''You're too generous," he said.
"I am, aren't I? That's one of the many reasons you adore me."
"You know—" he sounded thoughtful "— I like a lover who's confident of her allure."
Megan took a deep breath. "Am I still your lover?"
"As long as I'm around, you won't have another."
"Hmm, I like a touch of possessiveness in a lover."
"Just a touch? I'll try not to let it get out of control."
"Yes. I noticed you've restrained yourself admirably already. I mean, you could've sent me a new washer and dryer and replaced my furnace."
"Has your heating been acting up?" His voice sharpened. "A faulty furnace can be dangerous, Megan."
"Arrrgh!"
"Okay, okay." A pause. "But you really do need to have the heating and cooling systems checked."
She had only herself to blame, Megan decided gloomily. She'd made the mistake of mentioning the problem. "Mom's been over," she said as a distraction, "and made a list of what I need."
"Including a check of the heating and cooling?"
"Yes," she lied, making a note to call someone out. "And don't think you'll get another appliance in edgewise."
"Good," he said. "I'm ready to turn you and that house of yours over to a pro.''
There was a comfortable silence before Megan said, "Nate, I wanted you to know that Dad's much better."
Nate's voice held great relief. "I'm glad to hear it."
"Yes. He's decided to forgive himself. And Mom's doing much better, as well. She has her old drive and energy. Nate—she's on our side. Jenny is, too."
His tone became formal. "I'm happy to hear that, also."
But it wasn't enough, and they both knew it.
Suddenly the phone call, which had accomplished so much, was all about silences and people unmentioned.
"Yes, well..." she said, "I—I guess I'll see you on Saturday."
"When shall I pick you up?"
"Around seven."
"Sounds good."
Megan sat staring at nothing for a while after they hung up. What would become of their nascent affair? One thing was certain. She decided she would greet Nate on Saturday evening with affection, rather than desire. From now on, she was going to let him set the pace of their sexual encounters.
SANDRA MUST HAVE BEEN waiting by the door, because when Nate rang the bell, she answered it immediately.
"Hello, Nate." She smiled at him with a new but shy warmth.
There was an awkward moment before he leaned to kiss her on the cheek.
"Mmm, something smells good," he said. "Mother, you haven't been taking cooking classes, have you?"
His gentle teasing seemed to please Sandra immensely.
"No," She waved a hand at him. "I did something smarter. I found myself a cook."
He looked a little puzzled.
Sandra drew them into the living room. "Betty," she called, "come meet my son."
Betty came out from the kitchen hurriedly, her face rosy from activity, although Megan suspected she was also blushing. She was her usual haphazard self, her hair wisping out of its bun and her blouse coming untucked from her skirt. This time to complete the picture she was enveloped in an apron.
With Sandra her immaculate glamorous self, she and Betty presented a genuinely odd couple.
Megan could already see that Nate was fascinated by the contrast.
Sandra introduced Betty to Nate, saying, "She's the artist who's staying with me."
"Yes," Nate said, taking Betty's hand. "Megan's told me all about you."
Alarmed, Sandra glanced at Megan. Megan shook her head slightly.
She sensed Nate had caught the exchange, but he was smooth enough not to react.
Instead, he continued his conversation with Betty. "She told me you were enormously talented."
"Oh." Betty pulled her hand from his to put it to her fiery face. "I'm afraid she's turned my head with praise. I just hope I can live up to her opinion of me."
Megan turned to Nate. "Betty still doesn't have any idea how good an artist she is."
Betty put her hands on her hips. "Well, I can guarantee I'm an excellent cook."
"I'm glad to hear it," Nate said, "since we've come for dinner." He looked at Sandra. "Mother could use a little fattening up."
Betty nodded judiciously. "I think so, too."
"Actually—" he stood back and studied Sandra "I think I see five extra pounds."
"Oh, you—" Sandra hit Nate's arm playfully.
Nate smiled at Betty. "I can already tell you're a good influence on my mother."
Taking Nate's arm, Sandra led him toward the room she'd set up as Betty's studio. "We thought you could see the paintings first before we sit down to eat."
"I'm the one who wanted to get the viewing out of the way," Betty said, trotting behind them. "I couldn't eat a bite wondering what you'd think. You're the first person to see them—uh, altogether, I mean—except for the ones I've already crated and sent to Megan."
She was clearly flustered and she turned to Megan, who was bringing up the rear. "I'm sorry to be such a ninny about this."
"I promised you Nate would be a sympathetic audience."
When Nate walked into the room, he stopped in his tracks and gazed around the room at the sun-washed canvases.
The three women waited anxiously.
Please, let him say the right thing, Megan prayed.
Finally he turned to Betty and said with genuine awe, "I'm a neophyte when it comes to art, but even I can see how powerful these paintings are. And—" he surveyed the scenes before him "—I like it that you've painted real scenes."
Sandra said, "That's what I keep saying."
"The combinations of colors literally take my breath away," Nate added.
Megan hugged him in sheer relief. "He's exactly right, Betty. See, what did I tell you?"
Betty looked both pleased and suspi
cious. "Are you sure you didn't coach him?"
Megan shook her head. "I wouldn't dare. He doesn't take direction easily."
Betty heaved a great sigh of relief. "Now that's over with, let's eat."
"Will I like your dinner as much as I do your art?" Nate took Betty's arm and escorted her to the dining room.
"Better." She twinkled up at him. "Sandra says beef stroganoff is one of your favorites."
"Mother, I'm ashamed of you for keeping Betty to yourself. Why haven't you invited us over sooner?"
"Oh, I don't know," Sandra murmured, "I'm just selfish, I guess."
THE MEAL PROCEEDED as smoothly as the evening had begun. By dessert, Nate had Betty eating out of his hand. But Megan could see a question in his eyes.
They were lingering over coffee when the doorbell rang insistently.
"I'll go see who it is," Sandra said, pushing back her chair.
They could hear her footfalls on the marble floor of the foyer. After that came a momentary silence when she must have been looking out through the peephole. Then the sound of a fist banging on the door reverberated through the room.
"Let me in!" a male voice hollered. "I have a right to see my wife! I know she's in there. She can't hide from me forever."
Betty stood with a start, overturning her water glass. "Oh, God, it's Ken." She rushed out of the room.
"Come on, Nate," Megan said, dropping her napkin on the table. "This could get messy."
"What's going on?" he asked.
"Ken is Betty's soon-to-be ex-husband. He's been stalking her for weeks."
Nate didn't need further explanation.
When they arrived in the front foyer, Betty was pleading with Sandra. "We must let him in. Please—or I'll have to go outside and talk with him."
"That's one thing you won't do," Sandra said adamantly. "I'm not letting you be alone with that man."
"Then please let him in. I'm sure he's here because the divorce is almost final. If I don't let him have his say, there's no telling what he'll do."
Sandra turned to Nate and Megan with a look of panic. "I'm sorry about this. I never meant for you to witness an ugly scene."
"I won't let it get ugly," Nate said with his customary assurance.
The women shared a despairing look at his unwitting naiveté.
"We were having such a wonderful time!" Sandra cried as the hammering continued.
Megan went to her side. "It's not your fault this happened. Let him in. Nate won't allow him to be abusive."
Sandra nodded helplessly and spoke through the door. "I'm going to open the door, Mr. Willard, but you have to stop shouting."
"I have things to say," he shouted, "and I don't care if the whole neighborhood hears me."
Sandra opened the door. "Shh. Please just say what you have to say and leave."
"Are you her son?" Willard asked the moment he'd made it inside. The question surprised everyone.
"You mean Sandra's son?" Nate asked warily. "Yes, I am."
"I thought you were. We have to talk."
"I doubt I have anything to say to you." Nate kept his voice even.
"Well, I have something to say to you. That's why I'm here. It's about time somebody else knew about this Sodom and Gomorrah."
Willard moved closer until he was in Nate's face. "Do you know what's going on here—right underneath your nose?"
Megan sensed Nate's dawning comprehension, but his face remained a mask.
He put his hands on Willard's shoulders and backed him up a step. "I doubt very much that it's any of my business."
Willard threw off Nate's hold. "Well, it's sure as hell my business! That woman's my wife!"
"I understood that the divorce was pending."
"Yeah, and it's all because of her." Willard shook his fist at Sandra. "She turned my wife against me. She filled her head with feminist nonsense. And then—"
"Oh, Ken, you know that's not true." Betty tried to intervene.
Ken ignored her, his wrath still directed at Sandra. "This bitch has corrupted my wife." He turned back to Nate. "I just wanted you to know what kind of lesbian whore your mother is."
Nate started forward, his intent clear.
Betty intercepted him. "Hold it." She faced Ken. "You can't talk about Sandra that way. She's been kind and generous."
"She seduced you, you stupid bitch."
"She took me in when I would've been out on the streets."
"I never kicked you out," Willard roared.
"No. You just beat me."
"I never touched you."
"Ken, photos don't lie."
"So, you took pictures. I should have known how sneaky you were."
He turned back to Nate, one man to another. "Do you know what your mother is? A home wrecker."
Nate's face was stone. "Betty, we've had enough. It won't do any good for this to continue." He stepped forward. "You'd better leave, Willard."
"Sure, I'll leave." Willard glared at Betty. "But if you don't come home where you belong, I'll go straight to Kenny, Jr. It's time the kids knew what their mother's sunk to. Just look at you!"
By this time, Sandra had her arm around Betty protectively.
"Just look at you," he repeated with a sneer. "I can't bear the sight of you being pawed by that woman."
Nate took hold of him and began directing him outside.
"Wait," Betty cried. "Ken, please. Don't go yet." She backed against the door so Nate couldn't open it.
"Ken, let me explain to the children. Let me tell them in my own way." She touched his arm pleadingly.
"What are you going to tell them? I'd like to hear how you put it."
"I'm going to tell them that our marriage is over. Ken, you haven't loved me for years. You're just used to having me around. I know you're going through rough times at work. But my being there wouldn't make any difference."
That started him on another tangent. "Those goddamn punks think they know more than I do. I've been designing software since they were in diapers. They made me take early retirement, Betty." His voice became a sob. "The company made me retire."
For a brief moment, a beaten, lonely, confused man emerged through the impotent fury. "I don't know what to do with myself, Betty. Come home. I need you."
"Ken, it's too late." Betty's face held sorrow. Megan could see the compassion glistening in her eyes.
For the briefest moment, Megan was afraid Betty would give in to him. After all, she'd been deferring to him for more than thirty years.
But Betty had come too far to turn back. "We're no good together. We bring out the worst in each other."
"And I suppose this dyke brings out your best."
"Ken, stop it! Don't call Sandra that. Can't you remember what I was like around you? I couldn't do anything right. Practically everything about me bothers you. Ken. Remember? It's just not possible. We can't go back."
"Well, if you'd taken better care of yourself and not let yourself go to pot. If you hadn't been frigid in bed..."
Bringing up sex seemed to enrage him anew. He bellowed, "But now I know the reason. You sleep with that whore." Without warning, he started spewing obscene language.
"That's it. I've had enough." Setting Betty gently to one side, Nate forced Willard out the door. "I'm sorry, Betty. But I can't allow him to say those things to you—or to my mother."
"I know," Betty mumbled as Nate propelled him down the driveway to his car.
"I'm going to Kenny's," Willard yelled.
"You can go to hell as far as I'm concerned," the trio at the door heard Nate respond. "But you're not coming back here. Or we'll call the police."
"I thought you'd want to know what your mother has stooped to." Willard's voice was fainter. "But I guess you're just like she is. Do you like little boys?"
A final garbled exchange was audible as Nate shoved Willard into his car.
The three women moved into the den and stood looking at each other for a moment in stunned silence.
"Yes. Oh, my God." Betty started for the phone. But after a few steps she halted, her expression clearing. She turned to her companion and walked to her side.
"Nothing I say on the phone will make a difference, Sandra. Let Ken do his worst. I can't stop him. Right now—" her shoulders straightened "—I can do more good right in this room. We're going to talk to your son—together."
CHAPTER TWELVE
NATE DIDN'T APPEAR for several minutes. Megan suspected he'd had a few last words for Willard. She also had a hunch he'd taken time for himself. When he entered the room at last, his face showed masklike control. Only a faint twitch in his jaw betrayed any emotions.
Megan would have gone to his side and suggested they leave, but this was an encounter that had to take place eventually.
If only Willard hadn't spewed out such filth. Megan couldn't have imagined a worse way for Nate to find out about his mother and Betty.
He went straight to the couch and drew Megan down beside him. She felt a faint tremor through his body when his leg brushed hers. Without glancing at him, she took his hand. She half expected him to ignore the gesture, but if anything, his grasp was tighter than hers.
Sandra and Betty had taken seats in the armchairs across the coffee table from them.
"Nate," Sandra began, her hands in a knot, "I didn't want you to hear this way."
"No." Nate's voice sounded muffled in his throat. "I can imagine. You know, Mother," he went on before she could say anything further, "you don't owe me any explanation."
"I believe I do. I've thought a lot about it. I just haven't discovered a good way to say what I need to."
"Mother, I'm telling you, your life is your own business."
"But my life has affected yours profoundly, Nate. Especially... my marriage to your father."
Nate stiffened. "What are you saying?"
"I didn't know, Nate. I didn't realize at the time what was inside me. I just knew my feelings for Warren weren't... passionate. And Warren is a passionate man. Later, when I dated other men, I still felt nothing. That's why work became everything to me. It was safe and productive and gave me satisfaction. That's why I never married again. I thought I simply lacked those kinds of feelings, and I didn't want to put myself and another person through the hell I'd already been through."