Home Field Advantage

by Johnson, Janice Kay

  "Okay, okay, it's all right. It's just water. It won't hurt you."

  The wails slowed. Emma appeared in the doorway, her face bright and interested. "Wow. You could go swimming in here!"

  Marian rolled her eyes. "Don't give them ideas." She went on soothing, "Hey, hush. It's all right. It's just water. Nothing's hurt."

  Except the carpet in the hall and the grout between the elegant gray floor tiles and maybe the toilet. None of it hers, she thought grimly. What had happened?

  Unfortunately, she had an unpleasant suspicion. The twins had begged to play with Emma's Barbie house for just a few minutes before bedtime. They always had been attracted to water, but they knew they weren't supposed to play in the toilet. Which didn't mean that wasn't exactly what they had been doing.

  She finally inserted a question between sobs. "Were you guys playing in the bathroom?"

  Jesse cried harder. Anna's lower lip stuck out even further and quivered. Neither answered the question.

  "Did you put something down the toilet?"

  The sobs rose.

  "Guys, answer me," Marian said sternly. "What did you stuff down the toilet?"

  "Good question," said a deep voice.

  Marian started and turned toward the door. Looking over Emma's shoulder was John. He must have come straight from Seattle, where the game had been played in the Kingdome. He wore a white shirt and slacks, the narrow silk tie still around his neck but tugged loose. In one large hand was a gray felt Stetson. He was startlingly handsome and suave...

  Whereas she had water running over her canvas tennis shoes and a wet, naked child on each hip. Worse yet, it was his bathroom. Marian was speechless.

  His gaze didn't waver, though one dark brow rose quizzically. The twins' howls rose in response.

  "Hello," Marian said weakly.

  "Well, I had a good weekend," John said. "Looks like it beat yours."

  "It was fine, until just this minute," she said from between clenched teeth. "Let me wade out of here."

  She squelched past John without looking at him and stalked into the twins' room. She deposited Anna and Jesse onto the bed and tilted their chins up. "I promise not to get too mad. But you have to tell me, or we can't fix the toilet.

  "It was Rabbit!" Jesse began to cry again. "He wanted a bath!"

  Marian groaned. A double disaster. John McRae's bathroom, and Jesse's rabbit. He loved that rabbit and wouldn't go to bed without it. She might never have a decent night's sleep again. Although that was the least of her worries. She couldn't afford a plumber and a carpet cleaner. But she had to offer.

  Of course, John stood in the doorway. "Rabbit, huh?"

  "It's about this big." She held up her hands to demonstrate.

  "I hope to God I can reach it." His voice sounded strange. Gruff, as though he were suppressing anger. Or...laughter?

  He went on, in that same odd voice. "You know, when I turned in the driveway I thought how good it was to be home. I imagined walking in the door, and the kids all scrubbed in their pyjamas would come meet me, and you'd offer to heat some leftovers, and maybe you'd have coffee and a piece of pie with me while we talked over the weekend."

  Marian squeezed her fingers together and waited.

  "Instead, I hear these wails. Water's pouring out of the bathroom and you're standing in the middle of it with these dripping kids who are screaming at the top of their lungs. Fantasy versus reality. But..." He shrugged. "What the hell."

  His normally imperturbable gray eyes were twinkling. He was laughing. Marian didn't know whether to be offended or grateful. From his point of view, she probably had looked funny.

  Something on her face must have been the straw that broke the camel's back, because suddenly he began to chuckle, then laugh heartily. The next thing she knew, Marian was laughing, too. Reluctantly at first, then wholeheartedly. She could just see Emma in the hall behind her dad, gaping at the two adults with such astonishment, Marian laughed even harder. Stunned, the twins had quit crying. There was just John and Marian, howling with laughter.

  Finally they subsided. His chest still rumbling with laughter, John said, "Come on, let's get the kids to bed. Emma, have you had your bath?" That struck him as so funny, he started to laugh again. Emma was beginning to look annoyed. She hated being left out of anything.

  "I didn't play in the toilet!"

  "And you did take a bath," Marian reminded her. Then she sighed and turned to Anna and Jesse. "You know you shouldn't have played in the toilet."

  Jesse nodded; Anna sulked.

  "It's bedtime now. We'll do our best to rescue Rabbit, but you'll have to do without him tonight. I'll bet Anna will share her flower blanket."

  Anna frowned, and Jesse began to cry again.

  It was a long half hour later before Marian tiptoed out of their room to find John in the bathroom, sloshing up the mess with a mop. At least he had changed to jeans.

  Horrified, she said, "I'm sorry! Please, let me do that."

  "I'm not hearing another apology, am I?"

  "I owe you one," she said resolutely.

  He gave a dismissive gesture with one hand, then began squeezing the mop out into a bucket. "Emma did the same thing once. Caused a mess you wouldn't believe. This is nothing."

  Marian picked up the bucket. "At least let me go empty the water. We sure can't pour it down the toilet."

  He frowned. "It's heavy."

  "And I'm capable," she said firmly.

  Their eyes met and there was an instant charge in the air. "I know you are," he said. "I've never doubted it."

  She had to wrench herself away, as though he were a magnet and she a tiny sliver of metal inexorably attracted. Marian didn't like the feeling. She had survived the last man in her life by being strong. John had such charisma and strength of his own, she felt powerless in comparison.

  They got the bathroom floor dry, and John produced a metal snake to probe down the toilet. Rabbit was stuck just out of sight, thank heavens, and at last John pulled the stuffed animal out to hold him dubiously up by one ear.

  "Is he beyond salvation?"

  "He was pretty pitiful to start with," Marian said, lifting up the bucket for the soggy, faded white rabbit with drooping ears. "I'll toss him in the washing machine. A bath won't hurt him."

  "Good." John dropped the lid of the toilet and said, "Well, how about that piece of pie and coffee?"

  "I..." Marian stopped, feeling hopelessly inadequate. "Thank you."

  "Kids do things like that. No harm's done."

  "Except the carpet."

  "I'll call a cleaning service. No big deal."

  "Maybe not," she said, "but we're not exactly the perfect housemates."

  "Damn it, Marian, if you don't quit apologizing..."

  Her stomach clenched. "What? Are you going to throw us out if I say I'm sorry too often?" Oh, God, why had she said that? Marian wished desperately to call the words back.

  His eyes were no longer clear at all, but a dark, smoky gray. "You know better than that."

  She turned jerkily away, scarcely realizing that she stared at herself in the mirror. "I have to thank you! It's all I have to give!"

  John took one long stride and his reflected image towered over hers. "I don't want your gratitude."

  "Then what do you want?" She turned her head to stare up at him, feeling as though she were begging, but unable to prevent herself. "Why are you doing so much for us?"

  "Because I like you," he said roughly. "Is that so hard to believe? Because you're good for Emma. Because I'd be asking you out to dinner in any other circumstances. Because I'm attracted to you."

  Marian was stunned into silence. She had expected either platitudes or bluntness that would kill her dreams. Not a kind of honesty that scared her instead. "But you haven't..." she whispered.

  His voice had become raw. "Because it would be blackmail. You said yourself you couldn't say no, didn't you? There's a time and a place, and this isn't it."

  There was
no answer. Could she have said no? Had she hoped she wouldn't be able to?

  "I'm sor—" The words weren't all the way out before she saw his violent response. His eyes blazed and he slapped one hand on the tiled counter.

  "God damn it, Marian! Are you trying to provoke me?"

  "No! I'm sor—" and she covered her mouth with her hand. When he glowered at her, she glared back and let her hand drop to her side. "If I can't thank you and I can't say I'm sorry, what am I supposed to say?"

  A muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched and then he closed his eyes. "What if I apologize?"

  "Please don't!" she said, appalled.

  When he looked at her again, the fire in his eyes was damped, though it still smoldered. "Then how about if we start over? I'll pretend I just walked in the door. Is there anything I could warm up for dinner?"

  "I'll do it," she said quickly, then realized he might prefer to be alone so that he could pretend he wasn't stuck with her and the horrible twosome. She tacked on a belated, "Unless you'd rather..."

  "I'd like to have company." He actually smiled, but ruefully. "Just so you don't want to talk about football."

  "No." She took a deep breath. "We watched you yesterday."

  "And?"

  "I hardly understood a word you said."

  "Then I'll have to conduct a workshop one of these days. You might find some of the terminology useful."

  Without thinking, she said, "Like home field advantage?"

  He grinned, his face lighting with that wicked, dangerously masculine charm. "Exactly. Speaking of which...what do you say we move this game to someplace besides the bathroom?"

  "I..." Marian glanced around, startled to realize that they were still squeezed in the relatively tiny room, then felt herself smiling back at him. "The kitchen," she agreed. "And maybe we should call a time out."

  He made the referee's signal, a T, with both hands. "See? Your vocabulary isn't as limited as you think. There's hope for you."

  "Thanks," she retorted, and gingerly stepped across the wet carpet to head down the hall. "But don't forget who's going to cook your dinner."

  From uncomfortably close behind her, John said, "I don't have a worry in the world. You have to express all that gratitude somehow, right?"

  The worst of it was, he was right. But though it might be blackmail, she knew now how much more ruthless he could have been.

  *****

  John insisted on taking the kids grocery shopping Monday while Marian checked out the couple of new rentals that had been listed in the Sunday paper.

  "Are you sure?" she asked dubiously, watching him buckle the herd into his car. "I can take the kids. We could do the shopping on our way home."

  Inside the car, Jesse declared, "I want Rabbit!"

  Rabbit's bedraggled face popped furtively up from the front seat, then disappeared.

  "Mine!" Jesse bellowed.

  "We're playing peek-a-boo," Emma said. "See? There he is. Now he's hiding."

  Jesse began to scream.

  Marian and John said at the same time, "Emma!"

  "Oh, all right!" Sulkily, she flung the stuffed animal at the red-faced two-year-old. "You're no fun!"

  "Are you absolutely sure?" Marian repeated.

  "I'll bribe 'em," he said blithely. "You can deal with the sugar buzz when you get home. I'll go hide in the barn."

  "If you're really positive," she said. "John, thank you."

  He just grinned, gave her the thumbs up, and hopped in behind the wheel. "See ya."

  Watching them disappear, Marian felt peculiar. It wasn't very long ago that she'd longed for a day to herself. Even a few hours! Now she had them, and instead of kicking up her heels she felt rootless. Unsettled. Maybe she couldn't walk anymore without twin weights hanging from her hands.

  "I can't afford to get spoiled," she told herself. The excitement of being able to get into the car without fastening numerous seat belts and checking for essentials like bottles, diapers, blankies, and rabbits was almost too much for her. She'd have sworn even the car was lighter bouncing over a rut and onto the narrow country road.

  A mostly discouraging two hours later, she returned to find John and the kids having macaroni and cheese for lunch. She was grateful to be able to announce brightly, "I found a place."

  John's expression didn't change one iota. Why she was watching to see what he thought, Marian didn't know. Jesse and Anna ignored her announcement and continued squishing the macaroni on their plates. Emma's was the only response.

  "I don't want you to go."

  "I know, sweetie." It felt so natural to hug her. "But you understand why we need our own house, don't you?"

  Emma pulled away and wouldn't look at Marian. "I guess," she said flatly.

  Marian leaned against the counter and talked fast, trying to sound cheerful. "It's bigger than the last one. And the backyard is fenced, so I don't have to do that. Don't you miss Aja and Rhodo? And the cats? I'll bet they miss us."

  Emma pushed her bowl away, ignoring the spoon that clattered to the floor. "You could have had them here," she said. "Daddy wouldn't have minded."

  "Touche’," John murmured.

  "We're imposing enough as it is," Marian said briskly. "Your dad was nice enough to have us, but adding four more animals would have been too much. And you know Crystal is enjoying them." Even if her parents aren't, Marian thought. Perhaps it was wrong of her, but she resented having to feel so hopelessly in debt to so many people. She had always made it on her own. She could have managed, if she'd had to. She refused to confront the scariness of the thought. It would be too easy to be terrified about the future and about the next time her shaky props were kicked out from under her.

  Emma stayed sullen for the rest of the day, making a point of rejecting any advances Marian made. The twins stayed oblivious. Marian wasn't sure whether they were simply too young to understand, indifferent about where they lived, or had ceased believing her. Over the last couple of months she'd made several announcements. The only one that had actually come true was losing their home—and the last-minute move to Emma's house.

  John didn't mention the subject again until dinnertime. He disappeared out to the barn as he'd promised and came in just before six o'clock, dirty, tired, and sweaty.

  "Let me grab a quick shower," he said, and vanished again.

  "Emma, do you want to set the table?" Marian called.

  She wasn't surprised when the response from the living room was no.

  "That'll teach you to ask," Marian said aloud to the empty kitchen. She felt sad, though, because Emma had been eagerly helping her with housework whenever she would allow it. She had suffered pangs from the way the eager gaze followed her, the way the small hands imitated what she was doing. She had known the role Emma was assigning her, and allowed it to happen. Marian had wanted to play mother. Now she wondered if she had been fair to Emma.

  At the dinner table, John glanced at her. "Did you put a deposit down on the rental?"

  Marian exhaled a silent sigh at the reminder. She had been desperate enough to pay an even more outrageous amount than the last landlady had demanded. She'd hesitated for only a bare second before she remembered John's kisses—and knew she had to run away while she still could.

  "Yes," she said. "The house is empty, too. I'm going to need to spend a few hours over there cleaning, but then we can move in any time. You're probably already sorry you offered to help us move, but I hope once more will do it. Whatever day is convenient for you..."

  "Any time," he said brusquely, and began to eat without further comment. The meal was a silent one, since neither Emma nor her father were speaking, and Marian felt too deflated to make an effort.

  The camaraderie of the last few days was gone that evening. Marian tucked Anna and Jesse in, then went in to Emma's bedroom to kiss her good night. Against the lace eyelet pillowcase, her small face was stiff, and tonight her arms didn't come up for a hug. She accepted Marian's kiss, then turned her face awa
y.

  Her stomach churning, Marian slipped out. John stood at the bottom of the stairs when she started down.

  "I'd better go watch some game films," he said. "Will you be okay on your own?"

  "Sure," she said casually. "I'm in the middle of a book." But she was achingly aware that this was one of her last evenings here; by Tuesday, he would help her move, and then she would be a baby-sitter again and John a parent who was friendly when he picked up his daughter. If he kept bringing Emma to her at all. Sooner or later he would hire a housekeeper, some woman who was eager to be his dependent. Then Emma would transfer her affections, as she should.

  The image was unexpectedly depressing.

  Marian read on the plush suede couch in the living room for an hour or two, then went upstairs to take a long hot bath before bed. She hadn't seen John again and the house was quiet. Drying off from the bath, she glanced at herself in the steamy mirror, to see cheeks glowing and hair tumbling damply out of the knot she had fastened on top of her head. Oh, well. No one would see her anyway. Wrapped in a quilted robe, she stepped out of the bathroom almost into John's path.

  The shock of his unexpected appearance paralyzed Marian. Hers seemed to have the same effect on him. They stared at each other. The recessed lighting in the hall had been dimmed and the scene was dangerously intimate. John's face looked gaunt, shadowed beneath the high cheekbones, and his eyes were dark. He wore jeans and a polo shirt open at the collar to expose his brown throat, and his feet were bare. Marian's own toes curled into the carpet and she struggled for a breath.

  "Good...good night," she managed, her voice little better than a whisper.

  He didn't answer for a long moment, in which something perilously close to exhilaration unfurled in her chest. But it had no chance to spread its wings, for she saw the exact instant that he collected himself. His mouth tightened and he nodded curtly.

  "Good night." And he continued down the hall, leaving Marian to flee to her own room.

  She lay awake too long, restless and angry at herself. She didn't want—couldn't afford!—a relationship with a man as dominating as John McRae. She'd fought too hard to stand on her own feet to knuckle under now and accept his charity. Even if he saw her as an equal, if she could feel an equal, the price for those hours and days of joys would be the loss of everything she had worked for—and heartbreak. He could hurt her so easily, so casually. All she had to do was remember Mark's slow withdrawal after her exultant announcement of her pregnancy, her confusion, his anger—and then, horrifyingly, the day she came home to find him gone, leaving no more of himself than a note on the kitchen table and the unborn children in her womb.