Love, Suburban Style Page 17

  Even Ben seems to have slept in today. He’s usually up bright and early most mornings to go for a run. Sam often finds him in the living room catching up on last night’s scores on ESPN.

  Not today. No sign of Ben up and about. And Sam just got up himself about fifteen minutes ago. He grabbed a quick shower, then decided to make a decent breakfast for a change. Cold cereal is the norm in the Rooney household.

  “Pancakes?” Katie grins. “Yay! Why are you making them? Is it somebody’s birthday?”

  “No. We have company.”

  “Where?” She looks around as though expecting to see that someone has slipped in and pulled up a chair at the table.

  So she didn’t notice that somebody was sleeping in the bed above her.

  “They’re upstairs. Cosette and her mother, from next door.”

  “Meg is here?”

  He nods reluctantly, remembering all the reasons he wasn’t supposed to do what he did last night.

  Ah, the cold cruel light of day.

  “Where upstairs?” Katie asks excitedly. “And why are they here?”

  He chooses to ignore the why. “Meg slept in my room—I slept on the couch,” he is compelled to add hastily, “and Cosette actually slept in the extra bed in your room.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Yes, she did. You were sound asleep, so—”

  “There’s nobody in the bed above mine.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I was just crawling around up there, looking for my brush.”

  “Why would it be on the top bunk?”

  “Because I looked everywhere else,” says Katie, whose cluttery habits, even as an eight-year-old, used to drive neatnik Sheryl crazy.

  Sheryl.

  Sam hasn’t allowed himself to think of her all morning. Nor did he think of her last night, when he was with Meg.

  He waits to be seized by guilt, but it doesn’t happen.

  “Dad?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you okay?”

  He looks up at Katie. “I’m fine. I’m just wondering where Cosette went if she didn’t spend the night in your bunk.”

  “Maybe she spent the night, but she already got up.”

  “Maybe. But where would she have gone?”

  “Home?”

  “I doubt that,” he mutters, remembering the so-called haunting.

  But where else could Cosette be?

  Maybe she crawled into his bed with her mother.

  He doesn’t feel comfortable knocking on the door to check.

  Instead he strides toward the den, to look out the window and see if he can spot any sign of activity next door.

  Hmm. The door to the den is closed, which is unusual.

  Sam opens it to peek in… and is greeted by the last thing he ever expected to find.

  “They were what?” Meg sits up groggily in Sam’s bed, rubbing her eyes in the bright morning sunlight.

  “Kissing.”

  “Wait… who was kissing?” she asks, just to be sure she heard right.

  “Ben and Cosette. In the den. On the couch.” Sam sits gingerly at the foot of the bed.

  He’s clean-shaven, his wavy hair slightly damp, and he’s wearing gray jersey shorts and a navy T-shirt with faded white lettering that reads GLENHAVEN PARK BULLDOGS.

  “I opened the door,” he tells Meg, “and there they were.”

  “What did you do when you saw them?”

  “Nothing. I closed the door and left. They didn’t even know I was there.”

  Meg tries to digest what he’s telling her, but she’s as caught off guard by his appearance in her bedroom—no, his bedroom—and by the recollection of just what happened between them last night—as she is by the news about her daughter and his son.

  “I mean, it’s not that big a deal,” Sam says, getting up and pacing across the bedroom as though it is, indeed, a very big deal. “At least it was broad daylight, and they weren’t doing anything else.”

  Unlike their parents.

  Pushing that disruptive thought from her head, Meg asks, “Are you positive they were really kissing?”

  “Unless one of them almost drowned and the other was giving mouth-to-mouth—but only after changing them both into dry clothes—yes,” he says dryly, “they were kissing.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s so… bizarre.”

  “Yeah.”

  For a moment, they’re both silent, digesting the facts.

  “I mean… they just don’t seem to have much in common.” Meg sits up straighter, pulling the sheet with her to cover herself in her strappy pajama top, which she realizes is almost laughable, considering he saw much more than her shoulders and a hint of cleavage a few hours ago.

  “Yeah, well, they’re both fifteen, attractive, and hormonally charged. I’d say that’s something.”

  She smiles. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “For saying what?”

  “Attractive. Underneath all that black, Cosette really is a pretty girl. Most people don’t see that, though. Not that she cares what anyone thinks of her. For over a year now, she seems to be doing her best to make sure that she looks as hideous as possible.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I have no idea. I gave up on trying to figure her out. I decided I should be glad she’s a nonconformist.”

  “You should be.”

  “I would be if it didn’t seem to make things even more painful for her.” She briefly describes the bullying incident, all the while acutely aware of what happened between her and Sam last night.

  How is it that she can possibly be sitting here carrying on a coherent conversation while a series of steamy fantasy images parade through her head?

  “We take stuff like that really seriously at school,” Sam tells her. “If Cosette has any problem at Glenhaven Park when she starts, we’ll be on it right away.”

  “That’s good to know. Hopefully that won’t happen again.”

  “I hope not. And at least I’ll be around to keep an eye on things for you.”

  Those words—I’ll be around—send a shiver of contentment through her in one moment, and dismay in the next.

  He’ll be around…

  But he doesn’t mean it the way you wish.

  Wish? Does she actually wish Sam were talking about a long-term relationship?

  Well, maybe.

  But he isn’t. He means he’ll be around for Cosette, as a faculty member at school.

  That should be reassuring. It should be enough to make her feel a little more at ease about staying here in Glenhaven Park.

  Before last night, she was filled with doubt about it.

  She’s just so stressed by all that needs to be done with the house…

  But you did order furniture and unpack a few more boxes, she reminds herself. And you should ask Sam for the name of a good handyman.

  Well, it isn’t just about the house. It’s about the latest visit from the resident ghost…

  Although Sam seems convinced that was her imagination, and in the bright light of day, she can almost convince herself it might have been.

  Well, regardless of any of that, Cosette is miserable here…

  Yes, but now that she’s kissing the boy next door, she might perk up considerably.

  Generally, though, the fresh start isn’t what Meg hoped it would be. She’s lonely, and overwhelmed, and rapidly going broke.

  And yesterday’s meeting with the insufferable Flickingers didn’t help matters.

  Sophie isn’t tone-deaf, exactly… but she’s hardly the next Maria Callas. Then again, both she and her mother have the prima donna persona down pat. By the time they left, Meg was thinking that she’d rather wait tables for a living than give voice lessons to the likes of Olympia’s daughter.

  But not all her prospective students are going to be like that… are they?

  Thinking of the Fancy Moms she met on the bleachers at soccer practice the other day,
she doesn’t feel particularly optimistic.

  “What do you want to do about this?” Sam is asking.

  “I have no idea,” she replies, and she isn’t just talking about the apparent fledgling romance between their kids.

  “Well, I don’t think we should acknowledge that we know what’s going on.”

  “Right.” Looking at him, she’s back to remembering last night… and wishing it could happen again. Right now.

  “We should probably just… keep an eye on them.”

  “Right.”

  “It’ll probably fizzle right out anyway,” Sam goes on, and her heart sinks fleetingly before she realizes that he’s talking about what’s going on between the kids.

  Oh… good.

  Then again… he might as well be talking about the two of them, as well.

  Because this can’t go any further. And she doesn’t expect it to.

  Just for tonight—that’s what she told herself it would be.

  And now, the night is over.

  She had her glorious encounter with Sam.

  There won’t be another one, because that would lead to her wanting more, and more… and ultimately, getting hurt.

  She saw the pain in Sam’s eyes, heard it in his voice. He came right out and told her he was terrified.

  No, he’s not any more willing to invest in a relationship than she is.

  When Sam returns to the kitchen, Ben is pouring two glasses of orange juice. Cosette is nowhere in sight, but music is coming from the den. One of Sam’s CDs.

  Sam asks, in a low voice, “What are you doing?”

  “Pouring juice.”

  “Two glasses?”

  “One’s for Cosette.”

  “Oh.”

  Ben refuses to look him in the eye, but Sam sees his hand shaking a little as he returns the Tropicana carton to the fridge.

  Poor kid. He’s trying to be cool about whatever it is that just happened. He doesn’t need his old man giving him a hard time.

  “Hey.” Sam lays a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Where is she?”

  Ben tilts his head toward the den. “We were just… listening to music.”

  “Yeah? That’s good. You like the same kind of music?”

  “Yeah. Why? Does that surprise you?”

  Sam shrugs. He tries to think of something else to say, but can’t.

  You’re the one who told him to give her a chance, he reminds himself, watching his son return to the den and close the door.

  And, hey, aren’t you also the one who was supposed to keep Meg away from Katie?

  He just passed his daughter on the stairs. She said she was going to go change her clothes before breakfast, but he has a pretty good idea that she’s hoping to run into “the Mom next door.”

  Meg’s in the shower now; he can hear the water groaning in the pipes overhead.

  Sam’s body reacts promptly at the thought of her, naked, lathering herself under a stream of spray.

  Before he left the bedroom upstairs, she said she’s going home after breakfast.

  He was disappointed when she told him that, but now he thinks, the sooner, the better.

  He offered to go back over with her, just to make sure everything is okay.

  She turned him down.

  “I’m sure everything is fine,” she said, and added wryly, “But don’t worry, if I see any ghosts, I’ll holler.”

  “Make sure you do.”

  He hopes that she doesn’t, though.

  Not just because he wants to spare her further trauma, but because he wants to spare himself further temptation.

  Pancakes at the round table in Sam’s sunny kitchen.

  Meg can’t help but notice that Cosette seems to have undergone a vast transformation since last night.

  Of course she still isn’t wearing makeup, and her dark hair falls becomingly in loose waves around her face. The jet-black color seems less intense without the thick jet-black eyeliner to enhance the dramatic effect, and her skin seems more porcelain than pallid. She’s still wearing her summer pajamas, which consist of a pale lavender sleeveless cotton top and boxer-style shorts in a lavender print. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be caught in pastels outside the house, but she seems to have forgotten what she has on.

  For that matter, she seems to have forgotten anyone exists in the room other than Sam’s son Ben, and vice versa.

  He’s looking at Meg’s daughter the way his father looked at Meg just hours ago.

  As for Sam, he’s made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact altogether this morning. A wall seems to have gone up between them again, more impenetrable than the overgrown hedge border on the property line.

  Katie, however, seems to have taken a giant leap and landed cleanly on Meg’s side of the hedge. She chatters nonstop as they eat their pancakes, telling Meg all about her trip to the Catskills, and her friends and her hobbies, and the new clothes she wants to buy for school’s start next week.

  “My dad said he’ll take me to get some new outfits, but he still hasn’t. He hates to shop,” Katie says, flashing an accusing look at Sam, who shrugs.

  “What can I say? I’m a guy. Assembling new outfits isn’t my all-time favorite pastime, but I promise I’ll take you this weekend, okay?” Sam sips his coffee moodily.

  “Yeah, but Ben will have to come and you’ll both be bored and I’ll have to rush and nobody will be able to come into the dressing room to tell me what looks good on me and what doesn’t.”

  That does it.

  Meg takes the bait. She can’t help it. She feels sorry for Sam’s motherless daughter.

  “Katie, why don’t you come shopping Saturday with me and Cosette?”

  Instant delight. “Can I really?”

  “Sure. I’d be happy to help you pick out some clothes.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Sam says stiffly.

  Startled, Meg looks at him and finds that he’s shifted his gaze to her at last.

  “I can take her shopping,” he informs her.

  “But you hate it, Dad.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Meg doesn’t believe that any more than Katie does.

  “Dad, come on,” she protests, “who are you trying to kid? You hate shopping for clothes. You say it all the time. Meg loves it. Right, Meg?”

  Torn, she says, “Well, I wouldn’t say I love it, but…”

  “You certainly don’t have to take my daughter for her school clothes.”

  “I know, but I don’t mind at all. I’m going anyway.”

  “See, Dad?”

  Sam looks dubiously at Meg, who shrugs.

  “I really was planning on taking Cosette shopping Saturday afternoon.”

  “We have soccer practice.”

  “I know, but it’s supposed to rain.” He’s the one who told her that—a tropical storm blowing through to break the heat wave. “Do you have practice in the rain?”

  “Not if it’s torrential,” Sam concedes.

  “Well, if it’s not, we’ll still go shopping after practice. Cosette wore a uniform to her old school in the city, so she needs a new wardrobe for September.”

  She can’t help but notice that her daughter doesn’t even glance over at the mention of her name. Sitting there across the table, she and Ben are lost in each other’s eyes.

  Meg can’t decide if their newfound romance is sickening or cute or alarming.

  A bit of all three, really.

  “Dad, you have to let me go shopping with Meg and Cosette. Please.”

  Meg turns back to see Katie fixing her father with an imploring gaze to match her tone.

  This isn’t just about shopping, though. There’s something more going on here. She can see it in Katie’s eyes, and in Sam’s expression.

  She wisely keeps her mouth shut, refusing to engage in the father-daughter power struggle, having endured her share of similar battles with Cosette.

  “Dad, I never get to do girl things,” Katie goes on. “All my friend
s have moms and sisters to shop with, and I don’t have that.”

  The pain and vexation in Sam’s eyes is blatant. “I can’t give you a mom and a sister, Katie.”

  Katie is oblivious, turning the knife deeper. “I know you can’t, but you can let me go with Meg and Cosette, and that will be the next best thing. Please, Dad? Pleaseplease-please?”

  “It really is okay, Sam,” Meg says, and wishes that she hadn’t.

  He turns to her with thinly veiled animosity. “It really isn’t okay, Meg.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I like to take her shopping for her school clothes.”

  She doesn’t believe that for a second.

  “I take her every year. I get her whatever she needs. And then I take her to eat at the Cheesecake Factory. Her and Ben. We do that every Labor Day weekend, the three of us. It’s a family tradition.”

  “You never said that,” Katie tells him, and has the grace to look slightly remorseful. “I didn’t know it was a tradition.”

  “We do it every year. Of course it’s a tradition.”

  “But you act like you hate it.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  But he does. Meg can tell. And she knows why.

  It’s because his wife isn’t there to share it with them, the way she should be.

  She knows, because there are certain rituals that make her acutely aware that Cosette should have a father. Soccer games on Saturdays in the city, when the other dads would cheer their daughters on. And Christmas morning, with toys that require a toolbox and infinite patience to put together. And the action and horror films Cosette loves to go see—unless, of course, her father is in them. Meg goes, but she prefers romantic comedies.

  Meg does a lot of things she would relegate to a dad, if Cosette had a real one.

  Just as it’s obvious Sam does a lot of things that would have been Katie’s mom’s territory.

  I can’t step into that role, Meg tells herself. As simple as it would be in theory for her to take Katie along with her, it would be terribly complicated in other ways.

  Yes, that would have huge implications on the dynamic between herself and Katie, between Katie and Sam, between Sam and herself.

  Things are rapidly becoming complex enough, judging by the way Cosette and Ben are looking at each other.

  “Please, Dad?” Katie persists. “Please let me go with Meg, just this once?”