Mother in Training

by Marie Ferrarella

  He didn’t bother looking at his own watch. He could feel the time. “Half an hour from now.” He washed down the inedible toast with the rest of his orange juice and set the glass on the counter. “Traffic being what it is, I should already be on my way.”

  “Without saying goodbye to the kids?” This was a new all-time low. She thought that pointing it out to him might halt him in his tracks.

  Instead, he picked up his briefcase. “Can’t be helped.”

  Zooey abandoned the coffee she was making. “Yes, it can,” she insisted. Grabbing a towel, she dried her hands, then tossed the towel on the back of a chair. “I can get them up now.” She saw impatience cross his face, and made a stab at trying to get through to him. “They go to sleep without you, they shouldn’t have to wake up with you already gone as well.”

  An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he told her, “Zooey, I appreciate what you’re doing—”

  If time was precious, there was none to waste. Zooey cut to the chase. “No, you don’t. You think I’m a pain in the butt, and I can live with that. But the kids shouldn’t have to be made to live without you. For God’s sake, Jack, they see the mailman more than they see you.”

  He didn’t have time for her exaggerations. “I have to leave.”

  Zooey stunned him by throwing herself in front of the back door, blocking his exit. “Not until you see the kids.”

  There were a hundred things on his mind, not the least of which was mounting a defense for a client who was being convicted by the media on circumstantial evidence. Jack didn’t have time for this.

  “This is a little too dramatic, Zooey,” he informed her, “even for you.”

  He’d come to learn very quickly into her stay with them that the young woman he’d hired to watch over his children was not like the nannies who had come before her. Not in any manner, shape or form.

  It seemed to him that if Zooey had an opinion about something he’d done or hadn’t done, he heard about it. And if he was doing something wrong as far as the children were concerned, he’d hear about that, too. In spades.

  While he found her concern about the children’s welfare reassuring and their love for her comforting—absolving him of whatever guilt he might have for not taking a more active part in their lives—there were times, such as now, when Zooey went too far.

  He glanced at his watch. “Zooey, I’m due in court in a little over an hour.”

  She stared at him, unfazed. “The longer you argue with me, the more time you lose.”

  His eyes narrowed as his hand tightened on his briefcase. “I could physically move you out of the way.”

  Zooey remained exactly where she was. “You could try,” she allowed. And then she smiled broadly. “I know moves you couldn’t even begin to pronounce.”

  He knew of her more than just passing interest in martial arts. Late one evening, he’d come across her on the patio as he investigated the source of a series of strange noises he’d heard. He’d found her practicing moves against a phantom assailant, and remembered thinking that he would feel sorry for anyone stupid enough to try anything with her.

  Looking at her now, Jack had his doubts that she would use those moves against him. But he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that she wouldn’t. She was adamant when it came to the children.

  He tried to appeal to her common sense. This was way before the usual time when Emily and Jackie got up. “You’ll be waking them up.”

  Zooey appeared unfazed by the argument. “They’ll be happy to see you. Besides, they have to get up soon anyway. I’ve got to get Emily ready for school.”

  He’d forgotten. The months seemed to swirl by without leaving an impression. It was October already. School had been in session for over four weeks now. There were times he forgot that his daughter went to school at all.

  Maybe because he hadn’t really become involved in her life, he still tended to think of Emily as a baby, hardly older than Jack Jr.

  But even Jackie was growing up.

  Jack blew out a breath. “Okay, let’s go. I don’t have time to argue.”

  Zooey beamed. She was generous in her victory. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.” Still standing in the doorway, she gestured toward the rear of the house. “After you.”

  He eyed her, picking up on her meaning immediately. “Don’t trust me?”

  Growing up around her parents and uncle had taught her the value of diplomacy. Her parents were experts at it. So Zooey smiled, declining to answer his question directly. “Better safe than sorry.”

  They went to Emily’s room first.

  The little girl was fast asleep. Fanned out across her pillow, her hair looked like spun gold in the early morning sunbeams. Coming to the side of the bed, Zooey gently placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder. She lowered her head until her lips were near her ear. “Emily, honey, your daddy wants to say goodbye.”

  One moment the little girl was asleep, the next her eyes flew open and she bolted upright.

  Her expression as she looked at her father was clearly startled. And frightened. She clutched at his arm as if that was all there was between her and certain oblivion.

  “You’re leaving, Daddy?”

  I knew this was a bad idea, Jack thought darkly. He ran his hand over the silky blond hair. “I’ve got to go, honey. I’ve got an early case in court today and Zooey seemed to think you wouldn’t be happy unless I said goodbye.”

  Instantly, the panicky look was gone. The small, perfect features relaxed. She was a little girl again instead of a tiny, worried adult.

  “Oh, that kind of goodbye.” A smile curved her rosebud mouth. “Okay.”

  Jack was completely confused. He looked at Emily uncertainly. “What other kind of goodbye is there, honey?”

  “Like Mommy’s,” his daughter told him solemnly.

  This time, he raised his eyes to Zooey’s face, looking for some sort of explanation that made sense. “What is she talking about?”

  Zooey’s first words were addressed to Emily, not him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to help you get ready, honey. In the meantime, why don’t you lie down again and rest a little more.”

  “Okay.” Emily’s voice was already sleepy and she began to drift off again.

  Turning toward Jack, Zooey hooked her arm through his. “C’mon,” she whispered, as if he’d been the one to wake Emily up, and not her. Tugging, she gently drew him out of the room.

  “What’s she talking about?” he asked again the moment they cleared the threshold.

  Instead of answering, Zooey looked at him for a second, searching for something she didn’t find. He didn’t know, she realized. But then, he hadn’t been there during Emily’s nightmares, hadn’t seen the concern in the little girl’s eyes whenever he was late getting home without calling ahead first.

  “Emily is afraid that you’re going to die.”

  Her answer flabbergasted him. He stared at her incredulously.

  “What? Why?” he demanded. He hadn’t done anything to make Emily feel that way. What had Zooey been telling her?

  “Because her mother did,” she answered simply, then went on quickly to reassure him in case he thought there was something wrong with Emily. “It’s not an uncommon reaction for children when they lose one parent to be clinging to the other, afraid they’ll die, too, and leave them orphaned. That’s why I wanted her to see you before you left. So she knows that you’re fine and that you’re coming home to her. She needs that kind of assurance right now.”

  “So now you’re into child psychology?” Jack didn’t quite mean that the way it came out. His tone had sounded sarcastic, he realized. But it wasn’t in him to apologize, so he just refrained from saying anything.

  She treated it as a straightforward question. To take offense would be making this about her, and it wasn’t. It was about the children.

  “I dabbled in it, yes. Took a couple of courses,” she added.

  Jack was silent for a moment, t
hen nodded toward his son’s room. “And what’s Jackie’s story?”

  “He picks up on Emily’s vibrations,” Zooey told him frankly. “Except at his age, even though he’s very bright, he doesn’t know what to make of them.” And then she smiled. “Mostly, he just wants his daddy around. Like any other little boy.”

  Jack had never been one of those fun parents, the kind featured in Saturday morning cartoon show ads. He hadn’t the knack for children’s games, and his imagination only went as far as drafting briefs. He couldn’t see why his children would care about having him around.

  “Why,” he demanded, “when they have you?”

  “I’m more fun,” Zooey admitted, “but you’re their daddy and they love you just because of that. It’s only natural that they’d want you to be part of their lives,” she continued, when he didn’t look as if he understood. “And for them to want to be part of yours. An important part,” she emphasized, “not just an afterthought.”

  Jack shook his head. The lawyer in him was ready to offer a rebuttal to what she’d just said. But he held his tongue. Because deep down, part of him knew that Zooey was right. That he should be part of their lives far more than he was.

  But right now, it wasn’t possible. The demands on his time were too great, and he had to act while he could. That was how careers—lasting, secure careers—were made.

  Lucky for his children—and him—he’d struck gold when he’d found Zooey.

  He supposed that made a good argument for going along with impulse—as long as it could stand to be thoroughly researched, he added silently. Old dog, new tricks, he mused.

  Standing before his son’s door, Jack paused for half a second as he looked at Zooey over his shoulder. The harsh expression on his face had softened considerably. “Am I paying you enough?”

  “Probably not,” she responded, then waved him on. “Now go say goodbye to your son if you don’t want to be late.”

  Now she was looking out for him as well. Jack shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re too bossy?”

  The list was endless, she thought, but out loud she said, “Maybe. Once or twice. I wouldn’t have to be if you did these things on your own. Now open the door,” she told him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, amused, as he turned the doorknob.

  Chapter Four

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Smiling broadly, Zooey shot the question at him three minutes later as she walked with him to the front door.

  He stopped in the entry, a less than patient reply on his lips. It froze there as something seemed to crackle between them. It wasn’t dry enough to be static electricity, but certainly felt like it.

  And like something a little more…

  Feeling like a man who was tottering on the brink, Jack pulled himself back. “I didn’t say it would be hard, I said that it was—oh, never mind.” He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the exchange he knew he’d be destined to lose. “I guess I should just be grateful that you’re not with the DA’s office.”

  Her eyes crinkled as she grinned. She was going to get lines there if she wasn’t careful, he thought.

  “Attaboy, Jack. Always look at the positive side of things.”

  He didn’t believe in optimism. The last time he’d felt a surge of optimism, he’d asked Patricia to marry him—hoping, unrealistically, for a slice of “happily ever after.” What he’d wound up getting were arguments and seemingly irreconcilable differences—until her life, and their marriage, was abruptly terminated.

  “I deal in facts,” he told Zooey tersely.

  Was that pity in her eyes? And what was he doing, anyway, staring into her emerald-green eyes.

  “Facts can be very cold things,” she told him. “At the end of the day, dreams are what get you through, Jack. Hopes and dreams are a reason to get up and strive tomorrow.”

  Had he ever been that idealistic? He sincerely doubted it. If he had, it was far too long ago for him to remember. “Mortgage payments and college tuition are reasons to get up and strive tomorrow.”

  Zooey cocked her head, her eyes looking straight into him. Into his soul. The touch of her hand on his felt oddly intimate.

  “Don’t you ever have any fun, Jack?”

  He tried to shrug off the feeling undulating through him, the one she seemed to be creating. “You mean I’m not having fun right now?”

  The expression on her face told him she took his flippant remark seriously. “You are if you love your work.”

  “I’m good at it.” There was no pride in his answer. It was just another fact.

  Zooey shook her head. He could have sworn he detected a whiff of jasmine.

  “Not what I said. Or asked.” Her eyes seemed to search his face. “Do you love your work, Jack?”

  Love was too damn strong a word to apply to something like work, he thought. “When everything comes together, there is a surge of…something, yes.”

  The answer did not satisfy her.

  He was a hard man to pin down, she realized. She wondered if he knew that, or if this verbal jousting was unintentional.

  “A ‘surge’ isn’t love, Jack.” Zooey’s voice softened a little and she leaned forward to smooth down his collar. “Love is looking forward to something. To thinking about it when you don’t have to because you want to. Love is anticipation. And sacrifice.”

  She was standing too close, he thought. He was standing too close. But stepping back would seem almost cowardly. So he stood his ground and wondered what the hell was going on. And why. “For a single woman you seem to know a lot about love.”

  “Don’t have to have a ring on your finger to know about love, Jack.” The smile on her lips seemed to somehow bring her even closer to him. “Do you know about love?”

  Okay, now he knew where this was headed. She was trying to get him to spend more time at home. Which would have been fine—if somehow his work could do itself. But it couldn’t. “If you’re asking me if I love my children, yes, I love my children. I also don’t want them doing without things.”

  Again she moved her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving his. Where did she get off, passing judgment? Telling him how to be a father when she’d never been a parent? The desire to put her in her place was very strong, almost as strong as the desire to take her in his arms and kiss her.

  Exercising the extreme control he prided himself on, Jack did neither.

  “The first thing they shouldn’t be doing without,” she told him softly, “is you.”

  Okay, it was time to bail out. Now. “This conversation is circular.”

  His harsh tone did not have the desired effect on her. “That’s because all roads lead to ‘Daddy.’”

  Retreat was his only option. So with a shrug, Jack turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Zooey cried, just as he crossed the threshold.

  “Somebody else I forgot to say goodbye to?” he asked sarcastically. The woman was definitely getting under his skin and he needed to put distance between them. Before he did something that was going to cost him.

  To his surprise, Zooey was dashing toward the living room. “No,” she called over her shoulder, “but you did forget something.” The next moment, she was back at the front door with his briefcase in her hands. She held it out to him with an amused smile on her face. “Here, you might need this.”

  Jack wrapped his fingers around the handle, pulling it to him with a quick motion she hadn’t expected. The momentum had her jerking forward. And suddenly, there was absolutely no space between them. Not for a toothpick, not even for a sliver of air.

  The foyer grew warmer.

  Zooey could feel her heart accelerating just a touch as she looked up at him. Something threatened to melt inside her, as it always did when she stopped thinking of him as Emily and Jackie’s father, or her boss, and saw him at the most basic level—a very good-looking man who did, on those occasions when she let her guard drop, take her breath away.

  It
was so still, she could hear her pulse vibrating in her ears.

  “Wouldn’t want you to go into the office without your briefcase,” she finally said, doing her best to sound glib. Not an easy feat when all the moisture had suddenly evaporated from her mouth.

  Damn it, it had happened again, Jack thought, annoyed with himself. From out of nowhere, riding on a lightning bolt, that same strong sense of attraction to her had materialized, just as it already had several times before. Each time, it felt as if a little more of his resolve was chipped away.

  He had no idea why it overwhelmed him, when other times he could go along regarding her as his children’s supernanny, a woman who somehow seemed to get everything done and not break a sweat. A woman his children seemed to adore and who could, thank God, calm them down even in their rowdiest moments.

  All he knew was that every so often, every single pulse point in his body suddenly became aware of her as a woman. A very attractive woman.

  He took a breath, trying not to appear as if his lungs had suddenly and mysteriously been depleted of the last ounce of oxygen.

  “No, can’t have that,” he murmured, then nodded his head. “Thanks.”

  She smiled that odd little smile of hers, the one that quirked up in one corner. The one he wanted to kiss off her lips.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Jack merely grunted, then turned and walked quickly to the safe haven of the garage. He never looked back. Even so, he knew she was watching him.

  She made him feel like a kid. The last thing he should be feeling, given the responsibilities weighing so heavily on his shoulders.

  Damn it, what was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be letting himself react to her.

  But he had. And not for the first time.

  This was going to be a problem, Jack thought, getting into his BMW. He couldn’t act on his feelings. For the first time since Patricia had died, his children appeared to be happy. And thriving. If he gave in to the flash of desire—damn, it had been desire, he admitted with exasperation—and things went badly, what would he do? He hadn’t the first idea how to conduct a successful relationship. He had no blueprints to follow, no natural ability of his own—Patricia had been the first to point that out to him.