by Diane Roth
"You're splitting hairs, Cara," he said, his expression flat and angry.
Cara gathered her purse and gifts and, without another word to Greg, followed Barbara into the kitchen. "I'm sorry to end the evening like this, Barbara. Thank you for a lovely birthday dinner," she said.
Barbara turned to face her, studying her closely. "I'm sorry, too. Are you okay?"
She wobbled her head indecisively. "I don't know. I'm sure it will pass. But dinner was delicious, and you are so sweet to have made such a fuss. I love you," she said, pressing her cheek to Barbara's.
Barbara's cool hand came up to hold Cara's opposite cheek. "I love you, too, darling. Be careful going home."
Greg watched her walk out the door without so much as a glance his way. It felt like every other walk out end to a relationship he'd ever experienced and it made his gut churn. Was it as simple as all that? Just a few words of a spat and she walks out on him?
Barbara came into the den, wiping her wet hands on a cup towel and eyeing him cautiously.
"Care to fill me in on what that was about?"
"Not particularly," he answered.
"Well, for goodness sake, Greg, what am I to make of that? You two put an abrupt and rather rude end to the party, and you don't feel you owe me some explanation, at least?" she asked, perturbed with his reticence.
"I'm sorry it put a damper on the party. And I appreciate you going to the trouble and all," he said, but that was all he felt he could offer at the moment.
Barbara wasn't going down without a fight. "Have you two had some sort of disagreement before tonight?"
He pushed to his feet, restless and caged. "No, Mom. Just let it go. It'll work out."
She moved into his line of vision, forcing him to look at her. "I hope so, Greg. This family means everything to me. And we're all Cara has with her family being so far way. I couldn't stand it if you and Cara found you couldn't be civil to one another. For whatever reason. Please don't destroy what we have," she said, and her voice quivered.
It pushed him over the edge. "I'm sorry, Mom." He kissed her cheek. "Don't worry, okay?" She nodded, but worry still rimmed her eyes. He picked up his helmet and left.
He rode in the deepening darkness, weaving his way aimlessly through the hilly neighborhoods of west Austin. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Buckle under and keep this thing under wraps in spite of how beneath her that made him feel? What was her total reluctance to revealing their relationship? Was she ashamed of it? Deep down afraid of how she would be regarded for taking up with her dead husband's brother?
Greg rarely analyzed things so deeply. It was what it was. It either worked or it didn't. He didn't usually worry much about what someone else thought of how he lived his life, practiced his religion or did his job. He did what he felt was right ... what he'd been reared to know was right, and that was good enough for him. If Cara was going to be hung up on what others thought about them being together, it might put an end to this thing before it got started good.
Trouble was, it felt pretty deeply rooted in him already. The thought of ending it with Cara made his insides roll over and left him feeling utterly empty.
He rode for a while, no destination in mind, but wanting no part of going home to an empty home, an empty bed.
He felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket, and pulled over at the next stop sign to read the text message.
If your anger has subsided, we need to talk.
He couldn't say that his anger was gone, but the text resurrected some hope in him. Close enough. He typed an answer.
Your place or mine?
In seconds she responded.
Mine. The kids called. Both are spending the night out.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket and headed that way.
She was waiting for him on the porch in a round puddle of yellow light, feet bare, hair a mess, nose a red bulb in the middle of her splotchy, tear-stained face, and she'd never looked so beautiful to him. The sadness in her eyes threw sand on what remained of his anger, and he drew her into his arms and held her tight. Her hands gathered fistfuls of his shirt at his back as she buried her face in his chest, and Greg felt her shoulders shaking as she gave into the tide of emotion that had clearly had her in its grip since they parted. He realized, with no small measure of guilt, that it actually made him feel better to see her so grieved by their spat. Maybe she was in deeper than he'd thought. Maybe she was even in as deep as he was. He soothed her and herded her into the house and closed the door behind them.
"Hey ... Sunshine," he said, reaching for her chin.
She snuggled into his chest more deeply and refused to budge, though her crying began to ease some.
He gave up trying to get her to look at him and simply sought to soothe her with long strokes up and down her back, soft kisses pressed to the top of her head. "I'm sorry, babe. So sorry I hurt your feelings tonight," he said. And Lord knew he was. He could hardly stand to see her like this and know it was because of things he'd said to her.
"Me, too," she said and sniffed. "I said that ugly thing about you not being an authority on parenting," she said, hiccupping and stuttering through it all until he could hardly understand her. "And you've b-been more of a parent to my children than their father was for the last two years of his l-life." She barked a harsh sob into his shirt front, then sniffed again and raised her head to look at him with utter misery in her expression. "That was so ugly and uncalled for. I'm so sorry I said that."
"Shh, Cara ... babe, stop. Just stop this. We both said things we shouldn't have. Let's put it all behind us. It's going to be all right, love," he said. And he actually thought it might.
She nodded and pushed her unruly mop of hair back from her face, then moved to the sofa where a half-empty box of tissues sat on a cushion surrounded by the contents of the other half, all wadded into tight little balls of misery. She blew her nose, then gathered up the evidence and took it to the garbage in the kitchen.
Greg sat down on the sofa and watched her, wondering about the depth of feeling he had for her. Beth had cried so often during their marriage until he'd grown almost immune to it. But Cara's tears, those great messy, gulpy sobs had nearly torn his heart out. And to think he'd caused them made it even worse. What an ass he was.
Cara joined him on the sofa, sitting Indian style sideways, her knees pressing into the side of his thigh. She dragged his hand to her lap and laced their fingers together, then raised it to her lips and kissed his knuckles sweetly. "You're a good man, Gregory Brooks. You're honest and real and loyal and stand up. You're the whole enchilada. And I'm so blessed to have you in my life," she said, but her eyes were still full of sadness, and he felt his gut take flight, afraid to hear what she might say next.
"Oh, come on now," he said, stalling really, not wanting her to say they had to stop seeing one another, or that the rules were going to change somehow. He didn't want it to be anything less than what they'd had. More is what he really wanted, but her expression didn't give him a lot of confidence she would be offering that. Not at all. "It's not necessary for you to grease my skids, Cara. This spat--" he raised their joined hands to lift her chin so she might look him in the eye, " ... and that's all it is ... just a spat ... is no big deal. Don't make it into something more than it is, babe."
She dropped her gaze back to their joined hands in her lap, but she nodded.
"It probably has as much to do with sexual frustration as anything else. I could hardly keep my hands off you tonight," he said.
"I know. When you came in wearing these jeans I about melted. You know they're my very favorite," she said, cutting her eyes at him as if he should be ashamed. It relaxed him a tiny bit.
"What? These old things?" he said, a grin playing with the corners of his mouth, though he tried to deny it.
She ran a hand along the inside of his thigh. "Yes, these old things. They hug your thighs and butt like I want to. I thought about luring you into Barbara's powder room for
a quickie but lost my nerve," she admitted.
Just the thought of knocking one off in secret while everyone ate birthday cake gave him wood. He reached to drag her into his lap. "We could pretend in your powder room." He leaned her back in his arms, her head resting on the arm of the sofa, her hip nestled into his lap. He raised his brows, questioning.
She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek, obviously not feeling adventurous or playful.
"Just kiss me, Greg."
He needed no coercion, but she led him with her palms on either side of his face, pulling him to meet her sweet mouth. It was soft and gentle, a healing kiss, tender and warm and sorry, and it went through him like a freshly honed saber in a skilled hand, carving his heart to mince. His breath hitched in his chest, and he wanted to drown in her goodness, her sweet, loving, unfettered light and cheerfulness. He wanted to saturate himself with the honest-to-goodness good that was Cara Brooks. She deserved so much more than Jason had given her. More than life had given her. And he wanted to be the man who made up for it. Acknowledging that in his mind made his heart actually hurt in his chest with a bittersweet pang he'd never felt before. It should have scared the crap out of him, but it didn't. It felt too damned right to scare him.
He broke the kiss, but leaned his forehead against hers. "Aw, babe ... let's don't fight anymore. I can't stand to see you hurt like that," he said.
"What are we going to do then? How do we resolve this issue? You saw how angry and resentful Ryan was at the mere thought that I might be seeing someone," she said, and the misery was still there in her voice.
"We go on like we've been doing for the past few weeks. It's not perfect, but I promise not to rag you about telling the kids." He shrugged then, and she watched him for a long time without saying anything. He was making all the concession, his male ego told him from somewhere in the back of his mind, but he didn't care. All that mattered was that he could still be with Cara. His ego was big enough to handle the other.
She got to her feet and reached for his hand, then led him to her bedroom, and his ego decided it was worth the concession.
Chapter Eight
It set the pace for the weeks to come. They talked on the phone daily, at least, some days more frequently, but only managed to actually see one another about once a week. And that was often with kids in tow, so sex was in constant short supply between them. They'd even resorted to phone sex a time or two, but both found it sorely lacking. Once they'd stolen a quickie in Cara's laundry room, and had barely missed getting caught by Maddie who came home from dance early. It seemed to solidify the fear in Cara's mind that if they continued to sneak around, they were eventually going to get caught. It was only a matter of time.
And it made her just shy of crazy.
Actually the whole relationship with Greg was making her crazy, she'd decided. She thought about him constantly, wanted to share everything with him. Happenings at the studio, Ryan's struggle in History class, and the funny noise coming from the pool pump lately were all things she wanted to share with him. She wanted to laugh with him over something funny Etta had said, or see the pride in his eyes about some accomplishment Maddie had attained. Cara wanted to hear about his day and his travel plans for the coming week and the new recruit they were courting for his superhuman ability to sink a three pointer every single time. She wanted to share everyday life with him. Every day.
And about the time loneliness and sexual frustration got the best of her, something would happen to push her right back into her resolve to keep it all a secret from the world.
She had just hung up with Greg one night when Ryan knocked at her bedroom door.
"Mom?" he called through the door.
"Come in," she answered.
"Hey, I need new running shoes. Mine are too small," he told her.
"No doubt," she said, looking down at his long, skinny feet. "You look like you're walking around on skis lately."
He shot her a wry look, then stretched out crossways near the foot of her bed, long manly-looking legs hanging off a good ten inches. "You been on the phone?" he asked.
She nodded, but sent him a dark look. "You really can hear me in your room, can't you?"
"Yeah, kinda," he said, and shrugged. "I really can't tell what you're saying. And I don't try to eavesdrop or anything. I can just hear your muffled voice and know you're talking on the phone."
"Good to know," she said, relieved to have him confirm it again.
He studied her for a moment. "So I guess you're talking to someone anyway." It wasn't a question exactly.
She nodded.
"Are you dating?" he asked, his brows drawing together, though she could tell he was trying to be cool about it all.
"How would you feel if I was?" She tried to be cool herself, keeping it light and hypothetical.
"I wouldn't like it, I don't think," he said. The frown deepened.
"Why not?"
He snorted a little and looked appalled at her inability to see the obvious. "Because you're my mom." He might as well have rolled his eyes and added, "Duh," to the statement.
"And that takes me out of the dating scene?" she asked.
He rolled to his back and started tossing a throw pillow from her bed up toward the ceiling. "I don't know." He tossed it a couple of times more. "Do you want to date anyone? I mean, Dad's been gone for not even two years," he said, making it plain he didn't think it sufficient time for her to have finished grieving.
She watched him for a time as he continued to toss the pillow rather than look at her directly. He had turned Jason into some sort of an idol in the past couple of years. Being younger than Maddie, Ryan hadn't seemed to have noticed the faults in his father that his sibling had. As far as Ryan was concerned, there was no one who could fill his dad's shoes. Not even as a man in Cara's life.
"Ryan, I'm always going to love your father for the happy years we had together and for the very fact that he gave me you and Maddie. But I want to know that you'll be okay with it when I do decide I want to start seeing people again."
He rolled off the bed in a smooth move and fired the pillow back to the head of her bed football style, like a Hail Mary pass from the fifty yard line. "Fine," he said, and turned to go. "Let's talk again then."
So much for that. She sighed and fell back against the pillows, resigned to wearing her virtual widow's weeds a while longer.
***
Autumn had proven petulant and dreary with strings of overcast days and cool temperatures, something of a rarity in Texas, but wholly befitting her mood, Cara decided. The tiptoeing, secret-keeping sneaking around to be with Greg was wearing on her until she had taken to fantasizing about how to tell the kids. Then reality would slap her around and she'd chicken out. Greg remained true to his promise though, and never once pressured her to tell them. She knew, however, that the stipulations she put on their relationship were hard for him to live with. They were hard for her, too.
They were less than a month into the school year, and already Cara was bored with the routine of what to pack the kids for lunch and the ever present search for ways to make dance class fresh and exciting for her students.
"You should do this," Etta said decisively, slapping a colorful brochure on the desk in front of Cara.
"What is it?" Cara asked, picking it up to examine it.
"It's that highfalutin Southern States Dance Syndicate thing they do ever year down in Florida. I remember you sayin' you wished you could go last year," Etta told her. She sifted through the rest of the mail, dropping most in the garbage can and tossing what was important onto her own desk.
Cara remembered seeing the brochure last year, a few months after Jason's death, and wishing to go. But the kids were in no shape to have been left by her at that point in their grieving.
"Yes, I remember looking at this last year. They have some interesting workshops listed. It might be worth the money. It's pretty reasonable. Wonder what a flight to Miami costs these days?"
"It don't matter, baby. You goin'," Etta said in that distracted way that meant she wasn't wasting any thought or effort for debate. Her mind was made up.
"What if I don't want to go?" Cara asked, knowing the fight was virtually futile when Etta got a bee in her bonnet about something.
Etta, big bossy thing that she was, shot her a I mean business look. "Oh, you wanna go. A few days in South Beach ... no kids ... nice hotel?" She snorted. "You wanna go."
And she did, damn it. But Etta shouldn't be making that kind of decision without considering all the details. "I may not be able to afford it, Etta," Cara argued, feeling childish for doing so, but doing it all the same. "And what would I do with my kids? And who would teach my beginner's ballet class on that Friday?"
Etta turned to face her fully then, eyebrows raised authoritatively, lips pursed, hands on her ample hips. "You ain't payin' for one thing, baby. Enrollment is up eight percent this fall, and we can afford to send you, no problem. It's a business expense, so it's a write off."
"Oh," Cara said, put in her place.
"Mmm-huh. That's what I thought," Etta said and turned back to her desk.