This Matter Of Marriage (17 page)

Steve had gone to the kitchen. Just as she thought she should leave, he was back. “Here,” he said, handing her a fresh drink.

“Alcohol creates more problems than it solves,” she said, forgetting that she was the one who'd hand-delivered the bottle.

“Trust me, I know. The day the judge declared the divorce final, I got rip-roaring drunk. It was the sorriest day of my life, and the night didn't improve. Next morning, I had the mother of all hangovers. I haven't gotten drunk since and don't plan to.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” she said, then gulped down the drink. Choked, gasped and had trouble breathing.

Steve patted her on the back. “You're a good friend, Hallie McCarthy,” he said.

“You, too, Steve Marris.”

His arm came around her and they hugged for a long time. It amazed her how good it felt to be in Steve's arms. To feel his heart pounding against hers, his breath against her neck. Peaceful. Friendly.

His kiss didn't come as a surprise. He lifted his head, and she gazed into his eyes before he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were undemanding and tender, restrained. It was a kiss like the one they'd exchanged on her birthday. A kiss free of promises, free of claims. A kiss between friends.

He pulled away and asked, “Want me to walk you home?”

“No. I can make it across the lawn just fine.” She swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. “Are you going to be all right now?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Although he sounded confident, Hallie didn't know if she should believe him. Mary Lynn's announcement had come as a blow. But he'd taken it like a man.

Dionne Warwick's “I'll Never Love This Way Again” followed Hallie out the door.

S
teve stepped up to home plate and swung the bat around a couple of times to loosen the stiffness in his shoulders. He assumed the batter's stance and waited for the pitcher's first throw. A fastball zoomed toward him. It wasn't a baseball Steve saw, but Kip Logan's face.

The unmistakable cracking sound as the bat slammed against the ball and shattered echoed across the field. Steve dropped the piece he still held on the ground and raced toward first base. He kept his eye on the ball and was satisfied to see it fly over the fence. Another home run.

He was out of breath when he returned to the dugout. His fellow team members slapped him jovially on the back and congratulated him.

“What's with you tonight?” Todd asked, shifting seats to sit next to him. “This is your third home run.”

“Really?” Steve said, pretending he hadn't noticed. He leaned forward on the hardwood bench and braced his elbows on his knees. “I'm having a good night, is all.”

“True, but this is the second bat you've busted all to hell. Something's eating you.”

“You're imagining things.” Steve's gaze didn't waver from the field. The problem with friends like Todd was that it was difficult to hide things. Removing his hat, Steve slapped it against his thigh, aware of Todd's scrutiny. He supposed he might as well let Todd know. “Mary Lynn's decided to remarry,” he said with forced nonchalance. Billy Roth stole second base and Steve leapt to his feet and cheered wildly.

Todd remained seated. “When did you find out about this?”

Steve sat back down, keeping his attention on the game. “Sunday night.”

“I wish you'd said something sooner.” Todd sounded as if the news about Mary Lynn affected him personally.

Steve told himself he should have taken drastic steps as soon as he'd learned she was dating again. Instead, he'd assumed her relationship with that vulture of a car salesman would die on its own, without any help from him. What he'd hoped for was that Mary Lynn would date some of Hallie's rejects. Or similar losers. He was convinced that once his ex had gotten a look at some of the weirdos out there she'd come running back to him.

Steve had spent hours daydreaming about her asking him to move back in with the family. Welcoming him back into her bed. The bubble of his fantasy world had burst on Sunday afternoon, when Mary Lynn broke the news about her engagement.

“Are you okay with this?” Todd asked next.

“Yeah, I'm jumping up and down for joy,” Steve said dryly.

Todd shook his head. “I was afraid something like this would happen.”

The comment earned a glare from Steve. What he didn't need was his best friend saying he'd told him so.

Todd took immediate offense. “I told you I saw her shopping with Kip, remember?”

Steve wished Todd would quit while he was ahead. Every time he opened his mouth, he only made it worse.

“I could tell then that she was serious about this guy,” Todd continued, undeterred. “It isn't the kind of news you want to tell a friend. I said what I could and hoped you'd read between the lines.”

Unfortunately, Steve hadn't seen what in retrospect should have been obvious. He had no one to blame but himself. Kenny had hit him with the news that his mother had a boyfriend shortly after the first of the year. Meagan, too, had dropped a number of hints. He should have recognized that something was going on when Mary Lynn cut him off physically. But then, Steve figured he always did have trouble seeing the obvious; it was what had led to the divorce in the first place.

“You're up to bat next,” Steve said, grateful Todd was leaving the dugout. He didn't want to talk about Mary Lynn. Didn't want to think about her, either. Every time he did, his head pounded and his gut twisted. He had to let go of her, of their lives together. A dozen people had said the same thing: it was time to move on. That was also what the relationship experts recommended—and he should know, because he often listened to talk radio. He'd learned their jargon, about “taking ownership” of his past and his problems, and “affirming his validity” and “for-giving” himself and Mary Lynn for the failure of their marriage. He'd even started to believe this stuff. Recently he'd happened upon a program with a phone-in psychologist, and he'd actually sat in his car and listened until the program was over. It'd helped.

Dr. Brenda wasn't the only one who'd come to his emotional rescue. Hallie had been there for him, as well. In a week filled with pain and sadness, thinking about Hallie made everything seem more bearable. She'd come to him, bottle of bourbon in hand, offering comfort—and ended up blubbering her way through an entire box of tissues.

In some strange way her crying had been a release for
him.
When she'd first arrived, he'd wanted to send her back to her own place. He'd been in no mood for company. What man would be? His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest…and yet Hallie had managed to bring a smile to his face.

Steve felt fortunate to have a neighbor like Hallie McCarthy. When he counted his blessings, she was among them. He sure hoped she found a man worthy of her.

Todd struck out at bat. He'd been in a hitting slump during their recent practice sessions, and now he returned to the dugout muttering curses.

“Don't worry about it,” Steve said. “This is only the first game of the season.”

Todd looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he found himself a quiet corner and sat there scowling. If it had been one of his kids, Steve would have called it pouting.

After the game several of the team members, including Todd, decided to stop off at the local watering hole for a few cold beers. Steve declined, not wanting to answer uncomfortable questions about Mary Lynn. He'd said everything there was to say and didn't care to elaborate.

It was still daylight when he arrived home. He noted that Hallie's car had been parked in the same spot for the past two days. It wasn't the kind of thing he normally paid much attention to, but she was just shy of being ticketed for parking too close to a fire hydrant.

He glanced at her condo as he started walking toward his own. It probably wouldn't hurt to check on her, he decided. Yeah, that was the neighborly thing to do.

She responded to his knock by calling faintly for him to come inside. Steve opened the front door to discover her sprawled on the sofa amid a conglomeration of pillows and blankets. Dressed in an old robe, she lay facedown, her arm dangling over the edge, knuckles brushing the carpet. A variety of medicines lined the coffee table, along with three or four dirty cups, a box of tissues and a thermometer. An empty wash bucket was positioned close by.

“You look like hell,” he said. “Are you sick or something?”

“You don't miss much, do you?” She didn't lift her head.

“My, my, are we a little testy? And what, by the way, is your front door doing open? This isn't ‘Little House on the Prairie,' you know.”

“Don't come any closer,” she called, raising her arm to stop him. “Believe me, you don't want whatever brand of flu I've got.” She frowned. “Oh, the door. Donnalee's supposed to come over later, and I wasn't sure I'd have the energy to get up and let her in.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” he asked.

“I'm too sick to see a doctor. Do I look like I'm in any condition to drive?” she returned crankily.

“No,” Steve admitted. “Do you need someone to take you?”

She appeared to consider his question. “Thanks, but no thanks. The worst of it's passed.” Then she added, “I appreciate the offer, though.”

He walked into her kitchen, which was, to put it mildly, a mess. Used mugs and glasses littered every surface. An empty orange-juice container had toppled and the last dregs of juice had dried on the counter. A package of soda crackers lay open, crumbs scattered about.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, poking his head around the living-room corner.

“Please,” she whispered miserably, “don't talk about food. I haven't been able to keep anything down for two days.”

“I hope you're drinking plenty of liquids.”

“I must be, otherwise there wouldn't be anything to vomit.”

She had his sympathy there; he knew what it was like to be sick and alone. He stuck the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and wiped off the counter.

“Thank you,” she said when he brought her a cup of tea.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Would you mind helping me into the bathroom?” she asked weakly. “I tried to get up earlier, but I felt light-headed.”

“Of course.”

She sat up, and he saw that her skin was pale, her hair on one side had gone completely flat, and the upholstery of her sofa had left a floral imprint on her cheek. She wrapped the housecoat around her and tied the sash.

She swayed when she stood upright, and he slid his arm around her waist to steady her. Once he was confident that she could maintain her balance, he guided her down the hallway. He turned on the bathroom light.

“Would you move the scale away from the wall for me?” she asked in the same weak voice.

“The scale?” he asked incredulously.

“I want to weigh myself.”

Steve was certain he'd misunderstood. “Why in the name of heaven would you want to do that?”

She gave him a look that suggested the answer couldn't be more obvious. “To see how much weight I've lost,” she explained, enunciating each word with painstaking clarity. “I haven't had anything but juice and crackers for two days.”

It made no sense to him, but Steve knew better than to argue. He crouched down to pull the scale away from the wall.

“There,” he said, patiently waiting for her to step forward.

She hesitated. “You can't look.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Turn around.”

“For the love of…” But Steve did as she requested and turned his back. He heard Hallie step on the scale, and then a pathetically feeble cry of triumph.

“I take it you've lost?”

“Yes,” she answered in a whisper. “Isn't that wonderful?”

“If you say so.” He'd never understood why Hallie was so obsessed about her weight. He thought she looked just fine. Yet the entire time he'd known her, she'd analyzed everything she put in her mouth. Well, other than that one episode with the double-fudge macadamia-nut ice cream.

He helped her back to the living room and fluffed up the pillows. “Where's Nerdman when you need him?” It seemed to Steve that professor friend of hers should be the one checking up on her.

“We decided not to see each other anymore,” she replied. Steve couldn't detect any deep regret.

“Oh.”

“I couldn't imagine him naked.”

Steve did a poor job of hiding a grin. “Do you do that often? Imagine men naked?” He made a show of clutching the neck of his uniform in a false display of modesty.

“Hardly. Just some men. You don't qualify.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“The only thing I ever saw him get excited about was a program on the public channel about mold.”

If there was a hidden message in that statement, Steve wasn't sure he wanted to dig for it. “So you called it quits?”

“I'm back to square one—again.”

“There's a man for you out there, Hallie. Don't lose heart.”

“That's what Donnalee keeps saying. I don't understand it. I thrive on challenges. I write out my goals and plan to succeed, and so far all I've done is fall flat on my face.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself.”

Hallie sighed dramatically. “I never thought I'd be this thin and without a man in my life.”

Steve didn't know how to respond to that.

“Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem. You sure I can't get you anything else?”

“I'm fine now. Thanks for asking.”

Steve left, and as he crossed the lawn to his own condo he realized he was smiling. He did that a lot when he thought about Hallie. She seemed to find the humor in life; at any rate,
he
tended to find it when he was with her.

He showered, changed clothes and checked out the contents of his kitchen cupboards. He found a can of chicken-noodle soup and heated it. Pouring it into two bowls, he left one on the table for himself and brought the other to Hallie.

She looked surprised to see him again.

“Here,” he said, setting it down on the coffee table for her and grabbing the soda crackers from the kitchen. “Eat this and you'll feel better.”

“You're so thoughtful,” she told him, her dark eyes wide with gratitude.

“That's what friends are for,” he said, and leaning over, kissed the top of her head.