Man, what was wrong with him? It was preposterous to feel so strongly about a woman he’d only gone on four dates with. A woman who hadn’t contacted him for nine long days, so he had no idea if there’d be a fifth date or not.
He wasn’t the kind of guy to shake his fists at the gods and insist upon a just and moral universe. He knew—and, boy, did he ever—that life wasn’t fair. That good people sometimes got dealt a bad hand and bad people sometimes got away with murder or at least the occasional fender-bender. It was pointless to pretend otherwise.
But Charlotte blowing him off? That was so damned unfair.
And not just because he’d lose out on a wonderful and warm child psychologist at the clinic. No. It was her. He really liked her. The very woman she was. Her smile, her attitude, her laughter. The way her wild hair blew in the wind. The gazillion questions she asked.
He groaned. He was falling in love with someone who had all the natural charm and good looks he’d vowed not to seek in a life partner. She possessed every clichéd trait a man like him was drawn to—none of which was the basis for a successful, long-lasting relationship.
Not that he cared.
She could’ve been anything…a waitress, a dog-walker, a romance writer, whatever. For the first time in his life, he realized it didn’t matter.
But, thankfully, even that was perfect. Only one problem. She held every hand in the deck. If she didn’t want to reach him, she wouldn’t have to. Even if he snuck an ace up his sleeve—like that princess-cut engagement ring winking at him from the jeweler’s window—it wouldn’t matter one iota if the dealer didn’t give him a chance to play.
He took one last look at the row of rings and wedding bands before he walked away.
***
“Mommy, why do we have to go back into your work?” Charlie said, squeezing a mud-stained baseball in his little fist. “I thought we were going to the park now. I wanna play ball. Do you know how to pitch? Mikey says I’m not so good at it and that I need to practice. Do you think I need to practice? Is it easier to pitch or catch? Mikey says it’s—”
“Charlie, darling?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you want to play catch at the park so—”
“And pitch, too.”
“Right. And pitch, too. But I need to pick up a folder at the office so I can do my work later. If I wait too long, the afternoon will be over and the doors will be locked. And since I don’t have a key…”
“Okay, Mommy. We can go there first.”
“Thank you, Charlie.”
Beth sighed and parked her car in the Social Services lot. She hadn’t told Charlie this yet, but they’d also need to stop for gas. She’d been running on fumes and hope for the last two days. She checked her wallet, praying she’d have enough for a quarter of a tank. With the couple dollars she found, they might just manage to make it through the week.
“Come with me, sweetie,” she told her son. “I don’t want you staying alone in the car.”
“Will Robby be in there today?”
“Oh, I think so. Abby, too, I’ll bet.”
“Alrighty! She lets me have lollipops from her candy jar.”
Beth grinned. “Yes, she does. But remember, don’t pester her. And you may only have one lollipop if she offers it to you first. Understand?”
He grimaced. “Uh-huh.”
“Good.”
They reached the office and Charlie was immediately spirited away by a high-fiving, back-slapping, arm-wrestling Robby, who was the proud father of three daughters, none of whom enjoyed roughhousing.
She dug through the mass of paperwork in search of Anna Marie Dermott’s file. After a four-minute hunt, she found it. The elderly lady was on her list of visits tomorrow, and she wanted to be prepared.
“Hey, Beth, what brings you back again?” Dan asked, stepping out of his office and sending a smile and a wave her way.
She held up the file. “Nothing major. I just wanted to grab this so I could look over the latest additions to it tonight.”
“Ah,” her boss said. “Being conscientious as always, I see.”
She answered his compliment the only way she could, with a small grin. Besides, what could anyone say to something like that without sounding prideful?
Dan patted her shoulder in his usual fatherly manner. “Keep up the great work, kiddo.” He checked his watch and shook his head. “My four-thirty appointment’s late.” He shot her a commiserating glance as if to say, Can you believe some people?
She laughed and nodded. Dan strode back into his office.
She heard Charlie giggling in the other room and Abby’s voice saying to him in an extra-loud stage whisper, “Hey, slugger, want a lollipop? Cherry or grape? Or, if you don’t tell your mom, you can have both.” Charlie agreed to the deal mighty quick.
Beth couldn’t bring herself to break in on him too soon. Much as her little boy loved the park, he loved the attention he got from caring adults most of all. She wished there were even more in his life, but she sure wouldn’t complain. She had some great people surrounding and supporting her. Anybody who cared about her, cared about Charlie, too.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way. It was the main reason, she told herself for the eight hundredth time, why things with Will would never work…even if every one of their other differences could be magically resolved. There was simply no getting around the fact that he’d never want to be a stepfather.
She picked up the framed photo of Charlie on her desk. It was taken at school only a few months ago but already it looked out of date. His hair had lightened a tad from playing in the spring sunshine. It would get nearly as blond as Pete’s by the end of summer.
Genetics. So strange.
Fortunately, Charlie’s and Pete’s personalities differed more than their hair did. For starters, she’d taught her son manners and responsibility.
She checked her watch. Four-forty, and Charlie was still playing some incomprehensible game with Robby involving a tin garbage can and paperclips. It was okay. The days stayed lighter longer now and dinner wouldn’t be anything to rush home for anyway. There was plenty of time.
She heard footsteps and a shuffling of papers outside the office door. Another delighted screech from Charlie. Abby talking in her usual animated tone on the telephone. Beth was straightening the files on her desk when the door swung open.
She didn’t bother looking up at first, but a haunting silence pierced the office atmosphere. It seemed directed at her. She glanced toward the door at the same moment as a familiar voice rang out.
“Charlotte?” Will said. “Is that you?”
EIGHT
Beth stared at him. She couldn’t blink. She couldn’t open her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. Will’s expression stole her speech. His face was etched with warring emotions—delight, surprise, a flicker of hurt.
A heartbeat later Charlie rushed out of the room, Robby at his heels. Her son bounded over to her desk, one lollipop in his hand and one in his mouth. “Mommy, look what Abby gave me,” he said, his words garbled. He slurped loudly on the cherry pop and waved the unopened grape treat at her.
Her head turned in Charlie’s direction, only slightly, but it was enough. She caught a few new emotions flitting across Will’s face—shock, disbelief, comprehension, anger. All followed by a powerful wave of betrayal, which washed all the others away, she thought, at least temporarily.
“Charlotte?” The name came out of him liked a choked whisper.
“Who’s Charlotte?” Robby asked at the same moment that Dan swung his office door open.
“Hey, Doc,” Dan declared. “Glad you were able to make it.”
“My apologies for being late, Mr. Noelen. We had victims from a five-car pile-up come in the ER this afternoon.” As Will spoke, his clear blue eyes speared her like icy needles.
Abby, being drawn to the room by new voices, regarded the doctor with growing curiosity. Beth caught the inquisitive social worker shooti
ng perplexed glances between her and Will, and she knew Abby would figure out the relationship between them faster than a teen heartbreak.
Beth stood up. “I—I should go,” she announced to no one in particular.
Dan put a light hand on her shoulder. “Well, before you do, let me introduce you guys to Dr. Will Darcy, attending ER physician at Regents General Hospital.”
“Will?” Abby whispered, her eyes quizzical. Beth could almost see the woman’s brain synapses making connections.
“Yes,” Dan said. “We’re trying to work out a way to help him on a new clinic he’s starting up for low-income mothers and their children.” He turned toward Abby. “This is Abby Kraigenmeier, Doc. She’s one of our five senior social workers and has been with us for—what? Ten years now?”
“Eleven in September,” Abby said proudly. She waved at Will. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Darcy.”
Will sent Abby a sincere-looking but somewhat weak smile.
“And this is Robby Benjamin, also a senior social worker,” Dan said. “At the agency for seven years.”
Robby reached out to shake Will’s hand. “Nice meetin’ you.”
Will nodded. “You, too, thanks.” His eyes strayed back to Beth. Dan glanced between them, looking more puzzled than Beth had ever seen him.
“The newest member of our team,” Dan said, “is Beth Bennet. She’s been one of our social work assistants this past year. We’re hoping she’ll be able to join us full time next month.”
Will stared at her. “Beth, is it?” he said.
She swallowed before nodding slowly. A flash of anger returned to his eyes but, before either of them could say anything more, Dan continued. “And this little firecracker,” Dan ruffled the top of Charlie’s head, “is Beth’s son Charlie.”
“I’m six,” Charlie proclaimed, sticking out his hand for Will to shake.
Will reached for it, gently grasping her little boy’s palm. “Six years old, huh?” He paused, holding Charlie’s gaze for a long moment. “That’s pretty big.” Will looked at Beth again, for the first time his expression unreadable. Then he glanced at Dan. “I brought my proposal, as you asked. Perhaps we should get started.”
“Sure thing, Doc. My office is over here. Go on in. I’ll be there in a second.” Dan ushered Will out of the room, the doctor’s jaw tight and his eyes fixed on Dan’s office door. Dan then turned back and gave Beth a strange look. “You okay, kiddo?” he whispered. “Is something going on that I should know about?”
Beth didn’t move for several seconds.
Abby snapped her fingers in front of Beth’s face. “Is this ‘Will,’ by chance, the same ‘Will’ you were talking to Jane about on the phone that one day?”
Beth glanced between Abby and Dan. Her boss crossed his arms and gave her an expectant look.
“Oh, brother,” Abby muttered.
Robby leaned in. “And, uh, Beth? Why’d the doc call you Charlotte?”
Beth squeezed her eyes shut, grabbed Charlie’s hand and pulled herself and her son out of there.
***
The phone stopped ringing after five and a half hours. Beth couldn’t bring herself to answer and, since she just had an old plastic wall phone without Caller ID and she didn’t waste money on extras like voicemail, she didn’t know for sure who’d been calling.
She had her guesses, of course.
Dan, Abby, Robby, Jane, maybe even Will, if he’d pounded his fist on Dan’s desk and demanded her number. She could almost imagine him talking to her boss after she’d left: “What is Charlotte’s, I mean, Beth’s phone number? I need to have a few words with her about how she lied to me and pretended to be the kind of woman I’d actually date.”
To which Dan would reply: “I can’t believe I put my trust in her. This colors my opinion of her as a social worker, and there’s no way I could, in good conscience, recommend her for the full-time position now.”
Both men would nod in agreement, and Beth would have lost everything she’d spent all these years sacrificing for. And, worst of all, Charlie would lose out, too.
Her son had gone to bed exhausted an hour ago. “Why didn’t we get to play at the park?” he’d asked, but only once. She figured the look on her face had probably frightened him into silence. Instead, he’d gotten macaroni and cheese for dinner, a whole ninety-minute Disney video and splash time in his bath until his fingertips turned pruney. She, in return, got to cry uninterrupted in her bedroom for most of the night—alone time punctuated only by the shrill ring of the telephone.
Of course, even without the incessant ringing, she couldn’t sleep. So, instead, she stayed up and wrote and wrote…and typed and typed. And lied…and lied some more because what would a research paper be with only facts? Wasn’t this what was called “creative nonfiction”?
Well, not creative enough because her words on the page were still too close to the truth. She couldn’t seem to figure a way to distance herself from the project. She remembered her night with Will at the movies. The way he’d kissed her. The way her hands were warmed by his and her heart set aflame. Their intellectual debate on trust and the passion with which he declared his trust in her. How could she describe the truth of her admiration for him, whatever their gender differences might be?
She couldn’t, so she wrote, “Case Study #1 values both intuition and logic, which contrasts with the stereotype that men consistently put their confidence in the rational over the emotional.”
Yes, it was a fact. No, it wasn’t the truth. Not the real truth of her soul. But then, Professor O’Reilly didn’t want to read about how she was falling in love with a man who surely despised her. It was going to have to be enough to just finish the darned paper…and to do it without acting on the urge to rip every single page to shreds.
Morning came with the rising sun—a usual occurrence in most of the world, but today Beth felt a shiver of surprise. Life really did go on no matter what, didn’t it?
Bleary-eyed and achy, she got Charlie off to school and, for the first time in months, called in sick to the agency. Her heart pounded as she spoke with the cheerful receptionist. Beth said she was feeling terrible. (True.) She said she had an awful headache. (Also true.) She said she didn’t sleep a wink last night. (True again.) When asked if she knew what kind of illness she had—bad virus, common cold, the flu—she said she wasn’t sure. (Bald-faced lie.)
She knew all the symptoms of heart sickness, and she had them in spades.
Just as she was about to hang up, the kindly woman’s words became muffled on the other end of the line as though some agency debate raged around the lady.
“Beth?” the receptionist said. “Dan overheard me talking with you. He wanted to ask you something. Can you hold the line while I transfer your call to his office?” She didn’t give Beth a chance to answer, but what could she say? No, I’ve been dreading this conversation with Dan, and I’m not going to have it with him…
Yeah, right.
“Okay, dearie. Hope you feel better,” the woman said before redirecting the line.
A split-second later Dan’s voice came on. “Beth, how are you feeling?”
She waited a few heartbeats, expecting more. Expecting his negative judgment of her. “Not great,” she admitted finally. “I can get some paperwork done at home, though. And, if you still want me to, I can be in the office first thing tomorrow. I still need to see Mrs. Dermott and go through—”
“No, that’s not a good idea. Robby had a cancellation. He can run over there today. I want you to take a few days off.”
She knew it. That was it for her at Social Services. In a few days, after he’d had a chance to regroup and gather candidates for Mimi’s position, Dan would call her into his office and demand that she leave for good. Oh, brother. Would she even pass her field practicum now? She had to know. “Dan, I—I’m sorry if yesterday was awkward for you. I hadn’t expected Will to have any connection with the agency or I never would’ve—”
“Beth, kid
do, I want to talk about this. I think we need to talk about it. But not today. Your relationship with Dr. Darcy isn’t really my concern. I asked him a few questions, by the way, and he was as chatty as a mime when it came to you. He talked full speed for an hour about his clinic but the only thing he said about you was your name, Beth Bennet, like it was a big mystery…which, I gather, it was.”
From Beth’s side of the phone line she could’ve sworn Dan was holding back laughter. “So, you’ll let me finish my field work?” she said.
“Of course.”
She nearly collapsed on the carpet with relief. “And Mimi’s position? Are you still willing to recommend me for it?” She clutched the receiver until her knuckles throbbed.
“I’m still willing to recommend you, Beth, but my question is whether or not you really want to do it.”
“But I do! Naturally, I want—”
“Oh, I know,” Dan said. “I know you’d like a full-time job, that you have respect for social workers, that the salary increase will help you and Charlie, that you’re responsible, considerate of others, conscientious. But would you be proud of your profession? And proud of yourself? Above all, would you be happy to be ‘Beth Bennet’ in a life that—except for a little more money—is not very different from the life you have now? That’s what I wonder, Beth.”
Her blood started pulsing wildly from her capillaries to her arteries. Every part of her body, toes to waist to chin, trembled with the increased flow. She tried to get her lips to form a response, but Dan continued before she could get them to cooperate.
“A truly good social worker is someone who’s able to expend energy helping others because she’s confident in herself and content with her life. These are the kind of people I choose for my team. With so many clients in need, we don’t have room for a lot of staff-member insecurities. So I need you to reflect a little on this. Take a few days to figure out where you stand with yourself and with the field. Okay?”
Pride, Prejudice and the Perfect Match Page 9