Yours, Mine & Ours (13 page)

She made the kids laugh…he did, too. “Let me think on it.”

“Yeah, you probably need a five-hour nap, huh?”

He chuckled again at her teasing, since she clearly wanted him to. “Everything go okay for you?”

“Sure did,” she said heartily. “Tell you about it when I get a chance. In the meantime…I'd better get Molly in and my brood fed and watered. Thanks, Mike. I really, really appreciate it.”

“Hey, no sweat. Anytime,” he said, and meant it. She looked at him, her expressions, her words, as if he were seriously a cherished friend, sincerity radiating from her tone and smile.

They were doing the friend thing really well, he thought.

And wished he could kick a mountain in the shins.

Something had whipped the hell out of her in that custody hearing. He didn't know who won what—or who lost what—but Amanda's eyes had the fierce brightness of a lioness. She was hurting. Bad.

Mike felt a sudden, sharp ripping sensation. Her hurting wasn't supposed to be his business.

She didn't want a hero. She wanted a friend. She didn't want someone to beat up her enemies, to protect her, to watch over her.

She wanted a friend. She didn't want him in the
parts of her life that involved pain or fear or any of that other rotten life crap. She just wanted a friend.

Those were her rules.

Well, they'd played it her way. Now they were going to play it his way.

W
ell, Amanda thought, she'd handled that reasonably well. Or as well as she possibly could have. Mike hadn't guessed she was upset. Neither of the kids sensed anything was wrong…although Molly was still sneaking questions at bedtime.

“I think you're going to be a prosecuting attorney when you grow up,” Amanda said as she snuggled Molly in fresh sheets and her favorite doll of the week.

“I don't know what a prosecutor attorney is.”

“It means someone who's really good at asking questions. And at finding ways to get the answers they want.” She bent over to kiss Molly good-night. “Did you have a good time next door?”

“I told you that already. I had a great time. I didn't scream about the worms. I just ignored Teddy when he was being awful that way. And I helped Mr. Mike in a whole lot of ways.”

“You did, huh?”

“He thinks I'm smart.”

“Everybody thinks you're smart. Because you are.”

“I know. But he
listens
to me. Like I wasn't a little kid. Like I was somebody you want to listen to.”

“Well, that's really good.” The fairy night-light stayed on, but Amanda switched off the pink lamp with the fringe shade

“Mommy. Don't go. I need some mommy time.”

“We can have all the mommy time you want tomorrow. But it's late tonight.”

“Just a couple more minutes!”

Amanda wasn't positive she could hold it together for a “couple more minutes,” but she sank back on the bed and said, “Okay, whiffer-sniffer.”

Molly giggled. “Thank you very much, Bonklewonkle.” It was an old game, always worth some smiles, but then Molly got more serious. “I don't know what a meeting is. But I don't like it, when I don't know where you are.”

“A meeting is just a word to describe when people are getting together for some reason. And you may not always know where I am, Mol, but you will always, always be able to reach me. No matter where I
am or what I'm doing, I'll always have the cell phone on for you.”

“But something could happen to the cell phone. It could break. Or fall in the sink. Or drop in a lake. Or a car could run over it.”

“You're right. Even having a very, very, very good cell phone isn't totally foolproof. Things happen. But I would never leave you with anyone who couldn't find another way to reach me.”

“Okay. I think. Mom.”

“What?”

“You were at the vet today, weren't you?”

“No. Where'd you get that idea?”

“It just came into my mind. I don't know how it got there. But if you weren't at the vet's, where were you?”

Amanda had prepared that answer before coming home, so it could slip off her tongue, fast and easy. “I was talking with some attorneys about some business.”

“Well, don't talk to those attorneys again. Just talk to Mr. Mike. He's an attorney. We don't need any other attorneys. And then you wouldn't have to be gone for a whole afternoon.”

“Hey. I've been gone lots of afternoons, and you never had a sweat before. Think of swimming with Grandma. And the Curious Kids Museum with Grandma and Grandpa. And you used to do morn
ings in daycare when I was working. You know I always come back.”

“I know.”

“I can't be with you every second. And you can't be with me every second. But that's okay. Then we come back together and can tell each other about our adventures. Right?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“So are we square?”

“We are very, very, very square. But, Mom.”

“What, hon?”

“Just don't go wherever you went today, okay? Anywhere else is okay. But not to that
meeting
again.”

“I'll try my best, ragamuffin. And now, you try your best to sleep really good, okay?”

“One more kiss?”

“Three more kisses, and don't you dare try to escape a great big old hug, too.”

There. A few more giggles, more hugs, and finally, Amanda could ease the door closed and tiptoe out into the hall.

Her smile died; her shoulders sagged, and she lifted a shaky hand to pull the pins out of her hair. Her mother had left a message on the machine. An old friend from high school had left another message, said he'd be in town over the weekend, and hoped they could get together.

She turned the volume off the phone, switched off the light in the kitchen. She wanted a shower, to
shake off the dirt of this terrible day. She wanted a glass of something alcoholic, too, but couldn't work up enough ambition to actually get it.

Feeling boneless-tired, she sank into the blue chair in the living room and leaned forward with her head in her hands.

Most women she knew felt destroyed by a divorce. Maybe she'd been there, too, but she'd tried to see it as an opportunity to build herself into a better woman. A stronger woman. The kind of competent woman who wouldn't just
let
bad things happen to her because she wasn't strong enough to face the facts.

Well. She'd faced some facts this afternoon.

She'd failed to protect her daughter.

The only job in the universe that mattered.

She felt a claw on her ankle, sighed, and lifted Darling to her lap. A heap of purring fur leaped to the top of the chair and then delicately tried to wind herself like a scarf around Amanda's neck. She loved both pets. Hugely. And they were overdue attention today, but just then, all she wanted was some nice, long, wallowing silence.

Somehow, someway, she had to get up the next morning.

Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to say the right maternal things to Molly.

Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to believe she hadn't failed in everything that mattered to her.

“Hey. I knocked. But I wasn't sure if you heard me…and the back door wasn't locked…”

Her head shot up. The last person she expected to see was Mike, much less standing in the arch of her kitchen, holding a two-inch kitty-cat purse. The purse looked downright funny, hanging from the beefy wrist of a six-foot-two hunk.

More to the point, she'd assumed he'd be comatose by now, after dealing with two four-year-olds for most of the day. For sure he was wearing torn old jeans and a tee that looked as if it lost a wrestling match—it was that wrinkled and ragged. But he wasn't.

He looked like the Mike she'd fallen in love with. Brash and unbrushed, a smile as natural as sunshine, that easy, earthy way of moving that was so purely male. It wasn't hard to imagine him fighting down and dirty. It was easy to imagine him cleaned up, in a navy suit and white shirt, fighting to win with a forceful presence, and slow, quiet words. It was just as easy to imagine him being there, through thick and thin, no minor irritation like earthquakes or avalanches keeping him from those he loved.

He was just a bigger-than-life kind of guy. It wasn't his fault.

But she wasn't going to be on the list of loved ones he dug through those avalanches for. As often as she remembered the night they made love, she winced every time her heart replayed the messy hurts that showed up the next day.

And faster than pride, she straightened. Possibly she couldn't find another fake smile today to save her life, but she tried for a normal, pleasant expression. “Aw, Mike, I'm sorry you went to the trouble. You didn't have to bring over Molly's purse. We'd have gotten it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right. I've spent one-on-one time with Molly now. Once she realized she'd forgotten something as important as this—” he carefully removed the purse from his wrist and set it on the couch “—I figured there'd be hell to pay for someone. I didn't want it to be me.”

She still couldn't smile, but darn it, almost. “Uh-oh. Am I sensing she was a tad difficult this afternoon?”

“Are you kidding? She was perfect. I'm in love with her. She is absolutely honest. Just says everything like it is. That was cool,” he said, as if they were starting another conversation, “about the two jelly beans in the purse.”

“What? Oh. Yes. I told her, one for Teddy, one for her. I figured they'd be a conversation breaker when she first came over—”

“Great thinking, Mom. It really worked. And in the meantime…” From behind his back, he produced a sturdy box with fancy lettering. “I had something to celebrate. Had a bottle of Talisker hidden away for the past couple of years, needed an excuse to bring it out. Share a glass with me?”

“Thanks, Mike, but no. Honestly, I'm half asleep. Just really, really tired—”

“Just one short glass.”

“I'd like to, really, but just not tonight—”

It was like talking to a brick wall. Maybe he didn't hear her, because he went into her kitchen and returned with two glasses. And maybe he couldn't see her shaking her head.

“Very short. I promise,” he said genially, not looking at her face, just gathering the box, the glasses, some paper towels for napkins, and then settling—not on the couch or other chairs—but on the ottoman right in front of her. “You hold the glasses, okay? It'll take me a minute to get this open.”

It was going to take him longer, because Darling leaped off Amanda's lap and headed for Molly's room. Princess, on the other hand, decided she'd rather sit on Mike's lap than hers.

She loved them. But just then she wasn't up for the cuteness of pets, or Mike this close, or Mike here at all. She'd put on a strong face all day. For Molly, she could do that. But for Mike…she wasn't sure she could fake anything with Mike.

He didn't act as if he noticed anything wrong. Just kept talking. “This cat has more fur than a coat. And I thought she was a kitten. You're turning into a little white pumpkin, aren't you…? Teddy's at my parents'. His first overnight. It's a big deal. He's been afraid to be away from me at night ever since the divorce. Had
nightmares when we've tried it. But…out of the blue, he said he wanted to, so I called them up…and they both leaped at the idea. I'll be glued to a cell phone all night, but hoping it'll work out okay.”

“Is that what you wanted to celebrate?”

“No, not that. I'm up for celebrating that another time—assuming he makes it all night without my being called to come get him. Okay, here you go…” He'd opened the blue box, produced the bottle and opened it, all without making the purring machine on his lap even budge. He poured equal amounts in two glasses, just filling them halfway, and handed her one, but with a caution.

“Now, this isn't a drinking drink. It's a sipping drink. A slow-sip-and-savor drink. The only place this is made is on the Isle of Skye. Aged ten years plus. And there's no talking or discussion when you take your first slow sip. You just close your eyes and let it happen.”

He wasn't talking fast; he just kept on talking in that slow, easy way of his. She couldn't get a word in, much less an objection. She gave up, accepted the glass, and just figured she'd finish the drink quickly and
then
coax him to go home.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

She lowered the glass at his admonition, saw his grin.

“You don't drink this without a toast.” He lifted
his glass to hers, clinked. “To parents of four-year olds.”

“Good one.” Again she lifted the glass, but before it reached her lips, the scent hit her nose. “Hold on. What is this?”

“Scotland's most famous single malt.”

“You mean, whiskey?”

He shot her a glower. “When you speak of Talisker, you speak in reverent tone and terms. It's Scotch whiskey. You've never had it?”

“Actually, no. I'm usually a wine girl. Not that I haven't had a mint julep or Manhattan at a party sometimes, but—”

“Okay. Another toast.” He clinked her glass again. “To virgin Talisker tasters.”

“Mike. You're acting awfully goofy tonight.”

“Uh-huh. Taste.”

She took a slow, careful sip. Initially the liquid felt soft and smooth on her tongue, interesting, different…but that was before the fire. Flames shot internally straight to the top of her brain. Smoke whooshed out her nose, throat and possibly her ears. Embers drizzled down her esophagus. Tears welled in her eyes. Her entire living room blurred, tilted sideways.

Eventually the smoke cleared. The pale blue chairs and blueberry-blue carpet stopped moving. The soft light from the purple-and-blue Tiffany lamp looked normal again. Mike was hunched over the ottoman,
less than two feet from her face, his exultant grin just full of the devil. “I knew you'd love it.”

“Love?” She opened her mouth, released some more fumes. “To tell you the truth…” She glanced at the amber liquid, considered, and couldn't think of a single reason why she needed to tell the truth. He obviously loved the drink. “I think this may possibly be the best thing that's happened to me all day.”

“Atta girl. Another toast. This one to redheads. But
only
to redheads who happened to be named Molly or Amanda.”

“Okay. Listen. I love the goofball thing. But, Mike. I'm not a big drinker, and I don't do hangovers, and—”

“Me, either. That stopped being fun before I was nineteen. We're not drinking a lot—I promise. Talisker is only for special occasions. You never level it. At most—no matter how much you beg—you can only have two glasses, max.”

She frowned, studying him, unsure where all his high spirits and energy and foolishness were coming from. It wasn't as if she wanted to burst his bubble. If he had good news to share…well, that's what being a friend was about, wasn't it?

And especially after this afternoon, she knew she could never be more—no matter what she felt for Mike, or what she'd hoped for.

So she lifted her glass—tapped his—and said, “My turn to make a toast.”

 

Talk about a slow drinker. It took her a full half hour just to sip through a shot, and probably the same amount of time to level a second.