"You're too hard on yourself. They've been through a terrible trauma."
"I know. But it doesn't make it easier to deal with their silence. I feel like they blame me for their mother being gone. And, hell, maybe they should. Anyway, hopefully one day they'll come around."
"I'm sure they will. They do love you, Michael. I can see it in their eyes when they look at you. Even if they can't say it, they feel it."
He drew in a quick breath. "I'd give up my life for them."
She nodded. "If there's anything I can do to make this easier, I'll try."
"You're already doing it," he said. "I'm glad you came over. I think we all needed to see you in this house."
"So you can see I'm not her."
He nodded. "It's very clear to me now."
She appreciated that fact. "Good. It's a little less clear to me, I have to admit. Would you mind if I took a photo of Angela with me to show my mother? I don't think she'll believe how much we look alike without proof. And I'd really like to get her input."
"Help yourself."
She picked up a photo from the mantel. "Thanks."
"I'll walk you out," he said, leading her toward the front door.
"So you said you have a project to finish-- what kind of work do you do?" she asked.
"I'm an architect."
"Really?" she asked, pausing as they stepped onto the porch. As a historian she'd studied a fair amount of architectural history. "Homes or buildings?"
"For the past ten years I've specialized in high-rise office buildings."
"Oh." She couldn't help the disappointment in her voice.
"Something wrong with that?" he questioned, his gaze narrowing.
"No, I'm sure you're designing beautiful buildings for the work force."
"I am. In fact, I've just been offered a chance to design a new fifty-story building downtown to replace the Stratton Hotel."
"The Stratton? You're going to tear down the Stratton?" she asked in shock. She had celebrated her sixteenth birthday at the Stratton. Her mother had taken her to afternoon tea at the Stratton. It wasn't just a hotel, it was a piece of San Francisco history as well as her own personal history. She couldn't stand the thought of it being gone. Every time she turned around, she seemed to be losing something else. "I can't believe you're going to tear down that beautiful hotel. Why don't you restore it?"
"It's not my call. I don't own the property."
"But you're part of the process," she argued. "Don't you care about history or tradition? It's people like you who are destroying our cities."
"It's people like me who bring new beauty to blighted areas."
"So it's out with the old, in with the new. Maybe if you're lucky, when you're old and sick someone will take you out and shoot you instead of trying to nurse you back to health."
"It's not the same thing." He put his hands on his hips and scowled at her.
"It's exactly the same thing."
"What's it to you anyway?"
"I'm a historian. I believe in preserving our heritage, the traditions of our past."
"I thought you were a first grade teacher."
"Only this summer. In the fall I'll finish up my Ph.D. in American history."
He stared at her for a long moment. "I didn't think anybody majored in history any more, much less got a Ph.D. There's no money in it."
"I'm not in it for the money," she retorted, disturbed by his comment.
"So you're independently wealthy?"
"I have enough to live on."
He tugged at his tie. "It's easier to have ideals when you don't need money. But I've got two kids and a mortgage. We all have to make choices. And right now tearing down the Stratton is the least of my worries." He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. "You really are nothing like Angela."
This time it sounded like a criticism. "Well, if she thought like you do, thank God for that," she snapped, as she headed down the steps.
"You're taking this a little too personally," he said, following her out to her car. "It's just an old building."
"I have a lot of memories that involve the Stratton," she said.
"You'll still have them even if the building is gone."
"It won't be the same. Nothing will be the same." She drew in a deep breath. "My father died a few months ago. I feel like everything is changing so fast, and I can't stop it."
He met her gaze. "I know exactly how that feels. I'm sorry about your dad."
"Thank you. And I'm sorry I blew up at you. Your work is none of my business."
"You have a lot of passion, Joanna," he said, his gaze thoughtful. "You remind me a little of me -- a few years ago."
"What changed?"
"Life," he said with a helpless shrug. "Responsibilities. Maybe I did sell off a piece of my soul, but I thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted to make my wife happy, proud. In the end, it didn't work."
"So," she said, "what about now? It's never too late to get your soul back."
He gave her a doubtful smile. "Are you sure about that?"
Chapter Eight
Rose looked out the window, watching her father and Joanna talked. "Joanna is leaving," she said with a sigh. "I wish she'd stayed longer."
Lily crept up on the bed next to her, and they both rested their elbows on the ledge, their chins in their hands. "She's so pretty -- just like Mama."
"You don't think she is Mama, do you?" Rose asked.
"I don't know. I like her long hair."
"Me, too."
"We have to make her stay," Lily said decisively.
"How?"
"Maybe you should pretend to be sick."
"Me? Why don't you do it?"
"Because everyone knows you get sick more than me."
"I do not," Rose said, even though she did. Lily never even got colds.
"Let's ask Mariah what to do," Lily said. She slid off the bed and walked to the desk. She rubbed her hand over the glass ball. The light flashed, the globe sparkled, and Mariah smiled at them. "How can we make Joanna stay with us?" Lily asked.
"Don't be a fool. Don't leave your toys at school."
"Huh?" Rose asked. "What does she mean?"
Lily frowned. Then her eyes lit up. "Peter Panda Bear. You can't find him. You must have left him at school."
"No, I didn't. I brought him home in my backpack."
"If you left him at school, we would have to go back and look for him with Daddy -- and with Joanna," Lily said proudly. "Because everyone knows you can't go to sleep without Peter Panda Bear."
Rose jumped to her feet, catching on. "Okay. I'll do it."
"You have to cry really loud." Lily studied her with a critical eye. "And sniff a lot. Remember, don't talk to Daddy. Just talk to Joanna."
* * *
Joanna stared at Michael. Their conversation had gotten far too personal and far too deep for two people who barely knew each other and yet it felt completely and oddly right. "I do think you can change your life," she said. "Learn from your past mistakes so that you can avoid making bad decisions in the future."
"That sounds like an historian," he said lightly.
"Well, it's true. We can never escape the past, so we might as well learn from it."
"I agree; I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to have learned."
"You'll figure it out."
He smiled at her. "Somehow when you say it, I almost believe you."
"So believe. What's the harm? I'll bring this picture back tomorrow, and give to the girls to bring home to you," she added.
"That's fine." He dug his hands in his pockets, his gaze still settled on her face.
"Do you have something else you want to say?" she couldn't help asking.
Before he could answer, the twins came running out the front door. Lily was yelling something, and Rose was crying.
"What's wrong?" Michael asked immediately. He opened up his arms to Rose, but she ran past him and hurled herself into Joanna's embrace.
She looked over the top of Rose's head into Michael's worried gaze. His arms were still outstretched, and she saw the rejection in his eyes. Slowly his hands dropped to his sides as Lily skirted around him, too.
"She forgot Peter Panda Bear," Lily said breathlessly to Joanna. "She left him at school."
Rose cried louder at the end of Lily's sentence.
"Oh, dear." Joanna patted Rose on the back.
"Will the school still be open?" Michael asked. "She can't sleep without Peter Panda Bear. He's her security blanket."
And Rose needed security after the death of her mother, Joanna realized, her heart going out to the little girl.
"Can we go to school and look for her?" Lily asked.
"Yes, of course," she said. "I have a key. I can let us in. But, Michael, you were on your way to work. Do you want me to take the girls?"
Rose stopped crying. "I think Daddy should come, too," she said to Joanna. "Because -- "
"Because what, Rosebud?" Michael asked eagerly.
Rose hesitated, then she took his hand and pulled him over to the car. She didn't finish her sentence, but she made it clear she wanted him to come along.
"I guess you're stuck with me for a while longer," he said to Joanna.
"What about work?"
"This is more important."
Damn, he was a hard man to dislike. He might tear down old, cherished buildings, but he was willing to put his little girl's bear ahead of his job. "Then, let's go," she said.
A few minutes later they entered the classroom and began searching for the stuffed bear.
"I don't see your panda bear anywhere," she said to Rose. "Do you remember if you took him out of your cubby during story time?"
Rose stared at her wide-eyed. "I don't remember. I'm sorry.
She patted her on the shoulder as Rose's eyes started to well up once again. "It's okay. We'll find him." She walked to the back of the room, where Michael was restocking the shelves with building blocks and puzzles.
"He's not here," Michael said. "We've looked everywhere."
At his words, Rose sat down in the beanbag chair on the floor, covering her eyes with her hands. Lily went over to her and patted her on the head.
Michael sighed as he studied their drooping figures. "Sometimes I think my life is cursed."
"The bear has to be somewhere."
"But where? We've looked in every corner, every desk. I don't see it." He paused. "I know how she feels, too. I used to have a stuffed pig when I was little. His name was Herman."
Joanna bit back a smile. "A stuffed pig?"
Michael grinned. "Yeah. Herman went everywhere with me, and I do mean everywhere. My father took off when I was four, and my mother moved about eighteen times in the next ten years. The only thing that always went with me was Herman."
"Do you still have him?"
He rolled his eyes. "I'm thirty-three years old."
"You didn't answer my question."
A tiny smile curved his mouth. "He might be around somewhere."
"You mean you didn't throw him out when he got old and dirty and lost some of his stuffing?"
He shook his finger at her. "You're like a little terrier dog, your teeth clenched around the corner of a sock, trying to pull it away from its owner even though the sock doesn't belong to you."
"Maybe the owner isn't taking care of his sock."
"Maybe the owner thinks a new sock will be better than a chewed-up old one."
"Joanna?" Lily's voice interrupted them. "Did you lose your sock?"
Michael laughed, then covered it up with a cough.
"No, honey. I didn't lose my sock," Joanna said.
"Oh. Well, I don't think Peter Panda Bear is here," Lily said.
"I'm afraid I don't either," she agreed.
"Did you take it in the yard, Rosebud?" Michael asked.
Rose shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. Michael went over to her and pulled her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest. "It's okay, sweetie. We'll get you a new bear. It will be okay. You'll see."
Rose shook her head and cried louder. Lily sighed as she looked at Joanna with eyes as wise as an old lady's. "It wouldn't be the same, you know -- a new bear."
"I know," Joanna said, reading far more into Lily's words than the little girl had intended. Michael couldn't replace Rose's bear with a new one. He couldn't design a building that would be as good as the Stratton, and she certainly couldn't take the place of Rose and Lily's mother.
Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself hastily. She wanted her own family, her own love, a man whose eyes lit up solely for her, children who came from her womb, her heart. The ties of blood and flesh were the basis for family. Any other relationship was just a pale imitation of the real thing, and she wanted the real thing, what her parents and grandparents had had.
"We might as well go," Michael said. "The bear isn't here."
"I'm sorry," Joanna said.
"It's not your fault."
"I know, but I wish I could help."
Rose slid out of her father's arms and ran to Lily. She whispered something in her sister's ear. After a brief conference Lily stepped back, looking at Joanna.
"Rose thinks some ice cream would make her feel better."
"Ice cream," Joanna echoed. "Really?"
"We always get ice cream when we feel sad."
"Yeah, and we've had a lot of ice cream this year," Michael said. "What do you say, Joanna?"
"It's almost dinnertime."
"Do you have plans?"
"Well, no." Except that she shouldn't even consider spending any more time with them. She was getting too involved, breaking all the rules of a parent-teacher-student relationship. "I thought you had to work."
"I'll go in later. I'd just be worrying about Rose if I took her to Sophia's now. I probably wouldn't get much done anyway. There's an ice cream parlor a couple of blocks away."
"It would make Rose feel better if you went with us, Joanna." Lily pointed to her sister, who was still sniffing and wiping her eyes.
"Of course I'll come, if it will make Rose feel better." It was the least Joanna could do, not to mention the fact that having an ice cream with Michael and the girls sounded a lot more appealing than going home to her mother's quiet apartment.
* * *
"I think we were had," Michael said a half hour later as Rose and Lily slipped out of their chairs and ran to check out a video game in the corner of the ice cream parlor.
"What do you mean?" she asked, spooning praline pecan ice cream into her mouth. She should have ordered nonfat vanilla yogurt, as she did whenever she went out with her mother. In fact, she'd had every intention of doing just that, until Michael had ordered a triple scoop of double chocolate fudge and the girls had gotten matching pink peppermint confections. She had a feeling this trio could be bad for her diet -- among other things.
"I think Peter Panda Bear is residing comfortably at home," Michael said.
"They made it up?" She asked in surprise. "Why would they do that?"
"Because I'm their father, and they think you're their mother, or they'd like you to be." His blue eyes darkened as he looked at her.
She swallowed hard, wishing the idea didn't sound so attractive, "Oh."
"You're lucky it's not Christmas. They'd probably hang mistletoe above our heads."
Lucky? Joanna couldn't help but look at his mouth, at the lips that would close over hers if a mistletoe kiss was required. Abruptly she set down her spoon.
Michael leaned forward, staring at her lips, too. She saw the same unanswered question in his eyes, the same unspeakable, unreasonable desire.
Instead of lowering his head, he touched her lips with one finger. She drew in a quick, sharp breath. Would he really kiss her here in the ice cream parlor, in front of his children?
His finger ran along her lip, then he held it up, exposing a dot of ice cream.
He put his finger into his mouth, licking it off, in the most intimate gesture Joanna had seen in a long time. She sat back so abruptly that she knocked her purse and keys onto the floor.
"Damn," she said, leaning over to retrieve her things.
"Joanna."
"It's okay. I can get it."
While she retrieved her bag, Michael grabbed the keys that had slid under his chair and set them down in front of her. "You feel it, too, don't you?"
"No," she lied.
"There's something between us."
"There is something, Michael. Your wife. I'm not her. I can't help you recapture any long-lost love."
"Is that what you think is happening?"
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the girls weren't within earshot. "What else could it be? You don't know me. I don't know you."
"We're not exactly strangers."
"You're attracted to me because I look like her," she added, foolishly wanting him to deny that fact, but his hesitation spoke volumes.
He leaned forward, his gaze serious, reflective. "Maybe that's part of it, but not all."
"It's enough."
"You're not Angela. You don't talk like her, act like her, or dress like her. I'm not confused about your identity."
"So you have a type of woman you're attracted to, and I fit the type."
He smiled. "I've dated a few blondes in my time. But for the moment, let's say that's true. What's your excuse?"
"What do you mean?" she asked warily.
"Why are you attracted to me? Do I look like an old boyfriend?"
"God, no."
He frowned. "Why do you say it like that?"
"You're nothing like the men I've dated."
"What kind of men are we talking about?"
"I don't want to get into it."
"I think we're already there," he told her.
She sighed. He was right. Their relationship was moving at lightning speed. "I was involved with a professor last year, and although we seemed to have a great deal in common, we really didn't. He was more in love with English literature than he was with me. I thought it was romantic in the beginning that he could quote poetry, but in the end it just bugged me."
Ask Mariah Page 9