Easier? Hmm. Not exactly what I was looking for. That line of reasoning is more like the practical Greg I know and it effectively douses the flame of spontaneity that had begun to rise from the ashes of my cynical heart. “Maybe I don’t want to just ‘get it over with,’” I say in a huffy tone. “I was married for all the wrong reasons the first time. If I do it again, I want to do it right. Under God and before my friends and family. I mean, good grief, even Linda and Mark went all out and they were just renewing their vows.”
He takes a step back and I see beta male all over him. And that makes me even madder because I was really getting attached to Alpha Greg. “You want to join our households together just to make it easier? Easier for whom? I’ll have two more people to cook for, clean for, do laundry for. Sure—it’ll be easier on you. But I have a hard enough time keeping up with things now when I’m on a deadline.”
Even while I’m spouting the words, I know that’s not fair. But golly, does he have to be so cut and dried about the most romantic day of our lives? Of mine anyway. Maybe I’m just a sad substitute for his late wife. If he can’t have her, maybe romance isn’t important.
The creases between his eyes deepen with a frown and his eyes have grown stormy. “Well, if that’s the way you think about being a wife, maybe you shouldn’t be one.”
“Well, Rick would certainly agree with you there. I guess I just don’t have what it takes to keep a man home at night.” I slam the door and then realize the window is rolled up and I have one more thing to say. I press the button and the window buzzes down. “Aren’t you lucky you dodged that bullet?” I glare and roll the window back up.
From the corner of my eye I see him just standing there. Staring at me through the window. For effect I hit the auto-lock—which is stupid since he has his own set of keys to my house and van, in case of emergencies.
But I know I’ve gone too far as soon as I hear the locks engage. He spins on his heel. I watch through the rearview mirror as he goes back to his truck with jerky strides. I have nothing else to do but start the van and head off.
By the time I’m halfway to Helen’s house, I’m starting to cool off and it hits me how stupid I am. The man of my dreams asked me to marry him tonight. And what did I do? I turned him down, then turned on him completely. Man, I am still carrying much more baggage than I realized.
I find myself watching the headlights on his Avalanche in the rearview mirror. Just to stay connected to him, I guess. Like if I lose sight of him, maybe I’ll lose him forever.
We get to his mom’s house, and neither of us has much to say as we each grab handfuls of bags and head up the walk. The front door swings open about the time I rally the gumption to apologize. Disappointment slips over me at the missed opportunity. But that’s the way life is. Sometimes you have one chance to get it right and you better step up to the plate in the moment, or that’s that. My chance came while I was still wallowing in my anger. Now Greg is otherwise engaged. And I’ll have to wait until some other time to try to salvage our relationship.
Sadie, his gorgeous, raven-haired daughter, runs out wearing an adorable lacy nightgown and Garfield slippers. The joy on the six-year-old’s face as she hurls herself into her daddy’s arms effectively overrides my disappointment. I laugh as Greg drops the bags, although not in time to brace himself for impact.
Oomph!
“I missed you, Daddy! There was a tornado, did you know that? Grandma and me went to the basement, and Grandma said no candles because they might blow over and burn the house down. So we had flashlights, but the batteries ran out of mine and we only had Grandma’s after that. But then the tornado stopped and besides the lights never actually went out anyway. We were just taking pre-precautious.”
“Precautions?”
“Yeah.” She glances down at the shopping bags on the ground. “Did you buy me something?”
“Slow down, Miss Jabberbox,” Greg says with a chuckle. “Everything in these bags is for Miss Claire. Not you. A big, giant tree fell on her house and she can’t go inside to get any of her clothes. So she had to go buy all new clothes and makeup for herself. And all that girlie stuff you women like.”
“Can I wear some makeup?” Her eyes, full of mischief, slide sideways and she grins, knowing the answer before her dad even says it.
“Maybe when you’re eighty and too old for the boys to chase you.”
“Eew!” But she giggles just the same. “Besides, you already promised I can wear it when I turn thirteen.”
“Please, baby.” He let out a moan. “Don’t even start talking about becoming a teenager.”
I can’t help but laugh at the two. I wonder how Sadie’s going to feel about having to share her dad with a woman and four other kids, eventually.
If I had to place bets, I’d say she’s not going to be too happy about it. I’ve only caught a glimpse of her less-than-angelic side a couple of times during our association, but let me tell you, when she lets loose, it ain’t pretty.
Helen appears, face alight with pleasure as she beckons me up the steps and ushers me inside. “It’s about time you two showed up. I came close to calling 9-1-1.”
In spite of the argument of just a few minutes ago, I look over my shoulder and grin at Greg. He’s now carrying Sadie on his back. She’s holding on like a spider monkey, and he’s retrieved the bags from the ground. He sends me a wink.
Gathering a deep breath, I feel relief wash over me. Though it’s obvious we still have some talking to do to clear the air, we’ve weathered more than one storm tonight. The winds of discontent have calmed and everything has settled back into its proper place.
4
My all-time favorite house in the whole world is the Father of the Bride house—the one in the modern remake starring Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, and Kimberly Williams. I adore that house. In my wildest dreams, it’s mine. And guess what? Greg’s mom owns one almost just like it. I swear. Enormous, white, two-story, shuttered windows. The all-American dream home. So now that I’ve settled into the idea of being roomies with a seventy-year-old woman, I’m actually getting excited about the prospect of staying in this house for a couple of weeks or so.
“Let me show you to Greg’s old room,” Helen says. She takes a couple of my bags and my fingers feel the relief in the creases where the plastic handles have been gouging into soft, writer’s-hands skin.
“Why not just put her up in a guest room, Mom? You have three of them besides my room and Sadie’s room.”
That would make this a six-bedroom home? Ooh, I am so coveting. And why doesn’t Greg want me in his old room? Does he have something to hide?
“You know good and well I’m turning one of them into an office and the others haven’t been dusted in a year. This came up too suddenly and your room was the easiest to fix up on the spur of the moment.” She glanced over her shoulder as she ascended the steps.
Now I feel guilty. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Helen.”
“Huh?” She waves her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m thrilled to have you. Just explaining to my son here why you’re using his room.” She turns to him. “Besides, what do you have to hide?”
I laugh. Way to go, Helen.
“Daddy?” Sadie tries to turn Greg’s face to her. This is a little difficult with her hanging onto his neck. I try not to be irritated with seeing him juggling her while trying not to fall down the stairs. Come, Claire, get it together. You’re the adult. Don’t get jealous over a little girl. “Do you have a secret in your room?”
“My question exactly,” I say, giving him a nudge. It feels good to be close to him, to tease him, and to be on the receiving end of his smile after our argument.
“I have nothing to hide from any of the women in my life.” His grin lifts my spirits. “I’m just afraid it still smells like old gym socks.”
Helen gives a harrumph. “Over my dead body. Besides, the main reason I want Claire in your room is because it has the best light and a nice view of
the duck pond behind the house. I thought that might inspire Claire while she writes.”
I’m rendered speechless by her thoughtfulness. I’m truly being treated as an honored guest rather than an imposition.
I think she understands my emotional response, because she gives me a wink and continues to lead the way up the gray carpeted steps and into a hallway that boasts shiny wood floors, an Oriental runner, and a round wooden corner table with a large vase of fake wildflowers. It’s just lovely. Like any home you’d see in a movie or on television.
As a child I used to wonder about people who owned houses like this. The beautiful people who seemed to live in a fairy tale. At least to me, growing up in the home my modest-income military parents could afford, the thought of living in the sort of place Greg grew up in was a fantasy.
I suppose it’s a shallow thought. But I still want a house like this. I spent the first five years after my divorce working all the time, writing more books than I had time to write, spending less and less time with God and family, and relying heavily on my mother for the hands-on raising of my children. All in pursuit of this ideal.
It took carpal tunnel syndrome and a forced sabbatical to bring me out of my office and help me reconnect with God and my kids. Not to mention I found my best friend, Linda, during that time, and Greg—who is most likely my soul mate.
“Okay, here it is.” Greg’s mom throws open a mahogany-stained door, and I walk into the most beautiful bedroom I’ve ever seen. I step onto an Oriental rug spread out over a shining wood floor. My eye is immediately drawn to a rich wood desk with a massive leather chair I could sink into and write in all day. I think I suck all the air from the room with my intake of breath. “It’s gorgeous,” I manage. I hate to drop all these bags on the bed and clutter it up.
And speaking of the bed, it’s a four-poster. The top of the mattress is high. I will not sit down on this bed. I will climb up onto it. The comforter is lovely, a neutral-colored base with tiny roses and bits of green.
I never want to leave this room. It’s twice as large as mine at home. And there’s a window seat. I imagine myself curled up after a shower, my chenille robe wrapped around me as I read my Beth Moore devotions.
“The bathroom is thataway.” Helen’s voice pulls me from my fantasy and she waves toward a door I had assumed to be another closet.
I’m marveling at the pretty rose border at the bottom of the walls when it occurs to me. As much as I love the room, nothing about it speaks of a man like Greg. I toss a glance at Helen. “I can’t imagine a teenage boy living in here.”
“Believe me, it didn’t look like this when I was a kid.” He drops his bags on the floor and disengages Sadie’s hands from his throat, gently sliding her to the floor. “The day I left home, Mom hired someone to remodel and redecorate.”
“Not the very day.” Helen gives him a quirky grin, and it’s easy to see where he gets his sense of humor. “It took me a month to get a contractor to do the work.”
She turns toward me. “The chest of drawers is cleaned out,” she says, pointing to the piece of furniture in the corner.
“Thanks. I’m not going to need six drawers just yet. Hopefully I can get some of my own things out of my room as soon as I get in touch with a contractor and get that tree out of my house. Right now I doubt I’d fill up one drawer.”
I smile. She smiles back. I think we’re going to get along great.
“Well, when you have need, they’re all yours. The closet is also empty.”
I nod my thanks.
Greg slips his arm around me and pulls me close to his side. “Think you’ll be comfortable enough here?”
I look up into his eyes, which are saying so much more than the simple question. He’s sorry we argued, too. He cares about me. Wants me to be happy, safe.
Did I ever mention that Greg wears his heart on his sleeve?
Raising my chin, I send him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be perfect.”
He brushes my lips with his in a feather-light kiss. I’m so shocked I can’t even pucker. He’s never kissed me in front of Sadie or his mother.
Apparently Sadie’s a little rattled by it, too. She grabs her dad’s other hand and jumps up and down. “Can we go home now, Daddy?”
“Sadie,” Helen admonishes. “It’s rude to interrupt.”
“Well, I’m tired.”
Reluctantly, Greg turns to her and I slip out of the comforting circle of his arm so he can give her his full attention. He lifts the little girl and she wraps her bony legs around his waist, her skinny arms around his neck. Helen gives me a wink. I feel heat spread across my cheeks and know by her chuckle I’m blushing.
“I guess we’re leaving,” Greg drawls. “Walk us out?”
“Of course.” I motion toward the door. “Lead the way.”
I’m following. Sadie’s chin is resting on Greg’s shoulder and she’s glaring at me. Staking her claim. Now, I realize I have two choices. I can try to win her over. Smile. Cajole. Ask her about her day. But I have a feeling she’d shoot me down in a millisecond, and that would be embarrassing for Greg and me both, so I opt for door number two. I look away and let her think she’s cowered me. I can be the bigger person in the situation. After all, I’m going to get Greg. No matter how much Sadie objects.
To be honest, my heart goes out to her. It’s not the kid’s fault she lost her mom and is going to have to share her dad. Even if divorce brings up a whole other set of problems for my kids, at least they do still have their dad. Lousy husband—great dad. All right, in all fairness, he’s not such a lousy husband to Darcy.
Oh, well.
“I’ll let you two say good-bye,” Helen says when we get downstairs. “Can I make you some tea for when you come back inside?” she asks. “I never go to bed without a cup of chamomile.”
I can’t help but warm to her sweet smile. “That sounds lovely. Thank you.”
She rises up on her socked tiptoes and kisses Greg’s cheek, then gives it a maternal pat. “’Night, son.” A look passes between them and I’m not sure how to take it. But Greg’s face colors, so I have a feeling it has something to do with me.
I open the door for Greg since his arms are full of his scowling daughter. The cool night air is heavy and smells like another round of rain is on the way. I think of my house. If it rains again, more of my things will be ruined. I don’t mean to be materialistic. But I’ve worked so hard to build a great life for the kids. We’ve just reached a place where I’m not working as much and we’re spending more time together as a family. I don’t want to have to go back to such a grueling schedule.
Greg straps Sadie into her booster seat in the backseat of his Avalanche and shuts the door. Then he turns, gathers me into his arms, and leans against the truck. “I’m sorry I made it sound like I don’t care about having a nice wedding with family and friends. I know the wedding is important, too. I’ve envisioned you walking down the aisle to me more times than I can count.”
Okay, sometimes this guy just takes my breath away. “You have?”
“Of course. I know my attitude earlier didn’t show that. I just wasn’t thinking about anything but that tree and how much I’ll miss you not being a couple of doors away. A quick marriage seemed to be the solution. In hindsight, I see it wasn’t right to just spring it on you like that.”
I kiss him briefly to acknowledge my forgiveness. “And I’m sorry I gave in to my shrewish side and accused you of only wanting a slave.”
He laughs and snuggles me close. “Forgiven.” We stand there in each other’s arms for a while. I figure Sadie must have fallen asleep because she’s not kicking the door or calling for Greg to hurry. “I’m sorry about your house, Claire. Do you want me to help you find a contractor? The school janitor’s brother-in-law has his own business. I could get his number.”
Drowsy, with my cheek pressed against Greg’s warm chest, I nod. “Mmm.”
“I take that as a yes?” He kisses the top of my head and I
get my cue to step back.
“Yes. I’d appreciate the referral. The sooner we’re back on the same block the better.”
He gives a little growl and pulls me close again. “My thoughts exactly,” he says, just before we kiss.
I’m shaking slightly and my heart is about to pump out of my chest by the time he pulls back and brushes my hair from my forehead. “I don’t know what you think of this, but…”
My suspicious nature creates a dark drama in my head as I wait for the other shoe to drop. “What?”
His eyes soften as a smile tips the corners of his mouth. “Don’t look so worried. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a few days, but we never seemed to find time alone. I hate to spring this on you now, but I need to make some plans and don’t want to do it without discussing it with you.”
“What kind of plans?” And why do I feel an emotional tornado coming on?
“The church has grown to such a degree that the board and Pastor Devine are considering taking on an associate pastor.”
“Good idea.” But what does that have to do with us? I’m thinking.
He clears his throat nervously. “The fact is, he would like for me to consider the position if it materializes.”
Pride that the church leaders see Greg’s wonderful potential combines with a little bit of dread. “You want to be an associate pastor?”
“I think so.” His eyes are so serious, I feel a lump lodge in my throat. I try not to show my dismay.
“Would you still teach?”
He nods. “I’d only work part-time at the church to take on some of the duties Pastor is getting too busy to do alone. And preach occasionally when he’s out of town.”
“I see.”
“You don’t seem happy.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Want to tell me what’s going through that brain of yours?”
No. I don’t. Really. Because what’s going through my brain is that I am barely good enough for Greg as it is, and right now he only serves as Wednesday-night worship leader. If he increases his level of ministry, he’s going to see pretty quickly how far beneath him I am. Oh, the things that go through my mind sometimes. I feel like Paul all the time: doing the things I don’t want to do, not doing the things I know I should.
Claire Knows Best Page 5