“You heard me.”
“I don’t think so, because I heard you say the words ‘your little girl,’ ‘breasts’ and ‘pregnant’ all in the same sentence.”
“John, I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Claire about the birds and the bees?”
“She’s only nine years old!”
“And she’ll be able to conceive a child in about three years.”
“Aaagggh! Don’t say that.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of unwanted news,” she said wryly. “Since I’m here, I thought I’d take her out to get a few underthings she’ll be needing—or would you rather do it?”
“No!” He cleared his throat noisily. “I mean, no, I’m sure she’d rather you pick out her…underthingies.”
“Fine. Just call the school back and give them permission to let her go with me, and I’ll drop her by the house in a couple of hours.”
“Sure,” he said. “Oh, and Jo…”
“Yes?”
“Um…thanks.”
AFTER HE CALLED the school, John sat back in his desk chair and scrubbed his hand over his face. It was a sad, sad day…his little girl had breasts.
John sighed, then slowly reached over to open a desk drawer, and pulled out a cigarette. Then, shaking his head, he put it back in the package and relaxed into his chair. From the same drawer he pulled a photograph—the five of them collapsed in the stiff chairs at the mall food court He and Jo were looking at each other, and the children were all looking at them. Such a neat little fit of scattered puzzle pieces. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he forced himself to remember that Jo Montgomery had used him and the children to gain a lucrative decorating account. She wasn’t attached to him and his family; she’d been pretending all along.
Or had she? He might be a little rusty, but he’d bedded enough women to know an enthusiastic response when he felt one. And she’d seemed happy to take Claire shopping last weekend, plus take time out of her work schedule today. But then again, she could be doing it to make up for her little game of deception.
Leaning back in his chair, he banked miniature paper wads into his wastebasket until it overflowed. Sighing, he stood and stretched, unwilling to dive into the paperwork for the new airport hotel. He was restless now, and he ruefully acknowledged it probably had something to do with the fact that Jo Montgomery would be coming to his house this evening, if only to drop off Claire.
He couldn’t wait to see her.
“You’re pathetic, Sterling,” he mumbled.
Susan walked into his office and knocked at the same time. She held a newspaper in her hand. “I’ve been meaning to show this to you all day, but I’d forgotten until Jo Montgomery just called.” She carefully unfolded the paper, then turned a couple of pages. “There,” she said, pointing. “Nice picture, eh?”
John’s breath froze in his chest. Jo Montgomery smiled back at him, and the caption beneath her photo heralded Montgomery and Parish Announce Forthcoming Vows.
JO’S PULSE beat more erratically the closer her car got to John’s home. Claire sat in the passenger seat, clutching the bag containing six new Comfort-eeze stretch training bras, identical to the one the little girl wore under her Mickey Mouse shirt.
Suddenly Claire leaned across the car seat, staring in awe. “Is that an engagement ring?”
Laughing nervously, Jo nodded and held it out for Claire to see.
“Wow! Does that mean you’re getting married?”
“Uh-huh. My boyfriend asked me last weekend.”
Claire bit her bottom lip. “So I guess my daddy won’t be trying to kiss you anymore?”
Jo pressed her lips together and nodded. “That’s right.”
“Jo, don’t you think my daddy is nice?”
“Of course I do.”
“Why don’t you marry him instead?”
Jo sighed. “Because I’m marrying Alan.”
“What if something happens and you don’t marry Alan, then would you marry my daddy?”
John was right—his children had grown attached to Jo and now they were in for a letdown. Her heart ached. “But nothing’s going to happen.”
Claire frowned. “Will you still come and see us sometime?”
Looking over at her dejected face, Jo felt like the lowest life-form. “Sure, sweetheart.”
She pulled into the driveway, then hesitated. Perhaps she shouldn’t go in.
Then Jamie bounded out the door. “Jo! My room’s painted all blue—it’s nice! Want to see?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.” After she emerged from her car, the children each grabbed a hand and pulled her toward the front door.
“Just Plain Jo!” Billy yelled a greeting from the den where he sat among a stack of building blocks.
“Hi, Billy.” Jo waved. Where was John?
“Look, Jo, your picture’s in the newspaper,” Jamie said, reaching up to the snack bar and carrying the paper to her.
Frowning, Jo took the paper, then her eyes widened. She sighed in annoyance, then muttered, “Well, Mom, I hope you’re happy.”
“What does it say?” Jamie asked, tugging on her sleeve.
“It says Jo’s getting married,” John said, walking into the room. He leaned over to hug Claire. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Jo’s stomach vaulted at the sight of him. And the fact that he knew about her engagement affected her breathing in strange ways. His hair was slightly mussed, as if after he’d pulled the holey jersey over his head, he hadn’t bothered to comb it again. He wore white gym shorts that revealed his disturbingly familiar muscular legs, and stood barefoot.
“Look at Jo’s ring, Daddy. Isn’t it pretty?” Claire asked.
He looked at Jo and pursed his lips, then reached forward and lifted her hand, fingering the knuckle of her third finger much as he had only days ago. “Hmm, nice,” he said. “I guess the man’s not as big an idiot as I thought.”
Jo smiled and shrugged lightly. “He said all your talk about commitment the other night hit home.”
John stared at her, then crossed his arms. “Well,” he said, his voice deceptively soft above the ears of the children, “the least you could have done was let me in on it—remember me, your husband?”
Straightening her shoulders, Jo changed the subject. “Claire has the things she needs for now, but if I were you, I wouldn’t postpone the talk I mentioned for very long.”
“Oh?” John asked, his eyes flat. “And you’re the parenting expert now?”
The remark hit her like a slap in the face. She wasn’t mommy material—not now, not ever. “N-no,” she stammered. “I…I have to go.”
She turned toward the door and Jamie yelled, “But Jo, don’t you want to see my room?”
Blinking furiously, Jo tried her best to smile. “I’ll see it tomorrow, Jamie, okay?” She walked across the foyer as fast as she could. As she closed the door behind her, she heard Jamie mumble, “I’m Peter. Daddy, why is Jo crying?”
On the way home, Jo rolled down the window and drove slowly, welcoming the bracing breeze, wishing it would blow away all her problems, all her fuzzy feelings. She owed it to Alan to stay away from John Sterling, but their paths kept crossing. It was impossible to disappoint the children, especially Claire, but she’d have to steel herself the next time one of them called. She simply could not keep riding this emotional roller coaster—front car, no hands.
She dialed her office voice mail to check messages. The third caller was Melissa Patterson. “Miss Montgomery,” she said in a cool tone, “I was looking through the paper today and spotted something rather interesting. I think we should talk.”
“MRS. PATTERSON will see you now,” the young woman said gravely, sweeping her arm toward the door. She gave Jo an apologetic half smile.
Jo halted before the closed door, her heart thudding against her chest. She took a deep breath and turned the knob. Mrs. Patterson turned in her tall swivel chair and offered her a chilly smile. “Come in, Miss Montgomery.”
Nodding and smiling, Jo took the seat she was offered, trying desperately to calm her rolling stomach. Her palms were wet with perspiration. Inside her purse was a check for most of the advance the Pattersons had given her. If they insisted on full repayment immediately, she’d have to swallow her pride and go to Alan.
“Mrs. Patterson,” Jo began, laughing nervously, “I suppose you would like an explanation for the announcement in the newspaper.”
The woman pursed her thin lips. “I’ve narrowed the explanations down to two—either you’re a bigamist, or you’re a liar.”
Clearing her throat, Jo said, “Um, yes, well—”
“I don’t have all day, Miss Montgomery, which is it?”
She took a deep breath, then said, “Well, I guess if I would have to pick one—liar.”
“That’s fortunate since it’s the only legal option. And may I ask why you felt it necessary to weave such a fantastic lie?”
Jo cleared her throat again, then spoke softly, carefully. “The day I first met you and Mr. Patterson, you assumed the children were mine. After you mentioned it would help my chances for getting your account, I simply let you go on believing it.”
“You mean you played us for fools.”
“I certainly didn’t mean—”
“And were the children and Mr. Sterling in on it—I suppose to wangle their way back into the day care?”
“No, they’re completely innocent.”
“The children seemed very attached to you.”
Jo took a deep breath and nodded, her lips pressed together. “I’m redecorating the Sterling house. I suppose they latched on to me as a mother figure.”
“But the other night in the restaurant, I distinctly heard Mr. Sterling refer to you as his wife.”
“We weren’t together,” Jo said, feeling like a dolt. “Our dates had excused themselves from the table when you appeared. John didn’t know what was going on—he covered for me.”
“I see,” Mrs. Patterson said slowly, studying Jo’s face as if trying to determine how a person could do such a thing.
Rising to her feet, Jo said, “I’m sorry for deceiving you, Mrs. Patterson. I feel terrible about this whole situation, and I’ll understand completely if you want to cancel the contract.”
Her hands steepled, Mrs. Patterson remained silent for a full minute, then shifted forward in her seat. “I’m still of the opinion that we need a designer who is able to connect with children.”
Jo swallowed resolutely, then she opened her purse to remove the check.
“And,” the woman continued, “I still think we have the right person in you…Jo.”
Incredulous, Jo stammered. “Y-you do?”
“You’re a natural with kids—you might not see it, but other people do. Those children respond to you. And we were very impressed with your software demonstration—I don’t think my husband and I have ever reached a decision so quickly.”
“You mean it had nothing to do with worrying about being sued for Jamie’s accident?”
Mrs. Patterson shook her head. “We carry millions of dollars’ worth of insurance to cover situations like that, Jo. It had no impact on our decision to give you our account.” She smiled at last. “You underestimate your sales capabilities.”
“Thank you. I’m flattered.”
Mrs. Patterson sighed. “But I’m genuinely disappointed to discover those children aren’t yours…it somehow seemed so right Apparently, you underestimate your capabilities in other areas, as well.”
Jo left the Pattersons’ office feeling stunned. The fact that she still had the account wasn’t nearly as amazing as Mrs. Patterson’s other revelation.
She actually thought Jo was good with children.
JO DROVE BY John’s house seven times Monday morning, waiting for his car to leave. Finally, when the furniture van arrived, she sighed and pulled into the driveway, bracing herself for the physical onslaught of his presence.
Billy’s screams of “Bad potty, bad potty” filled the air when she opened the front door.
“John?” she called.
A few seconds later, he walked in carrying a tearful Billy. “I can’t figure it out. What is it about that damned potty?”
“Just Plain Jo!” Billy exclaimed, reaching for her.
Reluctantly, Jo took him, reveling in the feel of his chubby arms around her neck, his chubby legs around her waist. “Poopy diaper,” he whispered.
Jo and John exchanged glances. “He’s difficult,” they said in unison, then smiled.
“Some of the furniture is here,” Jo said, nodding toward the front door. “This place will be starting to take shape when you get home this evening.”
“I took the day off to potty-train Billy, even if it kills us both,” John said, raising his hands palm up. “So you’re stuck with me.”
“Oh,” Jo said, squirming. “Well, I won’t be here that long—just until everything’s in place. There’ll be more furniture delivered every morning this week.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead, “John, Claire mentioned once you had paintings packed away that your wife painted.”
He stiffened. “Yes.”
“Well,” she said softly, “I think it would be a very nice thing if your kids could grow up surrounded by her artwork, don’t you?” She held her breath.
He stared at her for a long time, then bit his lip and nodded. “Okay, I’ll bring them out of storage.”
She walked to the door and instructed the men to start unloading the furniture, then walked into the downstairs bathroom to retrieve a diaper. Immediately, he stiffened and whined, “Bad potty, monster potty get Billy.”
Sighing, she set him down in the hall, then went into the bathroom and rummaged through the vanity cabinet When she looked back, Billy had poked his head around the corner. “Monster potty,” he whispered ominously.
Jo followed his stare and frowned at the commode and the colorful potty-chair sitting next to it She stood and walked over to the toilet and touched the back of it. “Good potty,” she said.
“Good potty,” Billy parroted.
She touched the small potty-chair. “Good potty.”
“Good potty.” He grinned, but still hung back.
“Come and sit on the good potty, Billy,” she said, smiling and nodding.
He shook his head firmly. “Monster get Billy.”
“I give up,” Jo mumbled, stooping to right a black plasticdragon toilet-brush holder.
“Monster get Billy!” the toddler shrieked, cowering at the door.
Jo frowned, then looked at the cartoonish animal shape in her hand. “Is this what you’re afraid of?” She held it up, and Billy fled, wailing at the top of his lungs.
Straightening, Jo covered her mouth with her hand, laughing quietly.
“What’s going on?” John asked from the doorway. “Where’s Billy?”
Jo turned and held up the plastic dragon. “He’s afraid of the toilet-brush holder.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. There’s one in the upstairs bathroom, too, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “You mean, all this time…?”
“Yup.”
He brought the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I have seen Jamie use them in his Peter Pan escapades—he probably terrorized Billy more than once.” Hands on hips, he shook his head and laughed with her. “I owe you big for this one, Jo.”
After a few seconds, their laughter faded, and their gazes met. Finally, Jo smiled nervously and said, “Maybe we can call it even, then.”
He studied her face for a few seconds, then nodded. “Sure.” To her surprise, he extended his hand.
She stared at his big fingers, then slowly lifted her hand and slipped it inside his. Their skin touching was electric, at least for Jo. The nerve endings in her fingers throbbed. Instead of a handshake, the clasp was intimate and warm, palm nestled against palm. At last, Jo retrieved her limp hand, and tried to smile. “I’ll get rid of Billy’s mons
ter and leave you two alone with the potty.” Completely shaken, she left the bathroom, determined to stay out of sight the rest of the morning.
OUT OF SIGHT was not out of mind, John decided as he sat on the bathroom floor, watching his toddler read while sitting contentedly on the potty. He sighed, wishing he could stop wanting her, could stop…loving her. He blinked at his own admission, then watched as his son craned his neck.
“Just Plain Jo?” Billy asked, pointing to the door.
John nodded. “Jo’s still here, Billy.” Pam expanded his chest. “Just don’t get used to it,” he whispered sadly.
11
BETWEEN tying up loose ends at the Sterling house and taking care of last-minute arrangements for the wedding, the week flew by. Thursday afternoon Jo did a preliminary walk-through by herself in preparation for John’s final walk-through scheduled that evening. On the way back to her office, she stopped at her duplex and boxed her collection of Nancy Drew books, then walked to her car to stow them in the trunk for Claire. She was startled when a handsome older gentleman came around the side of her house and approached her.
“Good day,” he called, his breath white in the crisp air.
“Hello,” she said, smiling. “Can I help you?”
“I certainly hope so,” he said. “My name is Torry Rodgers and I’m looking for Hattie Stevens.”
Jo stared at him, stupefied. “You’re Torry?”
“Yes, I am,” he said, smiling. “Do you know Hattie?”
“I’m her niece, Jo Montgomery.” She couldn’t stop smiling.
“Well, that’s marvelous! Can you tell me where I might find her?”
“I’ll do better than that,” Jo said, grinning. “I’ll take you to her.”
He followed her back to the office. Jo didn’t go inside—she simply let him in, turned the Closed sign on the door and climbed back into her car. She could work from the duplex today. After all these years, the couple deserved a private reunion. “Good for you, Aunt Hattie,” she whispered.
Alan called three times that afternoon to check on minor things, and each time Jo found her patience wearing more thin. “I really don’t care what kind of champagne we toast with, Alan, just make sure there’s plenty of it.”
To her surprise and delight, Pamela had been her saving grace the past few days, doing anything and everything Jo asked her to do, plus anticipating dozens of things Jo had forgotten.
Kids Is A 4-Letter Word Page 17