Darling obstacles

by Boswell, Barbara

  Dammit, Greg thought, she was still angry with him, and to prove it, she was going to keep him on the step! He was rocked by an explosive combination of incredulity and rage. She had retreated behind the door, had no intention of inviting him inside. He was back on the outside looking in, as if nothing at all had changed between them. It was enough to make him want to rip the door from its hinges.

  But he wouldn't, he told himself sharply. He wasn't going to lose his cool and play savage again. That would make her retreat even further. He would show her that he could be as abominably civilized as she was.

  "Thank you for giving the children something to eat," he said in an icy voice. "I agree, it's too late to make them wait for dinner. Well stop for sandwiches on the way home."

  Maggie stared at him, frozen by his tone. He hated her, she decided. He'd used that same forbidding voice when he had described the way he'd unloaded Francine. "I'll call the children," she said flatly, letting the door close. There was nothing else she could say. Greg had obviously decided that their relationship wasn't worth pursuing. Thank heavens she had resisted her impulse to throw herself into his arms when she'd answered the door. How mortifying it would have been when he had extricated himself

  from her embrace and told her it was over. Thank the Lord she'd been spared that!

  She felt like crying as she called Wendy, Josh, and Max. The Wilder children grabbed their jackets and book bags, calling good-bye as they scampered out the door.

  "How much do I owe you?" Greg asked briskly.

  "Three and a half hours at three dollars an hour." Maggie computed the figures and hoped she sounded as impersonal as he. She and Greg never discussed fees. He always just handed her some money which more than covered the baby-sitting charges and included a generous tip as well. "Ten-fifty," she told him.

  He handed her a ten and a five. "Keep the change," he said, and Maggie would have loved to refuse, to throw the extra bill back in his face. But that wouldn't be businesslike and Greg was making it painfully clear that it was strictly business between them.

  "Can you keep Josh, Wendy, and Max on Wednesday and Friday after school until about six-thirty?" he asked coolly. "Paula has cheerleading practice on those days. Wendy and Josh will go home on the bus on Tuesday and Thursday, but Max will have to stay at the Center those days."

  "I—I could bring him here," Maggie offered. She wished he would leave. It hurt to have him standing there on the doorstep, speaking so formally. She fought back one last foolish, impetuous impulse to invite him inside. Not after the man had gone out of his way to let her know that his brief desire for her had burned itself out, she thought, admonishing herself for her pitiful lack of pride.

  "No, Wednesday and Friday will be enough," Greg replied. Well, he thought, he couldn't drag out his stay any longer. She'd had ample opportunity to invite him in or to make some small gesture to indicate that all was forgiven. Obviously, it wasn't. He'd scared her to death or so infuriated her that she

  intended to keep him safely on the doorstep, come what may. "Good night, Maggie."

  "Good night, Greg." She crumpled the bills in her hand and watched Greg walk to his car where his children awaited him. The emotional letdown was terrible and she felt positively drained. All day she had been keyed up by her thoughts of Greg. For the past hour she had been breathlessly awaiting his arrival. And he had merely stood on her doorstep glaring at her.

  It was even worse on Wednesday. Greg thrust the ten dollar bill at her, scowled, then turned and headed back to the car to wait for the children.

  He was getting his message across, Maggie sadly acknowledged to herself. She was to forget the past weekend; she meant nothing to him. He didn't even want to resume their friendly little doorstep pleasantries.

  By Friday she never wanted to hear the name Greg Wilder again. She felt used and angry and more hurt than she cared to admit. And she was most definitely going to the concert with Rich Cassidy on Saturday night.

  Friday was chilly and rainy, a gloomy fall day. The weather was right in keeping with Maggie's mood. It didn't seem to matter how often she told herself that it was ridiculous to be depressed over Greg's behavior, she was still depressed. He had given her just a taste of what was missing from her life, let her glimpse what a relationship with him might bring, and then he had abruptly withdrawn himself. He'd brushed her off like an irksome mosquito. She hurt; it was useless to deny it.

  The children were playing inside at five-thirty when the doorbell rang. Max, excluded from Josh and Kevin's Masters of the Universe game and uninterested in Kari and Wendy's Barbie dolls, bounded to

  the door to answer the bell. Maggie was close on his heels, expecting to see one or more of the Jennifers.

  A strikingly pretty woman in her early twenties, wearing tight jeans and a bright orange slicker, stood on the doorstep. Definitely not a preteen Jennifer. She gave Max and Maggie a dazzling smile. "Hello." The young woman pushed her way inside and shook off the hood of her slicker. Layers of thick dark hair tumbled attractively around her shoulders. "I'm Sandy Strayer. I've come to pick up the Wilder children/'

  Maggie stared at her blankly. "What?"

  "Greg—Dr. Wilder is running late. He asked if I would pick up the children at the baby-sitter's house and take them home. We have a date tonight at seven and he thought it would save time if I waited for him at his house and the kids were ..." Sandy Strayer's smile faded slightly and she appeared to lose some of her zesty confidence at Maggie's expression of utter incredulity. "I'm at the right house, aren't I? Nine-oh-nine Woodland Courts? The Wilder children are supposed to be there, uh, here with their baby-sitter."

  "This is nine-oh-nine and the Wilder children are here," Maggie said slowly. "I'm the baby-sitter." She saw the woman look directly at Max without a flicker of recognition. It was obvious that Sandy Strayer didn't know him, nor he her. "But I can't let the children go with you, Miss Strayer. Their father told me that he would be here at six-thirty for them, and unless I hear otherwise—"

  "You just did," Sandy Strayer interrupted with a touch of asperity. "Greg asked me to pick up the kids and bring them to his house."

  Maggie heaved a troubled sigh. "I'm sorry, Miss Strayer, but I'm not going to let you take the children. This is the first time I've heard of these new—um— arrangements, and since I don't know you and you don't know the kids ..." She laid her hand on Max's shoulder. "Max, have you ever met Miss Strayer?" Max shook his head. "And since they don't know you

  VZ • BARBARA BOSWELL

  either, I'm going to keep them here until I hear from their father."

  "Look, I can understand your caution." Sandy gave Maggie a patronizing smile. "But do I look like a deranged kidnapper? I mean, really! Why would I want to take the kids home unless their father asked me to do it?"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Strayer." Maggie's voice held an unmistakable note of finality. "The children are staying here."

  "This is absurd! I'm a nurse at Johns Hopkins, I work on the neurosurgical floor, and I've known Dr. Wilder for nearly a whole year!" Sandy fumbled in her purse and pulled out a wallet. "Do you want proof of my identity? Here!" She thrust a collection of cards in Maggie's face. A driver's license, a registered nurse license, a hospital ID card, a Mastercard.

  "You're Sandy Strayer all right," Maggie conceded. She wanted to tell the woman that it was hopeless to argue with her anymore, that her entire family—even Johnny—had always called her mule-headed and stubborn for refusing to be swayed from the course of action she'd chosen. "But the kids stay here."

  "Oh!" Sandy shoved her wallet back into her handbag. "Greg forgot to warn me that I'd be dealing with a paranoic. Be reasonable, Mrs.—Ms.—" She paused, waiting for Maggie to supply her name.

  "May," Maggie said obligingly. She sent Max upstairs to listen to records with Kristin. "You're welcome to wait here for Dr. Wilder, Miss Strayer," she said. "Feel free to turn on the television. Would you care for a cup of coffee or tea?"

  "Ar
en't you afraid to be harboring a potential kidnapper?" Sandy snapped. "May I at least use your telephone, Mrs. May? If I call Greg and he confirms my story, will you let me take the kids?"

  "Of course."

  Greg could not be reached; he was in surgery. Sandy hung up with an angry scowl. Dinnertime

  came and went. Maggie fed all six children spaghetti and meatballs at the kitchen table. Sandy declined an offer of food and sat sulking in front of the television set. Maggie ate with the kids and Kristin helped her with the dishes afterward.

  At seven-fifteen, the telephone rang. It was Paula Wilder. She identified herself in that startlingly adult manner of hers and then went on to ask, "Mrs. May, are my brothers and sister still at your house?"

  "Yes, they are, Paula," replied Maggie.

  "My father just got home and he said that they should be here. He said that he sent some woman to pick them up and bring them home."

  Maggie frowned. If Greg thought he was going to conduct an argument with her using Paula as an intermediary, he was in for a surprise. "Put your father on the phone, Paula."

  "Yes?" Greg's voice, cool and . . . challenging?

  "Miss Strayer is here and so are your children, Dr. Wilder. Since you didn't inform me of the change in plans, I felt that I couldn't, in all good conscience, permit the children to leave with a stranger." Maggie gasped. She'd rattled off her entire mentally rehearsed speech without once pausing for breath.

  "Very commendable, Mrs. May." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice. "You are, as always, most conscientious."

  Maggie stared at the telephone receiver in confusion. Greg seemed to be baiting her, deliberately trying to provoke her. She quickly discarded the notion. Why would he want to do that? He'd made it quite clear this past week that he wanted nothing at all to do with her.

  "Has Sandy been at your house all this time," he asked, "waiting for the official word that you deem necessary to release the kids? That must have made for a rather interesting few hours."

  Maggie seethed at the mockery in his voice but was determined to stay cool. "It hasn't been pleasant for either Miss Strayer or myself, Dr. Wilder. Next

  time I suggest that you inform me of any change in our previously made arrangements yourself. "

  "Shall I send you a printed itinerary of my activities? Or would you prefer to be informed of my whereabouts by telephone daily?"

  He was trying to pick a quarrel with her. Maggie was certain of that now. But why? Their relationship had been impeccably courteous in the past, but since last weekend he had been brusque to the point of rudeness. She was tired of speculating about his motives and tired of the verbal fencing as well. "Greg, if you don't want me to baby-sit for your children anymore, just tell me so. You Ye not going to goad me into saying it myself. Ill tell Miss Strayer that she can leave with the children now." Maggie hung up quickly and relayed the message to Sandy, whose scowl never faded.

  "We don't want to go home," complained Josh. "Can't we stay here tonight, Maggie?"

  She glanced at him in surprise. Josh always called her by the more formed Mrs. May.

  "It's boring at home," Wendy piped up. "Paula talks on the phone all night and Max cries and there's nothing to do."

  Maggie stared at the little girl, amazed. It was the most she had ever heard Wendy say at one time in the two years she'd known her.

  Maggie's thoughts turned to Max, who was in Kristin's room listening raptly to the Top 40, and she wondered if he would pull a number like last week's tantrum. At this rate, he probably would. It had been that kind of a day, that kind of a week.

  "I'm leaving," Sandy Strayer said. She had obviously reached the end of her patience. "With or without the kids, I don't care. I've already wasted two hours here."

  "The kids can stay here if they want," Maggie said, and Wendy and Josh let out a whooping cheer. Sandy stormed from the duplex in a definite huff. Maybe she would give Greg the fight he seemed to be

  seeking, Maggie thought grimly, and assured herself that she couldn't care less.

  By eleven o'clock that night, all the children were tucked into bed. The whispers and the giggles and the running between rooms had gradually decreased, then ceased altogether. They were asleep at last. Maggie blessed the wonderful silence.

  She changed into a pink and white candy-striped nightshirt—a Mother's Day gift from her brood— slipped on her comfortable white chenille robe and pink fuzzy slippers, and settled down with the morning paper. Who cared if the news was almost a day old? It was the only time of day that she had the time and peace to read.

  When the doorbell rang a few minutes later she frowned in irritation. Who on earth could be at her door at this time of night? She thought suddenly of Mrs. Jenkins next door and her annoyance instantly turned to concern. The elderly widow was in good health, but she lived alone and Maggie made it a point to talk with her daily. But today she hadn't! It had been so hectic with all the children all evening that she'd totally forgotten her neighbor. Maggie hurried to the door, half expecting to see the police and the paramedics waiting to give her the bad news.

  She opened the door, her heart thudding. Greg stood before her. She was so stunned to see him that she simply stood and stared without uttering a sound.

  "I'm getting wet," Greg said at last, and Maggie finally noticed the teeming rain. The wind was blowing, rendering the small overhang useless. She was stupefied by the sight of Greg. He was truly the last person she would have expected to find on her doorstep.

  'The children are in bed, asleep,'' she said, for she could divine no other reason for his being there.

  "Thank heavens for that!" Greg muttered. He paused. And then, "May I come in or are you going to make me stand out in the rain to apologize?"

  "Apologize?" Maggie echoed. She gave her head a slight shake as if to clear it. Was she dreaming?

  "Yes, apologize." He'd told himself he was going to wait until she asked him in, Greg reminded himself. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't make a move until she did, that she would have to be the one to break the impasse. But it was cold standing out in the wind and rain—and he had been waiting all week for her to make that first move. And while he'd been waiting, the wall between them had grown as solid as that damned doorstep. Now it appeared that she was willing to see him soaked sooner than invite him inside. He was justified in breaking his promise to himself, he decided as he stepped inside the duplex. Maggie was forced to step aside to admit him.

  He removed his wet beige raincoat, revealing a well-tailored gray suit. Maggie remembered his date that evening with Sandy Strayer and stiffened.

  "Tonight was an unqualified disaster," Greg informed her, watching her intently. "Typical of most of my dates these days."

  "Tomorrow is another day," Maggie quoted with acid sweetness. "Maybe you'll recoup your losses then."

  "With Sandy? I don't think so. I don't think she'd go out with me again unless she was paid to do it. And it would have to be a rather hefty sum at that. She was positively furious by the time she arrived at my house. And I was in a foul mood after you and I had exchanged poisoned barbs over the phone. I made no attempt to smooth her ruffled feathers and she—"

  "I'm really not interested in hearing an account of your date with Sandy Strayer," Maggie cut in coolly.

  "But you would be interested in hearing my apology," he said dryly.

  She looked straight ahead through the old screen door at the rain pelting the doorstep, at the porch light flickering above the mailbox. Anywhere but at Greg himself.

  He took a deep breath. "It's rather difficult to

  apologize to someone with the emotional range of the sphinx, but 111 give it a try. It was a rotten trick to send Sandy to pick up the kids. She sensed a setup and she was right. It was unfair to her and to the kids and"—he cleared his throat—"it was unfair to you, Maggie. I'm sorry," he added stiffly.

  He didn't sound particularly sorry to Maggie. He seemed more irritated that remorseful, an
d prefacing his apology with that crack about the sphinx was hardly a penitent act. "Your apology, such as it is, is accepted," she said coldly. "And the next time there's a change in plans involving the children, I suggest you advise me of it yourself. And no, a printed itinerary of your schedule is not necessary."

  Greg stared at her for a full ten seconds before he exploded. "Dammit, Maggie, what does it take to get through to you?"

  She was startled by the sudden outburst. Greg was angry. Incredibly, furiously angry.

  "Sending Sandy Strayer over here was akin to bringing in the heavy guns, but you remained as aloof as ever," he said, his eyes darkening with rage. "All week IVe waited for some kind of human response from you, something, anything at all, but you Ve been so damned distant and utterly unreachable—"

  "You re the one who's been unreachable!" cried Maggie, stung by his accusation. "You—you've barely spoken to me all week."

  "How could I? You've been as inaccessible as the Army guard who patrols the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Have you ever tried to converse with him?"

  "You're the one who stood on my doorstep and glared at me all week. You made that guard seem positively friendly in comparison with you, Greg Wilder."

  "Where else could I stand, Mary Magdalene? I didn't rate an invitation to come inside your home. I still don't. I had to ask if I could come in, and if it hadn't been raining, you probably would have said no." He sighed with exasperation. "You really don't give a damn about me, do you, Maggie? I could spend

  the next ten years standing on your doorstep waiting for my kids and it wouldn't bother you at all. I'd thought that after last weekend you—that you and I . . ."He made an exclamation of disgust. "Obviously, I was wrong. My mistake."

  Maggie listened with slowly dawning comprehension. "Are you saying that on Monday you expected me to ask you inside?" Shed wanted to, she remembered. She almost had. But she had been afraid to make the first move, had thought it should come from Greg. Apparently he'd had it totally reversed. While she'd been too nervous to ask him in, he had been waiting for her to do so!