Help Wanted (11 page)

"Family member?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

Frowning, she asked, "Well, who are you then?"

Before he could answer, Nina gripped the nurse's arm and said, "He's my Lamaze coach, and I am not having this baby without him."

Wincing under her grip, the nurse craned her neck and looked back up to Paul. "I'll get you some scrubs."

By the grace of God and all things holy, Lester arrived before Paul had to see way more of Nina than he would ever have wanted to. That he had his first meeting with the publisher of Griffin Media's premier publication while standing next to the guy's wife as she groaned and had her feet up in stirrups was indeed unfortunate.

Thankfully, Lester was too preoccupied with the impending arrival to be anything but, in his words, "eternally grateful."

Rushing home, Paul ditched his suit and was able to pick Marc and Tomas up from practice with ten minutes to spare. After swinging by the Calderon's to pick up Jonah, he made his way to the high school to get Luke. By the time Claire made it home from work, his adventure with Nina was still very fresh in his mind. A wave of relief washed over him when she volunteered to take Jonah to his soccer game. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by more screaming females.

*   *   *

In the fading light of Winnemac Park, Claire unfolded her camp chair and draped a stadium blanket over her legs. She watched as Jonah lined up on the field with his teammates and bent over to tap on their shin guards as the referee walked by in a pregame equipment inspection.

Unlike the older boys' games, during which skill and strategy were both evident, the kindergarten teams were going with the
huddle and watch the ball go by
routine. As such, she was surprised to hear one mother yell at a referee, "Offsides. That kid was offsides. How could you not see that? What are you, blind?"

Between the kids' laughter and the other parents' sideline coaching, she didn't hear her name being called until Jacquie Calderon was standing right next to her.

"I thought that was you."

Claire looked up at the familiar face.

"Oh, hey, Jacquie. How are you? Is Danny on the team? I didn't see him out there."

"No, he's on the Timberwolves. They're playing over on field B." She waved toward the distant end of the park. "The boys played against each other last week."

"Ah. Gotcha."

With one eye on Jonah as he plowed down the field, chasing after the soccer ball, she heard Jacquie say, "Listen, I just wanted to stop by and see if you'd like us to bring Luke home from the marathon on the third. No sense in us both going down there. Parking's going to be a bear."

Claire frowned at her. "The Chicago Marathon? Luke's not running it. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow that during the cross-country season."

Jacquie laughed. "Didn't Paul tell you?"

A knot clenched in her stomach. If there was one thing she disliked more than being in the dark, it was being clued in by someone who seemed to know far more about her family than she did.

"Tell me what?"

"Coach DeRosa asked for a bunch of the boys to volunteer at the water stations along the course. It'll go toward the service hours he wants them to earn."

Perking up, Claire replied, "Oh. What a great idea. Yes, well thanks. That would be great if you could bring him home. I appreciate it."

Jacquie smiled politely. "Ok then. I'm glad I saw you here. I completely forgot to ask Paul earlier when he came to pick up Jonah."

Assuming she meant when Paul picked Jonah up from school, Claire didn't give it a second thought.

"The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties." —Oscar Wilde

The next week was filled with firsts for the Mendez family. Jonah lost his first baby tooth. Marc led his team in baskets for the first time that season. Tomas won first place in a regional essay contest. Paul was voted in as treasurer of the Knollwood High School Booster Club. And Claire's first column appeared for the first time ever in both the print and online editions of the
Gazette
.

That it was published the day before attending her first high school cross-country race to see her eldest son run his first varsity event was serendipitous. That she was the only one who knew about it was kind of a bummer.

The race took place on a trail nestled deep within a forest preserve not far from the Wisconsin border that was already starting to burst with pockets of spectacularly colored foliage. Luke's was the last race of the day. She and Paul had no sooner arrived than Claire spotted the Calderons coming toward them. As they approached from across the far end of the clearing, she saw that they were smiling and waving a copy of the newspaper. They looked excited.

Uh-oh.

Suddenly, the fear of being exposed as the
Gazette
's newest advice columnist buzzed in her head like a hive full of angry bees.

"Mike must've done well in the open," she heard Paul mutter as he stood close beside her, waiting with his hands shoved in his coat pockets.

Pretending not to see them, Claire suggested they buy a race shirt for Luke and tried to steer him toward the concession stand. But it was too late. The couple blocked their way, breathless and still smiling. Paul grinned back expectantly.

"Hey, Joe. How are ya? How'd Mike do in the open?" he asked, referring to their oldest, in Luke's class. 

After shaking hands with Paul, Joe shrugged, "Aw, you know. He's getting over a virus. Didn't really have it in him today, but he wanted to run."

The two men began an in-depth discussion on their sons' performances, PRs, and training regime, leaving the mothers alone. Claire turned straight faced toward Jacquie, who was still out of breath and grinning.

"Claire, hi. Did you see this?" she practically hollered while shaking the newspaper at her.

Tense and wishing her longtime acquaintance wouldn't make such a scene, Claire took her by the elbow and tried to maneuver her to a less crowded area of the field while asking in a hushed but pleasant tone, "What is it?"

Jacquie unfurled the paper before her as if she was shaking out a tablecloth midair. Holding it up before the two of them, she exclaimed, "Look at this. Isn't it great?"

There, in a half-page full-color photo, was Luke crossing the finish line at the previous week's meet. The rest of the runners were close behind him, but the look on her son's face reminded Claire instantly of the pictures she had seen of Paul in his high school yearbook. She gasped.

"No, we hadn't seen it yet. How cool is that?" Claire's eyes started to brim with pride while she mustered a "wow." 

Seeing her reaction, Jacquie chuckled. "Yeah, I've been trying to catch Paul all week to give this to him, but I never see him anymore. Go ahead and keep it. We've got another copy at home."

She left Claire standing there staring at the picture, her nose beginning to run.

"What do you mean you never see him anymore?" she asked, holding a tissue to her face, but Jacquie was already walking toward the parking lot in search of her husband.

Weird.

"Whatcha got there?" Paul asked, blowing air into his balled-up hands.

Holding the paper in front of her, she said, "See for yourself."

He took it from her and blurted, "How great is that? We should frame it."

Claire nodded. "Yep."

Paul handed it back to her and, looking over her shoulder, said, "Oh, hey. There's Nick. Come on. I'll introduce you."

Claire followed, crunching dead leaves as she went. She stopped in her tracks, though, when she saw Luke's coach.

Having followed Mattie's marathon training exploits religiously since she started way back in January, Claire was well aware that her coach was Nick DeRosa, a local
hunk
athlete who apparently had made a name for himself in the running world before the
Gazette
snagged him to be Mattie's coach.

When Paul had mentioned a couple of months back that Luke's new running coach was Ed DeRosa's twin, she hadn't put two and two together. Until now.

Not only had Mattie mentioned him frequently in her columns, the
Gazette
always ran pictures of the two of them before and after the shorter races she had run to date. And then there were those two videos Claire, and she could only imagine hundreds, if not thousands, of other female fans had bookmarked on their computers.

One was of a steamy cooking segment he and Mattie had hosted that was supposed to air on one of the
Gazette
's TV affiliates, and the other was recorded by a volunteer at the Firecracker Half Marathon in July. The video clip started as soon as he and Mattie crossed the finish line and captured Nick gallantly carrying her to the EMT tent after she collapsed from heat exhaustion.

So romantic.

That in itself was almost enough incentive for Claire to start a running regime, but the thought of Paul carrying her anywhere quickly quashed that idea.

"Hey, Nick," Paul started as they got closer. 

"Claire, this is Coach DeRosa, well,
Nick
. Nick, this is my
wife
, Claire."

Her eyes met Paul's when he put the emphasis on "wife." What other word she expected him to use to introduce her, she didn't know. Still, when he didn't look away, she felt a warmth cover her cheeks.

"Nice to meet you, Claire." Nick smiled as he held out his hand.

Claire dragged her eyes away from Paul's, which had remained riveted on hers with a glint that, she hated to admit, did something to her insides.

"Hi, Nick. So nice to finally meet you."

She admired her restraint. The man was just as handsome in person as he was in print, if not more so
.

Turning to Paul, Nick asked, "Hey, any chance I can get you to record times for me? Lester couldn't make it today, with the baby and all. Well, what am I telling you for?" He gave Paul a nudge with his elbow and winked.

Claire, concentrating on not gawking like a teenager in the presence of a pop icon, only heard bits and pieces of what Nick had just said. Something about times and babies.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul shoot her a look before leaning over to plant a quick kiss on her cheek.

"See you in a bit," he whispered.

Claire blinked. Feeling another warm tidal wave wash over her, she touched her fingers to the spot against which he had just pressed his lips.

Oh my.

Nodding to Nick to join him as he headed in the direction of the start line, Paul replied, "Sure, yeah, I can take times."

"Nice meeting you." Nick waved to Claire as he jogged away.

As she held her hand up in a stupefied wave, she could've sworn she overheard Nick ask Paul, "How's that new gig working out for you?"

Either that, or he said, "Now's at blue pig quirking pot for stew."

She was staring after them when she saw Paul steal a glance back at her, looking as if he had just gotten away with something. What, she wasn't sure. If Luke hadn't suddenly appeared in front of her, she might have figured it out. As it was, her son asked through a fifteen-year-old version of Paul's dimpled grin, "Mom, can you hang on to these, please?"

Taking his running shoes, she watched him sprint away with the rest of the varsity runners, wearing Paul's old spikes—and displaying his father's talent for charming his way out of trouble—with pride.

*   *   *

The following week, Claire was combing through the latest round of technical specifications the engineers at her contract job had given her while simultaneously trying to think of a fitting response to "Telecommuting Tanika," who was desperate for tips on staying productive while working from home with little ones about.

After a few minutes, she came to the conclusion that simply frowning at the technical specifications would not make them any easier to unravel.

When John entered her cube unannounced and leaned on the edge of her desk, she greeted him with a recommendation on how to better manage the software developers.

"With all due respect, you really need to draw the line in the sand with these guys. The way they blatantly ignore the original specifications for the product and add more features as they go along? It's a recipe for disaster."

Claire was a weary veteran of the engineering-marketing wars routinely waged at her former company.

"You're looking at this all wrong," John reasoned. "For you, scope creep equals job security."

 Claire laughed. "That's one way to look at it. What's up?"

"You interested in flex hours?"

When Claire returned a quizzical look, he explained further. "You can work through lunch and leave an hour earlier. You could work eight to four or even seven to three. Or you could work four ten-hour days and take Friday off. Your choice."

"Even if I'm a contractor?"

John smiled. "You still work for me, don't ya?"

"That I do. Let me think about it, ok?"

"Sure thing. See ya later." And with that, he was off, leaving her to ponder whether changing her routine would be beneficial.

She had been thinking of asking Dianne to consider letting her work out of the
Gazette
offices on occasion just to make her presence known.

This could work.

She snuck into an empty conference room and called Dianne.

Sounding, as usual, as if Claire had just caught her in the middle of something extremely important, Dianne quipped, "Claire. Loved your advice on recycling Halloween costumes. And thanks for the pictures. Adorable. What's up?"

After relaying her idea, the managing editor's response came much quicker than Claire expected. "Sure. Great idea. Mattie's already cleared out her things and moved up to Metro. You can use her desk. Late afternoons would work best. That way you could sit in on my staff meetings. Meet the crew. Let's not start until next week though. I'll need to get you a pass. Just call me from the front desk when you get here. Oh, and before I forget, you still need to get me your direct deposit slip. Gotta run."