Happy Campers

by Vanessa Hart

  "Really? I wonder why."

  Leslie avoided her sister's eyes. "I guess she's not the right one."

  "Leslie, come on." Kat re-tied her pony tail. "Rob and I left you here alone to give you two some privacy."

  She'd suspected as much. But she couldn't reprimand her sister for matchmaking. Not this time.

  "So? How did it go?"

  Leslie opened the overhead cabinet to avoid her sister's scrutiny. Fat chance. "We went fishing."

  "Oh, my God," Kat cried. "You're blushing like a virgin on her wedding night. You did more than fish."

  Leslie winced at how close Kat came to the truth. She was no virgin, but she'd definitely had a wedding night. And morning. Not that she'd ever been able to keep secrets from Kat.

  "Yes, we did more than fish. I guess you could say I let him drown his worm."

  "Do tell." Kat's face regained some of its color. She tucked her feet under her bottom and straightened. "So how much worm drowning are we talking here?"

  Leslie swallowed. "Six condoms' worth."

  "Six? Oh, my God, Les."

  "Right. And he's going to replenish his supply for tonight."

  Kat slapped Leslie's hand in a high-five. "Way to go! I'm happy for you."

  "I'm happy, too. Gray is ... wonderful." She sighed, relishing the unexpected turn her life had taken.

  Could this be what Josh felt for Lisa? Deep tenderness. Uninhibited lovemaking. An almost psychic connection. If so, she'd found love, too. But Josh had also claimed to love Leslie. At one time he'd been tender, loving, attentive.

  She'd feel more confident of her new relationship with Gray after his meeting with Myra. Until then, she couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that something would go wrong, as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  * * * *

  After parking the motorhome on a side street, Gray headed up the stairs to his apartment. His steps slowed as reality smacked into him. This was Myra's apartment. In coming here today, he would be doing much more than calling off their wedding. He'd be moving out.

  What little he had would fit into a twenty-nine foot motorhome. His few pieces of furniture had been stowed in his parents' basement until he and Myra bought a home. An encouraging thought surfaced: He no longer needed to sell his motorhome to raise the down payment for a house.

  He and Leslie could make memories in that motorhome. They already had. He'd never again lie on that bed without remembering her ardent responses to him. The taste of her still lingered on his lips.

  He unlocked the apartment door, then stepped inside, alert to signs of Myra's presence. She stepped into the living room, grabbed her chest, and gasped.

  "Gray! You scared the daylights out of me." Her green eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

  "We need to talk, Myra." He swallowed the lump of dread in his throat. "Now."

  She shrugged. "Sure. I don't have to be at work until tomorrow morning. Before I forget, your dad called."

  "I'll call him tonight." He collapsed into the armchair, leaving the sofa for Myra. "Sit down."

  "I guess this has to do with Sunday."

  "Not entirely." He forced his fingers to loosen their grip on the upholstery. The breath he drew for courage failed to calm him. "There's no easy way to say this. I can't go through with the wedding."

  "What?" she shrieked.

  "I'm sorry, Myra. I - I just can't marry you."

  She bolted from the couch. "Why can't you marry me?"

  "It's not fair to either of us. Marriage would be a mistake."

  "Say it, damn you!" Her face turned a dangerous shade of red. "You don't love me."

  He closed his eyes and nodded. "I don't love you. I thought I did. Honestly."

  "Oh, God." All color drained from her face. She clamped her hand across her mouth, then bolted from the room.

  Sounds of her retching, followed by the toilet flushing, gnawed at his conscience. Should he give her privacy? Help her? Guilt rushed through him. He couldn't bear inflicting this much pain on another human being.

  "Myra?" He hurried to the bathroom, where she leaned into the lavatory. Pulling a washcloth from the towel bar, he soaked it in the running water, then wrung it out. "Here."

  Accepting the cloth, she pressed it to her forehead. "Get away."

  "Let me help..."

  "Just leave me alone, Gray."

  He brushed a lock of blond hair from her face. "No. Not until I know you're all right."

  She swatted his hand away, cursing. "I'm not suicidal, for Pete's sake. I just need a few minutes alone. Please?"

  He nodded, backing into the hall. "I'll wait in the living room."

  She slammed the bathroom door, then twisted the lock. His guilt intensified when he heard muffled crying through the door. What had he expected? He knew breaking up with her wouldn't be a walk in the park.

  Myra's entire life had centered around their wedding. She had said she loved him, but he had begun to wonder if she was in love with him or the idea of having a wedding. Listening now to her sobs filled him with shame for doubting her.

  He couldn't leave her like this. He paced the living room, then headed back down the hall. As he reached the bathroom, the door eased open. Her eyes red and swollen, Myra stared at him.

  "Myra?"

  "You just don't get it, do you?" Pushing him aside, she stomped into the living room.

  "Get what?" Gray followed her, then stooped at her feet when she sat down. "Talk to me, Myra."

  She buried her face in her hands. Her voice muffled and weak, she muttered, "I'm pregnant."

  Gray froze. Blackness tunneled his vision. In all his rehearsing of breaking up with Myra, he'd never prepared himself for this possibility. "But ... but we used protection."

  Myra's hands ripped away. She glared at him. "Nothing is one hundred percent effective, sugar."

  He stood in slow motion, respectful of the dizziness that weakened him. Staggering to the armchair, he dropped. Confusion swamped him. "What was all that talk about not wanting children?"

  "I was testing you, to see how you'd feel about having a baby so soon." She sighed. "I was going to tell you on your birthday. Surprise you."

  She'd surprised him, he mused, thinking about the birthday cake fiasco when he'd been kissing Leslie. Leslie. How had everything gone from perfect to miserable with just two words?

  I'm pregnant.

  Damn. His life's happiness toppled by one defective condom.

  "Then the wedding's still on." He had no choice. He'd have to face his responsibility. No child of his would have an absentee father. Together he and Myra would make the best of marriage. He'd forget Leslie in time. He would. He'd have to.

  "No. I won't force you to marry me, Gray. I've given this some thought. I'll get rid of the baby and..."

  "No!" he roared.

  Myra flinched. "I won't be a shotgun bride, Gray."

  "No." He drew a shuddering breath. "You won't. It'll be fine, Myra. We're getting married, we're having a baby, and we'll forget about my last minute bridegroom jitters." Geez! Now he was saying it.

  Damn.

  * * * *

  Leslie stared out the window into the dark afternoon. Rain pelted the motorhome in steady incessant drops, forcing her to close all the windows and run the roof air conditioner.

  Leaping from the bench, she slung her pen and notebook onto the bunk. "I've got to get out of here."

  Kat peered across the mug of tea she cradled in her hands. "And do what?"

  "I don't know. Swim." She opened the overhead bin, rifled through her clothes, then pulled out her one-piece swimsuit.

  "In the rain? That isn't safe."

  "Why not? I'll already be wet. There's no lightning." She stepped into the tiny bathroom to change.

  "Whatever," Kat mumbled before picking up the romance novel she'd been reading.

  Leslie smiled, thinking about her sister. Kat could relax anywhere. She lacked Leslie's restlessness and impatience. Or maybe L
eslie lacked Kat's peace of mind and serenity.

  She slid the swimsuit's nylon straps over her shoulders, then pulled at the leg elastic. Yep, it still fit. If anything, the maillot hugged her figure more modestly than last spring. But then she'd often forgotten to eat during the past year and probably weighed ten pounds less.

  After locating her rubber shower shoes and calling out a "see you later" to Kat, she dashed out into the rain. She started toward the path when the sound of a large engine grew louder. Headlights slashed through the mist. Stopping, she peered through the rain and recognized Gray's motorhome.

  Forgetting her swim, she picked her way through the mud to Gray's campsite. He cut the motor, then slid down from the driver's door.

  "Need help hooking up?" she asked.

  He closed the distance between them, grasping her upper arms. She lifted her face, expecting his welcoming kiss. Rain sluiced down her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. She met his gaze and stiffened.

  "I'm not staying, Leslie."

  "Oh."

  "I can't."

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. His eyes said it all. He hadn't broken up with Myra. Stepping back, Leslie collided with a low pine. Damn it all, he wouldn't see her cry. "Well, I'll get out of your way."

  "Wait!" He gripped her wrist, tugging her close. "Come inside a minute. I need to talk to you."

  "If you're not staying, I can figure out the rest." She yanked free of his grasp. "Good luck, Gray."

  As she turned, he let out a tortured sigh. "Myra's pregnant."

  Myra's pregnant.

  With those two words, Leslie's fragile hope for happiness and a future with Gray collapsed. The proverbial other shoe.

  Hell, fire, shit. "I understand..."

  "She won't keep the baby if I don't marry her."

  That's blackmail, she thought, but gritted her teeth. She mumbled something about wishing him well, assured him she'd be fine, then ran blindly to the lake trail, her vision blurred from the rain. Or was it tears?

  Had it been only four days ago when she'd vowed I won't be a last fling before you get married?

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Miss Sunny, don't be sad."

  Sunny glanced down at the toddler tugging at her slacks and forced a grin. "Okay, sport. Let's see if we can find you some crayons."

  The little boy's face brightened. "Can I color the race car?"

  "Sure."

  Sunny's phony smile collapsed the instant she had the child settled with the Nascar coloring book. Peter's death had left a hole in her heart and an emptiness in her life. If it weren't for her grief, she'd have no emotion left, just a numbness. She couldn't let herself cry in front of the children, so she shuffled through her days like a robot.

  She filled her nights with tears and anger and regrets. She focused on the anger. By God, she'd leave no stone unturned, no clue uninvestigated. She'd find Peter's killer and she wouldn't wait for the police to solve the case. It wouldn't bring back her fiancé. It wouldn't make her whole again. But she had to do it.

  She'd do it for Peter.

  The words about emptiness and tears flowed with ease. Leslie stared past her computer screen at the brilliant sunlight spilling over the privacy fence. She'd moved her office to the dining room downstairs because of the view from the French doors. Her oak dining table made a perfect work station and allowed her to enjoy her lush outdoor garden, where her azaleas, Impatiens and potted ferns garnished her patio. A Bradford pear seedling poked through the pine needles in the farthest corner.

  Sipping her morning coffee, Leslie knew better than to get too absorbed in her writing until Kat called. Like clockwork, the telephone chirped. Leslie glanced at her Caller ID readout and pushed Talk.

  "Good morning, Kat."

  "Rob's gone to work. Want to go shopping? Stop at Gorin's for lunch and ice cream?"

  She looked down at her worn sweats and bunny slippers, her daily attire as a recluse. "No, thanks. I'm writing."

  "You can't stay holed up in that stinking condo the rest of your life."

  "Why not? It's what we novelists do."

  "You know what I mean. You've withdrawn since..."

  Leslie interrupted. "Since I started another book."

  "...Gray The Creep seduced you."

  Leslie closed her eyes. In spite of everything, she had trouble referring to Gray as The Creep. "We're not having this conversation, Kat. I have to go. I have work to do."

  "Are you sure you're all right?" Kat had asked the same question every morning since their aborted camping trip.

  "Fine." Leslie gave her sister the same answer. They both knew she lied. She was far from fine. "Peter, Peter, Bullet Eater is flowing better than ever. The best thing I can say about Gray Webster is he unlocked my creativity."

  He'd unlocked a whole lot more. Like her heart. Her lust. Her dreams. Damn him! She'd almost believed all his talk about being soul mates. The worst was, she still loved him. Thankful she'd never admitted her feelings to him, she at least had her pride intact.

  "You deserve better, Les. First Josh, now Gray. And I feel responsible..."

  "Stop that. You aren't to blame for my mistakes. I'm thirty years old. I can screw up all by myself."

  "But I want to help."

  Leslie chuckled. "You want to help me screw up?"

  Kat sighed into the phone. "You know what I mean."

  "You can help by taking care of yourself and the baby. Worrying isn't healthy. Okay?"

  After ending the call, Leslie reconsidered Kat's words. She couldn't stay in isolation forever. A good outing would do her good. She shut down the computer, dressed, then headed for the mall. As Kat often said, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.

  * * * *

  Gray hung up the rented tuxedo in the guest closet, then battled the stubborn bi-fold door. Like everything else in his life, the damn thing was off track. Even his last two engineering jobs had needed correcting. The harder he tried to concentrate, the more mistakes he made.

  Two more days and he'd be a married man. His life had taken the oddest turns in the past two weeks. He tried not to think of Leslie. Those memories were counterproductive, especially the image of her standing in the rain, her face stricken, her eyes bravely battling tears. She'd been one love, too late, as the song went. He'd had no right to love her before he'd freed himself of his engagement.

  On the heels of Myra's announcement came his dad's. Eugene Webster wanted his son's blessing. He, too, was getting married, and had the gall to suggest a double wedding. Gray's mother had been dead only two months. The stepmom-to-be and Myra had worked out the wedding logistics. Today he'd agreed to meet his dad for lunch and talk man to man, as his dad had put it.

  Shattering glass from the kitchen doorway broke through his reverie. Myra stood rigid, hands on hips. A fierce frown marred her natural good looks. "So I finally got your attention."

  He lowered his gaze to the floor, where Myra had crashed a crystal salad bowl. Fine shards of glass twinkled from the dark vinyl floor. "What's wrong, Myra?"

  "What's wrong? You tell me, sugar. You treat me as if I'm not even here. You won't answer when I try to talk to you. You're staring at that closet like a zombie." She swallowed, her eyes filling. "You won't even touch me."

  He couldn't argue the point. Kissing Myra had been perfunctory at best. Making love? Out of the question. He'd hoped to psych himself up by his wedding night.

  He hurried to her side. "Geez, Myra. I'm sorry. I'm a bastard, honey."

  Enveloping her in his arms, he patted her back until she'd drenched his shirt with tears. Myra deserved better than this. He'd re-committed himself to the wedding. He'd vowed to be a good husband and father. But he didn't expect it to be so damn difficult.

  "If you're just going to go through the motions of being a husband, we'd better call off the wedding now."

  "Call off the wedding? But the baby..."

  "You're devoted to the damn baby, but not to me. I'm no fool." She hiccu
pped, dug her palms into her moist eyes, and wriggled from his embrace.

  "No, you're not. I'm the fool and I apologize." He was a fool if he thought he could pull off this charade. "I want our marriage to work, Myra. After the stress of the wedding is behind us, things will get back to normal."

  He hoped.

  Sniffling, she waved him away. "You'd better hurry. You don't want to be late meeting your dad."

  "Are you sure you're okay with the double wedding?"

  She shrugged. "I'm happy for Eugene."

  Gray was seated at the trendy restaurant waiting for his father before he realized Myra hadn't answered his question. She'd seemed very upset, but that could be hormones from pregnancy. Hadn't Kat Hupp become more emotional?

  Eugene Webster, still fit and handsome for a sixty-year-old, jaunted behind the waitress as she led him to their booth. The pale yellow golf shirt and navy slacks flattered his graying hair and tanned skin. The unfairness of the man's health and upcoming nuptials while his wife lay in her freshly-dug grave burned a hole in Gray's stomach.

  After ordering drinks, Eugene fixed Gray with a determined look. "I'm glad you could meet me, Gray. There's something I need to tell you. It's about me and your mother."

  Gray clenched his jaw, sure he wouldn't like what his workaholic father had to say. But his sense of fairness overruled his bitterness. "I'm listening."

  The older man cleared his throat. "This isn't easy."

  "Nothing in life is, Dad." Gray winced at his own harshness.

  "I know you think I wasn't there for her. Heck, I wasn't there for any of you." He scrubbed his face the same way Gray did when frustrated. Had Gray learned the gesture from his dad? "I loved your mother. I truly did. But it was a love out of duty and honor. There was no passion."

  Passion? Geez. The old man sounded like a soap opera. "Then why did you marry her?"

  "Because Susan Leigh was already married."

  "Susan Leigh?" Gray blinked. "Susan, the widow you're marrying Saturday?"

  "The same. I'm not proud of falling in love with another man's wife. The only thing I knew to do was to keep my distance and make a life for myself. I've tried to be an honorable man."