Husband in Training Read online

  Will and Nancy stood side by side. Will put his arm around his wife and smiled sadly. "So do we, Polly," he said.

  "I hope you're not going to hate me forever, because of it." Polly's lower lip quivered. She really did care what the Gordons thought of her.

  "We don't hate you, honey," Nancy said. "But we don't like what you and Amelia did."

  "Well, I'm sorry." She sounded more truculent than remorseful. Still, Jenny felt glad that Nick had thought to make her apologize, however grudgingly she was accomplishing it.

  "All right," Will said. "Your apology is accepted."

  On the couch, Amelia sniffled and let out a small sob.

  Polly turned to her friend and commanded defiantly, "Hey, Mellie. Cheer up."

  Amelia tried to force a brave smile.

  "I'll call you," Polly promised. "Later…"

  Nancy and Will exchanged a look, then glanced at Jenny. Jenny experienced a coward's urge to say nothing. To let the Gordons tell the girls what the adults had agreed on in the foyer—or to let the issue go for the moment. But the Gordons had already handled more than their share of this problem.

  "You won't be using the phone for a while, Polly," Jenny said. "So you won't be calling Amelia anytime soon."

  Amelia looked stricken. "Oh, no…" She sobbed again.

  Polly's face turned a rageful red. "Oh, great. Fine. Thanks, Mom."

  Polly sat in the back seat for the drive home. She didn't say a word the whole way. Jenny kept wanting to turn around and shout recriminations at her, but she made herself keep silent, in order not to say things she'd later regret.

  Nick kept quiet, too. About halfway there, he turned on the radio. Jenny stared out the windshield as soft music filled the car. She felt trapped. She didn't want to look at Nick and be reminded of last night. And she didn't want to turn around, either. She didn't want to meet the angry eyes of her sulky, misbehaving daughter, who was no doubt busy staring daggers at the back of her head.

  When Nick turned the Cadillac onto their street and the disaster on the front lawn came into view, Polly gave a snort of pure disgust.

  "God, Mother. What did you do to the car?"

  Nick shot her a quelling glance. "Watch it, Pol."

  Jenny said nothing. She sat facing resolutely forward, thinking, I will not scream at my child.

  The red wagon was gone from the driveway. Nick pulled his Cadillac in there and shut off the engine. Fingers shaking in suppressed fury and frustration, Jenny fumbled in her purse. The keys weren't there.

  "Here," Nick said, holding them out.

  She took the keys from him, then turned and dangled them over the seat toward her daughter. "Go in the house. And go straight to your room. Now."

  Polly glared. Then, with a small, angry cry, she grabbed the keys, jumped out and bolted for the front walk.

  Jenny gave her a moment to get inside. Then she turned to Nick.

  Nick knew what was coming. She would ask him to leave. He tried to tell himself he understood. "Just let me put your car in the garage for you before I go. I think I can get it that far. And then, tomorrow, you can call a tow truck and have it taken care of."

  His thoughtfulness totally disarmed her. And really, he had been so sweet, so silently supportive over at Amelia's house—exactly as he had promised he'd be. The only time he'd opened his mouth had been to say just the right thing: that Polly should apologize.

  And was that so surprising, that he'd said the right thing? That he'd been there today, just when she needed him most?

  He'd always been there whenever she or Polly needed him, ever since they'd lost Andrew. Last night should never have happened. But it hadn't changed his basic commitment to her and to her daughter.

  Commitment. Yes. That was the word. Exactly the word for the way he'd always been there, ready to offer aid and comfort to his friend's widow and her child.

  Jenny sighed. She was getting a headache. She rubbed her temples, willing it away. "Nick?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you … want to come in for the rest of this mess?"

  He looked at her for a long, too-intimate moment. Then he said softly, "You know I do." She could see in his eyes that he wanted to reach out, to touch her. But he didn't. He tried a smile. "I still think I should put the car away first, though. Otherwise, you'll have the neighbors knocking on your door, wondering what's going on."

  "Okay." She smiled back at him. "I'd appreciate that."

  Inside, they found the keys on the dining room table, where Polly must have tossed them. Nick scooped them up and went out through the garage.

  Jenny stood at the kitchen window, watching in a kind of a numb haze as he moved his Cadillac to the curb and then strode across the lawn to her car.

  He got in, started it up. Even from inside the house, she could hear the sound of metal groaning as the tree and the car came apart. Carefully he steered the damaged vehicle back into the garage. She contemplated the tire tracks on her lawn and the gouges in the mulberry tree as she heard the garage door rumble down.

  He came back into the kitchen. At the sight of him, gratitude for all his kindnesses to her seemed to wash over her in a wave. She said, "I know I don't seem very grateful, but thank you. Thank you so much."

  He shrugged. "You're going to need another way to get to work tomorrow."

  "My mechanic can get me a rental. I'll call him first thing."

  "If you want, I could—"

  "Nick. I can take care of it."

  He set her keys on the counter, then ran both hands back over his hair, in that characteristic gesture that never changed a thing. The sight made her heart ache. "Sure. I know you can." He leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, waiting, she knew, for her to tell him what she wanted next.

  She thought, Hold me. I want you to hold me. I want things back as they were between us. I want our friendship. Strong and solid and not threatened by memories of last night…

  She wanted the impossible.

  And she would not get it. She could tell that by the look in Nick's eyes, by the agitated beating of her own traitorous heart.

  The headache behind her eyes had started to pound mercilessly. She brought up a hand to rub at her forehead.

  Gently Nick said, "Headache, huh?"

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "Better take a couple of aspirin, then we'll go talk to Polly."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

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  When they entered her room, Polly lay facedown on the bed, her head cradled on her folded arms. "Go away, Mother," Polly said to the bright yellow comforter. "Just leave me alone."

  Jenny drew herself up. "Polly. Sit up and look at me."

  Polly stayed where she was for an insolent count of five. Then, with a great show of injured reluctance, she dragged herself to a sitting position—and saw Nick standing beside Jenny, just inside the door. "Oh, come on. Nick doesn't need to be here."

  Nick folded his arms over his chest and said nothing. Jenny took her cue from him. There was a long, weighty silence, then Polly muttered, "Oh, all right. Go ahead, say it. Whatever it is, just get it over with."

  Jenny schooled her voice to remain level. "I want to hear what happened last night—from the time Will Gordon dropped you off at that party until the moment when the police brought you back to their house."

  Polly picked up one of the stuffed animals that sat on her pillow—a little pink bunny, which Andrew had chosen for her Easter basket years and years go. She sat stoop shouldered, looking down at the childish toy.

  "Polly," Jenny tried again. "I'm waiting."

  Polly went on staring at the bunny. "Didn't the Gordons tell you already?"

  "I want to hear it from you."

  Polly's head shot up. "Why? So you can yell at me in front of Nick?"

  "No. So I can try to understand."

  "You won't understand. You never understand."

  "Polly, that is not true."

  "It is."

  "It is not
."

  A stare-down ensued. Polly dropped her gaze first. "There's nothing to understand."

  "Was there drinking at that party?"

  "No. They had sodas and punch and that was all."

  "Good. Was that boy there when you arrived?"

  "No. Brandon showed up about nine."

  "Brandon? That's the boy's name?"

  "Yeah. He asked us if we wanted to go for a ride."

  "Was he obviously drunk?"

  Polly looked away. "I don't know. He seemed … maybe. I'd never met him before. Maybe he's like that all the time."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know, Mother. He slurred his words a little, all right? He was kind of … unsteady, when he walked, you know?"

  "Yes. I do know. What happened next?"

  "We went. In the car with him."

  "Why? If you knew he was drunk?"

  "I don't know. He asked Mellie to go and she didn't want to go without me and I didn't want to stay alone there with all those kids I didn't even know. So I went with them, all right?"

  It wasn't all right, not by a long shot. Jenny said, "Go on."

  "He—Brandon—drove kind of crazy, I guess. And a cop pulled us over. Another cop drove up while the first cop was talking to Brandon. The second cop drove us back to Mellie's house. When we got there, the Gordons called you." Polly sniffed in disdain. "You weren't home. They tried your cell phone. You didn't answer it, either."

  You weren't home. Her daughter's accusations twisted across Jenny's soul. Kids, she thought. How do they always know exactly where to slip in the knife? She ordered her thoughts off the discouraging subject of her guilt and back to the real issue at hand. "How much alcohol did you and Amelia have to drink?"

  Polly gasped. "None. There was none at the party, I told you that."

  "Apparently this Brandon had some."

  "If he did, we didn't see it. We didn't drink anything but sodas all night. Who told you we did?"

  "No one."

  Polly threw the bunny down on the bed. "But you just assumed we'd do something like that?"

  "I assumed nothing. I'm just trying to get at the truth here."

  "Oh, right. Sure you are."

  "Did you know about this boy, this Brandon, before last night?"

  Polly traced the thread pattern on the yellow comforter. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  Jenny moved fully into the room, leaving Nick alone by the door. She stood over her daughter. "Polly. Look at me."

  Slowly, Polly raised her head. "What?"

  "You knew about that boy before last night, didn't you? Amelia told you all about him. And neither of you bothered to say a word to your parents."

  Polly blinked, then drew herself up taller. "So what? So what if she did? It was her business. I can't just tell you my best friend's private business. That wouldn't be right."

  "If your best friend's private business is dangerous to her—or to you—you certainly can tell me. You should tell me. And I think you know that."

  "Well, how would I know if he was dangerous? I told you, I never met him until last night." Polly was tracing patterns on the comforter again.

  At that moment, as she looked down at the crown of Polly's bent head, it came to Jenny what her daughter had been doing all those nights on the phone with Amelia. "Polly. You've been counseling Amelia about that boy, haven't you? You've been giving her a few pointers on romance, just the same as you've been doing for Nick."

  Polly's head shot up again. "No. Not the same. Not the same at all. Amelia doesn't need to learn how to be sensitive. She's already sensitive. She just needed—" Polly cut herself off as she realized what she'd revealed. Her face went red with chagrin—and defensive anger. She sucked in a hard breath and accused, "If you think I'm so bad, what about you? You weren't even here when they tried to call you."

  There it was again, Jenny thought. Guilt. Staring her in the face. Speaking in her daughter's voice. Before she could recover from the shame of it, Nick moved away from the door and to her side. "Your mother isn't the problem here." He spoke with suppressed fury.

  Jenny put a warning hand on his arm. "Nick…" He shook her off.

  "Nick," she said again. "Let me handle—"

  He ran right over her. "You're too damn easy on her, Jen. You let her get away with murder. It's time somebody got tough on her. Time somebody made her see what a selfish little idiot she really is."

  On the bed, Polly let out a wounded cry. Jenny turned from Nick to look at her daughter again.

  Polly's outraged gaze darted from Nick to her mother and back to Nick. For one hideous moment, Jenny felt absolutely certain that Polly knew what had transpired at Nick's house the night before.

  But then Polly jutted out her chin at Nick. "She's the mother. She's supposed to be here. She's supposed to be responsible."

  She's only thirteen, Jenny thought in shamed relief. She doesn't have a clue about me and Nick. She's totally wrapped up in her own tragedy right now…

  "Your mother is responsible," Nick said. "And you know she is. Since your dad died, she's dedicated her whole damn life to you."

  "She wasn't here when they called her!" Polly was shouting now. "She didn't even leave a number where they could find her!"

  Nick shouted right back. "So she's human, so what? And I'll tell you what she also wasn't. She wasn't out joyriding with a drunk sixteen-year-old!"

  Polly flinched as if he'd struck her. Then she gathered her dignity about her once more and stuck that nose she got from Andrew back up in the air. "Everyone's against me, now. Even you, Nick. Even you…" An anguished sob bubbled up. Polly gulped, as if to push it down. But then she let it loose. With another pained cry, she threw herself across the bed, facedown. Despairing sobs fill the bedroom.

  Jenny rubbed her temples, easing the headache that the aspirin she'd taken had yet to tame.

  Nick blew out a long breath. "Aw, Polly…"

  Just like a man, Jenny thought wearily. He turns to mush at the sound of a few sobs.

  Jenny stopped him as he started to move toward the bed. She grasped his arm again, more firmly this time. "Let's just leave her alone for a while."

  "But—"

  "Please."

  He looked at her for a long moment. And then he nodded. He turned for the door.

  Jenny followed him, pausing only to unplug Polly's cute yellow phone and carry it out with her.

  In the family room, Jenny set the phone on the coffee table. Nick stood a few feet away, his hands stuffed in his back pockets, looking contrite. "Okay, I know I said I'd keep my big mouth shut. I'm sorry, Jen. It's just that sometimes I think you let her walk all over you and—"

  Jenny put up a hand. "She did have a point. I wasn't here."

  He gave her a long, probing look. Then he said carefully, "Polly is thirteen years old. Old enough to go to a boy-girl party. Old enough to say no to a bad situation."

  He didn't understand. He didn't want to understand. She sighed. "I should have been here."

  Anger flashed in his eyes again. "Great. You're going to blame yourself, aren't you?"

  "Part of the fault is mine."

  He swore then.

  She went on, "I should have been available. But I was with you. What Polly said is true. I didn't even leave a number where I could be reached." She dropped to the easy chair in the corner and rubbed her pounding temples again. "It was irresponsible of me."

  "Do you blame yourself for Andy, too?"

  It took her a moment to register his question. Once she did, she stared at him, feeling trapped, as he closed the distance between them and stood over her.

  "Do you?"

  She gazed up at him, at all that strength and manliness, thinking, I'm too tired for this now. I can't face this now. "No. Of course I don't blame myself for that. It was … an accident of fate, with Andrew. I know that. He just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

  "Like Polly was last night?"

  "No.
It's not the same. Polly made a choice last night—"

  "Right. Polly made a choice. And that choice had nothing to do with whether you were here, sitting by the phone, or not. You couldn't have kept her from making that choice, even if you sat by the phone every night of your life."

  She knew he was right. Damn him. "Nick…"

  "I know that tone. I know that look. You want me to stop with all these questions you don't want to answer. You want me to go."

  "I…"

  "It's all right. I'm going." But he didn't move.

  She looked up at him in mute appeal—for what, she couldn't have said.

  He put down his hand. Half reluctantly, she took it.

  And he pulled her up into his arms, into his warmth and strength, into that special scent of his, and close to the deep, steady beating of his heart. He whispered against her hair, "Last night was not a mistake."

  She sighed, pretended not to hear, snuggled closer, though she knew she shouldn't.

  He whispered some more. "I know what you want, Jen. What you think you want. You and me. Like it used to be. Just friends."

  She nodded against his heart, sighed once more.

  "You can't have that, Jen."

  She shut her eyes tight, against his too-truthful whisper, against the moment—so soon now—when he would set her away from him and walk out the door.

  He took her chin, guided it up.

  And then his mouth was on hers.

  It was last night all over again. And everything else went away. Nothing mattered, but his arms around her, his lips pressed to hers. She gave a cry and slid her arms up, around his neck, to pull him closer.

  It lasted forever, that kiss.

  Yet only for a moment.

  Then he was peeling her arms away, stepping back. "I guess I've had enough training. You can tell Polly that."

  She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering.

  He touched the side of her face, a caress that made her skin burn and her heart beat too fast. "Open your eyes."

  She did as he bade her.

  "So now," he said. "You don't have to call me tonight, after all. We don't have to talk about what to say to Polly. You already know."