“You don’t have to go back to Boston?” Trevor said, his eyes widening. “I asked you where you lived and you said Boston and I thought you— This is so radical. You can live wherever you want to? Like, say, here in Ventura?”
“It’s not that simple, Trevor,” Mark said, frowning. “I’m in research, which means I have to find a hospital or private company with funding for my type of expertise.
“I really haven’t given it any thought since I arrived in Ventura because…because there were other things occupying my mind.
“Hey, I’m on vacation, and it has been years since I’ve taken any time off. Nobody wants to think about work while they’re hanging out, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, but couldn’t you check it out?” Trevor said. “See if some place in Ventura has research bucks, or something?”
“Trevor,” Emily said, “Mark just told you that he’s on vacation and doesn’t want to dwell on work now.”
“But…” Trevor said.
“Eat your spaghetti, Trevor,” Emily said, “before it gets cold.”
“But…”
“Trevor,” Emily said firmly.
“Yeah, okay, I hear you,” Trevor said, his shoulders slumping. “But it just seems to me that… Okay, okay, I’m eating my spaghetti.”
The trio ate in silence for several minutes with Emily taking tiny little bites of the bread stick to make it last longer.
“Actually,” Mark finally said, “I’ve had an idea floating around in my weary brain since a couple of months after I arrived in Paris. It keeps popping up, forcing me to take a look at it.”
“What is it?” Emily said, glancing over at him.
“Well, I have so much data in my head from the various research projects I’ve been involved with,” Mark said, staring into space. “The thing is, medical books are so high-tech that the average person can’t understand anything much beyond the title page.
“What if a person wrote a book that was user-friendly, for lack of a better term? Say that Trevor wanted to do a report on DNA for his science class. My book would be done in such a way that he could really understand DNA, or whatever the topic was. I would knock it all down into terms, diagrams and what have you, that a person of any age could understand.”
“Cool,” Trevor said, nodding. “Very cool. You could be an author like my Grandma Jillian, except she writes romantic stuff about pirates and people in the old days and…” He eyes widened. “My Grandma Jillian told me once that she can write wherever she remembers to take her brain with her… Oh, and her laptop computer. This is so radical, Mark. You could write a book here in Ventura.”
Mark nodded slowly. “That would be the plan if I decided to go that route.”
Mark was considering staying on in Ventura, living here? Emily thought, her mind racing. But… Well, yes, she guessed that made sense because his son was here.
Mark had already told her how he regretted missing out on so many years of Trevor’s life. He apparently had no intention of missing out on the next thirteen, or the thirteen after that.
It had just never occurred to her that he might move here permanently. Good grief, that was a rather unsettling thought. But then again, it would mean she needn’t worry about Trevor moving away to live with his father.
It had nothing to do with her, wouldn’t affect her day-to-day existence and Trevor would have the father he had been yearning for.
“I think that’s a marvelous idea, Mark,” Emily said, smiling.
“You do?” he said, looking over at her.
“Well, sure. You know all the MacAllisters due to the fact that you lived with my grandparents for all those months. You’d have a ready-made family to spend the holidays with, celebrate birthdays and you could go to Trevor’s swim meets if he makes the team.”
“Wouldn’t you come to the swim meets, too, Mom?”
“Oh, well, of course, I would.”
“Then you and Mark could come together to watch me swim,” Trevor said, reaching for another bread stick. “Way cool.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I know a guy in New York who’s in publishing. I’d have to talk to him, have him check around and see if there would be a market for the kind of book I’m thinking of. That would be the first step.”
“Can you call him tomorrow?” Trevor said.
Mark laughed. “Yeah, I’ll call him tomorrow.” He paused. “I would really like to have a break from research. It’s very intense stuff, and it has a way of consuming me to the point that I get tunnel vision, focusing only on what I’m working on. I’d like to add…” He slid a glance at Emily, then looked at Trevor. “…other things to my life, have a fuller, more well-rounded existence for a change.”
“I can understand that,” Emily said quietly. “When I worked at home I narrowed down my life far too much. I’m much happier now that I have an office to go to. I see people, interact with them. My mother has always said that writing is a lonely business, that the author is the only person who can do it…alone.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Mark said. “But I know your mother. She’s a vibrant, outgoing woman. She’s always had her writing and life in good balance as far as I can see. I’d just have to pay attention to what I was doing and make sure I didn’t become a recluse pounding away on my computer keys.”
“Wouldn’t happen,” Trevor said. “You’d be a MacAllister, sort of. There’s always something going on with the MacAllisters because our family is huge.
“Hey, you could get a smokin’ deal on a house, too. We have tons of architects in the family, and my Uncle Andrew still owns his construction company even though he’s retired. And a pool. Be sure and tell them you want a pool when they draw up the plans for your house.”
“Whoa,” Mark said, laughing. “You’re going too fast here, Trevor. I can’t take a couple of years to write a book that nobody wants to buy, you know.”
“I’ll buy it,” Trevor said.
“Oh, well, that settles it then,” Mark said, smiling. “No, seriously, I have to do my homework. Find out if there’s a publisher interested in what is taking up my brain space. I’ll keep you posted. Okay?”
“It’ll fly,” Trevor said. “I know it will.” He snapped his fingers. “Badda-bing, badda-boom, sold. It’s a done deal, guaranteed, you’ll see.”
“Ah, the faith of the young,” Emily said, smiling as she looked at Mark.
“Who believe in hopes and dreams,” Mark said, meeting her gaze.
“Yes,” Emily said hardly above a whisper, unable to tear her gaze from Mark’s.
Ah, Emily, Mark thought. What happened to our hopes and dreams, all our wonderful plans? What happened to the love you felt for me that was so rich, real and honest? What happened to it all, Emily?
“You folks ready for some dessert?” the waitress said, suddenly appearing by the table and causing Emily and Mark to jerk and direct their attention to her.
“No, thank you,” Emily said, her voice unsteady.
She vaguely heard Mark and Trevor order gelato as she drew a much-needed breath.
Dear heaven, she thought frantically, she had felt such burning desire sweep throughout her when Mark had pinned her in place with those mesmerizing eyes of his.
But no, no, no, it hadn’t been desire for this Mark. They had been talking about the faith of the young who believed in hopes and dreams.
Well, she’d passed the baton of that kind of believing on to her son, because her hopes and dreams were gone, had been blown away into oblivion. Forever.
The gelato arrived and was rapidly consumed by Mark and Trevor, with Emily averting her eyes from what she knew was a delicious dessert that was definitely not on her diet program.
“Filled to the brim,” Trevor said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
“So am I,” Mark said.
“No comment,” Emily said, smiling. “That gelato looked so good. I’ll treat myself to a dish of i
t on my fortieth birthday, or some such thing.”
“I’ll remember that,” Mark said, nodding. “One dish of gelato for your big four-oh.”
“You’ll still be around when Mom’s that old?” Trevor said, staring at Mark.
“I’ll be around, Trevor.” Mark looked directly at his son. He pushed his empty ice-cream bowl to one side and folded his arms on the top of the table. “Listen, even if the book deal is a wash, I intend to stay on here. I’d see what kind of research projects are out there, or I could teach if it came to that.
“It all came together for me here, tonight, sitting at this table. Whatever it takes, I’m going to be living in Ventura.”
Seven
Mark’s declaration seemed to hover above the middle of the table and a silence fell over the trio. They each became centered on their own thoughts of what Mark’s living in Ventura would mean to them.
A smile formed on Trevor’s lips as he drew invisible patterns on his place mat with the spoon from his finished ice cream.
Mark slowly relaxed what he realized were tightened muscles in his body, then nodded in satisfaction as a sense of rightness about his abrupt decision suffused him. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and made no attempt to hide an expression of I’m-very-pleased-with-myself-thank-you-very-much.
Emily’s shoulders slumped with weariness as she dealt with a cacophony of voices in her mind, telling her that having Mark stay on in Ventura would be fantastic for Trevor…once their son dealt with the truth of Mark being his father.
Telling her that Mark would probably buy a house, get settled in, and perhaps find a special woman to love and marry, perhaps even have more children.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Emily thought. Sure. Trevor would be a marvelous big brother to a half sister or brother.
Oh, dear heaven, Mark holding, kissing, making love with a woman he’d declared his forever love to? Mark creating a little miracle, a baby, in the darkness of night with that woman? Mark actually living out, with someone else, all the hopes and dreams that had once been theirs?
She was hating this, she really was, which didn’t make one bit of sense because this Mark, the one sitting only inches away from her, was the father of her child and nothing more. Not any longer.
Trevor suddenly straightened in his chair. “Here comes the combo. The dorky music is about to begin.”
“What?” Emily said, then blinked back to attention. “Oh, well, we’re finished here so we’ll leave so you won’t be subjected to the music, Trevor.”
“No,” Trevor said quickly. “I mean, hey, I’m just sitting here vegging. I’m cool. You and Mark should go dance, Mom.”
“Don’t be silly,” Emily said, pushing back her chair. “I haven’t danced…”
“In far too long, I think,” Mark said, rising and extending his hand to Emily. “Shall we?”
No, we shall not, Emily thought, staring at Mark’s hand. She was not about to give Mark a hands-on demonstration of just how much more there was of said Emily these days. Not a chance. Nope. No way.
“Emily?” Mark said, his hand still close to her, palm up. “Please?”
Emily’s breath caught as she saw her hand float up and land gently in Mark’s, watched as his fingers curled around her hand, then felt herself being drawn up to stand next to him.
“A wright,” Trevor said, making a fist and giving it a jerk in approval. “Go for it. I’ll just sit here and digest my spaghetti. Don’t rush back.”
Emily stared at Trevor for a long moment as though she’d never seen him before in her life, then the next thing she knew she was walking next to Mark, who still had a firm hold on her hand, just as brazen as you please, toward the shiny dance floor.
She felt, Emily thought hazily, as though she were watching this ridiculous performance from some strange place outside herself and shaking her head in dismay as she witnessed Emily MacAllister about to allow Mark Maxwell to attempt to wrap his arm around her lumpy, bumpy, overweight blimp of a body.
This was, without a doubt, one of the dumbest, most humiliating things she’d ever done in her entire fat-adult life.
They stepped onto the dance floor. Mark turned and slid one hand to the back of Emily’s waist. She stood statue-still, stiff as a pencil and stared at the center of his chest.
“I’m not going to bite you, Emily,” Mark said quietly. “We’re going to dance to this nice music. Okay?”
“Oh, I don’t think…”
“Good. Don’t think,” Mark interrupted, pulling her close. “Just dance with me.”
“But…”
“Shh,” he said, then they began to sway to the lovely music lilting through the air. “Mmm. Your hair smells like flowers and sunshine.”
That did it.
Emily gave up the battle, shut down the war raging in her mind, and just…danced.
With Mark.
The Mark…of now.
He was so tall, so strong, powerful, yet gentle, she thought dreamily. His body was so taut and so masculine, and his aroma of fresh air, soap and a woodsy aftershave suited him perfectly. He moved with such easy grace and was holding her as though she was delicate, special, the most important and most beautiful woman among all the couples surrounding them.
Oh, Mark.
Mark closed his eyes for a long, long moment to savor the feel of Emily pressed to his body and to inhale yet again her enticing feminine aroma.
This wasn’t a teenager, a near-child he was embracing, he thought, this was a mature woman, whose lush breasts were crushed to his chest. Her body was fuller, befitting someone who had given birth to a child, and she felt like heaven itself in his arms.
If only, only she hadn’t fallen out of love with him after he’d moved to Boston. He would have seen her grow big with their child. Trevor. He would have been there with, and for, his wife and son the way he should have been, providing for them, watching over and protecting them from harm. They would have been a real family, living in a house that had become a home filled with love and laughter and…
Yeah, right.
He would have been eighteen years old, without a penny in his pocket, with a wife and child to support. They would have had to live with Emily’s parents, or grandparents, been taken care of like the children they were, who had a child of their own they couldn’t buy food and clothes for.
The song ended and another dreamy tune started immediately.
Don’t go there, Maxwell, Mark told himself. There was no point in looking back to the might-have-beens. What was important was now and the future.
What was very important was that he was holding Emily in his arms, and she was slowly but surely relaxing her stiff posture and allowing him to nestle her close to him.
How strange it all was. Years before when he’d been shorter and skinny as a post, all arms and legs and enormous feet, teenage Emily had seemed to be custom-tailored just for him. And now? He was much taller, had filled out, and Emily the woman felt as though she was custom-tailored just for him.
Heat. It was building, coiling, low in his body, Mark thought, rather hazily. Burning. He wanted Emily. He desired her as he had when he was a boy, but with the deeper intensity of the man he had become. He wanted to make love with this Emily through the private hours of the night, caress and kiss so gently, reverently, every inch of the woman she had become.
And he would want to declare his love for her as they became one, but that he would never do. Not again. Because Emily MacAllister didn’t love him, hadn’t loved him in many, many years. He would bury his feelings for her deep within himself and never allow the words that would reveal his emotions to be spoken.
Yes, he would move to Ventura, then learn to be satisfied with just seeing Emily as he established a father-and-son relationship with Trevor. How bleak that all was in his mental vision. He’d go to sleep alone each night, wake up alone each morning, aching for the woman he loved who would never be his again.
He wou
ld move to Ventura…and still be lonely.
Don’t think, Maxwell, Mark told himself sternly. Just feel. Just savor every second of holding Emily in your arms after so many long years.
Mark blanked his mind and danced.
Dear heaven, Emily thought, she was going up in flames of desire so intense her bones were going to dissolve and she’d disappear from the face of the earth, never to be seen again.
She wanted to make love with Mark Maxwell.
This was terrifying, unsettling her to the very depths of her inner being. Because she wanted to make love with the Mark of now, this Mark, the one who was holding her so tightly in his strong arms.
This Mark, who was so handsome and so masculine, so at ease with the incredible maleness he now possessed.
This Mark, who had achieved success in his chosen field far beyond what others had done at his age.
This Mark, who had already shown what a loving and devoted father he would be to his son.
This Mark, who was slowly but surely bringing her love for him in the past into the present.
Oh, Emily, don’t do this, she silently begged herself. She mustn’t allow this to happen. Mark was awakening emotions and desires within her that she’d put firmly to sleep years before. He was everything that had caused her to give him her heart and body with a sense of rightness, honesty and love.
But to love, be in love, with this Mark would result in her heart being broken into a million pieces.
She was fat and unsophisticated, would never fit into the world Mark now existed in.
She must not let her feelings for Mark from then mesh into the seconds, minutes, hours, days of the now. He wouldn’t want her. He’d reject her. Just as he believed she’d rejected him years before. The mere thought of it in her mind was so chilling, was so much more than she’d be able to bear.
But how did she stop it from happening? What button did she push? What handle did she turn? Where could she hide from the rekindled emotions and desires that were building steadily within her? She didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. She just didn’t.
Plain Jane MacAllister Page 7