Love, Suburban Style Read online

  “Not interested.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I already know somebody who’s beautiful, fun, smart, and sexy… and if I were going to go out with anyone, it would be her.

  But he isn’t, so…

  “I don’t have time to get involved with anyone, Bob. Between my kids and work and the house and coaching—”

  “That’s a copout.”

  Sam shrugs.

  “Come on… think of this: you’re both named Sam. Maybe it’s a sign that it’s meant to be.”

  “And maybe you’ve been hanging out with your wife and her friends a little too much.”

  Bob grins a little sheepishly. “Point taken. But listen, if you change your mind, we’ll be there until around midnight.”

  “By then, I’ll be having sweet dreams.”

  Yes, probably about Meg. She’s popped up in his dreams a few times.

  Even more vividly—and disconcertingly—so has Sheryl. But not in an erotic way, like Meg.

  No, whenever he dreams about Sheryl, he’s running, and she’s behind him, calling his name, trying to catch up to him. She keeps shouting something at him, some kind of message, but her voice is always too faint for the words to reach his ears. Oddly, he keeps straining to hear what she’s saying, yet he doesn’t stop running.

  It makes no sense.

  Nor does the fact that Meg keeps popping up when all he wants is to ignore the fact that she exists.

  At least Katie hasn’t been hanging around her these last few weeks. Sam has managed to keep her busy with activities, and has even given her a little more freedom to do things with her friends. Yes, she’s still prone to latching on to people, but better her friends and their families than someone she might see as a potential stepmother.

  After Bob leaves his office, Sam puts together some paperwork and text materials to take home over the weekend. Then he flicks off the light and walks through the empty corridors, his footsteps echoing.

  Another Friday; another week coming to a close.

  He can hear piano music coming from the auditorium and wonders how Ben is doing with his auditions.

  His son’s decision to go out for the musical surprised him. Not that Ben doesn’t have a decent singing voice. He inherited that from his mother; Sheryl and Ben were always singing around the house or in the car.

  Ben stopped after Sheryl died. Now, he listens to music avidly, but Sam hasn’t heard a melodic peep out of him in years.

  There’s a break in the piano music. Sam can hear Bill Dreyfus speaking from the stage.

  Curious, he slows his steps as he approaches the auditorium, wondering if he dares to spy or even just eavesdrop. Chances are, he won’t catch Ben’s audition, but he’s interested in seeing the competition…

  And, all right, Meg, too. He knows she’ll be here; Bill is thrilled with her input on the production. He seems to assume that Sam and Meg are neighborly pals.

  We probably should be.

  Or even still could be…

  If only Sam had never made that first move to kiss her that night in her house. Whatever possessed him to do that?

  And what possesses him, now, to slip into the back of the darkened auditorium?

  He spots Meg immediately. She’s down in the front. Her hair is caught back in a jaunty high ponytail. She’s wearing a pair of clingy jersey sweatpants that ride low on her hips, and a T-shirt that rides high, leaving an exposed stretch of skin.

  Sam can feel his lower body immediately growing taut at the sight of it, of her. Dammit. Why is he here?

  To see and hear Ben, he reminds himself.

  But he can only focus on Meg, captivated by her despite his resolve.

  Suddenly, he can’t remember why it was so important that he stay away from her. All he wants is to be with her… to talk to her, to laugh with her, to hold her, to make love to her.

  This is crazy, he tells himself. He spent all those years longing to feel something this powerful. And what did he do when he finally experienced that ever-elusive depth of emotion?

  You ran away.

  Maybe he should stop running. Maybe it’s time that he took a chance.

  But what about the kids? What about Katie? What if she gets her hopes up, gets hurt?

  What if she doesn’t get hurt? What if something wonderful happens?

  The voice in his head sounds like Sheryl’s, not his own.

  Something wonderful? Like what?

  You know what, Sam. You heard her singing that day; you heard her express her feelings. And you didn’t have the guts to respond.

  But the kids… if he tried to make things work with Meg, and it didn’t work out… then what?

  You can’t protect them from every possible wound forever. Pain is a part of life; it’s inevitable. Anyway, Katie and Ben have already survived the worst thing that can happen to a child. They’re strong. They’ll be okay, no matter what.

  What about you, Sam? Are you strong?

  He swallows hard. Strong people don’t turn their backs on opportunity, no matter how risky.

  So what does that mean?

  That he should see if Meg is willing to give him—give them—a real chance?

  I’ll talk to her as soon as this is over, he decides, slipping into a seat in the back row. His heart is beating in elation, which is ridiculous. Nothing promising has happened. There’s a possibility that Meg will tell him to get lost.

  But there’s also a possibility that she won’t.

  Bill is calling the next student onto the stage. Meryl Goldman is in one of his sections this year. A quiet, studious girl with striking dark hair and eyes, she doesn’t seem like the type to seek the spotlight.

  As she crosses the stage, sheet music in hand, she seems so hesitant that Sam’s heart goes out to her.

  “All right, Meryl,” Bill calls, “you’re auditioning for Norma, right?”

  She nods shyly, fumbling with the microphone.

  Meg confers with the pianist, then whispers something to Bill.

  “Okay, then, let’s go to act two, where Norma’s just arrived on the set. I’ll feed you the lines leading into the musical number.”

  Meryl bites her lip and turns the pages of her script.

  Meg strides up the aisle for a better vantage on the stage. Halfway to Sam, she spots him.

  Her eyebrows rise.

  He dares to hold her gaze, to offer her a conciliatory smile.

  Up front, Meryl announces that she’s ready.

  In the instant before she turns back toward the stage, Meg returns Sam’s smile, tentatively.

  His heart soars.

  “Up here, Miss Desmond,” Bill says, sounding like an elderly man. “It’s Hog-eye!”

  “Hog-eye!” Meryl replies, somehow transforming herself into an elegant diva with booming vocal inflection and the sweep of an arm. “Well, hello!”

  “Let’s get a look at you.”

  The pianist begins the accompaniment.

  Sam frowns. The music seems familiar. Why?

  Meryl begins to sing, her voice hushed, reverent. “I don’t know why I’m frightened… I know my way around here…”

  It’s that song, Sam realizes with a start.

  Meg’s song. The one she wrote—no, the one he thought she wrote—about him.

  It’s not about him, and she didn’t write it. Andrew Lloyd Webber did. It’s obviously part of the Sunset Boulevard score. It meant nothing.

  How could he have been so stupid?

  His face flaming, Sam slinks out of the auditorium, caught up in his own private humiliation…

  And anguish.

  Just when he thought there was a chance…

  But how do you know there still isn’t?

  She did smile back at him.

  Yeah, so what? She’s not made of stone. If someone smiles at her, she returns it. A casual smile should mean nothing more to him than the lyrics of the song Meryl is singing right now.

  As he heads out into the
night, Sam is just thankful he didn’t follow through on his ridiculous impulse.

  Lying in bed—a real bed, no longer just a mattress on the floor—Meg can’t sleep.

  She keeps remembering how Sam caught her eye earlier in the auditorium. She was so sure, the way he was looking at her, that he wanted to make some kind of connection with her again.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong about that.

  Not only did he disappear a few minutes later, but when he came back to pick up Ben an hour later, he did his best to avoid her.

  He had to go out of his way to do it, too, because she was actually standing out in front of the school talking to Ben when she saw Sam park his Trailblazer down at the curb and step out. He looked around, saw her with Ben, and loitered by the car until their conversation was interrupted by Olympia Flickinger, who wanted to know how Sophie did in the auditions.

  As Meg tried tactfully to prepare Olympia for the probability that her diva daughter wouldn’t be cast in a lead role, she watched Sam out of the corner of her eye.

  He walked up, chatted with a few of the other students and their parents, then left with Ben, all without giving Meg a second glance.

  She must have imagined that anything significant passed between them back in the auditorium. Wishful thinking, that’s all.

  Anyway, she has other things to worry about now.

  Not only did Sophie Flickinger not nail the audition, but her mother didn’t seem to understand that she’ll be lucky if she’s relegated to even a small background role. Same goes for her friend Kirsten’s son Austin and her friend Brooke’s supposedly hideously untalented daughter Victoria, who is actually a hair more gifted than Sophie Flickinger, and much more likeable.

  Meryl Goldman is the hands-down choice to play Norma Desmond.

  Meanwhile, both Geoffrey and Bill Dreyfus are pushing to give the second lead to Cosette.

  Mingling with Meg’s pride in her daughter’s flawless audition is reluctance to cast her as Betty. Not only because she’ll be accused of nepotism, but because Ben will be playing Joe, the male lead and Betty’s—as well as Norma’s—love interest.

  Haunted by Geoffrey’s noncomment on Cosette’s physical relationship with Ben, Meg isn’t thrilled at the prospect of their spending even more time together. That can’t be healthy.

  Yet who is she to stand in the way of Bill Dreyfus’s casting, and for purely personal reasons?

  Meg rolls over, punching her pillow, staring into the near darkness. Moonlight spills through the partially lifted shade at the window.

  Oh, well. What can she do about any of this? When the list goes up on Monday after school, she’ll just have to be prepared for the fallout. And until then—

  Suddenly, Meg sees a flicker of movement in the corner of the room, just beyond the wedge of moonlight.

  Her breath catches in her throat as she watches something—no, someone—emerge from the shadows.

  It’s a human form, the figure of a woman; Meg can distinctly see her lithe body, her long hair…

  And, in a flash, her face, as she drifts into the silver glow at the window.

  She seems to smile at Meg and gives a nod.

  Then, all at once, she’s gone.

  But she was definitely there. Meg didn’t imagine it, and she isn’t dreaming.

  The room is still.

  Meg can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t scream.

  Not, she realizes, that she’s inclined to.

  Why not? You just saw a ghost.

  There’s not a doubt in her mind that she’s wide-awake; that the vision was real.

  Yet, strangely, she isn’t afraid.

  Quite the contrary.

  Gradually, a strange sense of calm seems to settle over her body. Her clenched muscles begin to relax, and the whirlwind of worries has spun itself out.

  As drowsiness finally drifts in at last to claim her, her last waking thought is of Sam.

  Chapter

  17

  North Street is lined with cars on Tuesday evening; Meg has to park her Hyundai way down at the end of the block.

  It’s strange to walk the familiar stretch of sidewalk beneath the canopy of trees. She finds herself looking for the familiar network of cracks in the concrete squares beneath her feet, remembering how she used to avoid them in an effort to spare her mother’s back.

  The cracks are gone, though; the old sidewalk long since replaced with a well-tended new one. She passes familiar homes that once belonged to old neighbors and friends who are obviously long gone.

  There’s a Porsche in the driveway where the blue-collar Steger family once lived; the Carters’ tiny ranch has a full second story and a spacious side addition now; in the Zemanskis’ side yard, where their three sons and the neighborhood boys played baseball from dawn till dusk every summer, the worn dirt patches have been replaced with lush lawn.

  The house where Meg grew up is ablaze with light; Olympia Flickinger’s party is obviously in full swing.

  Meg is late, having lingered at school with Bill after the first cast meeting for Sunset Boulevard.

  Sophie Flickinger was there, and sullen. Meg half expected her to turn down her tiny part in the chorus, but she grudgingly accepted her script.

  When Brad came to pick up his daughter, he studiously avoided eye contact with Meg, hustling his daughter away to whatever is next on her crammed daily agenda. Obviously, Brad isn’t thrilled that his daughter was bypassed for a lead.

  Meg isn’t looking forward to coming face-to-face with Olympia for the first time since the cast list was announced yesterday. But it would have been even more awkward to try and make an excuse to avoid the party after saying she would come.

  Anyway, Olympia is a grown woman. She’s not going to raise a fuss.

  Or so Meg has been trying to convince herself all day.

  Well, if she brings up the casting decisions, Meg will just point out that none of the freshmen were cast in lead roles. That should take care of it.

  With anyone else, maybe. But Olympia Flickinger has proven herself a force to be reckoned with.

  Meg drags her feet as she gets closer to the house, wishing she were anywhere else.

  Even at home, where the electricians have made a dusty mess of the walls and ceilings… and where a ghost also happens to be lurking.

  She hasn’t seen the apparition since the other night. Nor has she mentioned it to anyone. Not even to Geoffrey, who complained the next morning of lights flickering on and off in the guest room and a draft that seemed to come and go.

  Meg has no idea why she isn’t inclined to flee a haunted house. Maybe it’s because the spirit’s presence seemed more comforting than menacing.

  She’s felt more at peace these last few days—even with Sam’s ongoing diligence in avoiding her.

  Holding a cold beer, Sam steps out onto the porch with Rover trotting at his feet, leaving Katie inside watching one of those reality television shows she enjoys. He just spent a tense hour helping her with her English homework, wishing Sheryl were here. English was her thing; science was Sam’s. Katie struggles in both subjects.

  Maybe I’ll hire her a tutor this year, Sam thinks, settling on a wicker chair and sipping his beer. Someone who has more patience than I do.

  For some reason, Meg flits into his head.

  For some reason?

  Hasn’t she been drifting around there ever since she moved in and made her presence known? Try as he might, Sam hasn’t been able to shake her. She might as well be a ghost, haunting him in his waking hours and in his sleep.

  Sheryl is still haunting his dreams, as well. He’s had that recurring one almost every night, to the point where he dreads going to bed.

  When he confided in Jack about it, his brother suggested that his wife might be trying to send him some kind of message from beyond the grave.

  “A lot of help you are,” Sam grumbled. “Hey, why don’t you move into the old Duckworth Place next?”

  “Why?
Are the people who live there moving out already?” Jack asked, aware of Ben’s budding romance with the girl next door but not of Sam’s erstwhile one with her mom.

  “Not yet, but I’m sure they’ll leave sooner or later,” Sam said darkly. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  Does he really think Meg is going to move out of the house as everyone else has?

  Is that what’s keeping him from letting her back into his life?

  Or is he actually more afraid that she’ll be there for good?

  Admit it. That thought scares you. If she’s there to stay, you can’t pretend she doesn’t exist.

  Sam moodily sips his beer, brooding, absently petting Rover’s head.

  Sooner or later, you’ll have to have some kind of contact with her again. You can’t go out of your way to avoid her forever.

  All right, that’s true.

  Rover’s ears perk up, and he turns his head expectantly toward the street.

  But Sam doesn’t have to fall in love with Meg just because she’s there, under his nose, in his life.

  He can control himself…

  Unlike Ben, Sam thinks, as his son and Cosette appear down the block, returning from their evening run.

  Their supposed evening run, that is. They’re both dressed in athletic clothing, but they aren’t running. They’re strolling… and stopping every couple of yards to embrace and kiss.

  Sam watches, wondering if he should alert them to his presence on the porch, knowing that would probably embarrass them. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

  Because really, do a couple of infatuated teenagers have a care in the world?

  I missed the boat, Sam thinks wistfully.

  If only he had known Meg back when she had a crush on him. If only he had gone out with her back then… and either gotten her out of his system, or into his life, permanently.

  No… if that had happened, he wouldn’t have met Sheryl. He wouldn’t have his children.

  Ben and Katie were meant to be his.

  Meg wasn’t.

  It’s as simple as that.

  How strange it is for Meg to ring the doorbell of what was once her own house.

  Olympia opens the door with a warm, expectant smile that chills slightly when she sees Meg. All right. So she’s not thrilled about Sunset Boulevard.