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Authors: Marilynn Griffith

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BOOK: Mom's the Word
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“So where is she?” Dyanne asked, skimming a hand through her freshly relaxed hair and putting down a bag of fruit from the farmer's market. She had something to tell Neal, something she should have told him before anything else, but Fallon's absence took priority.

Neal, who'd spent the day catching up on his own Internet security business, shrugged his shoulders. “She's a grown woman, honey. She'll be fine.”

His employees telecommuted from across the country and had things pretty well in hand for the next few weeks, but Neal never let too much time pass without checking on the servers and all the monitored accounts. People would be amazed to know how many hack attempts there were to sites with even the highest levels of security. Neal knew better than anyone that there was a slim line between a breached system and a secure one. He was starting to think the same about his marriage.

“I didn't ask you her age or whether she'd be fine. I asked you where she was.”

“Who, Fallon? I don't know. She went out. Taking a walk, maybe? Her car's still here.”

“No. It's not.”

“Well, it was.”

Dyanne gave up. Neal hadn't even raised his head to look at her. Usually, she would have been right beside him—or in the next room—head down and nose to the grindstone, too. Today she was irritated by his lack of eye contact in the same way Neal had often been with her. She'd have to process that later. For now, she had a bestselling author with a deadline, missing in action. That was not acceptable. “I'll find her. Wait up for me. I bought something today. I need to talk to you about it.”

“Right,” Neal said, typing faster than most secretaries and still not looking up.

Gathering her courage, Dyanne tugged down the beautiful linen dress she'd picked up from a quaint little shop in town when she'd stopped to feed the ducks at the man-made lake and park where the farmer's market was held. Dyanne had liked the dress so much that she'd put it on right there in the store and carried her own clothes out in a bag. She'd raced home to show Fallon, thinking she'd get a kick out of it. Aside from fitting Dyanne perfectly and giving her the appearance of curves she didn't possess, it was the color of mangoes. She'd bought something else, too, something that had seemed like a perfect fit at the time, but now didn't seem like such a good idea. Oh, well. It could go back.

For now, she had to find Fallon, who was still nowhere to be seen. Dyanne had a sinking feeling about what might have happened to her. The neighbors. Or knowing Fallon, it might have been her that “happened” to them. Either way, it was not okay. Fallon Gray had come to Dyanne's to write a book and that's just what she was going to do. No matter how much Steve Chaise laughed with Fallon, he wouldn't be smiling if there wasn't a publishable manuscript on his desk a month from now. Dyanne wouldn't be smiling, either. She wasn't smiling now, not even when Fallon's car pulled up—without her in it.

Her neighbor Karol put the car in Park and got out slowly. “Your guest came over. We made lunch. She wanted some fruit to make the kids a smoothie. Our van takes a lot of gas. She insisted that I take her car—”

“She shouldn't have.”

Her neighbor smiled, as if she wanted to laugh. “She said you'd say that. That she shouldn't have come over, that I shouldn't drive her car—which I don't think I should have, but she's quite persuasive and has full coverage. Look, why don't you come in for a minute. I know things have been a little bumpy between us, but we really are good people. The kids, too. They're just…kids.”

Like a fool, Dyanne fell for Karol's speech and followed her inside after her neighbor complimented her new mango-colored dress. Karol's house seemed cleaner than Dyanne remembered. Quieter, too. Maybe she'd gotten her kids under control after all.

“Surprise!” Fallon jumped out of the hall bathroom with Mia on her shoulders. They tossed a water balloon at Karol, but hit Dyanne instead.

Karol looked as shocked as her neighbor, but she recovered quickly and led Dyanne through the dining room to the kitchen for a paper towel.

“I'm so sorry. They were trying to surprise us I guess….”

“Yeah. I got that.”

In the kitchen was another surprise, the boys had dragged in a china cabinet Karol said she had picked up at a flea market from the garage and turned it on its side. They were bowling in it. With a real bowling ball.

“You know what? I think I'm just going to go,” Dyanne said, turning back toward the door.

“But wait—”

“Fallon! Let's go. We've got work to do.”

“Dee Dee, wait. This was all my doing. Karol had no idea.”

“I'm leaving, Fallon. I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me. Now.”

Fallon followed Dyanne reluctantly and the children ran after her.

“Come back soon!” the middle boy cried. “We're always people, remember? Mangoes and Ferris wheels. Don't forget us.”

Dyanne almost stumbled at the little boy's words, but she didn't. She made it over the threshold of Karol's house with a sure foot. Once outside, she was met with something, someone that made her want to run back inside. Neal leaned on the porch with his hands folded across his chest. He was staring at the ground. Not a good sign.

“I found Fallon. Let's go home,” Dyanne said, trying to escape before her husband made a scene.

Neal didn't move except to point at finger at the vehicle next to Fallon's: a brand-new minivan. “What is that?”

“Let's talk about this at home,” Dyanne said waving to Fallon, who had stopped all progress to follow her back to their house.

“We are home. The house is right there. Now, I need to know. What is that vehicle and who does it belong to?”

Though Neal didn't raise his voice, his tone had an edge that sent Karol's children running back into the house. He had the intimidation part of parenting covered. Now it was the marriage part that was at issue—and this time Dyanne knew she'd overplayed her hand.

“I need an answer, Dee. Whose is it?”

She winced a little before giving her answer. “Ours? Look, don't be mad. I have twenty-four hours to take it back—”

“No, you have twenty-four minutes to take it back. Where is the other car?”

Gulp. “I traded it—”

“Oh, no. Ohhhhhh no. Give me the keys. Fallon, can you follow me with Dyanne?”

Fallon was already down Karol's front stairs and headed toward her own car. “I'm one step ahead of you, chief.”

Dyanne followed Neal with her wet, not-so-cute dress clinging in all the wrong places. “What? Why should we follow? I want to ride with you.” She wrapped herself around his arm.

He shrugged her off. “No, you don't. Not right now. Trust me.”

Her heart sank. She'd heard those words before.

To-Do
  • Buy percale linens for guest room—Egyptian cotton
  • Drop off prescription for next month's birth control
  • Have flowers delivered to Neal at the gym
  • Get 1000 good words out of Fallon
  • Confirm all new stops on Fallon's tour
  • Send a note to neighbors apologizing for arguing in their yard

—Dyanne

The morning after returning the van

Chapter Seven

S
ound carried between the two houses. The guest room, where Dyanne was sleeping alone—wasn't it the husband who usually got kicked out of the bed?—was directly across from Rob and Karol's bedroom. And tonight, despite their neighbor's argument on their porch, down their stairs and in their yard, the Simons were not quiet. The Simons, John Boy and Chaka Khan, were making love. And not just any kind of love, either. Mango love.

After five minutes of it—yes, that long—Dyanne closed the window and put the new pillow by her face to drown out her crying. She shouldn't have bought the new car—or traded the old one—without talking to Neal.

And sure, he'd said no babies and yes, she'd heard him, but the salesman made it sound so good, so safe when she'd gone back to the dealership to explain that she wouldn't be needing a van after all. The salesman told her some lame story about how getting a van had made him realize there was room in their lives for children and Dyanne had fallen for it. She'd wanted to fall for it, to believe that her dream of a family was going to endure instead of shattering into a million pieces because one person fell out of love or got seduced by the secretary or some random thing.

Dyanne knew business. She knew how to invest in things, in people. She knew that investments made people stay around when they felt like leaving. Children were the next investment for her and Neal to make. Though he thought her love didn't equal his, Neal had no idea how many times Dyanne had gotten off a plane without seeing him right away…. She couldn't imagine the thought even for those few seconds of him not being there. And then she'd see him, with a bag of Jelly Bellies and a dashing smile. Waiting.

She wanted him to know that he wouldn't always have to wait, that there was more for them, the next level. They'd done the groundwork: retirement plan, good medical and dental, a house with fresh air and slow times. Somehow, in trying to bring them closer together, Dyanne had driven her husband away. And so she lay in the guest bed, crying into her new pillow, haunted by the sounds of love from a couple she'd thought nothing of when she met them. And yet, like Fallon, the Simons kept turning up over and over again….

Dyanne heard the door open and tried to stop crying, but she couldn't. She knew by the smell of licorice, that Fallon had applied her cream and padded down the hall to give Dyanne yet another piece of her troubled mind. As the bed squeaked in response to Fallon sitting down, Dyanne prepared herself for the discourse on what a good man needed and all that nonsense Fallon spouted to packed auditoriums week after week. What she got was something else entirely.

It began with Fallon lowering the pillow slowly and pulling Dyanne into her arms. She kissed the head of her up-and-coming publicist and sang her a lullaby. When the song was done, the gentleness went with it and good old Fallon returned.

“All right, little sister. That's enough of that. Fix your face and your nightgown. Your man will be coming down the hall in a minute.”

Dyanne laughed, or at least she tried. “You don't know Neal. When he's mad, he's mad. He'll sleep like a baby.”

“Mark my word, baby. He's coming and when he does, don't start running your mouth. Take him to that downstairs bedroom and—”

“Downstairs?”

Fallon got up. “Yes, baby, downstairs. Alone. I'll see you in the morning. I'm already a day behind on this book.”

Before Dyanne could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. Dyanne sat still, unbelieving. Fallon opened the door and disappeared down the hall without saying a word. Another first. At the sight of Neal, the tears that the author-friend had wiped away came flooding back again.

Though she'd planned a silent stone wall. Dyanne caved at the sight of him. “I'm s-s-sorry. I just want-ed to—”

“I'm sorry, baby. I handled it wrong. All of it. Shh. Don't cry.”

When she couldn't stop crying, Neal picked her up and lifted her into his arms. Holding her close, he carried her…downstairs. The crooning of Luther Vandross followed them from Fallon's room. Like their love, the music seemed to fill the house.

For a moment, Dyanne worried if all this going on wasn't making too much noise for the neighbors.

Just for a moment.

 

The next morning Fallon was downstairs in the kitchen singing and cooking when Dyanne and Neal woke up.

She pulled on her nightgown and went out of the room. She could barely look at Fallon when she said good morning. Whatever professional-personal barriers may have been between them had been demolished last night and Dyanne wasn't so sure she liked this new open territory. When the pan crackled she realized what other barrier had been crossed. Fallon was
cooking.

“Um, I thought you were a raw foodist.”

“I am, except when I'm not.” Fallon flipped a spinach and red onion frittata for Neal. His favorite. He'd ordered if for breakfast once when they were at a convention together and mentioned how he loved it. How did Fallon remember things like that?

“So all those times you had Neal going for organic fruit and me searching for raw chefs, we could have pulled over at Burger King?”

Fallon ground a bit of white pepper and dashed it on top. “No, I was a raw foodist then. I'm just not one right now. Don't think so hard. Just go with it, okay?”

“Okay.” Why was that so hard, for Dyanne, to just go with it? She wanted, no needed, for people to be what they were supposed to be, what they said they were and to stay that way. Unfortunately, something in human DNA made such people rare. She'd thought that Fallon was that—rare—even though she tried her best to act common. Maybe Dyanne had been wrong about her, too. She'd certainly been wrong about herself. About Neal. Before this baby thing, she'd thought they had a rock-solid marriage, so strong that nothing could come between them. She now knew that a minivan and a baby proposal could put them in two different beds.

“Don't look so disappointed, honey. The only thing I am all the time is a Christian, and sometimes you'd think I'd given up on that, too. But I haven't. That's the one thing I can't give up on, because God won't give up on me. He keeps at me, saying, ‘Fay—'He doesn't call me Fallon ‘—don't do that, baby. It ain't right.' Sometimes I have my eyes closed expecting a whippin' and He's like, ‘What are you doing over there?' You have to learn the difference. All these years and I'm still learning.”

Dyanne rinsed off an apple and took a bite before remembering that she'd been on her way to get Neal some clothes from upstairs. “I'll be right back.”

“He's got some jeans and T-shirts in the bureau down here. Top right.”

This was getting freaky, Fallon's little knowings. “Thanks.”

“Sorry for going through your things, but I caught up the laundry yesterday and there was no more room on Neal's side for some of his clothes.” She cleared her throat for emphasis.

The message came through loud and clear—Dyanne had too many clothes and shoes and accessories and well, just too much stuff.

And here I am worried about getting a baby which would mean even more stuff.

“Maybe we can go through some of my things one weekend before you leave.”

Fallon smiled. “Maybe.”

Neal didn't seem surprised when Dyanne told him where to look for clothes. He shrugged and grabbed them. “Is that spinach I smell? And feta cheese?”

“Your favorite frittata.”

He laughed, and then froze. “Wait a minute. Isn't Fallon a—”

“Raw foodist? Only when she isn't.”

Neal shook his head and pulled her close. They were just about to kiss when the shrill scream of the little girl next door cut through any remaining romance between them.

Dyanne rolled her eyes. With these kids around, Neal would have a vasectomy before the summer was out. She was just about to apologize to her husband for not having gotten Karol straight yet about her kids when Neal ran past her in his bare feet and half-buttoned shirt and out the door.

 

“She had a bad dream,” Neal explained when he came back to the kitchen with Mia on his hip. Both her little arms were latched around his neck as Dyanne's hands had been not long before.

Fallon rubbed Mia's back and tried to take her, but the little girl shook her head.

Dyanne shook her head, too. This was ridiculous. “Well, let's take her back home so we can get on with our day—”

“They're all sleeping, honey. The sun isn't even up and it's the weekend. I'll take her back soon. Evidently she used to get up and come out to that tree house you knocked down. She got up and toddled out here and remembered the whole thing was gone.” He stroked the little girl's hair. “Poor baby. She must have forgotten.”

Fallon smiled and shaped a biscuit with the bottom of a glass while Dyanne tried to find her voice. Poor baby? Neal must have forgotten something, too—his mind! First, Dyanne couldn't have a baby, and next he's treating the ruffian from next door like she's a princess? Well, she was sort of cute, but still…

“Neal, we can't do this. Her parents will be worried and it's starting a bad precedent. You know, like with puppies? If you let them on the furniture—”

“Puppies?” Neal asked, giving Dyanne the same sour look that Fallon and the little girl were making.

A violent ringing of their doorbell, followed by banging, kept Dyanne or Neal from saying more. Dyanne made it to the door first, eager to give Karol a piece of her mind. What she wasn't prepared for was receiving a chunk of Karol's husband's angry thoughts.

“Are you crazy?” Rob said, stepping inside the Thornton's house and plucking his daughter from Neal. “We've been looking everywhere. Why didn't you say something?”

This was not John Boy. Not by a long shot.

Neal looked surprised, too. “Look, man. I'm sorry. You all were sleeping and she said she was hungry so…”

Rob closed his eyes. “No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. Since the Waltons moved away, things with the children have been, well, difficult. Especially Mia. She spent a lot of time over here with her friends and she hasn't been sleeping well. I woke up and she was gone and there was no stick—”

Fallon piped up from behind. “Stick?”

“Yes. I'm sorry. I have to remember that you all are new. So new. And not even any children of your own. How could I expect you to understand? We're probably driving you all nuts—”

Finally somebody was getting down to reality, Dyanne thought. “About that—”

Neal gave his wife a stern look. “The stick. You were telling us about the stick.”

Rob hugged Mia closer. “Well, when Mia woke up and came over here, Hope would have one of her kids leave the stick, it was more like a cane really, a big rain stick Singh had brought back from somewhere. We'd usually hear the kids shaking it on the way over and know that Mia was okay. Now everything is different. She can't just go running off. She doesn't understand that.”

“Neither do I,” Fallon said. “Life's too short to have to stay in your own yard. I don't have a rain stick, but I've got a maraca in my trunk. Will that work?”

“Fallon, I don't think it's appropriate—”

Rob smiled. “That'd be perfect, ma'am. I appreciate it. We'll be getting home now. I'll call you soon, Neal, about that deck if you're still thinking about it.”

Deck? What deck? It was Dyanne's turn to fold her arms across her chest and stare at the floor.

Neal cleared his throat. “Nothing for certain yet. Still need to talk it over with the wife.”

“Ah. I see. Well, we'll look to see you all in church then. Don't be late. It's Mother's Day. It's no Easter, but the pews fill up pretty fast. Thanks again.”

Dyanne stared at her husband, who mustered a half smile. What else had he signed them up for, a reality show? He hadn't said anything about going to church. And on Mother's Day, too? She could still remember the humiliation of the childless women on those days, coming out of service with no flower in their lapels. She wouldn't be one of them.

Fallon clapped her hands. “Church! This should be fun. And I know just what I'm going to wear.” She lifted the first batch of perfect biscuits out of the oven and offered the first to Dyanne. “Have one?”

Dyanne shook her head and spooned raspberries into the oatmeal she'd planned to eat for breakfast. “No biscuits for me. I've got enough on my plate. In more ways than one.” With that, she headed into her downstairs office.

Alone.

BOOK: Mom's the Word
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