Amber's Embrace (12 page)

In the wake of this soul-searching, as the pretense of doing chores gave way to an aimless pacing of the floor, she made two vows. In the first place, she would
not
allow herself the state of abandonment she had experienced last night
until
the time came that she was willing to see it through. It was both compromising to her own self-respect and unfair to Zachary.

In the second place, she would begin to date more. Perhaps it was the effect of the long starvation diet she’d been on which had enhanced the manly offerings of Zachary Wilder. If so, the only solution was to broaden her exposure. Corey might help her in that bid, as might David Brigham, both of whom had offered so recently. The summer, with Scott away, was a perfect opportunity—as both of her friends had bluntly pointed out to her. Resolve was strong to take them up on their gallant offers.

These tentative decisions having been made, Amber put through her regular call to Scott. When a strange female voice, disturbingly groggy sounding at what would have been nine thirty in the morning, West Coast time, answered the phone, an odd disquietude fell over her. Scott, however, coming on the line within the minute, was as ebullient as ever.

“Hey, Mom,” he burst out, fast on the heels of the customary “hi’s” and “how are you’s,” “you’ll never guess what! Dad is getting married again.”

Stunned and speechless for a moment, Amber struggled to integrate this information. The passage of time had served to remove any lingering feelings she harbored toward Ron even after that initial anger and hurt had destroyed most of them. There were no thoughts of reconciliation, nor had there ever been, since that day she had finally decided on a divorce. But the news that Scott was to have a stepmother shook her. For some unfathomable reason, she suddenly felt threatened … and more alone than ever.

“That’s very nice, Scottie,” she finally managed to offer. His excitement was obvious and innocent. For years she had made the supreme effort never to taint Ron in Scott’s mind. Now, she wrestled with her own feelings to keep from squelching the young boy’s enthusiasm. “Do you like her?”

“Sure, Mom! She’s really nice.” The image of the wide-opened eyes in the sandy-haired head of her son brought moistness to her eyes. She missed him. But he sounded very content. “Her name is Marietta and she has blond hair like yours and she’s really pretty. They’re getting married in two weeks, so I’ll be able to be in the wedding.” The knot in Amber’s stomach tightened again.

The slight tremor of her voice was absorbed by the long-distance telephone lines. “That’s very exciting. Your father must be pleased.” She chewed her lip, praying that her words did not have the bitter overtone in Scott’s hearing that they had in hers.

Mercifully, the boy was oblivious. “He is, Mom. And, guess what?”

“What?”

“They’re going away by themselves for a few days after the wedding,” he began, “but then they’re coming back to pick me up. We’re all going to the Grand Canyon.” It was one of the Seven Wonders of the World; Scott’s voice conveyed the appropriate relish.

“Oh, hon, that’s terrific! You’ll love the Grand Canyon!” In her heart, Amber knew he would—and she was grateful to her ex-husband for wanting to take him, new wife and all. “How long will you be there?”

The conversation went on for another ten minutes, proceeding to a run-down of the other things that filled Scott’s California days, aside from the impending marriage. Amber hung up the phone thoroughly convinced that her son was healthy and happy—but inexplicably distraught herself. On impulse, she lifted the receiver again. Within two hours, she was firmly ensconced in a corner of the white wicker love seat at the apartment of her friend, Corey, in Brookline.

“Okay, love, tell Mother what’s bothering you,” the redheaded woman demanded gently, plopping her slender form on the opposite end of the love seat.

Speaking her own thoughts aloud, Amber began. “It really bothers me that he’s getting married again, and I can’t, for the life of me, imagine why!” The shimmering olive gaze that settled on her friend reflected her confusion.

“Well, then, let’s take it step by step,” the other suggested, her analytical approach to life and medicine coming to the fore. “Do you miss Ron?”

“No!”

“Are you sorry you got the divorce?”

“No!”

“Good.” A broad smile creased her friend’s soft complexion. “Now that we have
that
out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks. Scott sounded pleased with the situation?”

A mild frown passed over Amber’s forehead. “Yes.”

“And that bothers you?”

After a long pause and with great self-disdain, Amber grimaced. “In a way, yes.”

“Go on,” Corey prodded, seeking those emotions in Amber which she, herself, would have felt in the circumstances.

Amber hesitated, struggling to find the words to express her jumbled feelings. “I want Scottie to be happy, and he
did
seem to be, on the phone. But … there is that tiny voice in me that wants … Scott … to hate … that woman.”

Corey’s sensitivity precluded any mockery. “Jealousy.”

“Of her as Ron’s wife,
no!
Of her as Scott’s stepmother”—her voice lowered in reluctant confession—“yes.”

“But that’s perfectly natural, Amber. You’ve been the only mother Scott has known; the thought of his having a stepmother is bound to be a threat.”

Grateful that her friend understood, Amber smiled sadly. “I suppose it was inevitable that it would happen one day. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

“I know, love. I know.” Corey leaned forward and lightly patted her friend’s knee. “You just have to get used to the idea. And there is really nothing for you to feel threatened by. After all, by court order, you have Scott for ten months out of every year.”

“You’re right, Corey. Of course, you are. I just feel so … weird.” Her gaze flickered self-consciously up. “More alone … if that makes any sense.”

“What you need is a social life, love. I’ve told you that before.” The air was rent with expectancy as Corey paused.

Whether Amber had hoped for just this line of conversation when she had rushed to Corey’s place, she wasn’t sure. It did fit in with her own way of thinking, after last night. “You may be right,” she acknowledged with a knowing shrug.

“Look, love, I’ve mentioned this one guy before. He’s great. Why don’t you let me fix you up with him?”

Open-minded now, Amber faced her friend with interest. “Tell me about him.”

Corey needed no more encouragement. “He is a doctor, in his late thirties. Divorced. I’ve met him at several medical meetings. He’s tall, dark, and very good-looking. Well-mannered, interesting, dignified.”

The description fit perfectly that of the man whose allure she was trying to escape by seeing other men. The coincidence would be too great, yet the medical community was a close-knit one. Amber had to satisfy the gnawing in the back of her mind. “And his name?”

“Zachary Wilder.”

Her laugh held the hint of hysterics in its high pitch. “I can’t believe that!”

Corey’s eyes rounded as she misinterpreted her friend’s reaction. “That
is
his name—what’s so unbelievable?”

“Oh, Corey, it’s not his name that’s so incredible; it’s just that I already … know … Zachary.”

When the redhead perked up this time, it was in surprise. “You
know
him?” Then, her eyes narrowed as quickly. “You
know
him—exactly what do you mean by—know?” Amber’s blush didn’t escape her friend’s notice. “Come on, spill it. You’re holding out on me, Amber…” Her singsong tone trailed off, awaiting a reply.

Briefly, Amber outlined the occasions on which she and Zachary had met and spent time with one another, deliberately downplaying the attraction she felt for him and totally omitting the culmination of their date the evening before.

“So you
were
holding out on me,” the other chided, reading more into Amber’s veiled gaze than she was ready to confront.

“No, Corey, there was really nothing to tell you,” she fibbed lightly. “Our paths just seem to keep crossing.”

Corey’s brows knit in puzzlement. “He’s quite a man. Aren’t you pleased that you keep bumping into him? He’d be a terrific companion.”

“A little … overpowering.” It was an understatement, but Amber’s only concession to honesty. “You must know someone else … a little … less intense?”

It was the redhead’s turn to laugh. “And here I thought I’d have to twist your arm! Sure, love, I’ll find you a proper date,” she assured her warmly. “Hold Wednesday night open. This one guy I have in mind will be off duty then.”

Trying her best to ignore the second thoughts that had already begun to spring up, Amber smiled. “Wednesday night, it is.”

*   *   *

Wednesday night it was, and a disaster from the word “go.” The fellow was a pediatric cardiologist, a resident whom Corey had met at the hospital. He was, by all objective standards, prime material for a fun evening—handsome, witty, filled with energy. They spent the evening at a disco club, where he danced both himself and Amber ragged, as though letting off the steam of his more disciplined career. Where he managed to get the energy, when they finally left the place at midnight, to turn his attentions toward her, she didn’t know. But suddenly she was in the hands of a lecher, fighting fingers that roamed her body irreverently, dodging lips that plundered in like manner—and all in the cramped front seat of his sporty, if somewhat battered, Karmann Ghia.

“Hey, babe, come on, loosen up!” he had ordered thickly, driven to passion by a mix of alcohol and Amber’s undeniable attractiveness. For her part, there was nothing but revulsion, which she proceeded to outline for him in no uncertain terms, when he persisted in forcing his unwanted advances on her. The evening had ended soon after, but only after a few hurtful morsels had been thrown back at her. Fortunately, her recent responses to Zachary Wilder convinced her that she was neither an “ice maiden” nor “frigid.” In fact, throughout the ordeal, her mind reverted repeatedly to the pleasure she had so recently found in Zachary’s arms—and these thoughts made the present situation that much more offensive.

When Corey apologized profusely the following morning, Amber was quick to assure her that she had had no way of knowing the lusty intentions of her friend—and that no permanent harm had been done. In Amber’s mind, the experience had convinced her that she was not merely sex-starved, which she had begun to wonder at one point the weekend before. Yet the dilemma remained of how to cope with her chemical reaction to Zachary. For the second time in a few short days, she dialed the phone again in search of an antidote.

“David,” she began, having finally succeeded in locating her parents’ friend at his home that evening, “you suggested, when we had dinner, that you had this client…” Awkwardly, she let her words trail off. It had been easier with Corey, who had actually broached the subject herself. Unaccustomed to requests of this sort, Amber stumbled unsurely. “I—think I’d like—to go out—to have some fun…”

Mercifully, David Brigham followed her stammered words. Delighted, he jumped to her assistance. “You want that date I promised you! Good girl! This fellow is perfect for you.” Then, hit by a brainstorm, he continued. “As a matter of fact, I’m having a group of people to the house on Saturday night. A very informal type of thing. Why don’t you come? I’ll introduce you to him there—assuming he’s free.”

Bidden by the same doubts she’d felt at Corey’s, Amber pushed for more information. There was something terribly fateful about her previous encounters with one particular doctor, as though the two of them were destined to be thrown together. Hadn’t her very decision to date other men been, in part, in response to this frightening sense of inevitability?

“What’s his name, David?”

“Uh-uh,” the voice on the line reproached her, “you’ll just have to come and see. If he can’t make it on Saturday, I’ll give you a call. On second thought,” he caught himself, “you come anyway! There will be any number of other interesting people for you to meet.”

“I don’t know, David—” she began in protest, one small part of her rebelling against the dubious wisdom of the entire plan.

“Well, I do, Amber. Trust me. This is the smartest thing you could be doing! Now, you just get yourself over here, looking as beautiful as you always do, and leave the rest to me. All right?”

The internal protest continued, but she heard her voice echo his “all right.” As she hung up the phone, she wondered whether she was only asking for more trouble. At least, she reasoned, this time there would be the safety of a larger group of friendly people, with David to chaperone. And coming in her own car, there would be no repeat of the debacle of the evening before.

Friday morning brought the awareness, much as she fought its recognition, that she had heard nothing yet from Zachary. He had gone to Atlanta on Monday, with no word left as to the day of his anticipated return. Perhaps it was his absence which had given her the courage to go out on Wednesday night, though why she felt guilty about that, she didn’t know. Arriving in her cubby of an office, laden with material on which she had worked at home, the thought crossed her mind to check with his office as to the date of his expected return. She had the perfect excuse, in the interview she’d had with him; it would be simple to tell his secretary that there were several points she had wanted to review before the final typing. In the end, pride kept her hand from the phone. If Zachary returned and wanted to see her, he could just contact her himself.

The last thing she expected was for it to happen that very morning. Head bent low over her work, she had momentarily blocked out all activity in the outer offices. The deep voice startled her from her concentration, demolishing it instantly.

“How are you, Amber?”

With a jerk, she straightened to find herself face-to-face with him. “Zachary!” she exclaimed, willing herself to keep calm and cool, “I didn’t know you were back.”

“I arrived early this morning and came directly to the hospital,” he explained, his eyes deep blue and glittering. “Things have piled up during my absence. This is the first break I’ve had.”