Barbara clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Of course not. You look like you never birthed a child, let alone three.”
“Then take the clothes. I’d rather not look at them. I’m just glad I don’t have to wear all those tent-like dresses anymore. Really, they’re like circus tents.”
The word circus immediately triggered Barbara’s memory: endless conversations and jokes about clown college. She suppressed it. “I just thought you might want to keep them so you don’t have to buy a whole new wardrobe for your next pregnancy.”
Amy burst out laughing. “My next pregnancy? Are you in cahoots with your brother?”
“Which brother would that be?” Barbara replied carefully.
Now it was Amy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Which brother do you think? The one that got me into this mess in the first place.” She waved a hand toward the twins and groaned, but it didn’t sound convincing. “Patrick’s already talking about us having a fourth, but the twins haven’t slept through the night even once yet.”
“Oh.” Barbara cleared her throat. “And you’re not so fond of the idea of having another kid?”
Amy smiled impishly. “Ask me again when I’m not so sleep-deprived. Which probably won’t be for at least three more years.”
“You sound pretty optimistic,” Barbara replied, amused.
Amy shrugged one shoulder. “Audrey was the easiest baby you can imagine,” Amy said in a gentle voice. “She rarely ever cried, to the point that I started to worry something wasn’t right. A neighbor had a baby boy around the same time, and he cried all the time. I can’t really compare the boys yet, since they’re only a few weeks old, but maybe girls are just easier.”
Barbara didn’t reply but lowered her head to take another long look at the babies, while her stomach did strange flips that made her uncomfortable.
Her sister-in-law didn’t seem to notice. “I think Patrick would like another daughter,” she confided shyly, “so it’ll be sort of even. But that will certainly have to wait another while.”
The lump in Barbara’s throat was painful. She took a deep breath and placed both hands on her thighs. “I forgot I have another meeting in Bridgeport,” she said firmly. “Could you let Mom know I’ll come by again another time?”
She ignored the perplexed expression on her sister-in-law’s face, gave her a weak smile as she rose from her seat, and then rushed from the house.
Driving away from the mansion through the park-like grounds, steering her car down the drive where her dad had taught her to drive, Barbara took a deep breaths and focused on keeping her trembling hands on the steering wheel, lest she hit one of the old trees that lined the driveway.
Instead of giving in to the panic, she turned up the volume on the radio and leaned back in her seat. Nearly as soon as she’d regained her composure, the music went off as a call came through the hands-free setting from her cell phone. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but she accepted the call, only to be greeted by the genial voice of Marcus Lindsay.
“Hello, Barbara. I hope it’s not a bad time.”
“No, not at all,” Barbara assured him, and it was the truth. She was actually glad for the distraction of this man who’d invited her to an elegant restaurant last weekend and pressed a kiss to her cheek when they parted in front of her door.
His warm laugh penetrated the silence of her car. “I was told it would look extremely pathetic and desperate if I called you right after our first date, so I waited a few days. What do you think? Do I still look pathetic and desperate? Should I have waited another day?”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Who told you a thing like that?”
“I’d rather not say, in case I look even more pathetic and desperate.”
“Fine.” She giggled. “I probably don’t want to know who’s giving you dating advice.”
“Exactly! You definitely don’t want to know.” He cleared his throat, and the jolly tone of his voice became sober. “It was a lovely evening.”
Apart from the fact that Barbara had debated whether to cancel the date up until five minutes before it actually happened, and apart from the additional fact that she’d been thinking about James when Marcus kissed her on the cheek, it had actually been a very nice evening.
“Yes,” she replied softly. “It was.”
“I’d really like to repeat it, but of course I have no idea what you think about that.”
She had no idea either. While she sensed she wasn’t quite ready to open up to another man, she also wanted to move on with her life and stop being stuck in the past.
She swallowed her misgivings. “Do you like classical music?”
***
“Mr. Campbell?”
James looked up from the menu and saw a pretty young woman with blond curls standing by his small table in the tiny Italian restaurant. She seemed to know him and gave him a friendly smile, tugging on the hem of the short shorts she wore with a casual tee. He struggled to recall where he might have met her before.
Apparently, she realized his conundrum, because her smile widened. “Maggie Fraser. I was Scott’s—”
“First grade teacher,” he interrupted, shaking off his confusion. “Please excuse me for not recognizing you right away, Ms. Fraser.”
“Just Maggie, please,” she said with a wink. “During breaks, I prefer not to hear any ‘Ms. Fraser.’”
That sounded so unpretentious and genuine that James returned her smile, and continued to look into her eyes until he realized he’d been staring without having the grace to offer her a seat for too long. He cleared his throat and pointed at the empty chair across from him. “Would you like to have a seat?”
“Sure, thanks,” Scott’s teacher replied. She’d been the most patient teacher his very active son had had so far. “I’m just waiting for my order to go,” she explained, sinking down on the chair and gave him a prompting look. “Have you ordered yet?”
He shook his head and put the menu down. “Do you recommend anything?”
“Actually, everything is really good here,” she said cheerfully. “But I’d have to say you need to try the calzone, if you’re not scared of carbs.”
His eyebrows traveled up. “Scared of carbs? Is that a thing?”
“I’m afraid so.” Maggie Fraser laughed and took the menu from him. “It’s a fad,” she said, turning the menu around and knitting her brows as she scrutinized it. “If you’re not fond of pizza, I’d recommend the spaghetti fra diavolo, or the seafood salad.”
James leaned back in his chair, pleasantly surprised by the easygoing schoolteacher. “What did you order?”
Her mouth twisted into an impish smile. “To be honest, I have no idea. I take potluck on Tuesdays.”
“You take potluck?”
She nodded merrily. “I let them surprise me. As you may have noticed by now, this isn’t the first time I’ve been here …”
“You don’t say.” The corners of his mouth twitched.
“Oh, yes.” Maggie brushed back a stray lock of hair. “To my eternal shame, I must confess that I rarely cook. I come here every Tuesday after my tennis lesson to treat myself to a ton of carbs. The chef knows me, and I let him surprise me every week.”
“You play tennis?” James asked, surprised again.
She shrugged. “Yeah, but I haven’t been for very long. And I don’t think I’ll ever make it to Wimbledon or anything like that, so don’t go betting on me, Mr. Campbell.”
“James,” he said with a smile. “Even though I’m not on a school break, I also enjoy not being called Mr. Campbell.”
“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “So I take it you play tennis too?”
“From time to time. Though I lost a match against Scott and his older brother just a few weeks ago, so I don’t think I’ll be making it to Wimbledon before you do.”
“Ha!” Maggie wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Maybe it’s better that way. I heard you can get a nasty sunburn out there.”
/> “Heavens,” he declared in mock horror. “Then I’m glad I’ve never played there.”
“Absolutely,” she replied with a straight face, playing along with him. Then, with genuine curiosity, she asked, “How’s Scott doing in math?”
James rolled his eyes and chuckled. “I’d rather you ask how he’s doing at soccer! He’s not …uh, fond of math, to put it mildly. Every time I try to help him do his homework, he gives me this look like I just threatened to send him to military school. On the other hand, I could wake him up in the middle of the night and tell him we’re having soccer practice—and he’d be lacing up his cleats in no time.”
Maggie joined in his chuckling. “That’s not as rare as you’d think! I hear that all the time.”
“Well, my regard for your profession is growing with every passing second.”
“Thankfully, we have a long summer break.” She winked at him. “And how’s the little guy doing in general? I loved having Scott in my class. He was such a bright kid, the most fun by far.”
Naturally, her words made James beam with pride. “Nothing has changed there. Scott’s doing fine, and he’s still a great kid.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She studied him for a moment. “And how are you, James? Am I imposing on a well-deserved free evening or something?”
“You’re not imposing at all, but, yes, I am done working for the day and looking forward to a free night.”
“Well.” She clucked her tongue. “Your quitting time is way past my usual, but I’m sure you don’t have to go home and grade a bunch of disastrous math tests every night either, huh?”
“Nope. Though I sometimes spend my evenings dealing with disastrous quarterly reports or mismatched balance sheets.”
“Ouch.” She made a face. “I guess I’ll stick to math tests.”
James realized he was starting to laugh—loudly. And he hadn’t meant to. But he was sitting in this tiny Italian hole in the wall, feeling relaxed, with the aroma of fresh basil and garlic in his nostrils, as he chatted with a woman who made him want to laugh.
He hadn’t felt like this in a long time.
Just at that moment, the waiter brought Maggie’s food in a big brown bag. The smell wafting past James’s nose was delicious.
She gave a shrug. “Well, I think I’ll head home before my dinner gets cold. It was nice seeing you, James.”
He swallowed and gathered his wits. “Would you want to ask the waiter to unpack your food and put it on a plate? We could have dinner, and you could tell me about the worst math tests you’ve ever had to grade.”
Chapter 7
The San Francisco convention was canceled. This meant James could attend his son’s soccer tournament, but it had an unforeseen negative consequence, too: James had to witness his ex-wife arrive at the game in the company of another man. A man James immediately identified as Marcus Lindsay.
His heart sank as he watched the man escort Barbara toward the field. But while he silently bemoaned the fact that the pair looked far too familiar with each other for his taste, his sons spied him and came running.
All Scott seemed to care about was that his dad watched him score some goals, but Hamilton seemed so relieved to see him that he barely left his side. Seeing his oldest kid’s dismayed face, and remembering their recent talk when Hamilton had climbed into his bed, James felt his stomach lurch painfully. And for the first time in his life, he felt himself get angry with Barbara. It was one thing for her to confront him with the fact that she was seeing another man, but it was a completely different thing to foist this kind of situation on the boys without discussing it with him beforehand.
She shouldn’t have brought a new man to her son’s soccer tournament after just two weeks. That would only serve to confuse the kids, as she well knew. Especially Hamilton, who they both knew was very sensitive.
It made him furious.
He wanted to jump the other man, maybe beat him to a pulp. Instead, he greeted his sons and remained at the edge of the field, trying not to stare too obviously at the approaching pair, who seemed to be heading to join him. When he saw Barbara wearing the earrings he’d given her for their last anniversary, he felt a punch to the gut.
“Dad, I can’t believe you really came to watch me play!” Scott hollered, jumping up and down.
He turned to the little guy, Hamilton still standing next to him like a shadow. “Well, I couldn’t miss this after you announced you were scoring two goals today, could I, champ?”
Scott’s sunny smile just before he launched himself at James for a tight hug was almost enough to make up for the sight of his ex-wife in the company of a man who wasn’t just a handsome guy, but also an immensely successful entrepreneur. If Barbara was trying to get back at James, she’d made an excellent choice in Marcus Lindsay.
As soon as he’d finished that thought, Barbara and her escort reached him. Barbara’s expression was inscrutable, wavering between embarrassed and incensed, but Marcus Lindsay wore a neutral expression as held out his hand. “James.”
“Marcus.” James nodded and shook the man’s hand. He’d known Marcus Lindsay for about five years, as a casual acquaintance. Everyone was a casual acquaintance in Connecticut—at least if you’d ever set foot in a country club. James turned to Barbara and greeted her with a smile for the boys’ sake, though he’d much rather have asked her what the hell she was thinking, bringing her date to their son’s soccer tournament.
Barbara frowned as she looked at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a convention in San Francisco?”
He met her gaze. “Fortunately, it was canceled at the last moment.”
“Ah.”
Before they had a chance to start any sort of argument, Scott started fidgeting and yelled, “Can we go for pizza after if I score more than one goal, Dad?”
“Yeah, Dad!” Hamilton chimed in excitedly, clinging to his arm. “Let’s go for pizza after the game! Please?”
“Hey, you two,” Barbara’s surprised voice cut in. “I thought we decided we’re finding the closest Taco Bell after the game.”
Hamilton shook his head defiantly. “I want pizza!”
Though he hated to admit it, James sympathized with Barbara’s obvious confusion, because he was just as perplexed at the rebellious tone in their oldest son’s voice.
Barbara seemed to decide she’d better give in while in the presence of her date. “Alright,” she said, “we’ll go for pizza.”
“No, I want to get pizza with Dad,” Hamilton snapped.
Her shock was plain as she tried to explain patiently, “Dad just came to watch Scott play, Hamilton. But next weekend, you guys can—”
“I want to stay with Dad and do something with him today,” Hamilton protested loudly. He was acting totally out of character, like a sullen teen, though he was only nine.
“Hamilton,” Barbara scolded him, blushing.
To make matters worse, Scott chimed in, “Then I want to stay with Dad, too.” But he was still beaming and probably had no idea what his brother’s little fit was all about. Hamilton, on the other hand, fixed his mother’s new friend with such a disdainful glare that James didn’t know whether to chide or praise him. He’d never have expected this kind of behavior from Hamilton. But he registered that Barbara threw an accusing look his way, as if this defiant behavior was his fault.
Marcus Lindsay, who had so far remained quietly in the background, observing the family feud with interest instead of embarrassment, cleared his throat and put a hand on Barbara’s arm for a brief moment. “Would you excuse me?” he asked politely. “I just spotted an acquaintance over there and need to say hi.”
Barbara murmured a reply and lowered her eyes as Marcus beat his retreat. Once he was gone, she threw James a belligerent look. James stuck out his chin, refusing to take the blame. He’d even managed to refrain from giving the prick a black eye when he’d had the nerve to put a hand on Barbara’s arm. A black eye would have gone nicely with his sports coat and ti
e—what kind of man wore that to a seven-year-old’s soccer tournament?
Barbara finally turned her glare from James to scold her son. “Hamilton, that wasn’t very courteous to Mr. Lindsay,” she said, her voice unusually stern. “I don’t want you—”
“But I want to stay with Dad,” Hamilton interrupted her, “not spend all day with that guy!”
“Hey,” James interfered calmly, grabbing Hamilton’s hand to stop him from pointing at Marcus Lindsay, who was walking around to the other side of the field. “You know it’s rude to point at people, Hamilton. And Mom’s right. You need to be more polite to Mr. Lindsay.”
“But I don’t want to get pizza with him,” Hamilton insisted, his chin trembling. “I want to get pizza with you.”
James sighed heavily. “It’s Mom’s weekend, pal. She’s been looking forward to—”
“It’s fine,” Barbara cut in, raising both hands. “The boys can go with you. It’s not a problem.”
Scott was thrilled at first, but Hamilton’s eyes went back and forth between his mom and dad, and soon Scott stopped jumping up and down.
James sensed he should do something to defuse the situation before Scott started to pick up on his brother’s vibe and start causing double the trouble. He ruffled Hamilton’s hair and gave him an encouraging wink. “Tell you what, pal: Why don’t you take Scott to the parking lot and get the little box from the backseat? Your grandparents sent it, and I bet it’s a present for you guys.”
The mention of a present was enough to make Scott rejoice again. Hamilton was more reluctant to leave his parents and looked indecisively at the car keys in James’s hand. Finally, he met his dad’s eyes and gave in, taking the keys and leading his brother away.
Once the boys were out of earshot, Barbara crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned on James. “Are you trying to turn our children against me?” she hissed.
“Excuse me?” James crossed his arms, too, and narrowed his eyes at her. “What the hell have I done to turn them against you?”
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