ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) (20 page)

God, how long could it take him? How long before he stood up and waved a fist in the air,

the way she’d seen him do so often when she was a child, sitting in the front pew cowering at his hellfire-and-damnation sermons?

She could hear her neighbors on one side, laughing and talking as they barbecued. Across the alley children hollered as they bounced on a trampoline. All of them were going to hear Zacharias loud and clear when he blew, she thought dismally. Her father had a good voice for preaching and ranting, deep and resonant and carrying. She’d never thought about it, but it was probably where she'd inherited her own distinctive vocal cords.

She pretended to be totally absorbed with Graham, but every nerve ending was alert and waiting.

Silence. She stole a sidelong glance at Zacharias.

The newspaper had fallen on the grass. He was absolutely still. His chin was lowered, the hat pulled down over his eyes.

It dawned on her that he was probably praying for her immortal soul. This was only the calm before the storm.

She remembered how he used to make her wait this way when she’d done something he disapproved of. She remembered shaking so hard she couldn’t stand, even wetting her pants when she was really little.

It was emotional blackmail, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with it, not anymore. 

“Well, Papa?” She was proud of sounding both defiant and confrontational. If he was going to holler, she'd holler too.

He lifted his head and looked at her, and she couldn’t believe her own eyes. Tears were rolling slowly down his face, getting caught in the deep wrinkles around his nose and mouth. He sniffed, then sniffed again.

“I failed you, Maxine.” His voice was thick, and he fumbled in the pocket of his vest and pulled out an old-fashioned snowy handkerchief, the same kind she’d ironed for him countless times when she was a little girl aching for his approval. He mopped his face and blew his nose, a harsh, prolonged honk that made Graham jump and then giggle.

“Why didn’t you come home, daughter? You got yourself in trouble; you should’ve come home”—he gestured at the newspaper—“instead of doing that."

Speechless, Maxine stared at him. She’d never once even considered going home. She’d known all too well what her reception would have been.

Zacharias obviously read in her face what she was thinking, because his face flushed and he nodded and dropped his gaze.

"It’s a small town," he said rhetorically. "People talk. I’m the minister; there have to be standards.”

You’ve made your bed; now lie in it.
He’d left out that part. She remembered all the words vividly, because they were what she’d heard all her life, the very reason she’d left when she did, the same reason she’d never returned. But the way he said them this time was different, as if he might suspect they had flaws.

“The prodigal son came home, and was met with rejoicing,” he said softly. "You might have given me a chance, at least, Maxine.”

“Oh, Papa.” Feeling frustrated and confused, she realized that once again he’d found a way to blame her, even if it wasn’t for what she’d expected. She didn’t know what to say to him. If she had gone home, she knew her reception would have been the nightmare she imagined.

But then, how could she be certain? It was obvious that Zacharias needed to think otherwise, and what was the point of arguing? It was a hypothetical situation. This was here and now.

“I'm taking this little guy inside, he needs his diaper changed.” She scooped Graham more firmly into her arms. “Do you want any dinner, Papa, or should I just put it away?”

“No, no. I’m coming in now." He got up, scuffing his feet on the grass to dry them. He picked up his shoes and socks, Graham’s clothing, and the newspaper. He folded the paper carefully, and then followed her inside in silence.

Maxine bathed Graham and fed him dinner.

Zacharias was quiet. He made a pretense of eating, but Maxine noticed the food on his plate was untouched. He watched the television news and was seemingly deep into Law and Order while she was putting Graham to bed.

Zacharias looked away from the television when she came tiptoeing out of the baby’s room. “You always rock the boy to sleep?”

“Always.” She sighed, waiting for the lecture on child rearing she was sure would follow.

“Your mother did that with you.” The words were terse, but there was no criticism in them.

“I remember." Tears sprang to her eyes. There was also much about her mother she didn’t know, things she longed to ask. 

Zacharias surprised her again. “I brought some old picture albums for you,” he said. “The boy should know where he comes from. I’ll get them.”

It was hard to look at the yellowed photos, images of her parents, her grandparents, herself as a baby and a young girl. The last photo of Maxine had been taken on her sixteenth birthday. She traced her finger over the smiling young girl with the unruly hair.

“Your mother was always the picture taker,” Zacharias said almost defensively. “I never held much with that sort of thing.”

Maxine’s throat was thick with tears. “Thank you so much for bringing me these, Papa.” It was hard to believe he’d been so thoughtful. “I’ll treasure them; it means so much to me to have them.”

“Hmmmph. They were in that drawer in the sideboard. I never bother with them.”

Judging by the well-worn pages, Maxine didn’t think that was strictly true, but she didn’t say anything.

"I want to talk to you, daughter.” He sat up straighter in the armchair, and she waited silently, heart sinking. Maybe the showdown had only been postponed.

“I want to pay for this night school you’re taking, and send you an allowance each month to live on,” he began, holding up a hand in the imperious way he’d always used to stop her from saying anything.

Not that she was about to; she could feel her jaw hanging open and she closed her mouth abruptly.

“I have a fair bit of money from investments over the years. It’ll go to you and the boy anyway, when I’m gone. Might as well make use of it now when you need it.” He scowled ferociously at her. "And don’t argue, Maxine. My mind is made up.”

She opened her mouth to refuse and saw the vulnerable look in his eyes. He needed to help her, she suddenly realized. He cared about her. It wasn’t the way she wanted him to care, but maybe it was the only way he knew how.

And she had no doubts at all about his feelings for Graham. She’d brought the baby, bathed and in fresh blue pajamas, to say good night. Zacharias had smiled, taken him in his arms, and kissed him soundly, once on each cheek, and then he’d actually closed his eyes and cuddled him against his chest for the moment Graham allowed it.

She had to accept. “Thank you. Papa. I appreciate it very much. It’s really generous of you.”

The surprise on his craggy face was almost funny. He’d fully expected an argument.

“Well, then,” he said gruffly. “We won’t speak of it again.” He turned back to the television, and Maxine watched him instead of the screen. Maybe the rest of the visit wouldn't be as bad as she’d feared.

A commercial came on, and he turned to her. “The locks on your doors are a disgrace, Maxine. Same as the car. It's careless of you and dangerous not to protect the boy better than that. I’m calling a locksmith first thing in the morning. And when was the last time that car had an oil change? Motor sounds like a washing machine. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, I always say.”

He always had said that. He had a million such sayings, all of which seemed designed to drive her wacky. She knew she was going to hear every single one in the endless days ahead.

She gritted her teeth and used her fingers to count the number of days remaining in his visit, and she wished with all her heart that there were someone else around, someone who’d know how to buffer the sharp edges between her and her difficult father.

“The man who wrote that article in the paper. You knew him well?”

Maxine jumped. It was as if Zacharias had read her mind and then gone one step farther. “Yes, I did.”

“Was he, one of your . . . your, ummm, your callers . . . ?”

"Yes. No.” She took a shaky breath and wondered how best to describe Harry to her father. 

"He did call, but he wasn’t at all like the others. I thought at first he was a gentleman. But then he . . . he . . .”

“Lied to you, did he?" Her father’s expression was thunderous. "Can’t abide liars; it’s the worst sin."

Maxine thought it over. She was seeing things in a strange new way tonight. "Actually, Papa, Harry told me the truth."

And maybe that was why she couldn’t seem to forget him.

“But I wanna see Graham, Daddy.” Sadie’s bottom lip stuck out, and she gave Harry an accusing look. “Why can’t I see Graham? You know how to drive to his house, so lets go. Now.”

Harry sighed and searched for an explanation that would stop her incessant nagging. "Graham’s mommy is mad at me, punkin. She doesn’t want me to come to her house.”

"Well, ’pologize, Daddy. Say you’re sorry and you won’t do it again.”

“I tried that, Sadie. It didn’t work.”

“Try again. You always say to me, try again.”

He had tried, numerous times. He’d finally admitted that the next move had to be Maxine's. He stared down into his stubborn daughter’s eyes and, coward that he was, felt immeasurably relieved when the phone rang.

"How about drawing a picture, sweetheart?" He shoved a pad of paper and ink markers at Sadie. “We can send it to Graham, okay?” Grudgingly she nodded, and with a sigh of relief he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

The woman on the other end said she was calling from Seattle. “I read your article on phone sex?" she began.

He felt like vomiting. The feature had been picked up and reprinted by newspapers and magazines on both sides of the border. Harry had already made more money on it than he ever had on a single piece, and not an hour passed in which he wished to God he’d never written it.

"I’d rather not tell you my name,” she said in answer to his question. “But I do happen to know the guy you mentioned in the article, Ricky Shwartz?”

Harry’s hand tightened on the receiver and he started to sweat. The bitterness in her voice and the way she said the name told him that it was no longer the love match of the century; obviously she was royally pissed off with Shwartz.

His toes curled inside his shoes. It took effort to keep his voice calm. “You don't happen to know where he is now, do you?”

"Yeah, matter of fact, I do." There was vindictiveness and triumph in her tone. “That’s why I called you, actually. Until a couple weeks ago, I was with that louse, until the night I found out he was double dipping. He’s not in Costa Rica like you said in the article, either, the lying SOB. We never went there at all. He’s at a ski resort in the B.C. Rockies, a town called Fernie. He bought a Cessna. He flies in skiers in the winter and fishermen in the summer, but I don’t know how long he’ll stay there. He’s got a new pal and she’s married. I think he’s planning on moving before her husband catches on.” She made a sad noise that should have been a laugh. "Which might be real soon, because I just called the poor sucker.”

“D’you know where Shwartz is staying?”

“He’s got a basement suite; here’s the address and phone number.” She read them off and Harry copied them down. He thanked her profusely, heart thumping with excitement. The cursed article might do some good for Maxine after all. He hung up and frantically searched his address book for Polly’s cell number.

“I made this for Graham, Daddy." Sadie held up a vivid red and purple abstract.

"That’s beautiful, honey. He’ll love it." He had a sense of urgency now. “Daddy has to make one more phone call, so you do another picture for Mrs. Campanato, okay?”

Sadie gave him a look and shook her head. “I did her lots already. I’m gonna make one for 

Maxine. To tell her you’re sorry, Daddy. Then she’ll like you again, right?”

He swallowed hard and gave his optimistic angel a wry smile. “Hope springs eternal, kiddo. You never know your luck.” He found the number, picked up the phone, and dialed.

Polly’s cell was ringing, and it felt like a reprieve. Bruce was sitting next to her, on her sofa in her apartment. He was asking her to have sex with him, but now she was the one having second thoughts. He was really scaring her, damn his unpredictable hide.

She’d been about to head off to work an hour ago when he appeared at her door, blond hair rumpled, brown eyes bloodshot, jaw sprouting stubble. He’d been up all night delivering a baby girl, he explained, and he’d stopped off on the chance that maybe she had some strong coffee brewed. But if she was just about to go to work, he added, he’d head home and get some sleep.

There was something about him, an elusive expression in his eyes, a certain tone to his voice, that kept her from snapping out that that yes, she was going to work, and maybe he ought to have accepted her invitation to coffee, and what that stood for, the last time they’d been out together.

Instead she invited him in and poured him a cup from the pot she’d made earlier that morning. She called the office and had her secretary cancel her ten-o’clock appointment. Eleven as well, she added on impulse. Maybe, just maybe, the guy had come to his senses at last. She wasn’t averse to morning sex, not at all.

Bruce didn’t say anything at first. He gulped the coffee and walked around her living room, but she didn’t think he was really noticing anything, which was probably a blessing, because she hadn’t picked up the slacks, bra, and underpants she’d discarded on the rug when she got home from work yesterday. Not that they really stood out amongst the rest of the litter. Even without her leg in a cast, she wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but then, he wasn’t exactly moving in, so what did it matter?

“You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here,” he said a bare second before she was about to ask. “See, we nearly lost the baby’s mother.”

For an instant Polly didn’t get it. She was thinking lost as in misplaced and thinking,
Isn’t that typical of a bloody hospital?
But the expression in his eyes brought sudden, shocking understanding, and without another thought, she made her clumsy way over to him and put her arms around him, letting the crutches fall where they would.

"That must have been so scary.” She could smell hospital on him, but for some reason it didn’t even bother her.

“It was.” The words began slowly and then accelerated. “The pregnancy was very high risk, she has a heart condition. I advised against her getting pregnant in the first place, but she wanted this baby so much.”

She felt the shudder go through him.

“It was close, too close.” His strong arms were supporting her, although she had the strangest feeling it was she holding him up. “It was a brave and foolhardy thing for her to do, having this little girl. Beautiful baby, but what a price.”

Polly thought about the woman. “I think I’d do the same.”

There was a pause, and then he said in a different tone, “You want babies that much?”

“Yup.” The yearning in her voice surprised her. “More than almost anything.”

His mouth was close to her ear. "Enough to take a chance on commitment, Polly?"

She stiffened and moved away from him, hopping on one leg over to the nearby sofa and plunking down, scowling up at him. She was having trouble getting her breath.

“Just what do you mean by that?”

He rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers and sat down beside her. “Only that as soon as someone gets close or shows signs of caring about you, you dump them.”

“How do you know that?” Her temper flared. “You should talk about getting close. You're the one who avoids sex as if I had some contagious disease.” 

“Yeah, and it’s almost killing me. See, I don’t want to lose you, Polly, and that’s exactly what would happen if I took you to bed.”

She sputtered out a denial, but it didn’t sound very authentic, and he didn’t buy it.

"I happen to think we could be good together,” he went on as if she hadn’t made a sound. "Really good.” His voice was firm and a little wistful. "But you’d have to commit to staying around long enough to get to know me. You’d have to trust, and that’s a big learning curve."

He held her stormy gaze, even though she was shooting killer rays at him with her eyes.

“I know, because you and I are alike, Polly. I went along for years doing exactly what you do, love ’em and leave ’em before they had a chance to do it to me."

She wanted to laugh and say that he didn’t know the first thing about her, but she couldn’t. His words, his assessment of her, went straight to the place inside where the truth lived. On some level, she’d known for a long time what she was doing. She just hadn’t been able to look at it and stop.

“How brave are you, Polly? Will you commit to more than sex with me?” There wasn’t a trace of teasing or laughter in his voice or in his eyes. “Getting naked physically is easy. It's getting naked emotionally that takes guts and fortitude.”

She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone. She wanted to step off the cliff and agree to what he was proposing, but the fear was overwhelming, and before she could face it, she heard the cell phone in her handbag start to ring.