by Dana Taylor
Maddie sunk to her seat and hoped she misinterpreted Melissa's expression. The last thing she wanted was to cause a rift between Melissa and Phil just when they were moving past their troubled history.
Even though she hated to miss a minute of the game, her pregnant bladder simply couldn't be ignored. Phil's child was already an active thumper, a fact that didn't surprise her in the least.
Maddie rose and made her way to the ladies room, hoping she wouldn't miss any big plays.
Florescent lights flickered in the deserted cinder block bathroom. She quickly entered a toilet with a functioning lock. As she maneuvered her new maternity clothes under her coat, she heard someone enter the bathroom. Guess she wasn't the only one with a touchy bladder.
Pam stood, arms crossed, leaning against a sink, obviously waiting for Maddie when she emerged from the stall. Big hair, big boobs and biker boots. Maddie's mother had a phrase for it—her taste is all in her mouth.
Maddie hesitated for a moment and then headed for an empty sink. "Hello."
"Hello, bitch."
Water ran over Maddie's hands as she tried to assess the situation.
She dried her hands and turned to face Pam. "Something on your mind, Mrs. Wilcox?"
Pam took a step in Maddie's direction, her face a grotesque, painted mask. "Yeah, plenty's on my mind. I know what you're up to. I'm on to you and you're not going to get away with it."
Maddie assumed her Bostonian cool. "And what exactly are we talking about?"
"I'm talking about the kid you got in the oven and you trying to snag Phil as the father. I saw you last night. Shopping for maternity clothes at the mall. Very cozy. Very lovey-dovey."
Maddie closed her eyes for a moment. Here it was. She'd known the word would get out. She'd been hoping for a better messenger to the world than Phil's ex-wife.
She held her ground. "All right. The cat's out of the bag. I'm pregnant. Phil's the father. What are you going to do about it?"
Pam took a step back and reached into her tiny purse for her cigarettes. "You mean Phil really is the father? You're not just putting your hooks in him?"
"We can do a DNA test after the child's born if you're going to spread a lot of rumors and speculation. I assure you the tests will show Phil is the father. But I don't see what this has to do with you."
"Oh, you don't, huh?" She lit up her cig. "Listen, Phil is mine. I've been wondering why he's been so slow to take the bait. I didn't realize you'd been putting out for him. You sure don't look like his type. But, I'm telling you now and you better do as I say and find yourself another daddy for the kid."
"Don't be ridiculous. Phil would never give up his rights to his child. You should know that better than anybody."
"Yeah, you're right. Phil's got a real thing for fatherhood. Melissa is his weak spot. I can get him to do just about anything when I threaten to take away his visitation." She raised a speculative penciled eyebrow, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "And I can do a lot worse than that."
Pam took a few steps away as Maddie felt a chill coming on. Someone tried to open the bathroom door, but Pam had locked it.
"Go away!" Pam said. "We're fixing a busted pipe!"
Maddie kept a calm to her voice she did not feel. "What are you really saying?"
Pam sucked nicotine, highlighting fine wrinkles around her lips. "You've got the hots for Phil, don't you? I saw it last night."
"I love Phil," Maddie said, feeling the blood draining from her head.
"Even better." She strutted in the small enclosure, her heels clicking on the concrete. "If you really love him, then you wouldn't want to see him lose his daughter over you. His daughter, the light of his life. The reason he quit drinking and gave up a big bucks job to coach high school football in this hick town."
Maddie couldn't believe the cruelty Pam was implying. "How can you be so selfish? Would you deny Melissa the love of her father?"
Pam's eyes became green slits. "Unless you dump Phil, I'll turn Melissa against him. I've done it before and I can do it again. Phil is my one hope of getting out of this town. He's on his way now. He could move into coaching in college or the pros. And I'm going to be there with him. Me and Melissa. The way it's supposed to be. I'm not letting some tight-assed bitch take him away from us. If you don't cut it off with him, I'll take Melissa away. I'll tell her how he chose you over us. I'll make her hate his guts. It will be easy." Pam turned to the mirror and patted a few bleached hairs into place. "So, what will it be? Are you going to be responsible for Phil losing his daughter, Miss High and Mighty?"
Maddie felt light-headed and had to grab the sink to keep her balance. She looked in the mirror, hoping to see Grammy Harris for moral support. But all she saw in the harsh light was her ashen face and Pam's cat grin in the background.
Maddie spoke to Pam's reflection. "You're a wicked, evil person."
Pam laughed. "Sticks and stones, sticks and stones. I really gotta get back. Phil might miss me cheering on his team. He's always looking for me. And if you go whining to him about this little conversation, I'll have Melissa out of the state so fast, he won't have time to take a picture to remember her by. You dump Phil or he will never see Melissa again."
Pam walked over to the door, flipped back the lock and sashayed out into the night.
Maddie gazed into the mirror. She leaned in and examined closely. Surely a dozen new lines were about to pop to the surface.
* * *
Just before dawn on Saturday morning, and Phil felt great. He sprang out of bed and hit the shower. The forecast was for sunshine and sixty-five degrees. The team had won another game. They'd only lost one so far. His daughter looked at him with eyes of adoration and her mother was no longer making his life a living hell. Dealing with Pam was like crossing a tightrope over a pond of hungry alligators. One false step, and chomp, your leg was gone. Or in Pam's case, another equally vital body part. Still, he'd been going along to get along and she seemed to be under control.
But the biggest reason for his euphoria was Miss Madeleine Woodbridge Harris, mother of his unborn child, amazing unleashed lover. Who would have guessed? Uninhibited, responsive, just plain hot. And she was his.
He got dressed, antsy to get going.
Man was meant to start the day throwing his line into a lake, watching the sunrise, not riding a desk somewhere. He decided to try his luck in Maddie's lake again. He'd never actually gotten the chance to fish at Lake Luna that night four months ago. Might be some good fishing there. Ah, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to see her. It was too early to call. She'd looked dead tired after the game last night. He'd barely said two words to her before she begged off and left without looking back. But if a man just happened to be fishing in the area and then dropped by later to say hello, he might get a cup of coffee and breakfast. Phil tugged his fishing cap on his head and left his dingy apartment behind.
Driving up the winding hill, he let his mind drift and dream. He imagined taking this drive every day and night, watching the change of seasons in the colors of the hills. Going to work, returning home. His home with Maddie and their son. Yeah, why not? Why not dream big? For him, the thought of a happy home was a big dream. Bigger than winning the Superbowl and a helluva lot more satisfying.
Later, as he cast his line again and again in the sparkling water, he glanced up at her cabin, looking for signs of life. Even with the debris of fall all around, it had a tidy appearance. The picture window that looked out onto the lake gleamed in the morning sunshine. With each flick of his wrist, his resolve grew stronger. He was going to make the big play, ask her to marry him. He wanted her, the whole package: the uptight suits, the smart mouth, the sparkling eyes, the creamy skin. He wanted the woman who looked like she believed in him and the man he could be. And he surely wanted the child she'd be holding at her breast.
He glanced at his watch. Nine o'clock. He didn't know she was such a sack artist. Just then, her porch door opened and Lucifer shot out into the yard, barking an
d galloping in Phil's direction.
Phil scratched the dog's large head and enjoyed watching him leap into the water. God, he guessed he wanted her dog, too.
"Come on, boy, let's see if we can beg some food."
Phil and Lucifer made a companionable pair heading up the hill to Maddie's door.
* * *
Maddie looked like hell and felt worse. Wrapped in her oldest, rattiest, most comfortable robe, she stood against the kitchen counter, hypnotized by the water dripping from the Mr. Coffee basket into the carafe.
She'd paced the floor during the night, until she couldn't stand anymore. Then she curled up on the couch and fell into troubled sleep seeing Pam's wicked lips.
You dump Phil or he will never see Melissa again.
Could she somehow keep Phil at arm's length enough to make Pam happy? Thank God she hadn't confessed her feelings to him. That would make it all the harder. Somehow she had to figure out a way to allow him to have Melissa in his life, even at the sacrifice of her dreams. Melissa was a young girl who needed a father more than Maddie needed a husband. Maddie had successfully lived a solitary life before and she could do it again. Besides, she'd have the baby. She'd see Phil when he had his visitations. That could be enough couldn't it?
No! her heart screamed. She wanted Phil in every part of her life. He filled in her gaps, smoothed her sharp edges. She'd turn into a wizened, prune-faced, sex-starved spinster for sure.
"Get a grip, Madeleine," she said for the umpteenth time.
She needed a shower and a huge slice of cake. Maybe she'd alphabetize her spices again. She just needed some time to pull her unraveling ends together and be the stalwart Woodbridge-Harris her mother had raised. Her mother. Oh Lord, her parents would be arriving in four short days.
It was all too much to contemplate. She needed to go to bed. Hovering under her covers seemed like her best move. She'd taken two steps toward the living room when the back door opened.
"Morning, cupcake! Think you can spare a wandering fisherman a cup of coffee?"
Maddie blinked as if seeing a mirage. "Phil? What are you doing here?"
Phil looked taken aback by her less-than-enthusiastic greeting. "Well, I thought maybe we could have breakfast together. I've been fishing in your lake."
"I'm not feeling very well this morning." She clutched her robe.
"Yeah, I can see you're a little under the weather. Here, you sit down and I'll make you some breakfast."
She sighed. "This isn't a good time."
He dragged her to the table and pushed her into a chair. "You just need one of Coach Wilcox's killer omelets."
"I don't think that's going to do it."
But he paid her no mind and began taking apart her kitchen–frying bacon, scrambling eggs, chopping onions, throwing scraps to Lucifer. Cheerfully making a gigantic mess.
He flipped on her radio and tuned it to country, singing along with Billy Ray, acting the most cheerful she had ever seen him. He told her how great the sunrise had been and replayed some of the best moments of the previous night's game.
She wanted to go jump in the lake.
He tucked into his food with gusto, while she pushed the eggs around on her plate, feeling a throbbing headache coming on. When he finished, he set his dishes aside and leaned back into the chair to stare at her. He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped.
He pushed his fingers through his hair. "I've been babbling like my Aunt Fanny and you've been as silent as a Sphinx. Guess I'm a bit nervous. See, I've been thinking, Maddie. We've got a good thing going between us. We get along. We've got a baby coming..."
Maddie sat up straight. She'd been wishing the interminable breakfast would simply end. And now he appeared on the verge of proposing marriage.
She put a hand on his arm. "Don't say it, Phil."
"Now you don't even know what I'm going to say. See, we're good for each other." He covered her hand and looked at her with the innocence of a puppy. "I love you. I've known it for a good little while. You make me happy and I think we'd make a great team. We need each other. We're right together. Oh, hell, Maddie, either shoot me and put me out of my misery or marry me." He released a deep breath. "There, I said it. I think we should get married. What do you say?"
He looked so happy, she wanted to throw up. Her voice came out hoarse. "I can't marry you, Phil. It just wouldn't work."
An expression of shocked pain flashed across his face before it quickly changed to anger. "Oh, I get it. It's one thing to have a roll in the sheets with the football jock, but you wouldn't want to marry him."
"No, no, it's not like that."
"Then what is it? Explain it to me."
Oh God, she wasn't ready for this. She hadn't rehearsed a speech. She crossed her legs and tried to assume an elegant air. "Well, you're from one world and I'm from another and I don't think we're compatible. You're much too messy. I wouldn't want to be picking up your socks and picking out your clothes." Oh yes she would, she really would.
Phil stood up. "Okay, sweetheart, you're too good for me. I get it. An alcoholic, has-been football player isn't your idea of husband material. Well, let me tell you something, babe. You're passing up a good deal."
She knew that. She knew he was the best thing that had ever come along in her whole life. "It wouldn't be a suitable match, that's all. I think you have many fine qualities, but you're just not my type. I hope we can be friends, for the baby's sake."
He grabbed her chin and forced her to look in his face. "This is so much bullshit. You came onto me the other night like it was for keeps. You didn't say it, but I could feel it in your body, see it on your face. You love me, goddamn it! You look me straight in the eye and deny it. Say it. Say 'Phil, I don't love you.' I don't think you can."
Maddie swallowed and dug deep down to a well of strength she didn't know she possessed. She had to make the lie seem true. In a calm and measured voice she said, "Phil…I…don't… love you."
He released her as if he'd been burned, turned on his heel and rushed for the door. She flinched at the slam and closed her eyes. Taking a breath, she opened them again and surveyed the incredible mess he'd made making one small meal.
Standing before the sink was the see-through figure of Grammy Harris. "Pitiful, simply pitiful. You've set the Harris womenfolk back 'bout a hundred years."
Chapter Eighteen
Hail, hail, the gang's all here
Gilbert & Sullivan
Phil banged open his apartment door and marched to his gun cabinet. His mind swirled with curses at himself for being such a fool and falling in love. Women! God's joke on man. He'd let Maddie sucker punch him again. Made him take his guard down, then wham! She'd hit his glass jaw, thrown a jab to his gut and generally beaten his brains out.
How could he have read her so wrong? He'd been positive that the cold exterior was only a protective front over a warm, vulnerable, caring interior. What about all those blushing smiles and innocent blue-eyed glances? She'd come apart for him the other night, given herself completely. But it had all been an act. She was some kind of temptress witch, ten times more wicked than Pam.
He unlocked the cabinet and pulled out his best two hunting rifles. Then he stomped into his bedroom, found his duffle bag and began stuffing it with clothes. He needed to get away. Away from all women and their two-faced, manipulative schemes. He'd head to the backwoods country where the campfires burned low and a man could sit in a hunter's blind and make some sense out of life. Hell, maybe he'd just find a cave and become a, by God, hermit! He'd let his hair grow and become a bushy-faced old geezer.
With the duffle bag flung over one shoulder and his rifles tucked under the other arm, Phil strode out of his apartment and climbed into the truck. He was going deer hunting, and as far away as he could get from that sweet-faced, black-hearted woman.
* * *
Maddie managed to get herself into a functioning mode by Sunday afternoon. Her best chance of making it through Thanksgivi
ng was to banish all thoughts of Phil. Thank God, school was closed for the next week; but she still had to contend with her parents' imminent arrival. And, oh my lord, she needed to prepare a Thanksgiving feast. Time to call in the cavalry.
Sitting on her couch, she picked up the phone and hit Randy's number on her speed dial. He picked up on the second ring.
His merry voice lifted her mood. "Hello, dear heart, how in the world are you? We've hardly talked at all since we've acquired significant others."
"I'm in a fix." Maddie lifted her feet onto the coffee table. "My parents are arriving on Wednesday. How would you, Brent, and Mother Bailey like to join us for Thanksgiving? And bring your wonderful Waldorf salad, your fabulous green beans, your to-die-for home made rolls and a pecan pie?"
"So you're on for the turkey, dressing and potatoes? I suppose the Coach is good for a bag of chips."
Serious guilt pains gripped her chest. "I doubt he'll be here."
"Trouble in paradise?"
Maddie knew she'd burst into tears if she told Randy her sad story and she was sick to death of crying. "I'll tell you about it later. How are you and Brent getting along? Is Mother Bailey making your life miserable?"
"No more than usual. Actually, Brent appears to be winning her over. She enjoys having two of us at her beck and call. So far, we've just been together on weekends. One big, happy, gay family. Brent's talking about building a room addition on for her at his house in Little Rock."
Maddie felt a little stab of jealousy at Randy's happiness. And she was ashamed of herself. "That's wonderful."
"You don't sound too cheery. Has that big brute done something to upset you?" He put on a Brooklyn accent. "Do you want I should go and punch his lights out?"
She managed a chuckle. "No, but I'm thinking of turning Lucifer on Pam. Listen, just bring food and plan on being the life of the party on Thursday. I'm sure we're going to need entertainment by then."
"You've got it. I'll bring my tape of Moulin Rouge and do my Nicole Kidman imitation."