Single with Children

by Arlene James

  Ten

  “I insist.”

  Laura looked at Adam, shocked by the steely edge of his voice. “B-but it’s a family thing.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “I have no place at a family visit.”

  “I disagree. I want you to go. Therefore, you have a place. Now get changed, or we’ll be late.”

  She stood for several seconds with her mouth agape, puzzled by his implacable insistence. Well, two could play this game. She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

  To her irritation, he chuckled and shook his head. “Laura, you’re beginning to sound—and act—like the children.” He sat forward on the edge of his chair, all earnestness. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know. My mother’s a lady. She never bites.”

  “I’m not afraid!” Laura declared. “I just prefer to stay home alone. I hardly ever have any time to myself. This is a perfect opportunity.”

  Adam slid back in his chair with a sigh. “You can have the whole of tomorrow evening off. Go where you like, do what you like. The kids and I will enjoy some quality time.”

  “No! You don’t understand. I want to be home alone. As long as you and the children are in the house, I’ll be…well, I’ll be…not alone.”

  Adam made a visible effort to relax, but the muscle in the hollow of his jaw flexed tellingly. “I’ll take the kids out tomorrow night. You can have the whole house to yourself. Satisfied?”

  It was all Laura could do not to stomp her foot, but that crack he’d made earlier had hit home. She made herself relax, exhaling slowly, smiling casually. “Adam, your mother doesn’t want to see me. Your mother wants to see her son and grand—”

  “Oh, but she does want to see you,” Adam said smoothly, interrupting her. “In fact, she wants very much to see you.”

  Laura threw up her hands. “That’s absurd!”

  “I don’t see why. You do take care of her grandchildren. It’s only natural that she’d want to meet you, don’t you think?”

  Laura folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I think you are being unreasonable,” she said, “and I can’t help wondering why.”

  Adam passed a hand over his eyes. “Fine. If you choose to think that I’m unreasonable, so be it—but be ready to leave in ten minutes. I’ll see to the children myself.”

  Laura made a sound in the back of her throat that clearly communicated her frustration, but Adam ignored her, brushing imaginary lint from the gray wool tweed sleeve of his sport jacket. “Adam,” she implored.

  He flicked his gaze up. “Nine minutes,” he said, “and counting.”

  Obstinately Laura plopped down on the coffee table, daring him to move her. He catapulted up out of his chair, but then he merely straightened his cuffs and rippled his shoulders and craned his neck, as if trying to get comfortable inside his navy blue shirt and tie. “Fine,” he said with an air of boredom. “Mother will, of course, be wearing a dress, but she’ll forgive you your…pants.”

  With that, he reached down and grasped her forearm, pulling her to her feet easily. She knew when she was beaten. Not being childish enough to dig in her heels, she allowed him to haul her out of the den and down the hall. When they reached the foyer, he began pulling coats out of the closet and calling the children. Laura ran down the hall to her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “Five minutes!”

  “You can take six!” Adam called after her. She didn’t see his smile.

  With six minutes to transform herself, Laura didn’t waste time bemoaning her situation. She ripped her only skirt from its hanger and began tossing things out of drawers. Next, she stripped down to her panties and bra, then wiggled into heavy black tights and her one and only slip. After that came a white cotton shirt with short sleeves and a Peter Pan collar. In her haste, she buttoned the top two buttons and didn’t bother with the rest. Quickly she pulled on the black wool gabardine skirt that ended in a row of pleats just inches above her ankles, stuffed in the tail of her shirt and zipped up. She pulled a closely fitted long-sleeved black imitation-angora sweater over her head, flipped her shirt collar out over the edge of the sweater’s straight neckline and jammed her feet into half boots with stacked heels. She whipped a narrow black belt around her waist and buckled it, tugging the hem of her sweater smooth. Finally she whisked a brush through her hair, tucked one side behind an ear and plopped a small black beret on her head at a jaunty angle. Hands shaking, she jammed a wide filigreed-silver ring onto the index finger of her left hand, then grabbed up tiny black-and-silver button earrings from a dish on the top of the bureau. She was fixing the back of the second earring when she drew up in front of Adam in the foyer.

  “My goodness,” he said, raking an appreciative gaze from her head to her toes and up again. “What might you have done with the full ten minutes?”

  “The very same,” she said, tilting her nose and sticking her arms in the sleeves of the coat he held open for her. “This is the only ‘dress’ I own.”

  He pulled the coat up over her shoulders and settled it into place. “Then we’ll just have to get you another,” he said, his soft voice in her ear.

  “I don’t need another,” she said, ignoring the tiny shivers that coursed through her body.

  He turned her to face him and looped her scarf about her neck. “You will,” he said, and then he turned her toward the garage door. “The kids are in the car.”

  “Already?”

  He smiled as he escorted her out the door. “I can work wonders in minutes, too.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but you do it the easy way. You give orders!”

  He put his head back and laughed at that.

  Erica smiled at her son. He flipped a little wave at her, dusted off Ryan’s bruised knee, patted the boy’s shoulder, then watched as Ryan disappeared into the lush greenery of Erica’s garden room, his latest scrape forgotten in the heat of his brother’s shouted challenge: “Ready or not, come hide-and-seek me!”

  Adam straightened and strolled back to the chair positioned next to Erica’s chaise, laughing. “Well, he’s got the terminology down. He just hasn’t quite figured out who’s the hider and who’s the seeker.”

  “Children are so funny,” she said. “Still, I haven’t seen you laugh so much in years.”

  Adam quirked a brow and crossed one knee over the other, pinching the crease of his navy blue slacks with thumb and forefinger. “The kids are at an age to be lots of fun,” he said finally.

  “Umm…” She caught and held his gaze, saying very deliberately, “I’m surprised you’ve noticed. I don’t suppose the lovely Laura has anything to do with that.”

  Adam considered pretense, then quickly abandoned the idea. He smoothed a finger over the edge of the small, round glass-topped verdigris table placed near to hand. “She has utterly changed my life,” he said. “Now if I could only figure out how to keep her.”

  Erica opened her mouth, but before she could comment, the object of their conversation appeared, ducking beneath the lush fronds of a potted palm. Her beret was askew, and she was brushing tiny brown tendrils from her skirt. She strolled over to the table, a nervous smile on her face, and picked up the glass of water she had requested earlier, at Erica’s urging. She took a long drink, fanning herself with her hand.

  “This garden room is so great,” she said, putting down her glass and straightening her hat. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel really warm.”

  “This room is my refuge in wintertime,” Erica told her, “and the older I get, the more I appreciate it.”

  Laura looked around her, still slightly awed. “It’s just so wild to find tropical plants growing in all this snow.”

  The snow, in fact, was piled four and five feet deep in drifts against the glass wall of the hothouse, but inside it was a toasty seventy-five degrees. That being the case, Grandmommy’s hothouse was and always had been a favorite place for the children to play. The twins were zigging and
zagging through the potted ferns at that very moment, while Wendy was playing kitchen with a collection of empty plastic containers and various tools from the potting shed. Laura had just returned from inspecting Wendy’s imaginary concoctions. The very moment she sat down in the chair facing Adam, Ryan stuck his head out of a leafy hole and bawled, “Wau-ra! Wau-ra, come see!”

  Laura immediately popped up again, but Adam leaned forward and snagged her hand, pulling her back down. “You’ve run Laura ragged,” he called out to Ryan. “Play on your own for a while, and let Laura sit down!”

  Ryan stomped out of his hiding place, arms rigid at his sides. “Aw, Dad,” he complained.

  “Don’t ‘Aw Dad’ me,” Adam replied calmly. “Just go on and play. Laura will be right here with me.”

  Ryan flattened his lips in disgust, his brows drawn together, but he stomped back into his play place amid the greenery. Almost instantly they heard a growl, followed by a loud “Ow!” and Ryan tumbled out of the plants again. His twin could be seen dashing through the rows of potted growth.

  Laura jumped to her feet. “Robbie!”

  Adam stood and pushed her down again, his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll deal with this,” he said, advancing on Robbie’s hiding place. He stopped in the aisle between the rows of lush greenery and stooped to assess Ryan’s injuries. There were none, of course, just a few crocodile tears and a trembling lip worthy of a prize-winning actor. “W-W-Wobbie ’tacked me!” he exclaimed.

  Adam picked him up and dusted him off. “You’re not hurt. Why don’t you go play with Wendy? I’ll take care of Robbie.”

  Ryan nodded and smugly took himself off to pester his sister. Adam stepped into the potted jungle and looked in three different directions. He stepped out into the aisle again and brought his hands to his hips. “Show yourself, Rob. Robbie? Come out here, son. Now.” The only reply was a rustle of fronds. Adam took a look over his shoulder. Laura appeared to be conversing politely with his mother—until she cast a worried glance in his direction. Adam jerked his head around, thrust back his shoulders and pitched his voice in the direction of that suspicious rustling. “Robbie, if you don’t want to find yourself on TV restriction for the next week—and I mean no TV at all—you’d better present yourself, front and center, within the next three seconds. I’m counting. One… Two…”

  Robbie pushed aside a huge green leaf and stepped out into the aisle, chin down, shoulders drooping.

  Adam carefully covered a smile with a stern face and beckoned his son with a crooked finger. Robbie dragged himself over, managing to avoid stepping on his bottom lip. Adam went down to the child’s level, his weight balanced on his toes.

  “Now then, why did you ‘attack’ your brother?”

  “I’m the lion!” Robbie explained in a deep, growling voice.

  So it was all a game that got out of hand. Adam nodded. “Well, the lion is going to find himself caged if he doesn’t stop attacking people. Tell you what, you go over and apologize nicely to your brother, and we’ll forget about it this time. All right?”

  Robbie instantly perked up. “Sure.”

  “Get at it, then.”

  Arms swinging, Robbie strolled over to his brother, looked him in the face and said, “I’m sorry I tried to eat you, Ryan.”

  Ryan patted his shoulder generously. “I be the wion this time!” he exclaimed, and the pair trotted off toward their make-believe jungle again.

  Wendy rolled her eyes, rapidly stirring a pot of dirt. “Boys!” she muttered.

  “Be a nice lion!” Adam called out.

  “Aw wight!” Ryan conceded. “I be a nice wion! I won’t eat people!”

  Adam shook his head, laughing softly, and walked back to the table. “Never a dull moment,” he commented, retaking his chair.

  Erica chuckled. “As if I didn’t know. You kept me hopping day and night, not to mention your sisters!”

  “Oh, I was a joy,” he teased. “You’ve told me so repeatedly.”

  “You were a joy, all right,” Erica conceded, “but a very busy and very easily offended one.”

  “The busy part sounds like the twins,” Laura said, tapping her chin with a finger. “Which one of them would you say is most like his father?”

  Erica smiled. “Wendy is most like her father,” she said. “All too aware, quick to take offense, long to hold a grudge, but very, very loving.”

  “I don’t hold a grudge!” Adam objected.

  “No?” Erica said. “Perhaps we should ask your father.”

  Adam frowned. Had he been holding a grudge all these years? He shifted in his chair. “How is Dad?”

  Erica stared. “Why ask me? He doesn’t tell me anything anymore. We’re separated, remember?”

  Adam sighed. “When is this nonsense going to stop? You and Dad belong together. Dad belongs at the helm of the Fortune family business. Rocky and Luke deserve a family reception, and while I’m ordering the world, Kate ought to be here. If Kate were here, none of this would be happening. You know that, don’t you?”

  Erica smiled wanly. “Indeed I do. Our Kate had a way of willing this family into order.” Her eyes glazed with tears that she attempted to smile away. “I think I miss her more now than ever. I know your father does.”

  “Kate was our rudder,” Adam said in a husky voice. “Without her, the family in general just seems to flounder.”

  Erica turned her gaze on Laura. “I wish you could have known her, Laura dear.”

  Laura replied graciously. “I’m sure she was a very wise woman. Just the legacy she left Adam is enough to tell me that.”

  “The legacy?” Erica asked, slanting a look at her son. “I always wondered about that pair of photo albums.”

  With an abashed look, Adam briefly explained about the photo albums, neither of which contained a single photo of a father with his children. “Laura figured it out,” he added. “I don’t have any doubt that Kate was trying to tell me how in danger I was of doing the very thing I resented Dad for.”

  “How like Kate,” Erica mused, and then she turned a thoughtful gaze on Laura.

  Adam sat up straight, suddenly catching his mother’s thought. “Yes,” he agreed, “very like Kate.”

  Laura seemed not to understand their conclusion. She was busy with thoughts of her own, and Adam didn’t have to wonder long what was on her mind. “You know,” she said, abruptly sitting forward, “it isn’t hopeless. You simply must think and do what Kate would have done. Someone must talk to your father, someone whose words and opinions matter a great deal to him, someone like…you, Adam.”

  Adam recoiled. “Me? I’m the last person Dad would listen to.”

  Erica cut in. “Oh, no, for all your differences, do you think your father would pressure you to come into the company if he didn’t trust, even covet, your judgment and opinions?”

  Adam felt a pang near his heart. “But, Mother, the fact remains that I have no intention of getting involved in the family business, and you know Father has always kept his own counsel.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you give him business advice,” Erica countered. “Just tell him that you care, that the family fears, in one way or another, that we’re losing him. It’s what Kate would have done. It’s exactly what Kate would have done.”

  Adam couldn’t argue with that. He knew at soul level that his mother was right, and yet… He turned a newly appreciative gaze on the young woman who had so changed his life. The idea, the impulse, the intuition, had been hers, and God knew it wasn’t the first time. If not for Laura, he realized in a flash of insight, he’d still be stumbling around in the dark, wondering why his children didn’t love him, searching for his life’s work, resenting and holding at arm’s length the very man whose love and approval he had craved since childhood. If not for Laura… He shuddered to think of it.

  “I’ll call Dad and invite him to lunch tomorrow.”

  Snippets of conversation floated up from the mouths of chatting, laughing diners, but Ada
m ignored them as he looked over the opulent room, searching for his father. His gaze snagged on a black-garbed figure seated at an out-of-the-way table behind a column near the middle of the room. Something about the heavily veiled woman seemed familiar, but before Adam could analyze what, a movement at the edge of his vision distracted him. He acknowledged Jake’s wave with a nod of his head and began weaving his way through the tables and chairs.

  Jake was early—a testament to his eagerness for this meeting. Adam felt a simultaneous lift of spirits and a pang of guilt. He’d recognized the delight in his father’s voice when he phoned for the appointment, and it warmed him to know that a simple thing like an invitation to lunch from him could so please his father—warmed and shamed him, for it was an absurdly easy thing to do once the decision was made.

  As he approached his father’s usual table at the familiar restaurant, he unbuttoned his suit coat and smiled. Jake looked up, caught sight of him and leaped to his feet, both arms extended. Adam gave himself over to a hearty handshake and a back-pounding. It occurred to him that he had received more of those over the years than he had realized. Perhaps his father was not as undemonstrative as he had believed.

  “I’m afraid to even guess why you’ve invited me here,” Jake said once they’d taken their chairs, glanced through menus over a coffee for Adam and a drink for Jake and ordered. “Dare I suggest that you’re interested in the Fortune companies after all?”

  Adam chuckled, amazed to find that his temper did not ignite—his usual reaction. He shook his head. “Sorry, Dad. The Fortune companies will have to struggle on without me. The fact is, I have a job, or at least I will as soon as the sale goes through.”

  Jake accepted this news with unusual aplomb. “What sort of business are we talking about?”

  Adam smiled to himself. “I’ve recently discovered a latent passion for antiquities.” He went on to explain, at some length, that he had decided to buy Jane’s business, and why. To his surprise, Jake seemed to accept, even to approve on an elemental level, his decision.