The Second Promise

by Joan Kilby

  “My brother, Bill, lives in New Mexico. He’s an astronomer.”

  “Is he searching the galaxy for extraterrestrial life forms?” Will joked.

  “Yes,” Maeve answered seriously. “Now, when you were on the farm you must have played outside a lot. Do you remember the feelings you associate with being outdoors at an early age?”

  He was about to make a flippant remark, when he stopped and thought twice. Perhaps the smell of the freshly mown grass called forth memories, or maybe it was Maeve’s gentle prodding, but suddenly the past came back in a flash of vivid imagery. That time in his life before his father died. Before he’d had to grow up too quickly.

  “Freedom,” he said at last. “I could go anywhere, do anything I liked, from dawn to dusk. My brother and sisters and I roamed the beaches and the paddocks for miles around. We weren’t restricted by time or place or fear of strangers. Freedom and security—they were what I felt. Two rare and precious commodities. But they’re gone from today’s world. You can’t get them back.”

  “I can try,” she said.

  He eyed her skeptically. “If you can create the illusion of childhood in a garden, I’ll believe you really are a magician.”

  “The magic comes from within,” she said quietly. “You have it, too. Everyone does. You just need to find it.”

  She paused to sip her drink, the melting ice cubes tinkling faintly as she lifted her glass. To Will, the curve of her throat seemed at that moment both unbearably vulnerable and unimaginably strong. Magic within? He didn’t think so. Not him.

  She lowered her glass and repositioned her pen above the paper. “Did you have a special place you liked to go to as a child? A place that was yours and yours alone?”

  “Why are you asking all these questions?” All of a sudden he felt vulnerable himself.

  “I told you. I want to know you.” Her huge dark eyes were hypnotic; her smooth low voice was mesmerizing.

  “There was a place,” he admitted slowly, “at the bottom of the garden where jasmine grew over the fence. The vines were wildly overgrown—they must have been at least six feet thick. Next to the fence I hollowed out a cubby for myself. On hot days it was cool and filled with green light. Perfumed by the jasmine.” He chuckled. “I would pretend I was an Arabian sheik living in my tent at an oasis. My golden retriever was my camel.” He threw her another skeptical glance. “Not the sort of landscaping you had in mind, I’m sure.”

  “You’d be surprised.” She closed her clipboard. “I’ll just go take a few more measurements. I want to check out those lilacs by the brick wall.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Will said, rising. Then, through the open sliding doors came the sound of the door chimes.

  “Saved by the bell—again.” Her mouth hinted at a smile, then she strode off across the lawn.

  Will went to open the front door and found Ida, his oldest friend and practically his best mate, on the doorstep. With her auburn hair and creamy complexion, Ida would have been a knockout if not for the burn scars that marred the right side of her face, puckering the skin from the outer corner of her eye all the way down to her chin.

  “Hi, Will. You’re not busy, are you?” she asked, stepping past him into the entry hall.

  “No.” Even after all these years, Will never saw the scars without experiencing a stab of guilt.

  Today Ida looked slighter than usual in a slim gray skirt and white fitted blouse.

  “Good, because I need to talk.”

  “Of course. Come through to the patio.”

  They stopped in the kitchen to get Will another beer and to pour Ida a glass of chardonnay.

  “Can I have some mineral water with that?” she asked, rummaging in Will’s pantry for pretzels. “I’ve been feeling a little queasy all week. Must have a tummy bug.”

  Will handed her the wine spritzer. “What’s up?”

  “Wait till we’re sitting.” Carrying her glass and the bag of pretzels, Ida led the way out the sliding glass doors to the patio table. When they were seated, she took a sip of her drink, put her glass down and looked Will straight in the eye. “I’ve decided to have a child.”

  Will choked on his beer. “What?”

  “I said, I’m going to have a child. On my own.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Ida waved a pretzel at him. “I didn’t mention it until now because I was afraid you’d try to talk me out of the idea before I’d even made up my mind. But I’ve thought long and hard and I’m very sure this is what I want. Now it’s just a question of finding someone to donate sperm.”

  “But on your own! Don’t you want to get married someday?”

  “Who’d marry me?”

  “Come on, Ida,” Will chided. “You’re smart, successful, beautiful—”

  “Stop it, Will. I might have been beautiful once,” she conceded, touching her forefinger to the fine ridges of scar tissue on her cheek. “Since this happened…forget it.”

  Will fell silent, gnawed by guilt. Her scars, caused by burns from a deep-fat fryer in the fast-food joint where they’d both worked as university students, were his fault. She’d been standing over the fryer when he’d come along, on his way to the back room with his lunch. He’d stepped in a spot of grease, slipped, and his drink had flown into the fryer. He’d gone down, escaping the spray of boiling fat. Ida had caught it in the face. Thanks to her generous, forgiving nature, she’d never held the accident against him.

  “Okay, so you’ll never make it in the movies, but you do all right, don’t you? I mean, your law practice is thriving, you own your house outright, you drive a brand-new BMW—” He broke off, wondering whether he was trying to convince himself or her.

  “In terms of material success, yes, I’m doing fine. But it’s not enough anymore. What I want is a family.”

  “I can understand that. I’d like a family, too. I’ve been thinking it’s time I settled down.”

  “There you go. I’m thirty-seven, Will. It’s time to face facts. Maybe somewhere on this ever-shrinking Earth is a man who would love me for who I am, but I can’t wait forever to meet him.”

  Will traced a path through the condensation on his glass. If only he could have fallen in love with her. But he’d known Ida since they were children, long before the fryer incident and the scarring. He loved her like a brother; the right chemistry just wasn’t there. “You’ll meet someone. Thirty-seven isn’t old.”

  Ida snorted. “My biological clock has turned into a time bomb. If it weren’t physiologically unlikely, I’d swear I was getting hot flashes just thinking about my next birthday.”

  “What about that guy from San Diego—Rick, wasn’t it? The one who was here setting up the Melbourne outlet for Borders bookstore. He seemed nice.”

  “He’s gone back to the States,” Ida said with the dismissive gesture Will had come to associate with her covering up some hurt. “He wasn’t serious.”

  “You always downplay any feelings a guy might have for you.” Will had thought the relationship was serious, at least on Ida’s part. He’d liked Rick, but if Rick had hurt her, Will wanted to shake him till his brain rattled. Ida hated anyone feeling sorry for her, though, even him, so he just nodded and sipped his beer.

  A rustle in the bushes next to the brick wall caught his attention. Maeve emerged on the lawn. Despite the shimmering heat, she looked cool as a spring flower in her loose white shirt. Unaware of his scrutiny, she was making notes on her clipboard, head bent, wisps of shining dark hair falling over her high cheekbones. Then the warm breeze ruffled the page, and she glanced up. Seeing him watching her, she smiled.

  Will froze, glass to his lips, as the oddest sensation stole over him, a kind of warmth in his midsection. A smile curved his lips as their gazes held, and the warmth expanded throughout his body, transporting him to a state of unexpected well-being.

  “Who’s that?” Ida asked.

  “Huh? Oh, that’s Maeve. She’s a landscape gardener, and the daughte
r of my foreman at the factory. She’s got some sensational ideas for the garden.”

  “She’s lovely. If you’re looking to settle down, you don’t need to look farther than your own backyard.”

  “I asked her out and she refused,” Will said with a frown. “No reason. Just refused.”

  “Maybe she was having a bad day.”

  “Maybe.”

  Maeve disappeared behind the Monterey Bay fig, and Will turned back to Ida. “I understand your wanting a child, but do you really have to do it on your own?”

  Ida’s chin lifted. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Will shoved both hands through his hair. “For starters, a child needs a mother and a father. I realize it doesn’t always work out that way and I’d never judge anyone whose marriage breaks up, but, damn it, you have to try.”

  Ida leaned forward, her hazel eyes shimmering. “I have tried, Will. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past fifteen years—playing hard to get?”

  “But think of the child. It’s not fair to deliberately deprive a kid of having a father.” No one understood better than he what growing up without a father was like.

  Ida’s mouth pulled tight. “Life isn’t fair. Is it fair for me to remain childless when I want so badly to have a baby?”

  “No, but…”

  She got up and strode across the deck to lean against the post, arms tightly crossed. “I was hoping for your moral support. If that’s not possible, at least spare me your condemnation.”

  Will rose and put his arms around her, and felt her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t try to talk you out of this crazy idea.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her wet cheeks with the heel of her hand. “My emotions are all over the place lately. I know what I want is selfish, but I’m feeling desperate. I hate that. It’s so pathetic.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Will said soothingly, and stroked her back. “You’re not selfish or pathetic. It’s just that you deserve more. Your baby deserves more. I thought you were waiting for Mr. Right to come along.”

  She managed a ragged laugh. “Mr. Right must have taken a wrong turn. Or maybe he saw me first. I’ve given up, Will. I’ve tried so hard for so long. Plastic surgery can only do so much. My appearance is as good as it’s ever going to get. The only dates I’ve had since my accident have been with friends or co-workers who feel sorry for me.”

  “And Rick,” he reminded her. “But I don’t believe he or anyone else went out with you because they felt sorry for you.”

  With an impatient sigh, she pushed away from Will and paced back to her seat. “I thought Rick was different, yet when his time was up here in Melbourne, he just left.”

  “Have you heard from him at all?”

  “He phoned once, but I could tell it was just a duty call. I’m not prepared to wait around any longer on the off chance I might meet someone else. If I’m going to have a child, I want it to be soon.”

  Will was silent a moment, struggling to accept what she was saying. He came back to his seat, prepared to be a help, not a hindrance. “Okay, you’re serious. Let’s take it from there. What about the father? Who will it be? Are you planning to tell him?”

  “I don’t have an arrangement with anyone yet.” She gazed down at her hands with an oddly shy smile. “Although I do have a candidate in mind.”

  Will relaxed a little and leaned back against his chair. At least, she wasn’t planning on a series of one-night stands with anonymous lovers.

  “And, of course, I’ll tell him,” Ida went on. “It wouldn’t be fair not to. He could have as much or as little contact as he wished. My only stipulation would be that if he opted to take on the fatherhood thing, he be prepared to stick with it. For the child’s sake.”

  “I hope whoever you’re thinking of is good enough for you. He’d have to be a pretty special guy.”

  Ida glanced up at him. “Oh, he’s special, all right.”

  Will gazed at her determined, tear-stained face.

  She gazed right back at him.

  Light dawned. “You mean me?”

  “Would you? I hate the idea of using a sperm bank and having a complete stranger father my baby.”

  “I—I’m incredibly flattered. I just don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.”

  “You don’t have to make up your mind right away. I know it’s a lot to spring on someone. But would you at least contemplate it? Please?”

  His gut reaction was to decline, but for Ida he would consider the proposal. “Sure. I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you.” She checked her watch and sighed. “I’d better go. I’ve got so much work to catch up on.”

  Will walked her out to her car. Ida opened her door and paused to search his face worriedly. “Will, whatever you decide it’s okay. I don’t want anything to hurt our friendship.”

  “Nothing will hurt our friendship.” He still felt a little stunned as he leaned down to kiss her lightly on the lips. He wanted to be a father, but this wasn’t the way he’d expected it to happen. What was the point of having children if you weren’t part of a family?

  CHAPTER THREE

  MAEVE CLOSED her clipboard and wandered back to the patio. Her plan wasn’t as complete as she would have liked. But then, she didn’t feel she knew everything she needed to about Will. Sometimes she just had to start with the barest of an idea, and elaborate as she got to know her characters, the way a writer might.

  She spread the sheets of graph paper with her roughed-in design on the table and waited for Will to return from seeing his friend—girlfriend?—out. He came through the sliding doors looking as though he’d been hit hard over the head and was still seeing stars. “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “Huh?” He gave his head a little shake. “Yes. Fine. Are you finished taking measurements?”

  Maeve indicated the graph paper. “See what you think.”

  Will turned the paper sideways to read her tiny writing. “It’s all Greek to me.”

  “Latin, actually,” Maeve said. “Sorry if it’s confusing, but using the species names of plants is second nature.”

  “Where did you study?”

  “Melbourne University. I have a PhD in botany.”

  Will’s eyebrows disappeared upward into a lock of sun-streaked chestnut hair. “I would have thought you’d be teaching or doing research, with a degree like that.”

  Maeve shrugged. “I experiment in situ in my own modest way, but I prefer growing plants to studying them, especially when I have the go-ahead to do my own thing. Which is really your thing, of course. You can get back to me on the estimate, if you like. My phone number’s on the letterhead, or you can e-mail me.”

  “When would you be able to start?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment. “I’m booked solid for the next two weeks, but I’ll try to rearrange some of my less-urgent jobs. I could get back here on Monday to take out that tree by the bungalow.”

  “I appreciate your rearranging work for me.”

  She knew he wouldn’t understand if she told him his garden was already growing inside her mind. “You…you’ve been so good to my father.”

  “Nothing he didn’t earn.” For some reason Will’s mouth flattened and a frown line appeared between his eyes. He went into the house and returned a moment later carrying a checkbook. “You’ll be needing money for materials, I presume?”

  Maeve handed him the second piece of paper from her clipboard. “Half of that will be enough to get me going. Labor costs are charged at an hourly rate.”

  Will glanced over the itemized list and scribbled off a check. “Might as well pay for all the materials now to avoid delays in the future.”

  “If you say so.” Clients weren’t usually so quick to offer money—especially those supposedly in financial straits. Mentally, she gave herself a shake; sometimes she analyzed things too much. She wrote him out a receipt, then fo
lded his check and tucked it into her breast pocket. “I take it this means I’ve got the job.”

  “Looks that way.” He stacked the papers and set them aside. “Are you busy Saturday night?”

  “No, but—”

  “There’s a jazz concert at the Briar’s winery this weekend,” he said over her objection. “We could take a picnic supper, sit under those big old gums and watch the cockatoos flap home to roost while the sun sets over the hills…”

  Maeve smiled and held up a hand to stop his flow of words. “That sounds wonderful, but I can’t.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?” he asked bluntly.

  She hesitated, glanced away, then faced him squarely. “Won’t.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I…don’t get involved with clients.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

  “Okay. How about, I don’t think seeing you is a good idea given that you’re my father’s employer.”

  “Bullshit,” he said politely.

  “Okay…” Time to get serious, even though—no, especially because—part of her badly wanted to see him again. Her chin rose. “I don’t find you attractive.”

  Will didn’t even flinch. He studied her face as though trying to decide why she was lying to him. Finally, he said quietly, “Tell me the real reason.”

  She drew in a deep breath, shaken that his calm rational eyes saw through her so easily. When she spoke, the truth made her voice tremble. “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now. Sometimes I don’t know if I ever will be again.”

  His frown softened into concern. “You must have been hurt badly.”

  She glanced away. “You could say that.”

  “Your ex-husband?”

  “He…was part of it. Look, I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s personal and deeply painful, and not something I share with many people. Trust me, it wouldn’t work between us.”

  “Maybe if I ask you again in a week or two—”

  “No! I mean, I’m sorry, but there’s absolutely no hope that I’ll change my mind. You’d just be wasting your time.”