The New Man

by Janice Kay Johnson

She didn’t let him go on. “I mean it,” she said firmly. “Was Linda a good cook?”

  His frown eased. “Yes. She enjoyed it, unlike me.”

  “You must miss that.” Helen flushed. “I mean, of course you do.”

  “I do.” He told a few funny stories about his own attempts to take his wife’s place in the kitchen, then asked, “What about you? Sounds like you have no urge to create glorious meals.”

  “I’m afraid not. I never rise above the mundane in the kitchen. Everyone agrees that my best dinner is homemade macaroni and cheese. A far cry from gourmet cuisine.”

  “Beats my specialty—frozen pizza.”

  The waiter appeared with their wine. He uncorked it, allowed Alec to sniff, poured the requisite splash, which Alec swished in the glass then sampled. After his nod, the waiter poured for both.

  “That’s nice,” Helen approved after a tiny sip. Perhaps it was the gentle warmth spread by the wine as it went down that gave her the courage to take the bull by the horns. “You haven’t talked much about Linda. Did she work?”

  “She owned a travel agency when we met. She kept working until she got pregnant with Devlin, then sold the agency.” He seemed to be looking into the past, the lines on his face deepening. “I used to ask her if she missed it, but she said no. As far as I could tell, she was genuinely delighted to sit on the floor and do puzzles with the kids, take them to the playground or help them make cookies. Linda was a natural mother. She was talking about going back to school herself and getting a teaching certificate when the kids got older.”

  “Do you have a picture of her?” Helen asked softly.

  He nodded and reached for his wallet, unfanning a fold of photos that seemed mainly to be his kids’ school pictures. Helen caught glimpses of a blond boy grinning at the camera, of Lily minus her two front teeth, of her older and in a plumper stage, of a more recognizable Devlin gazing expressionlessly at the photographer.

  “Here,” Alec said, and pulled out a photo of a beautiful blond woman laughing over her shoulder.

  Helen had an immediate, sinking feeling of inadequacy, of which she was ashamed. She’d asked to see the picture. She could not, would not, compare herself to Alec’s dead wife.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Helen said. “And Devlin looks just like her, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, he wouldn’t want to be called gorgeous.” He grinned at her expression. “They were especially close, too, which made losing her even harder for him. I think they had more than looks in common. She was the one who played basketball in high school, for example, not me. He’s quite an athlete,” Alec added. “I don’t know if I’ve said. She and he were the extroverts in our family, while Lily and I would just as soon stay home.”

  As the waiter put salads in front of them, Helen continued to study the picture. This was the woman Alec had loved so much. Linda Fraser wasn’t quite model-beautiful, when you looked closely. Her nose was possibly a little big with a distinct bump on the bridge, and fine lines fanned from her eyes and her laughing mouth. Yet those eyes sparkled with delight and the smile was infectious. In the photo her ash-blond hair was in a ponytail, and she wore a loose-fitting cotton dress with tiny sprigs of flowers sprinkled on a slate-blue background.

  Helen couldn’t help thinking she would have liked this woman. She couldn’t decide how that made her feel about the fact that she was having dinner with her husband and would undoubtedly kiss him good-night.

  “She’s lovely,” Helen said, handing the photo back.

  “Yes, she was.” He looked himself, as if needing to see his wife’s face, before he carefully tucked the picture back into its plastic sleeve and returned the wallet to his pocket. “Turnabout is fair play, right? Do you have one of Ben?”

  “Yes.” It felt odd, showing her husband’s picture to this man across the table. As if, oh, Ben would be judged in some way. Which was silly—Alec was just curious, as she’d been. Wordlessly she handed over the photo.

  He looked in silence, then said, “Ginny takes after him.”

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Helen took the picture back, looking down at it herself. Ben had been a pleasant but not extraordinarily handsome man, with a wiry build and a laugh that could make total strangers smile. A less self-absorbed individual Helen had never met. Ben was comfortable with himself. He wasn’t awfully ambitious; he seemed only to want a decent living, his wife and a house full of children. They’d been planning for Helen to get pregnant again when he said one day, “You know, my fingers have been feeling weird. The little one on my left hand is numb.”

  They had both thought of carpal tunnel, although as a middle-level manager in an insurance office he didn’t spend that much time on the computer. He’d wanted to shrug the symptom off. Helen was the one to insist he get it checked out. “You don’t want it to get worse,” she said firmly.

  Watching her put the picture away, Alec asked, “Do you miss him much, even now? I mean, day to day? Do you still think, ‘Wait till I tell Ben’?”

  The question took her by surprise, and she hesitated, thinking about the past few days, trying to remember the last time she had forgotten Ben was dead, even fleetingly.

  “It used to be a constant ache.” Without thinking about it, she pressed her hand to her chest, as if quelling the pain. “But after a while it did diminish. You know. I’d go a few minutes without thinking about him, then a few hours. Now a few days. And when I do, it’s…different. Not immediate, as if he might be waiting at home.” She focused finally on Alec’s face. “I had so long to watch him die, you see. You must have woken up every morning thinking it couldn’t possibly have happened, it must just have been a nightmare, while I had over two years to see death taking him. To know that it was real.”

  His face haggard, Alec nodded. “You hit the nail on the head. I felt…stunned disbelief. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. I must have spent the first year enveloped in a haze of unreality. This was happening to someone else. Not us. Linda would be there when I got home. When I opened my eyes and rolled over in bed, she’d be there.” He shook his head. “I know the kids felt that way, too. One of them would start to say, ‘When Mom…’, then look stricken.”

  “But that wasn’t the worst part, was it?” Helen felt as if she had a frog in her throat. Remembrance, or compassion, had made her voice husky. “The worst was when reality hit.”

  “Yeah.” He tried to smile but gave up. “Yeah, I woke one morning and lay there knowing she was gone. I almost didn’t get up. I’m not sure I would have, if I hadn’t heard the kids downstairs.”

  Helen nodded. “That happened to me, too, only it was before Ben died. I really, really believed he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The doctors sounded so optimistic—although now I know they weren’t. I heard what I wanted to hear. But he had a bad night, and when he finally slept I curled up in the chair with an afghan. And then I just knew. It was like diving into icy water. I felt myself falling, and suddenly my teeth were chattering and I huddled there in shock, praying he wouldn’t wake up and see me.”

  Somewhere during this speech Alec had reached across the table and taken her hand. His was warm and strong and comforting. She returned his grasp, giving as much as she took.

  “After that,” she said simply, “I pretended, but I know Ben could see I was lying. Sometimes he tried to get me to admit…” Eyes burning, she swallowed. “Oh, dear.” She sniffed, gave a sad laugh, then said, “Our salads are sitting here untouched. The waiter is giving us worried looks.”

  Alec gave her hand a last squeeze. “Eat,” he ordered, and reached for his own fork.

  But Helen couldn’t help asking, a minute later, “Do you still…”

  He read her mind. “Miss Linda? In some ways, yeah. But not with the same urgency. Just regret.”

  Helen nodded. “That’s it exactly. Regret.”

  “Especially when one of the kids does something special.”

  Helen nodded. “Ben so wanted children.”


  “Linda, too. So it makes me angry that she was cheated.” His voice cracked and Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly closing his eyes.

  “I tell myself,” Helen said quietly, “that either they can see the children growing up and rejoice in their triumphs, or they can’t, and they’re beyond sorrow. Either way, we’re the ones grieving, not them.”

  He thought about that, then nodded, the pain on his face easing. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  They talked about other things, then, the finality of giving notice on a job, the retail environment in eastern Washington, the wind turbines she would see during her drive.

  “I’ll watch for them,” she promised.

  “You can’t miss ’em.” Alec pushed his dinner plate away and nodded when the waiter offered coffee. “What’s your itinerary?” he asked, when they were alone again.

  “Ellensburg, Yakima and Walla Walla, then up to Spokane. After that, I’ll see what I can manage on the drive back. Maybe Moses Lake and Wenatchee. This is my first venture.”

  “You’ll be great. You’ve been successful in the Puget Sound area, obviously.”

  “We have.” She told him about her dream of producing a catalog, and he commented from his experience. They discussed the problems of volume sales. Did she and Kathleen really want to hire people to make and package the soap? In other words, did they want to be executives or craftswomen?

  “I don’t know,” she conceded. “Sometimes we dream, but mostly we focus on next month and the one after that. This step—quitting our jobs—is the first real leap of faith we’ve taken.”

  “You can always get another job,” he said comfortably. “But I’m betting you won’t have to. I never did tell you how thrilled Dev is with his bar of anti-acne soap, did I? He doesn’t like to talk to me, but he sidled into my home office the other day to ask if I could get him some more. Seems to me you’re appealing to just about everyone—pet owners, teenagers, people who work with their hands, not to mention women looking to treat themselves.”

  Helen took his words home with her, still savoring them when they said good-night. After the usual gentle prelude, he groaned and deepened the kiss. Helen parted her lips and nearly melted when his tongue slid along hers. By the time Alec lifted his mouth from hers, they were both breathing hard.

  “Sometimes,” he said raggedly, “I wish one of us didn’t have kids.”

  Oh, dear. She hadn’t thought of the fact that, even if they did decide to make love, they had nowhere to go. What would they do, rent a hotel room by the hour? That sounded so sleazy.

  “Yes, but which one should be childless?” She laid her hand on his cheek, loving the rasp of whiskers against her palm and the way he placed his hand over hers, then pressed an openmouthed kiss on the pad of her thumb.

  “Good point,” he murmured, humor lacing his voice although his eyes remained hot with need.

  Helen slipped out of the car, then, half-afraid he would suggest they go somewhere. She needed to think about it. She could too easily be swept along if he kept kissing her. She wanted his hand on her breast. Her body craved the remembered pleasure of having a man’s weight on her, the give and take of sex, the luxurious aftermath. She hadn’t known how much she missed sharing her bed until Alec Fraser had wandered into her tent that day on Queen Anne.

  But sleeping together would be so complicated! she thought unhappily, lying in bed later. Not just emotionally, but practically. It would certainly involve small lies to Ginny, if not to Kathleen and Logan. She hated the idea that any of her housemates should know that she was slipping out to “get a little.”

  And yet, she was an adult, and entitled. Wasn’t she? Even now, despite her worries, she moved restlessly, aware of an ache between her thighs. She wanted Alec, and he wanted her. Where else were they going with this relationship, if not to bed?

  It occurred to Helen, just as she was on the edge of sleep, that somehow she had failed to slip in her little warning. With them talking about Linda and Ben, it would have been the perfect time to say, I don’t know about you, but I’ve vowed not to remarry. Hurting that much once is enough, thank you.

  Only, she hadn’t. And he might assume… She fell asleep without completing the thought.

  THE MINUTE ALEC PULLED into the garage, he could feel the music. If you could call it music. He’d never imagined as a parent that he’d have a problem with anything his kids listened to, but he hadn’t counted on the obscene and violent crap he heard coming from Devlin’s bedroom.

  Damn it! he thought, getting out and slamming the car door. One of these days a neighbor would call the cops to complain, and Alec wouldn’t blame them.

  His mood wasn’t improved by finding the kitchen trashed. The kids must have had dinner, then a dozen snacks. Or Devlin had had friends over, which wasn’t expressly forbidden when his father wasn’t home, but… If Kyle or one of the other guys came and didn’t mind hanging out with Lily, fine. A bunch of them holed up in Dev’s room, ignoring his little sister, was not fine. Either way, the rule around here was that if you made a mess, you cleaned it up.

  Upstairs, the music pounded. Alec was heading straight to Devlin’s room when he saw that Lily’s bedroom door was ajar. Her bedside lamp was still on, creating a soft pool of light that kept night at bay. She was in bed, covers drawn up high, her back to the door.

  Alec gently pushed open the door and stepped in, his footfall quiet on the carpet, but she turned sharply, her eyes wide and dark.

  “Oh!” she gasped with relief. “Daddy!”

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He went to the bed and sat beside her, smoothing her dark hair back from her forehead. Only then did he see the tracks of tears on her face. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, too quickly. Lily didn’t like to rat on her brother. “I was feeling scared.”

  “Scared?” Alec kept his voice gentle. “Of what?”

  “Dumb stuff,” Lily whispered. “I watched a movie that scared me. I know it isn’t real. But I keep thinking…”

  “What movie?”

  “Signs. You know, with Mel Gibson. And there’s aliens. There’s this scene where the little kid is standing there, and you see one behind him.” She shuddered.

  Alec drew her into a hug. “Hey, it was fake.”

  “I know.” Her tears wet his shirtfront.

  “You shouldn’t have watched a movie that scary.”

  She sniffed and mumbled against his chest, “I didn’t know it was.”

  “I suppose Dev chose it.”

  She went still, warning Alec that he wasn’t going to like what was coming. Or that she intended to lie.

  In a small voice, the eleven-year-old said, “He didn’t watch it.”

  “What?”

  She drew back and eyed him warily. “Kyle came over, and they decided to do something else, so I watched it by myself.”

  Steamed now, Alec said, “And where were they, while the movie was on?”

  “Oh…around. You know.”

  “Eating, obviously,” he muttered. Then they’d shut themselves in Devlin’s bedroom with the stereo blasting.

  “It’s not his fault I’m scared.”

  “Sounds to me like he abandoned you this evening. He knows better.”

  Fresh tears started in her eyes. “He’ll be mad at me if he knows I told you!”

  Hell.

  “I’ll be careful what I say,” Alec promised. “Do you think you can sleep?”

  She nodded, eyes puffy. “Now that you’re home.”

  “Okay. I’ll be up for a while.”

  “Can I leave my light on?”

  “Do you want me to turn it off once you’re asleep?”

  Lily nodded. He kissed her and left the room.

  A moment later, he knocked hard on Devlin’s bedroom door. The guttural rap continued unabated. Alec opened the door and walked in.

  Lying on the bed, Dev shoved something under his pillow. “Dad!”

  Alec
went straight to the stereo and hit the power button. His ears rang in the ensuing silence.

  Devlin sat up. “I was listening to that!”

  “I could hear it outside,” Alec said grimly. “You’re lucky one of the neighbors didn’t call the cops.”

  The teenager sneered. “It wasn’t that loud.”

  “What did you hide under your pillow?”

  A flare of alarm in his eyes was followed by the too-familiar anger. “Can’t I have any privacy around here? You didn’t even knock!”

  “I knocked. You didn’t hear.” Alec held out his hand. “What is it?”

  “Nothing!”

  He hated sounding like his own father, but didn’t know how else to handle this. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  His son uttered an obscenity, lifted the pillow and flung a magazine at Alec’s feet. A bare-breasted redhead pouted from the cover. Playboy. Some of the tightness in Alec’s chest eased. The boys were fourteen; their interest was natural. He’d looked at pictures of naked women under the covers himself at that age.

  “All right,” he said.

  Face twisted with what looked frighteningly like hate, Devlin snapped, “Is that all?”

  “No.” Alec crossed his arms. “Your sister is huddled in bed crying because she watched a movie tonight that scared her. I expect better judgment from you than that.”

  “She told you?”

  “She shouldn’t have told me that she watched Signs tonight? Did you pledge her to secrecy?”

  “No! I thought she’d like it!”

  “Uh-huh.” He watched the boy closely. “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah, I thought it was cool.” Devlin shrugged. “I rented it because I saw it in the theater. It’s not like a horror flick or anything.”

  He did, to his credit, sound puzzled. Maybe, Alec thought with a sigh, he was expecting too much of a fourteen-year-old. At eleven, Dev wouldn’t have admitted being scared by a movie. He, too, might have thought his sister would like one just because he had.

  “I seem to remember the mom in it is dead, and one of the kids gets taken by aliens. That hits close to home for Lily.”