Turning Thirty-Twelve (8 page)

My heart pounded a rough, fast cadence. My blood ran so hot, I felt like I was sixteen again. His lips were soft, his tongue skilled. I stretched my arms up around his neck and let him hold me even closer.

It was similar to leaning against a solid brick wall. The guy had to lift some heavy-duty weights to have a body like that. I could feel how hard my breasts were being flattened against his concrete chest. I don’t think I’d ever felt as aware of being a woman as I did when Mark was kissing me, when he was holding me.

Of course, as much as I wanted to turn my mind off and simply revel in his kiss, the stupid bells started chiming in my head.

He’s a parent. You have to see his daughter first period every morning.

Ding, ding, ding, the bells continued to ring.

He still misses his wife. He’s too good looking for you.

Ding, ding, ding.

I reluctantly eased away before things got too steamy. With the way my body was reacting to Mark, I could very easily fall into casual sex for the first time in my life. I’d never even been tempted before. All this man had to do was take a couple of steps toward a bedroom and crook his finger. I’d run after him like a bloodhound following a fresh, strong scent, tongue hanging out all the way.

He sighed and his warm breath was a caress against my cheek. “Sweet Jackie,” he whispered. “Where do we go from here?”

How about your room?
“I don’t know, Mark. I really don’t know.”

He ran his hands down my arms and then laced his fingers through mine. “I know it’s probably weird to be kissing one of your student’s parents—”

I interrupted with a chuckle. “To say the least.”

“But I’d really like to us to get to know each other better.”

His face shifted into a mask of deep thought.

I waited patiently as he sorted through whatever it was that was tumbling through his brain.  I wondered for a moment if this was how I looked when I disappeared in my own thoughts.

He turned his attention back to me as he gave my hands a reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t think... After Elaine died... I miss her so much. I never thought there would be someone else—that I’d replace her.”  He took a ragged breath. 

I brushed the back of my knuckles across his cheek, enjoying the sensation of his light whisker stubble rubbing against my skin. “I’d like to see you again.”

Mark grabbed my hand and then he pressed a kiss to my fingers. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Van.”

“Whatever,” he said with a chuckle.

At the door to my ancient minivan, I had a hard time letting him go back to his house. My ego didn’t suffer because he seemed to be having just as much difficulty in leaving. There was nothing hurried about him or his attention.

I felt the need to warn him. This could all come back to bite us both in the ass. “You know, people will talk. Carly might...hear gossip.”

The grapevine in this small town rivaled the Internet in speed of transmitting information. Unfortunately, the “facts” it passed along tended to be as distorted and inaccurate as the World Wide Web could be. I could almost feel the eyes peeking through their drapes as Mark leaned against my van and tugged me back into his embrace.

Mind your own damned business!
I wanted to scream at them.

“Sweet Jackie. What are we doing here? I barely know you, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. And you’re right. I know people will talk, but I just don’t give a damn,” he said in that wonderful deep voice.

I touched my forehead to his. “I don’t know what we’re doing either, Mark. But I’m willing to take some time to figure it out.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

“I’m heading back inside now.” He still held his forehead to mine.

“I can see that,” I said with a laugh. “I really should go.”

He kissed me again. Not a simple peck, a slow, toe-curling, promise of making slow, passionate love to you at some later date kiss. Just like some silly romance novel.

Shit!

I’d let him in, all the way in.

CHAPTER SIX

“He
still
hasn’t called?” Julie asked as we sat down to our pathetic rabbit food lunches.

I shook my head and fought back the threatening tears, knowing I would be putting very little of the carrot sticks, celery, and lettuce in my stomach. I had absolutely no appetite and even less inclination to talk, especially about Mark Brennan.

I never cried in front of other people. Patrick and Nate might have seen a tear or two. But David?
Never
.

If I cried in front of my mother, she would always tell me to suck it up and develop a spine. I learned at an early age to hide what I was feeling. Let’s just say I spent a lot of my adolescence hiding in my walk-in closet with a pillow to my face just so she wouldn’t hear me. I still used that tactic when I was married, preferring to conceal my hurt than display it.

I had only wept at school once. A parent called me all sorts of foul names because I refused to pass her child who’d turned in zero assignments for an entire grading period. The woman caught me right outside my classroom door a few minutes before first bell, so there was no escape. After her tirade, she was escorted from the grounds by one of my bosses, but I still had to face my first period class. I couldn’t stop the tears. The students had gaped at me as if I’d lost my mind.

Kids must believe their teachers are some kind of reverse vampires. Evidently, they think we retreat to some sort of coffin during the evening and rest until the next dawn when we emerge to torture them. Running into a student at the mall always resulted in the students flashing me one of those deer-in-the-headlights looks and stammering out a greeting. At least when they waved at me in a public place, they tended to use all their fingers. They also think educators are not entirely human. Losing your temper, crying, or any other expression of real emotion leaves students confused.

I kept my emotions to myself when I was at school. Hell, I kept my emotions to myself everywhere. Yet today, I sat in the teacher’s cafeteria with tears brimming my eyes. 

I’d trusted a man again, and I’d been hurt.  Despite what Mark had said about how he felt about me, he hadn’t called in six damn weeks.

Carly seemed a little less happy every day in class, but I resisted the urge to go and talk to her. We exchanged cordial words, and we functioned fine as teacher and student. But I couldn’t ask her about Mark. It would be too embarrassing, and it didn’t seem fair to drag her into the middle of things.

His ignoring me—discarding me—hurt. It hurt like hell. I hadn’t wanted to let it. I didn’t want to face the fact that I’d let him get to me despite all my promises that I wouldn’t put my heart on the line again. I’d let him in anyway. I was humiliated at how quickly I’d allowed the attachment to form.

I could have loved Mark Brennan. Then I was honest enough to admit to myself that I probably already did. And how was I rewarded for being open and honest with another man and handing him my heart on a silver platter? It was the same old shit. Mark was no better than David. They were two of a kind.

Julie looked at me with that compassionate smile she must have floated my way a hundred times during my divorce.

I knew she meant well, but I didn’t want to talk about Mark, didn’t want to think about Mark. I knew I’d cry.

I don’t cry in front of people.

“No,” I finally said in reply to her question. “He didn’t call. Drop it, Julie. Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

I shoved some salad into my mouth to give it something to do except talk about Mark Brennan and the fact that he’d gotten the better of me. The lettuce tasted like cardboard as the tears formed again.

Damn him
.

“Have you tried to call him?”

If I hadn’t just finished chewing my lettuce, I would have spewed it across the table at the ridiculous question. “Are you freakin’ kidding me? Call him? Call
him
?”

I was practically screeching at the notion of doing something as foolish as announcing to him that he’d gotten to me. The group of male teachers who were eating at another table in the faculty lounge gaped at me. Then they elbowed each other and chuckled.

Go coach football or some other macho sport and mind your own fucking business.

“No, I’m not kidding. You’re a grown-up, not some kid in junior high school. Call him. Find out what he’s thinking,” Julie replied before she sipped some of her diet soda.

“I know what he’s thinking.” I pushed the remaining salad around the plate with my plastic fork. “He’s thinking some neurotic, under-sexed, middle-aged woman came on too strong and way too fast. You know, his silence speaks...
volumes
.”

Julie shook her head. “You don’t know what’s going on in his head, Jackie. He could be...I don’t know...thinking about his daughter. Maybe he was uncomfortable dating one of her teachers.”

I snorted a small, sardonic laugh that made Julie glare at me. God love her, she was trying to make me feel better. I didn’t have the heart to tell her nothing would make me feel better, once a discard, always a discard.

“Maybe he and I didn’t click. No chemistry.”

“That’s not what you told me the other—”

“Well, maybe I was wrong.” I was snapping at my best friend when she had done nothing to deserve it. I reined in my temper. “Maybe he didn’t feel the way about me that I did about him. Please drop it. Please.”

I don’t want to cry in front of you.

***

The phone was ringing when I walked in the door. I got to it before the answering machine took command, not even having time to check the caller-ID. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

Hearing my youngest son’s voice brought me some familiar comfort and reminded me I wasn’t all alone in the world. “Hi, Nate. How’s school?”

I dropped my purse and briefcase on the kitchen table and kicked off my shoes.

“Fine. I hate my econ prof, but I love the rest of my classes. Patrick said he told you about Parents’ Day a while back. Are you coming on Saturday?”

“Despite the fact you didn’t invite me?” Mothers have a real problem not exercising their right to create guilt in their offspring. Nate had left a perfect opportunity dangling there like a ripe tomato on the vine. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Walking over to let Jellybean out of his cage, I was rewarded with a wolf whistle. I responded by ruffling the feathers on his neck the way he always enjoyed.

“Ah, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m just so busy, it slipped my mind.”

“It’s okay, Nate.”
I’ve slipped a lot of men’s minds lately.
“What time do you want me to be there?”

“Most of the stuff for parents doesn’t start until one. But...um... Would you...maybe...come for lunch. I–I want to introduce you to my girlfriend.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard so much naked fear in my son’s voice. Nate was in love with this girl, no doubt about it. And he was terrified I wouldn’t like her.

I felt old at that moment, and if not old, at least middle-aged.

“I’d
love
to meet her,” I said, hearing his breath rush out in a nervous gasp that made me smile. “What time? And which restaurant?”

“Eleven-thirty. How about The Chuckwagon? Do you remember where it is?”

I could hear the relief in his voice, and I hoped this girl was worthy of my tenderhearted son. “I remember. Is Patrick coming too?”

“Yeah. And Kat invited her dad and her sister. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Kat?”

“My girlfriend. Kat.”

“Ah,” I replied, ridiculously nodding like a Bobble-head.

“You don’t mind if her dad comes, do you?”

I shook my head, and then realized I was doing so.
Old habits die hard.
“No. No problem. Do you need anything, Nate? Money?”
Condoms?

Having watched Nate grow up mimicking almost all of my own mannerisms, I smiled when I realized he was probably shaking his head too. “Nope. I’m good. See you Saturday, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

***

The Chuckwagon hadn’t changed in twenty years. It was still the rundown converted warehouse just a few blocks from campus that served home cooking. The place had all the ambiance of a grocery store, but if tradition held, the servings would be huge, cheap, and delicious. I decided to skip the diet for the day.

Since neither Nate nor Patrick was outside waiting, I got out of the bright light to spare my skin a few more sun-damaged wrinkles. As I opened the door and stepped inside, I whipped off my sunglasses and came face to face with Mark and Carly Brennan.

Son of a bitch.

“Jackie? Wh–what are you doing in Bloomington?” He appeared as surprised as he sounded.

Carly just looked confused.

About a million sarcastic replies crossed my mind, and about a million more rude ones gave the sarcasm some heavy competition. They ended up canceling each other out. “I’m here to see my sons. It’s Parents’ Day.” I shoved my sunglasses in my purse, desperately wishing life had a rewind button that could take me back several minutes so I wouldn’t have to face him.

“I know. I’m here to see my oldest girl.”

Shocked at the entirely crazy turn of events, I’d forgotten that his daughter had told me she was attending Indiana University. What was her name? Candy? Katie?

“Kathy!” Mark practically shouted as the young woman I recognized from OfficeMax walked in the door.

My heart almost stopped beating when my Nate followed her inside—especially when they were holding hands.

You’ve got to be freaking kidding me! Is Candid Camera here?
Or is it
America’s Funniest Home Videos?

Mark’s daughter and my son were a couple.

Nate dropped Kathy’s hand and came over and gave me a hug. I was so shocked, I’m not even sure I hugged back. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kathy hugging Mark and then Carly before she went quickly back to Nate’s side. My son took her hand and dragged her to me. For a quick and very bizarre moment, it reminded me of a cat dragging a dead mouse home for its owner’s approval.