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fourteen
"Mom. What are you doing here?" Caitlyn asked.
Marilyn Devereaux stood in the doorway wearing a stark black suit with
a silky white blouse. Her
power suit, she liked to call it, the one
she reserved for faculty dinners. Caitlyn felt her heart sink down
to
her stomach. Marilyn wanted something, and Caitlyn had a feeling her
mother wouldn't be leaving
until she got it.
"I came to speak to you, of course," Marilyn replied. "Can I come in?"
"I'm actually on my way out."
"I can see that." Marilyn's brows knitted into a thoughtful frown, as
if Caitlyn's attire had suddenly thrown her plans off kilter. "Are you
going to see Brian?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, I won't keep you long."
"All right." Caitlyn stepped back and let her mother into the
apartment, feeling a bit like a child who
had just been caught with a
messy bedroom.
"My goodness," Marilyn exclaimed. "This looks more like a sweatshop
than an apartment."
"Since I'm the one doing the sweating, I guess that's okay."
"Jolie told me that your customer base is growing and that the shop is
very successful. You must be proud."
"I am proud for both Jolie and myself. We're still taking it day by
day, though. We don't want to get overconfident, but for the most part
things look good."
Marilyn picked up a piece of lace and fingered it thoughtfully. "You're
so different from me," she mused. "I was never interested in sewing. I
can't even hem a pair of pants. In fact, not many of the womanly
arts
come naturally to me. Thank goodness for housekeepers," she said with a
quick smile.
"You didn't come to talk to me about housekeepers, did you, Mom?"
Somehow Caitlyn didn't think her mother had come to talk about her
wedding business, either.
"No. I wanted to speak to you about Brian."
Caitlyn sighed, knowing what was ahead. "I know how you feel, Mom. I
know you and Dad love Brian."
"You used to love him, too. And I saw the care you took planning your
wedding, designing your dress, the invitations we picked out together."
"What's your point?"
"I know that you were angry when Brian left to take the fellowship. You
thought he was putting his career before you—the way your father and I
had done."
Caitlyn couldn't quite believe her mother would admit to that.
"I'm not stupid," Marilyn said, catching her eye. "I know I'm not the
mother you wanted. I remember when you used to visit Stacey Dempsey.
You would describe Mrs. Dempsey's homemade after-school snacks ad
nauseum. And the lunches Mrs. Dempsey made for Stacey always had
Tupperware containers in them with roast beef and carrots and all the
little things that made a lunch special, including silly notes from her
mother. And Mrs. Dempsey made Halloween costumes and volunteered at
school and even made her own candles. You wanted to be her little girl
so badly. I was terribly jealous."
"I don't think that's entirely true," Caitlyn said, somewhat uncertain
and wary of her mother's odd reflective mood. They'd never shared many
confidences over the years; her mother had been far too
busy for such
conversations. In fact, she was surprised her mother even remembered
Mrs. Dempsey.
"Oh, it was true, all right. You wanted me to be the kind of mother I
didn't know how to be."
"I suspect you didn't get the daughter you wanted, either."
"I wish I could fix this breach between us, dear."
'"I know you do. You always want to fix everything."
"It's been worse since the accident,"' Marilyn continued. "Nothing I
said was right. And after Brian left, you grew even more distant. I
wish you would have seen a therapist. Although it's not too late."
"A therapist wouldn't have made me feel differently about Brian,
because the truth is . . ." Caitlyn hesitated, realizing how big a
place the truth had come to demand. "The truth is that I feel
differently about myself, and I have since the accident."
"You're just the same, Caitlyn, more beautiful than ever. Even the
scars have faded. No one would
ever know."
"But I know. And I can't sweep it under the rug even though that's what
the rest of you want to do."
"We don't want to do that. We just want you to get on with your life."
"I have gotten on with my life. I'm just not doing it in the manner
you'd like to see. But you know what, Mother, that's okay, because I
don't hear the same tune you do."
Marilyn looked confused. "What does this have to do with music?"
Caitlyn smiled, feeling more self-assured than she had in years, maybe
because for the first time in her
life she wasn't trying to defend
herself. "I march to a different beat than you and Dad and Brian. I've
tried forever to keep up with you, but I can't. I've only just now
realized that it's all right. You're a
great Marilyn Devereaux. You
don't need a clone. I don't have to be you."
"I never wanted you to be me."
"Didn't you? Why all the repairs, then? The extreme efforts you took to
make me better?"
"I just wanted you to be the best you could be."
Caitlyn looked into her mother's eyes and saw that she really believed
what she was saying. "Maybe that was your motive, but your repairs
always made me feel like a very ugly work in progress. When I had a
problem I was afraid to tell you, because I knew you'd criticize
whatever choice I'd made."
Marilyn shook her head in amazement. "All these years you've felt this
way, and you've never said anything?"
"I tried about a thousand times."
"Well, you didn't try hard enough."
Caitlyn smiled with exasperation. "Did you just hear yourself?"
Marilyn started, then stopped. "Oh, that didn't come out right, did it?"
"Nope."
"Well." Her mother nodded. "I guess it was good we had this little
chat." She turned her head as a knock came at the door.
Matt, Caitlyn realized with dismay. She'd hoped to get rid of her
mother before Matt arrived.
"Who's that?"
"Matt."
"Your neighbor? You're going on a date with your neighbor?"
"Not a date, just dinner with some friends."
Matt rapped more impatiently this time, and Caitlyn moved over to
answer the door.
She'd already felt unsettled by her mother's arrival, but seeing Matt
fresh from a shower with damp hair and clean-shaven cheeks, smelling of
something deliciously sexy, took the rest of her breath away. Not
to
mention the fact that this ruggedly handsome male was holding a baby in
his arms, a baby dressed all
in pink and wearing a slightly askew hair
ribbon that Matt had obviously tried to attach.
A pleased smile spread across Caitlyn's face as she reached out and
straightened the ribbon. "You put it on her even though you thought it
was silly for her to wear a ribbon when she didn't have much hair."
"Well, you liked it," he said huskily. "And this is her first evening
out."
"She's beautiful."
"So are you." Matt's gaze shifted as he looked past Caitlyn. "Oh. I
didn't realize your mother was here. Hello, Mrs. Devereaux."
"Hello, Matt. Please call me Marilyn."
"Marilyn," he acknowledged.
A silence fell between them—an awkward silence, Caitlyn thought.
"I can wait for you," Matt said. "Just knock on my door when you're
ready."
"I'm ready now."
"Yes, she's ready." Marilyn moved close enough to Matt to stroke
Emily's head. "Where did you say
her mother is?"
"Uh, my sister had to go away for a few days."
"I hope your sister doesn't suffer for her absence. Children have a way
of blaming their parents for everything that goes wrong in their life."
Marilyn looked back at Caitlyn. "You may have thought I didn't need you
in my life or want you there because you weren't perfect. Strangely
enough, I've felt the same way." She let the words sink in for a
moment, then said, "But no matter what you think, Caitlyn, I do love
you, and that will never change."
Caitlyn felt a suspicious moisture in her eyes as she watched her
mother say good-bye to Matt and walk down the hall. She wanted to say
something back, but the words wouldn't quite come.
"It's not too late," Matt said. "You can catch her at the elevator."
Caitlyn debated, then shook her head. "Not tonight."
"Did you tell her—"
"Not that. But other stuff." She drew in a breath and forced a smile on
her face. "Let's go to dinner."
"Did I tell you that you look incredibly sexy tonight?"
"You mentioned something about beautiful, but I don't think I heard
sexy."
"Sexy and beautiful. By the way, don't be surprised if my friends try
to do some matchmaking. Like
your parents, they'd love to see me
happily attached to a woman."
Caitlyn was beginning to think she'd like to see the same thing—but not
just attached to any woman, attached to her.
*  *  *
Jonathan couldn't believe Sarah had left him without a word of
good-bye. He'd quizzed Pauline like a prosecuting attorney, knowing he
was completely over the top by the astonished expression on her face.
But he couldn't stop the feeling that in losing Sarah he was losing a
precious piece of himself that he
might not ever be able to get back.
He'd spent the afternoon looking for Sarah instead of considering his
probable transfer and the closing of the church. Now it was almost
seven, getting dark, and he was sitting in the living room of a house
that felt as cold as his heart. Why couldn't he hang on to things? Why
couldn't he make people do what he wanted them to do? Why couldn't he
find the right impassioned words to persuade?
His gaze drifted to the photograph on the mantel, his mother and father
on their wedding day. It was a photo no one had wanted but him.
His mother had left his father just after Jonathan's thirteenth
birthday, saying she couldn't come in second to God for the rest of her
life. And since Jonathan was almost a teenager, she thought it was best
if he lived with his father and visited her on the weekends. He'd
wanted to protest, but his father had agreed with the arrangement, and
Jonathan hadn't found the words to persuade them to do otherwise.
Now he was losing the church he'd come to love because everyone thought
it would be better for him to go somewhere else. And if he didn't speak
up, if he didn't say no, he'd be in the South Bay in less than a month,
leaving this neighborhood and the friends he'd made here without a
church, without a minister, and maybe without a friend. But
was he strong enough to fight for the church he served? Could he find
the right argument to convince the board that the church needed to stay
open?
And Sarah .. . where had she gone? Why had she left when he'd asked her
to wait?
He didn't know why he felt so strongly about this woman. Well, maybe he
did. Maybe he saw in her a little bit of himself, a lack of confidence,
a big heart, but the uncertainty of how to use that heart. He looked to
the ceiling and prayed. "Lord, I could use some help here. How can I
help Sarah if I can't
keep her close to me?" He paused. "Maybe I'm not
meant to help her. Is that it? Has she come into
my life for some other
reason?"
Not even God seemed to be speaking to him these days, Jonathan thought
with a depression that weighed heavy on his heart. But then the Lord
probably didn't have much patience for self-pity, and neither did
Jonathan. He was acting like he had to save the church himself, and all
by himself. It occurred to him
that that wasn't the way it was meant to
be. The only way to save the church was for the people of the community
to do it, and he hadn't asked them. The answer was suddenly glaringly
clear, so loud in his head he wondered if someone else had spoken, a
greater voice perhaps, he thought, directing another glance at the
ceiling. "Thanks," he muttered.
Jonathan got up and reached for the telephone. Maybe he couldn't
inspire a crowd, but he could influence people one by one. He dialed
the number of Martina Petrovka, one of the few loyal churchgoers they
had.
"Hello, Martina," he said when he heard her distinctively accented
voice on the other end of the phone.
"I need a favor."
"Whatever you need, Reverend Mitchell."
"I need you to call everyone you know," he began, his voice growing in
fervor with each passing word, until Martina was almost as excited by
the challenge as he was himself. He only had two weeks to turn things
around. Well, the Lord had created the world in seven days. Surely he
could save one small piece of that world in the next fourteen.
The doorbell rang through the house, lighting another spark of hope in
his heart. He opened the door
and breathed out the name that had been
on his lips all day. "Sarah."
"Jonathan," she said, calling him by his first name. They were suddenly
no longer minister and
supplicant, they were man and woman.
*  *  *
Caitlyn had never been so aware of a man's touch than on this night. It
had begun with Matt's hand on the small of her back as he ushered her
into the Sterns' home, then the brushes of their hands as he took Emily
out of her arms, the reassuring caress of his fingers on her thigh as
they sat next to each other at the dinner table.
Every time he touched her, a foolish little tingle ran down her spine.
She couldn't stop her pulse from speeding up when he smiled at her,
couldn't keep her heart from skipping a beat when he laughed or smiled.
She just hoped no one else was noticing.
"Caitlyn?"
She started, suddenly aware that everyone at the dinner table was
looking at her. So much for going unnoticed. "Did I miss something?"
"You aren't eating your dessert," Jackie said. "Is it all right?"
"It's fine. I was just thinking about.. ." Caitlyn darted a quick
glance at Matt, who had a little smile
teasing the edge of his mouth, and it occurred to her that all those
innocent
touches might have been deliberate. "I was just thinking about the
beautiful china in your cabinet," she prevaricated.
"It was my mother's," Jackie replied. "She gave the entire set to David
and me when we married. Part
of that 'something old' tradition. She
said she was more than happy to turn over the family dinners to
me, and
I might as well have the plates, too."
"They're beautiful. And I like that they're passed down. It makes the
setting more special."
"Oh, I agree. You must know a lot about weddings, Caitlyn. I bet you'll
have a spectacular one when
you get married."
Caitlyn shrugged, seeing Jackie and David exchange a conspiratorial
look.
"That's the problem with married people," Matt broke in. "They want
everyone else to get married so they can share their misery, I mean
happiness."
"'Very funny." Jackie made a face at him. "Marriage does not equal
misery. David and I are blissfully happy. Aren't we?"
"Uh, yeah," David said, sending her an annoyed look. "That is my leg
you're kicking, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Of course it's your leg. Tell Matt how happy you are."
Matt laughed. "Don't bother. It's written all over your face, buddy."
"I am happy." David smiled tenderly at his wife. "I never thought I
could be this happy. Even though I take a lot of bruises on my shin
when we have dinner guests."
Jackie leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll make it up to you
later."
"The best part of marital fights," David said with a wink in Matt's
direction.
"I'll let you in on a little secret. You don't have to get married to
have sex," Matt said dryly. "Despite
what they told us in gym class."
Caitlyn picked up her spoon and took a bite of her dessert as the
conversation flowed around her. The confection of chocolate mousse and
whipped cream slid down her throat in heavenly delight. "This is
fantastic."
"A recipe from my mother," Jackie said. "I'm glad you like it."
"I love it."
"So do I. I've been eating far too much of it the past nine months."
She rested her hand on her pregnant belly. "The only good thing is I
have a little table now to catch all the crumbs that drop from my
mouth."
Caitlyn stared at Jackie's stomach, and a gnawing ache developed in her
own abdomen. Why couldn't
she have lost the urge to have kids along
with the ability to do so?
"So, how do you like those Giants?" Matt asked, changing the subject
with a deliberation that did not
fool Caitlyn for one second. A
pleasing warmth spread through her as she realized he'd seen her
discomfort and acted on it without her even asking. That was the
difference between Matt and Brian. Brian needed a book to figure her
out. All Matt had to do was look at her.
"We are not talking sports," Jackie interrupted. "This is a dinner
party. Do you want to hear the names we've picked out for our baby?"
"Oh, honey, they don't want to hear that," David protested.
"Abigail if it's a girl and Matthew if it's a boy," Jackie said.
Matt looked stunned. "You're naming your kid after me?"
"It's not after you. It's after, uh, it's after David's Uncle Matt,"
Jackie said haltingly, correctly interpreting a pointed look from her
husband.
"It's just a coincidence," David said.
Matt didn't look like he believed either one of them, and Caitlyn
couldn't blame him. They were pathetically transparent.
"How did the three of you meet?" Caitlyn asked, deciding it was time to
save Matt from a little discomfort.
"I saved Matt's life," David replied.
"Correction, I saved his life," Matt said.
Caitlyn looked to Jackie, who groaned. "This could go on for the next
three hours, trust me. The short version is they met in a bar. Someone
insulted a woman. Matt took a swing at the guy. The guy took a swing at
Matt and hit David by accident."
"I swung back just in time to save Matt from getting his head bashed
in," David added.
"Then I saved him by throwing the guy over the bar."
"And they became best friends," Jackie finished. "Actually, they found
out they were both journalists,
and David got Matt a job at the paper,
and the rest is history."
"Except Matt almost got me fired from that job by refusing to reveal a
source," David said grumpily. "Come to think of it, you've caused me
nothing but trouble."
"You love trouble."
"That's true," David agreed, a smile breaking across his face. "All I
can say, Caitlyn, is that Matt is the kind of guy who can give you a
tremendous migraine headache, but when you need someone to back
you up,
there's no one better."
"Thanks, I think," Matt replied dryly.
Caitlyn smiled. "Believe me, I've already had to replenish my aspirin
supply since Matt knocked on my door last Friday."
"Not to mention earplugs," Matt added just as Emily let out a scream of
distress. "Speak of the devil—"
"She's not a devil, she's a baby." Caitlyn rescued Emily from a blanket
they'd spread on the floor so
she could kick and stretch out of the
confines of her car seat. "She's wet."
"Of course she is. She drinks like a sailor on three-day leave," Matt
said.
"Can I change her?" Jackie asked. "In fact, can David and I do it? We
need the practice."
"Speak for yourself," David said, but he got up and obediently followed
his wife out of the room.
Caitlyn sat down next to Matt and eyed her dessert plate suspiciously.
"Did you take a bite?"
"No way." A tiny spot of chocolate on his top lip made a lie out of his
words.
She put her finger to the corner of his mouth and wiped it off and held
it up for him to see the evidence. "Really?"
"You got me." Then he grabbed her by the wrist and raised her finger to
his mouth so he could lick off the chocolate.
Caitlyn caught her breath as a jolt of desire swept through her. His
tongue caressed her finger as he sucked it between his lips in a
movement so highly erotic she felt the heat rise through her body,
every nerve ending on fire, and the last thing she wanted was to put
out that fire. No, she wanted to add
another log and take the flames
even higher.
"I—I think it's gone." She forced herself to pull away.
Matt's eyes had darkened to a dangerous black. "You taste better than
the chocolate."
She swallowed, unused to seeing such naked lust in a man's expression.
"Oh, Matt, what are we doing?"
"It's what we're not doing that's bothering me. Do you want to go home
with me?"
"Well, you did drive," she said, striving for lightness.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Do you think it's a good idea?"
"Probably not," he admitted, sneaking a kiss on the corner of her
mouth, then another on the other corner, finally sliding over to take
her in a full, open-mouth kiss that sent what little doubt was left
right out of her head. "I want you," he added with the honesty that was
so much a part of him.
"You're not supposed to say things like that," she said somewhat
breathlessly.
"Why not? Because the words scare you? Because you can't run and hide
from them?"
"Well, technically, I could run and hide, but. . ."
"But you can't make yourself move. I know the feeling, Caitlyn. It
washes over me every time I see you."
"It's crazy. A few days ago we didn't know each other. Now we're
spending every second together. For
a man who didn't even wan! to know
his neighbor's name, your attitude has certainly changed."
'"We've gone way past being neighbors, Caitlyn."'
""What happens when it's over? Will we be able to just pass each other
in the hall again, say an occasional hello?''
"I don't know. At the moment, I'm not thinking much past unzipping your
dress and seeing if your
breasts taste as good as your finger."
Her jaw dropped open. She'd never had a man state his intentions so
boldly. And she couldn't believe how much she liked it, how turned on
she was by a sentence. They weren't even
touching, and she
was going up in flames.
She cleared her throat, trying to gather her wits about her. "Most
people say those kinds of things with
the lights out."
"I can turn out the lights, but it won't change how I feel—or how I
could make you feel."
Caitlyn looked into his eyes and saw his promise. "I don't know what to
say."
"Just tell me what you want."
"Do I have to?" she whispered. "Or do you already know?"
BOOK: Barbara Freethy - Some Kind Of Wonderful
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