CHAPTER TWO
“E.J.,” DONNA SAID and smiled. “What are you doing in the kitchen? Get yourself back up to your room before anyone else sees you. Your mother told you not to come down till dinnertime—and that’s pretty soon now,” she added to soften her words. Her little brother, Jim, and E.J. seemed like ideal children—the kind she wanted for herself and Bruce one day.
“Nope.” E.J. Hunt plunked his skinny, six-year-old body on a chair and scooted it close to the kitchen sink where he could watch Donna wash a crystal swan. “Mom’s in her rotten old rose garden. Just like she is every Sunday. She’s already forgot she told me that. She’s already forgot me. See if she hasn’t.”
Donna sighed and shook water from her hands. She was making herself useful to Laura and enjoying every minute of it. This was the kind of home she would make some day. She peered through the window and caught a glimpse of Laura pottering among her prize blooms. “Your dad’s in his office. He could decide to come out for coffee any time.”
“He won’t even notice I’m here. They don’t ever notice me unless I do something bad.”
“Well, you’re doing it, so he’s bound to notice then, isn’t he?” Donna said, laughing as she dried her hands on a tea towel. “And you know and I know that swapping your mother’s special clown shoes for a saw that your little buddy, Craig Lommer, swiped from his father wasn’t the way to get the right kind of attention. It was dumb.”
“But Mom wouldn’t let me use Dad’s saw,” E.J. said as if that fact explained it all. “And I wanted to make something.”
“Don’t you want to be good, E.J.?” Donna sighed. “Every time I turn around, you’re in trouble.”
“I wanna do stuff, that’s all.”
“Well…maybe you’re doing the wrong stuff too much, and that’s why your mom and dad don’t give in more often.” She stared into his tawny eyes, eyes so like his father’s, trying to decide the right thing to say next. Mark and Laura were too protective of their son. Laura, particularly. E.J. was rarely allowed to play with other children in the neighborhood. He wasn’t a Cub Scout, or on a sports team of any kind. Laura insisted he wasn’t strong, but he was. Strong, and very bright. When she and Bruce had children, being overprotective was one mistake Donna wouldn’t make. Meanwhile, she could give E.J. some extra time and attention while she was here. That would help. She’d go into a sporting-goods store tomorrow and see what she could get to interest him. A small tennis racket? A softball? Maybe a skateboard?…No, better not get him a skateboard yet. She smiled to herself.
“What’s funny?” E.J. demanded.
“I just had a great idea. I’ll tell you what. Just because you’re my dad’s namesake, I’m going to get you a softball and we’ll play catch out on the side lawn sometimes.”
“Really?” He beamed.
“Really. And don’t forget your mom and dad love you. Try shaping up and see if things don’t improve.”
“Naw, they won’t.” He shrugged. “I wish that baby hadn’t gone and died. Maybe with him around, they’d have let up on me.”
Donna sobered. She hadn’t realized E.J. knew about Laura and Mark losing their second child. She looked at the little boy speculatively. In his child-wisdom, he might have put his finger on the problem.
“How old were you when it happened?” she asked, reaching over and stroking his bowed head gently.
He shrugged again. “Four, maybe. I was just a little kid.”
Two years ago. Donna leaned against the sink, the towel hanging limply from her hands. Surely Mark and Laura could have had another child by now, if they had wanted one. She wondered, frowning faintly, if they had changed their plans. Perhaps they intended not to have any more—to let E.J. grow up alone. Oh, she hoped not. Their plans hadn’t started out that way. Laura, the product of a lonely childhood herself, had always wanted a big family.
“I hate it here,” E.J. announced. “It’s stuffy and dull.”
“E.J.!”
“Well, it is. Not like Grandma Irma’s apartment or Uncle Bruce’s house. It’s fun there. He lets me run around all over the place and he doesn’t care what I eat or when I come in.”
Donna smiled automatically, but admonished him, “you shouldn’t say those things.” Privately she agreed that Mark’s mother’s place was a casual delight and that Bruce’s house was definitely more full of fun than the Hunts’. It was a charming old Victorian, a few blocks from where the Hunts lived, full of nooks and crannies any child would love. Much too big a house for a man living alone. He needed a family to share the place with. She smiled again. She’d be very glad to help him make the change.
Wednesday couldn’t arrive quickly enough. Wednesday, and a whole evening alone with Bruce. She looked at her left hand and allowed herself a tiny fantasy. What kind of engagement ring would he get her? Probably a diamond. Under the surface, Bruce was a traditionalist. He might choose a ruby, though. He’s always said red suited her.
The kitchen door opened and Mark Hunt came in, barefoot and dressed in faded denim shorts and a baggy T-shirt that was stretched and sagging at the neck. His blond hair was rumpled, as it usually was when he’d been working. “Boy, do I need a cup of coffee…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of E.J. “What are you doing here? I heard your mother tell you to go to your room, you little crook.”
Donna hid a smile. Mark invariably seemed to have trouble being harsh with the boy.
“I got hungry,” E.J. muttered. “So I was getting a snack.”
“No, you don’t,” Mark said firmly. “Lunch is long over, and the next meal around here is dinner, so hit those stairs before I think of something worse than time in your room.”
The child left, head hanging, feet dragging. Donna’s heart tugged. Tomorrow she’d make it up to him. What else could she get for E.J. beside a softball? From the corner of her eye she saw Mark hesitate, and she knew he was fighting the desire to follow his son and swing him onto his shoulders as she had seen him do so often.
She turned to pick up the swan again. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot. Laura made it.”
“Where is she?” Mark’s expression took on the distant preoccupation Donna had noticed again and again since she first arrived.
“In the rose garden, see?” Donna said, pointing. What was wrong here? She felt tension between the Hunts, saw it in their faces whenever they spoke to each other.
Mark stood staring through the sliding door. He seemed to forget Donna’s presence. His lips parted, and a deep sigh lifted his broad chest. He looked older, strained, and his eyes darkened as he watched his wife.
Donna turned on the faucet to rinse the crystal. “You look as if fresh air would do you more good than coffee, Mark,” she said, thinking that the worst he could do was tell her to mind her own business.
She heard the door slide open, and when she glanced around he was walking outside. In the garden, Laura lifted her head and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist as she waited for Mark to reach her. He picked his way over rough ground, hopping when a rock snagged a bare foot. He got to Laura and put an arm around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, and they stood leaning close together. Donna grinned, and deliberately moved away from the window. Every couple had differences sometimes, but with love, they worked them out.
The housekeeper didn’t come on Sundays, family days, as Laura called them. She and Mark liked to unwind before the new week started. “We live casually,” she insisted, although Mark usually disappeared into his walnut-paneled office while Laura spent much of the day gardening. Today Donna was to prepare dinner, a barbecue, Laura had decreed. Donna could choose the entrée and make whatever she decided should go with it.
Donna checked her watch, calculating the time. She’d better get started on the salads.
Minutes later, she was humming and tearing lettuce into a large wooden bowl, so immersed in her task that she didn’t hear the kitchen door open again.
“Why don’t you cut it? Wouldn�
��t that be quicker?”
Bruce! At the sound of his voice, she swung around. “Hi. What are you doing here—did I hear you right? Did you say cut the lettuce? What a barbarian! You do not cut lettuce for a gourmet salad.” She paused for effect. “You tear it.”
“Is that a fact?” He laughed. “Now that’s interesting. And I never knew.”
“Bruce, you’re a fast-food freak. What do you do when you want hot cereal for breakfast? I’ll bet instead of cooking up whole grain from scratch, you buy that stuff in little packets. The kind you pour hot water over.”
“I thought that was the only way they grew cereal. I thought they went out and harvested little packets from packet bushes. You mean they don’t?”
Laughing, he came and placed his hands gently at her waist, leaned over and kissed her forehead. “How is my very favorite girl?”
“Fine.” She laughed, but the edge was off her pleasure. It was his old greeting—the one he’d been using since she was thirteen. “If you want some of this gourmet salad, you’re welcome to stay for dinner. That is, if you want to.” Her mind pleaded silently for him to accept.
“Thanks, no. I wanted to talk to Mark for a minute. Where is he?”
Protectiveness toward Mark and Laura quickly overcame Donna’s disappointment at Bruce’s refusal. The Hunts needed to be alone for a while. “They’re busy. But they’ll be in soon. You look tired.”
“I’ll wait,” Bruce said, praying he could pull off what he’d come to do. He sat by the table and propped his chin on his fist. Mark was the last person he felt like talking to today. He had the dull remnants of a hangover, and combat with his eager-beaver partner was low on his list of desirable pastimes. The real object of this visit was to talk with Donna. Evan and Sara were relying on him to find out what had made their daughter so desperate to spend this summer in San Francisco, and he’d already waited too long to start investigating.
“One too many last night, Bruce?” Black hair swung forward over Donna’s face, obscuring all but those beautiful downcast eyes.
He sat straighter. “What do you mean ‘one too many’? I thought you were the original Miss Health Nut. What do you know about overindulgence? Maybe I just did one too many push-ups this morning before my sunrise run.”
He watched her head come up, stared thoughtfully at her wonderful face with its perfectly oval shape and small features. She was going to be a knockout. Going to be? She was a knockout now.
Donna studied him, too, a half smile curving her lips, and her obsidian eyes narrowed. “When did you last do a push-up, Bruce?”
He squared his shoulders. “What is this, an inquisition?” His body was in great shape, and he could find several witnesses to back up that claim any time he wanted to. The thought brought with it an instant wash of irritation.
“Just asking,” Donna replied slowly. Her unwavering appraisal could make a man feel he hadn’t quite finished dressing.
“Are you having a good time here?” Perhaps, Bruce reflected, he should have taken more care shaving. The jeans had seen better days, too. He probably ought to set a better example as an adult role model, for Donna’s sake.
“Marvelous,” she said.
She had a wonderful smile, Bruce reflected. “Good.” He’d better get on with his project. Evan and Sara would be calling soon to find out what progress he’d made. “I expect you miss Vancouver, though, and your friends.”
“No.” Delicate but capable hands scooped some chopped onions into a pile. She reached for a bowl of fresh peas and started to shell them.
The McGraths were right. There was something different about Donna lately. “You’ll have plenty to talk about when you get back.”
“I sure will,” she said, quietly emphatic.
“Yes, well…” What the hell did she mean by that? Evan had told him that he and Sara had the feeling that Donna didn’t want to go to college, that she might even fight returning to Vancouver at all. For months her only apparent interest had been making the official arrangements to work in the States. They were worried sick. “Have you talked to your mom and dad since you arrived?”
The peas beneath Donna’s thumb sailed in a stream directly into his lap. “Sorry,” she cried, and grabbed for several peas still rolling on the table.
She’s jumpy, Bruce thought. “Why don’t you open a can like everyone else?” He slid to the floor and gathered the rest of the runaways. “Or use frozen ones?” He tossed them into the sink.
“Because fresh things are better for you,” Donna responded. “You really don’t look very well. Can I fix you a drink?”
He certainly didn’t feel very well. “Chickie, I’d love you forever. I will anyway,” he added quickly. “Anything will do.” A hair of the dog might be just the thing. But maybe he should watch what he ate and drank a bit more closely—just as an experiment. Donna certainly looked fantastic on whatever diet she followed.
“Relax then.” She pushed the bowl of peas aside. “Would you like me to make you comfortable on the terrace? It’s cool out there, and you can see the water.”
Damn it all, he hadn’t got to first base with his questioning. Some lawyer. Then her question hit home. “Make you comfortable.” He wasn’t exactly ready for the old folks’ home yet. He got up and strode around the kitchen. “I’ll stay here and keep you company.”
“That’s nice.” She slipped back and forth between the counter and the refrigerator, gathering ingredients and ice.
“I don’t see enough of you,” he announced. She was absolutely lovely. Stunning. “What kind of things do you want to do this summer—apart from work?” Edginess tightened his jaw. She was charming, maybe too charming—and bright. “Have you made any friends, yet?” Could there be a boy—man—someone she’d met on a previous visit?
“Oh, a few. There are some nice people at the office.”
“Who?” He faced her abruptly and waited.
She dropped ice cubes into the blender. “No one special…so far,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “Bruce, you’re nervous. Sit down, now. And drink this.” Her fingers on his elbow were cool. “No, better yet, I’ll have one too, and we’ll both sit on the terrace.”
He opened his mouth to say she shouldn’t be drinking, then changed his mind. The shapely little woman before him had definitely left childhood behind. He waited while she poured a second glass, then followed her broodingly through the library to Mark and Laura’s flagstone terrace.
“I’ll share the swing with you,” Donna said, and he suddenly felt their positions had been reversed. She was caring for him.
They sat together on the white wrought-iron swing and rocked gently.
“Smell the roses?” he asked, inhaling deeply. Laura did have a way with flowers. “Well, that’s healthful anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mental health. You’re supposed to stop and smell the flowers, aren’t you?”
“Right. This is our mental-health minute.” She tilted her head back and stretched her bare legs. How beautifully shaped they were, he thought. Her skin, always slightly golden, glistened in the sun.
Bruce tapped his glass against his teeth and glanced at the thigh almost touching his own. He had to make sure nothing happened to Donna in San Francisco.
This was heaven, Donna thought. He’d stretched his strong left arm behind her back, rested the forearm lightly against her neck. He liked being with her. And he was becoming aware of her as a woman, she was sure. She hadn’t missed his scrutiny. He really cared what happened to her, and he’d fall in love before he knew what hit him. And he’d never regret it. Neither of them would. Her silly blunder over Raymond Sung could prove a nuisance, but Bruce would forgive her when she explained. She wouldn’t think about that now.
“You haven’t tasted your drink, Bruce?”
“What? Oh, no.” He took a bite of the fresh pineapple wedge garnishing the glass. “How did you know I’m crazy about mai tais?”
“I
—”
“Good grief,” he spluttered and coughed. “What is this?”
Donna took a long appreciative swallow from her own glass. “Carrot-and-celery-juice smoothie. I put lecithin granules in it for the blood and—”
“Don’t explain.” He handed her the drink and slid from the swing. “Don’t tell me, thanks, Chickie. I really don’t want to know. I think I’ll just go see if I can scare up Mark. See you at the office tomorrow.”
“And Wednesday night.” She felt slightly sick as she watched him leave. She shouldn’t have added that last remark—it made her sound too much like an eager little girl. He wouldn’t have forgotten.
“Right,” he called, without turning back. “Wednesday night.”
Donna waited until his footsteps faded away, and curled into a ball at one end of the chaise, a glass in each hand. Bruce Fenton had lived too long without someone to take care of him. How long had it been since his divorce? Almost two years now? And how badly had the episode really hurt him? With Bruce it was difficult to tell. They usually communicated well about any number of things, but if Bruce did not want to communicate he had a way of avoiding questions with his clever wit. He could so easily build a wall of laughter and hide behind it. She sighed softly.
WEDNESDAY EVENING, Bruce watched Donna settle gracefully in her chair. They had a table near the dance floor. Bruce was uncomfortably aware that conversation between the two men at the next table had stopped at the sight of her. Well, they could bug off. She hadn’t even noticed them. At least she hadn’t appeared to…
“Remember years ago,” he said, “when I took you to Chinatown for the first time—remember the limiest punch in the world?”
“I guess,” she said doubtfully.
“It was a drink I bought you to go with hot dogs, and I told you it was poisonous.” Reminiscing about the past helped him hang on to their old relationship. But he couldn’t shake the tension he felt around this changed Donna.
Yes Is Forever Page 3