Lexie lasted until ten o’clock. Exhausted, she insisted that John carry her to bed. By subjecting himself to the Barbie Beauty Parlor, he had scored serious points with his daughter.
At any other time, Georgeanne might have felt hurt by Lexie’s defection, but tonight she had other issues on her mind. Other troubles. Big troubles. After that kiss in the kitchen, John had not only moved past bad hair day, but he’d shot past eyebrow tweezing, too. Then if that hadn’t been enough, he’d sat down on the floor and played dolls with a six-year-old girl. At first he’d looked funny. A big, muscular man with big hands worrying about a matching handbag and plastic boots. A macho hockey player worrying about his reputation with the guys. Then suddenly he hadn’t looked funny at all. He’d looked like he belonged on the floor, shoving leggings on a Barbie. He’d looked like a father, and she was the mother, and suddenly they looked like a real family. Only they weren’t. And as they’d looked at each other and laughed, she’d felt a little ache in her heart.
And there was nothing funny about that. Nothing at all, she thought as she walked out onto the deck. She could barely see the ocean waves, but she could hear them. The temperature had dropped and she was glad she’d changed into a blue waffle-knit sweater and a denim skirt. Her toes were a little cold, and she wished she’d remembered her shoes. She wrapped her arms around her and looked up at the night sky. She’d never been good at astronomy, but she loved to look at the stars.
She heard the door behind her open and close, then she felt a blanket drape across her shoulders. “Thank you,” she uttered, and wrapped the hand-woven blanket more securely.
“You’re welcome. I think Lexie was out before she hit the sheets,” John said as he came to stand beside her at the rail.
“She usually is. I’ve always considered it a blessing. I love Lexie, but I love it when she’s asleep.” She shook her head. “That sounds bad.”
He chuckled softly. “No, it doesn’t. I can see how she can wear a person out. I have a new respect for parents.”
She glanced up at his profile as he stared out at the ocean. Light from the house illuminated oblong patches of the wooden deck and threw shadows across his face. He wore a navy blue Gore-Tex jacket, and the salty breeze played with the contrasting green stand-up collar.
“What were you like as a child?” she asked, curious. Lexie and she were not as much alike as everyone believed.
“Fairly hyper. I think I must have subtracted ten or so years from my grandfather’s life.”
She turned toward him. “Last night you mentioned Ernie and your mother. What about your father?”
John shrugged. “I don’t remember him. He died in a car accident when I was five. My mother worked two jobs, so mostly I was raised by my grandmother and grandfather. My grandma Dorothy died when I was about twenty-three.”
“Then I guess we have something in common. Both of us were brought up by grandmothers.”
He looked across his shoulder at her; the light from the house illuminated his profile. “What about your mother?”
Years ago she’d lied about her past, built it up, made it seem pretty. He obviously didn’t remember. Now she was comfortable with who she was and didn’t feel she needed to lie. “My mother didn’t want me.”
“Not want you?” His brows lowered. “Why?”
She shrugged and turned to look out at the black night and the even blacker silhouette of Haystack Rock. “She wasn’t married and I guess…” She paused, then said, “The truth is, I don’t really know. I found out only last year from my aunt that she tried to have an abortion, but my grandmother stopped her. When I was born, my grandmother took me home from the hospital. I don’t think my mother even looked at me before she left town.”
“Are you serious?” He sounded incredulous.
“Of course.” Georgeanne hugged herself tighter. “I was always so sure she’d come back, and I used to try to be such a good little girl so she would want me. But she never came back. She never even called.” She shrugged again and rubbed her arms. “My grandmother tried to make up for it, though. Clarissa June loved me and took as good a care of me as she could. That meant getting me properly prepared to become someone’s wife. She wanted to see me married before she died, and toward the end of her life, she became very diligent about finding me a husband. It got so bad that I wouldn’t even go to the Piggly Wiggly with her.” Georgeanne smiled at the memory. “She used to try to set me up with everyone from the checkers to the produce manager. But she secretly had her heart set on the butcher, Cletus J. Krebs. Clarissa had been raised on a pig farm and was naturally partial to a good cut of pork. When she found out he was married, she was understandably crushed.” She expected a laugh out of him but didn’t even get a chuckle.
“What about your father?”
“I don’t know who he is.”
“No one ever told you?”
“No one besides my mother ever knew, and she wouldn’t say. When I was a little girl, sometimes I thought…” She stopped and shook her head, embarrassed. “Never mind,” she said, and buried her nose in the blanket.
“What did you think?” he asked.
She looked up at him and responded to the gentle tone in his voice. “It’s silly, but I always thought that if he’d known, he would have loved me because I always tried to be so good.”
“That’s not silly. I’m sure if he’d known about you, he would have loved you very much.”
“I don’t think so.” In her experience, the men she wanted most to love her couldn’t. John was an excellent example of that. She turned her head and gazed out at the ocean. “He wouldn’t have cared, but it’s very nice of you to say so.”
“No, it’s not. I’m sure it’s the truth.”
She was just as sure it wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. She’d given up on fantasies years ago.
The breeze ruffled their hair and silence stretched between them as they looked out at black and silver waves. Then John spoke, barely above the wind. “You break my heart, you know.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and turned to face her. “We need to talk about what happened in the kitchen earlier.”
Georgeanne was stunned by his admission, and she didn’t particularly want to talk about their kiss. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her, or why she’d responded as if he’d sucked out her will to say no. Her feet were cold now, and she thought it was a good time to retreat and get her thoughts together.
“I’m obviously very attracted to you.”
She decided she could stay a bit longer and hear him out.
“I know I’ve told you that I was immune to you, and that I find you completely resistible. Well, I lied about that. You’re beautiful and soft and if things between us were different, I’d give up a lung to make love to you. But they’re not, so if you catch me looking at you like I’m about to pounce, I want you to know that I won’t. I’m thirty-five and I can control myself. I don’t want you to worry that I’ll try anything again.”
No one had ever offered to give up a body organ to be with her.
“I want to assure you that I won’t kiss you or touch you or try to jump your bones. I think we can both agree that sex between us would be a mistake.”
Even though she agreed, she felt a little disappointed that he could control himself. “You’re right, of course.”
“It would ruin what progress we’ve made toward a workable relationship.”
“True.”
He turned and looked at her. “If we ignore it, it will go away.” His gaze traveled to her hair, then across her face.
“Do you think so?”
A frown settled between his brows and he slowly shook his head. “No, I’m totally full of shit,” he said as he pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped her cheeks in his warm palms. His thumb brushed her chilled skin and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers. “I’m a fairly selfish guy and I want you,” he said, his voice lowered. “I want to kiss you and touch you and”-he paused and she saw the smile in his eyes- “jump your gorgeous bones. Even though I’m thirty-five, I find it impossible to control myself with you. Wanting you has taken over, and I think about making love to you all the time. Did you know that?”