Wife Wanted

by Christine Rimmer

  Rick came back in just as she was telling herself she couldn’t put off extending her invitation a moment more.

  “What’s this? Popcorn?”

  Her tongue was suddenly too big inside her mouth. “Yes, um, I rented a movie. A comedy. I thought maybe…”

  “Sounds great. Want a soda?”

  “A soda. Yes. Great.”

  So Rick got two colas and Natalie slipped the video into the VCR in the cabinet under the television. They sat on the floor by the coffee table and munched their popcorn, sipped their sodas and watched the movie. Natalie tried not to think about how they laughed at all the same places. And she was careful not to glance at Rick when the guy in the movie finally kissed the girl. And when she and Rick both reached into the bowl at the same time, and his hand brushed hers, she scrupulously ignored the delicious little shiver that skittered up her arm.

  As soon as the movie was through, Natalie put the popcorn bowl in the dishwasher, tossed her empty cola can in the recycling bin and told Rick good-night.

  The next morning, she woke smiling, thinking of Rick. She told herself that had to stop. She’d be more careful today, she decided; she’d keep a little more distance between them.

  But when she came downstairs and saw him at the table, reading his paper, it just seemed the most natural thing in the world to pour herself some coffee and sit down opposite him, to hear about what he was reading in the paper and answer his questions about the itinerary for her Mediterranean cruise.

  And, actually, time was running very short for the two of them, anyway. Their days together in the house were almost over. It was Friday. On Monday, early, she would fly to New York. From New York she’d board a plane for Tenerife, her ship’s embarkation point.

  Really, going out of her way to avoid Rick was unnecessary. They had an agreement to be no more than “friendly.” And they were both abiding by it. There was no reason she couldn’t enjoy his and Toby’s company until the time came for her to be on her way.

  Rick and Toby hung around the house that day. And so did Natalie, though she’d originally planned to drive to Travistown and visit her classroom, to clean out a few cabinets and get a head start on preparations for the fall. But she’d done some of that already, and she could handle the rest after her return.

  And she certainly didn’t need to shop for anything more to wear. Her closet was crammed with fabulous clothes. She was as ready as she’d ever be to look glamorous from Barcelona to Cairo and back again.

  So she fished from the dock with Toby and Bernie, catching two minuscule trout, which Toby calmly removed from her hook and threw back in the water. Then there was lunch, a gourmet affair of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, juice boxes, apple slices and Creepy Crawlers fruit snacks. They made a picnic of it, spreading an old stadium blanket on the front lawn and sharing the fruit snacks with Bernie, who especially liked the purple spider ones. After the meal, they got out the ancient croquet set from the garage and set it up on the lawn. Then they batted the balls through the wickets with the old wooden mallets.

  Later, Natalie’s uncle Frank called. The housekeeper had left early, and Lindsay was at the hospital. He needed to make a quick trip into Minneapolis. Could he possibly leave Chelsea and Carter with her for a couple of hours?

  “Sure, bring ’em on over.”

  Twenty minutes later, Frank dropped off his son and daughter. By then, it was nearing five o’clock. Rick and Natalie decided it would be fun to eat dinner outside. The menu would be hot dogs, potato chips and grape Kool-Aid. Rick was going to barbecue the dogs on the old stone barbecue that Grandpa Ben had built himself years ago.

  “I love hot dogs,” said Chelsea.

  “Me too,” agreed Carter.

  Even Toby was smiling.

  They all filed outside, each carrying something to contribute to the meal. Once everything had been brought out, Rick began stacking briquettes in the barbecue and Natalie set to work a few feet from him, taping a paper cloth to the redwood picnic table.

  The kids stood around, not quite sure what to do with themselves yet. Carter was almost as reserved as Toby. But Chelsea made up for the silence of the boys.

  “Don’t you talk?” she demanded of Toby after a few minutes of nonstop chatter on her part.

  Toby only stared at her, the way a traveler in a foreign land will often gape at the locals—as if he’d studied the language a little, but was totally unprepared for it to be spoken so fast.

  “Well, don’t you?”

  Rick straightened from his work at the barbecue and started to speak. But Natalie moved swiftly, reaching his side in a few steps and putting a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Did you hear me?” Chelsea demanded of Toby, speaking very slowly and deliberately now.

  Solemnly Toby nodded.

  “Well, then? Do you talk—or not?”

  And Toby shook his head.

  “Oh,” said Chelsea, shrugging. “Okay.” She took Toby’s hand. “See that tree over there?” She pointed at a walnut tree near the garage.

  Toby nodded.

  “Let’s go climb it.” She turned to her brother. “Come on, Carter.”

  And the three of them sped off across the lawn, Bernie at their heels.

  Natalie stared after them, grinning. Then she turned to look at him. “I thought it would be better if he answered for himself.”

  There was a half smile on his lips. “And, as usual, you were right.”

  She knew she should move away. But it felt so nice to touch him. And what she should do seemed pretty unimportant right then. She could hear the children laughing. And the teasing sigh of a breeze rippling the trees. And the cry of a bird somewhere.

  But the sounds were muted, far away. Only Rick seemed near. Every line of his face was so vivid, so clear.

  He drew in one deep, careful breath. She saw his chest expand beneath the polo shirt he was wearing, and then slowly contract when he let the breath out.

  “Natalie.”

  “Yes?”

  “I should get those briquettes going.”

  “Yes. Yes, I know.” She let go of him and backed away.

  The minute the contact was broken, she felt foolish. She shouldn’t have done that; she’d held on way too long.

  But he seemed totally unconcerned. As if nothing whatever had happened. He went right back to stacking his briquettes. And she told herself that if he didn’t think she’d been out of line, then maybe she hadn’t been. It was no big deal. She’d touched him to get his attention, so that he wouldn’t steal Toby’s right to answer Chelsea’s questions for himself. And it had been nice, touching him. So she’d kept doing it, longer than she should have.

  But it was no big deal. She wouldn’t do it again.

  When Rick served the hot dogs forty-five minutes later, the kids all ate as if they were starving. They had chocolate ice cream for dessert. Then they toted every thing back to the house, and the adults finished cleaning up while the kids gathered around the coffee table in the great room, putting puzzles together and playing with Toby’s Emergency City.

  Frank returned at seven to pick up Chelsea and Carter.

  “Toby wants to come to our house sometime soon,” Chelsea told Rick. “Will you bring him?”

  Rick looked at Toby, who nodded enthusiastically.

  “I’ll give you a call next week,” suggested Frank, “and we’ll set something up.”

  “Sounds great,” Rick said.

  Natalie realized she’d miss that; next week, she’d be gone.

  Which was great, really, wasn’t it? The kids all got along, and Frank and Rick had seemed comfortable with each other right from the first. It was perfect. For everybody. And she’d be off doing the Mediterranean, so she’d be having a ball, too.

  So why did it make her sad?

  It didn’t. It really didn’t. She didn’t feel sad at all.

  Once Chelsea and Carter were gone, Natalie and Rick helped Toby finish the puzzle that he and t
he other kids had been working on. And then it was time for Toby to get ready for bed.

  He had his bath and then Rick went to tuck him in. Natalie sat down on the sofa in the great room and picked up the remote, thinking that maybe she’d hang around down here for a while, if Rick didn’t mind. She was switching between a rerun of “Home Improvement” and a murder mystery when Rick spoke from behind her.

  “Natalie.”

  She turned, smiling, but the smile quickly faded when she saw his face. He stared at her, vacant-eyed and slack-jawed, as if he’d just had some terrible shock.

  She was already on her feet. “My God, what’s happened?”

  “He asked for you.”

  “Who, Toby?”

  Rick nodded.

  She frowned, trying to understand. “Well, fine, I’ll be glad to say good-night to him.”

  “Natalie.” His voice was low and rough. “I said Toby asked for you.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in. “In words?”

  Rick nodded again. “Out of nowhere, in a whisper, he said, ‘Could Natalie come kiss me?’”

  Behind her, on the television, a string of commercials had begun. Natalie grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched the thing off.

  Then she turned back to Rick.

  The look of shock had been replaced by a broad smile. “Will you? Go kiss him?”

  She tossed the remote on a side table. “You bet I will.”

  In Toby’s bedroom, Bernie was already stretched out on the floor. Toby lay in the bed, under the airplane quilt. Natalie went and sat on the edge. “Your dad says you asked for me.”

  Toby nodded.

  “He said you wanted a kiss.”

  Another nod.

  Natalie bent and brushed her lips against his forehead. Before she could pull away, two small arms closed around her neck. Toby gave her a squeeze and pressed his soft cheek to hers.

  “I had a good time today,” she whispered.

  In answer, he gave her another squeeze.

  Then she pulled back and tucked the covers closer around him. “You sleep tight, now.” She switched off the airplane lamp.

  Toby turned on his side and closed his eyes.

  Rick was waiting on the threshold. When she moved past him, he quietly reached in and pulled the door closed.

  Then he leaned back against the door and grinned at her. “There should be a celebration. Will you celebrate with me?” His eyes were shining, and his face was flushed.

  She simply couldn’t refuse him—not that she wanted to. “Sure.”

  They headed for the great room. “Dr. Dawkins—that’s Toby’s psychiatrist—said this would happen,” Rick told her in a hushed, excited tone before they were halfway down the hall. “At Toby’s last visit, she said he’d start talking. And she told me that when he did, I should be careful to let him find his own pace with it, not to push him, you know?”

  “Yes, that makes sense.”

  They were standing near the sofa by then. He was grinning at her. And then he blinked. “Champagne. We should have champagne.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  He spun on his heel and started for the kitchen—but then he stopped and threw up his hands. “I don’t have any champagne. Can you believe it? People always have champagne at times like this.”

  His enthusiasm was contagious. “How about brandy?” she suggested. “There’s a bottle of Courvoisier in the pantry.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know…” She could see that the idea of drinking brandy didn’t thrill him. She was glad. Joel had been a brandy drinker—though he’d always insisted that she call it cognac. As a Christmas gift two years before, he’d bought her a set of balloon glasses, so that she could serve it properly.

  She put Joel from her mind. “How about white wine? There’s something German in the back of the refrigerator.”

  He laughed. “Something German?”

  “Yep. Aunt Lindsay brought it over a while back. It’s a Riesling of some kind.”

  He shrugged. “Sure, let’s go for the Riesling.”

  He found the wine and opened it, while she brought down the glasses. They put some cheddar and wheat crackers on a cutting board, moved Toby’s puzzle and his Emergency City onto a pair of TV trays and set the goodies on the coffee table.

  Once they’d settled on the sofa, Rick filled their glasses and raised his high. “To my favorite landlady,” he said, and drank. Then he looked in his glass. “Hey. This isn’t half-bad.”

  She sipped from her own glass. It was good. “Aunt Lindsay has excellent taste.”

  Rick raised his glass again. “To Aunt Lindsay, then.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” And she did.

  “What next?”

  “Huh?”

  “Who should we drink to next? I want to drink to everybody. I feel that good.”

  “We only have one bottle of wine.”

  “Then it will go fast. I have it. Your mother. We should drink to your mother. I really like her.”

  That surprised Natalie. People said her mother was beautiful, or difficult, or intimidating. But they rarely simply liked her. “You do?”

  He nodded. “She’s kind. You saw how she was with Toby.”

  “She does love children.”

  “But she’s fragile, too.” He rested an arm along the back of the sofa. “I think that worries you.”

  Natalie took another big sip. “Mostly, people don’t notice that my mother is fragile. She’s so beautiful, that’s all they see.”

  “You’re evading.”

  “I am? How?”

  “I said I think you worry about your mother. Is that true?”

  “All right,” she conceded. “Yes, I worry about her. Sometimes I think she’s not equipped to deal with life on her own. She was very young when my father swept her off her feet. And he’s dominated every aspect of her life since then. Until recently, that is.”

  “But she is managing.”

  “Yes. She’s managing. Is this some kind of lecture you’re giving me here? That you think I should stop worrying about my mother, or something?”

  He raised a hand, palm up, and endeavored to look solemn. “No lecture. I promise. An observation, that’s all.”

  “Well.” She grinned at him. The air seemed to be humming with their mutual excitement over Toby’s breakthrough. It was a wonderful, shining moment. “An observation is perfectly acceptable.”

  “Good.” He raised his glass again. “To Erica Fortune, then.”

  “To my mother.” And they both drank.

  He refilled their glasses. “Now, it’s your turn.”

  “My turn?”

  “Make a toast.”

  “Oh, Rick.”

  “Come on.”

  She lifted her glass. “To Toby, then.”

  “I will definitely drink to that.” And he did. After he swallowed, he instructed, “Now, make another one.”

  And for some reason, she thought of her grandma Kate. And of how she missed her. And how it hurt, knowing such strength and wisdom were no longer in the world. She felt for the rosebud charm that hung around her neck, hidden by the collar of her shirt.

  Rick reached across the distance between them and lifted her chin. “Hey. This is supposed to be a celebration.”

  She tried to look away, but she didn’t try very hard. “It’s the wine.”

  He smiled, still holding her chin. “It’s too soon to be feeling the effects of the wine.”

  His touch was warm, and his eyes were so kind. She couldn’t resist him, didn’t want to resist him.

  “I miss my grandma.” Was that her own voice? It sounded so small.

  Rick’s hand slid upward. He brushed her cheek. She didn’t know that a tear had escaped her lids until she felt him rub the moisture away.

  “I’m being silly,” she said, but she leaned a little closer to him.

  The brushing touch became a caress. “No, I think you just…miss your grandm
a.”

  “Oh, Rick.”

  His hand slid around to cup the back of her neck. She couldn’t have said whether he pulled her toward him—or she moved of her own accord. It was probably a combination of the two.

  But suddenly, their lips were so close. His breath was warm and sweet on her face. And then, before she could stop and think about it, she herself eliminated that extra fraction of an inch.

  Her mouth touched his.

  “Rick.” She said his name against his parted lips. “I didn’t…”

  “Shh… I think you did.”

  And then his mouth was on hers, moving so gently, cherishingly. His hand massaged the back of her neck. It felt so good, so absolutely right.

  Natalie heard a little moaning sound, and then realized it had come from her own throat. Her mouth opened a little. His tongue slipped in, just to the inner surface of her lips. He tasted her there, with a secret, knowing, moist caress.

  Heat bloomed in her belly. It was wonderful. She wanted it never to stop.

  But then, with a low, regretful sigh, he pulled back. His hand fell away, and he looked at her. It was a long, slow, measuring look.

  “Make your toast.”

  Natalie knew they’d gone too far. To salvage the situation now, she should set her wine down, stand from the sofa and say good-night.

  But, oh, sweet Lord, how he could kiss. She couldn’t remember ever being kissed like that.

  With such frank desire—and yet such restraint.

  It was terribly seductive. And she wanted more. She wanted to go with it, sink into it and let it carry her where it might.

  Yet she couldn’t. She had to consider what would happen later. She’d sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to get herself into another losing situation with a man. And this had all the earmarks of being just that. They had two more days together in this house. And then she was leaving. What would those two days be like if they did something…irrevocable tonight?

  They’d been managing so well, too, with their little agreement to be friendly….

  “Make your toast, Natalie.” His eyes had changed again. They didn’t look kind anymore. Fire was burning in them, and she knew it was a fire that could consume her. Deliciously. “Make your toast, or get up and go.”