A Father for Philip (5 page)

“I caught you, Indian Princess! I’m
going to steal you and hide you from those braves”—he waved a disdainful hand
at the departing Indians—“and they’ll never find you again. Hii yee!”

And the Indian princess, who had been
about to threaten laying some rawhide across a small bottom, instead cowered
away from the intrepid cowboy and said, “Oh, please, please, brave cowboy, let
me go! I must go back to the teepee of my father! If I don’t... He won’t let
you have a gooey a hamburger for dinner.”

Philip glowered at his mother. “He’s not
your father. Or mine, either!”

Briefly taken aback by the vehemence in
her son’s tone, Eleanor paused for a moment before she spoke. “Wouldn’t you
like to have a father, Phil... To have Grant as a stepfather?”

Philip considered carefully for a moment
as they walked on. “Would we live in the hotel, swim in the pool, play on the
waterslides and eat in the restaurant all the time?”

“Well, you could swim in the pool all
you like, and use the waterslides when it’s warm enough, I suppose, but I
imagine Grant would build us a house, and I’d make most of our meals in our own
kitchen.”

“Would Grant build the house his
ownself?”

“No, of course not, honey,” Eleanor
picked up the bike and wheeled it along for him as he dragged his feet. “He’d
have it built for us though, and it would be ours. We’d all three live in it,
and be a real family.”

“I’d rather live in the cabin with Jeff.
We’re building that our ownselves.”

“Ourselves, Philip,” Eleanor corrected,
and dropped the subject.

~ * ~

The restaurant was fairly crowded that
evening when Eleanor entered on Grant’s arm with her son bouncing along ahead,
peering interestedly into other people’s plates. Solicitous as always, Grant
held out Eleanor’s chair, told Philip to sit down and quit gawking at the
guests. He seated himself with his back to the window, surveying his domain
with a proud expression. He ordered for all three of them, only requiring a
reminder that Philip’s burger required extra gooey sauce on the bun. While the
two adults sipped wine from Grant’s private stock, Philip fidgeted, twisting
around, craning his neck, trying to see what lay behind him.

“For heaven’s sake, sit still,” Grant
ordered. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Why don’t you grow up?”

Eleanor stared at Grant for so long his
cheeks turned pink. “Why don’t you?” she asked. Then, she turned to Philip.
“What’s the trouble, love? Is your chair uncomfortable?”

“I can’t see... anything.”

“What’s wrong with the view out the
window?” Grant asked testily. “People pay good money to sit where you are and
watch the paddle-boats and swans and ducks on the lake. Do you have any idea
how much that lake cost me and—”

Eleanor patted his hand placatingly.
“Grant, when you’re not quite seven, the view in the other direction is always
more interesting. And he’s too short to see out the window and admire your
lake. Would you consider changing places?”

Making no attempt to conceal his
displeasure, Grant got up with ill-grace and Philip darted around the table,
beaming. Instead of taking the chair the child had vacated, however, Grant
swung another one out and sat opposite Eleanor. She suppressed a smile of
amusement.
He doesn’t like to have his
back to the room any more than Philip does.

The meal arrived and while she ate,
Eleanor was aware of her son smiling secretly now and then at someone across
the crowded room. She glanced sideways but could spot no one familiar, not even
the James family who had that sweet little daughter, Lorna, the Lorna who had
taken up so much of Philip’s attention not long ago.

Eleanor, still looking out over the room
smiled absently, thinking, Lorna this, Lorna that. Lorna said, did, is, was...
And her son claimed he didn’t like girls much. But now it was Jeff this, Jeff
that...

Suddenly, a pair of eyes caught her
glance and for one heart stopping moment it felt like floor swooped out from
under her chair. Something hitched in her chest as she looked right into the
eyes of a strange man whose beard obscured most of his face. The feeling in her
breast was almost a physical pain and she turned with difficulty to Grant,
forcing a laugh at something he’d said, something she had failed to hear.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked,
annoyed. “I asked you twice if you wanted more coffee, and all you can do is
laugh at me?”

“Sorry, Grant... Sorry. I was thinking
of some... thing else.” Now why in the world had she almost said ‘someone’?
“No. No more coffee, thanks. I have to get Philip home to bed. School tomorrow,
and I have a hour’s drive ahead of me.”

“Let’s bed him down here,” Grant said,
quietly but urgently. “We can put him in my spare room and come back down and
dance for a while. I have a new disk-jockey. We can send the kid off to school
from here tomorrow.”

With a quick glance at her son who was
smiling giddily out into the sea of diners, oblivious to the conversation of
his elders, she said quietly, “And do you have a spare room for me, Grant? I
know you have a two-bedroom suite, but apart from that, didn’t you tell me not
half an hour ago, you have a full house in the hotel tonight?”

Grant slowly raked her with a smoldering
gaze from her hair to her breasts, to her narrow waist as she stood. “Ellie,”
he said, reaching for her arm across the table, his firm fingers wrapping
tightly around her wrist, “you know where I want you to sleep. Stay with me
tonight. You know very well I had no intention of your sleeping anywhere but in
my bed, so why be coy about it?” His fingers moved higher on her arm as he,
too, stood, tightening, gripping her now just below her shoulder.

She jerked herself out of his clasp.
“Grant, how many times do we have to go through this?” she hissed  “You
know my answer in advance, so why ask?”

His eyes narrowed and his round face took
on an ugly expression. “Ah, hell, you’re probably frigid anyway!” he snarled.

“I guess you’ll never know, will you?”
Eleanor said sharply. “Let’s go, Philip. Say goodnight and thank you to Grant.”

He did, then she took him by the hand and
marched out, head held high. She said neither goodnight nor thank you.

Eleanor hustled Philip across the
parking lot, her heels ringing angrily on the pavement. As she neared her car,
she saw the broad shoulders of the bearded man whose glance she had intercepted
in the dining room. She noticed with detachment that he had a limp and wondered
briefly where he was from. He unlocked the door of a dirty, dented pick-up
truck with a camper on the back. The truck looked as if it had been given some
hard use on bad roads, although the camper looked pretty new.

He hitched himself onto the seat, slid
back a bit then paused in the act of using both hands to lift his game inside.
As Philip’s clear piping words rang out, “Mom, what’s ‘frigid’ mean? Why’d
Grant call you that?” the man turned to face them, his teeth flashing white in
a grin.

“Not now, Philip,” Eleanor snapped
impatiently. “I’m too tired to explain, and besides, you shouldn’t listen to
conversations that don’t concern you.” She bundled Philip onto the back seat of
the, car strapped him in and drove away from the hotel, noticing the lights of
the pickup following her as she made for home. He stayed with her until she
turned off the main road then he continued on toward the Exley place. Maybe
he’s a friend of theirs, she thought idly, turning out her headlights and
shutting off the engine. It crackled and popped loudly in the still night as it
cooled and Eleanor hauled her sleepy son out of the car, her mind still
unnaturally occupied with the bearded stranger. She couldn’t for the life of
her have said why his presence bothered her, except there were no campgrounds
out that way and if he’d been staying with Ralph and JoAnn Exley, wouldn’t they
have been out for dinner with him? I wonder if he’s freeloading on the Anderson
place?

Eleanor pulled Philip’s sweater off over
his head and asked, as he emerged from inside it, all tired and bleary-eyed,
“Son, are there any strangers around? Have you seen anybody in the woods who
didn’t belong?”

Philip yawned and shook his head.
“Uh-uh.”

As she tucked him into his bed, he said
in his I-can’t-keep-it-to-myself-any-longer voice, “Did you see him, Mom? Jeff?
He had dinner with us at the hotel.”

So that’s what he’d been smiling at all
evening. Not, as she thought, someone across the room, but at his own imaginary
friend right across the table from him. “Oh, really, honey?” She smiled. “What
did ‘Jeff’ eat for dinner?”

“Didn’t you see? The same as me. You
looked right at him, Mom. You smiled.”

“Oh, yes,” Eleanor said, switching off
the light. “I remember now.”

~ * ~

Eleanor sat at her desk beside the
fireplace, blank screen in front of her, idle hands bracketing the keyboard,
strappy sandals kicked off and lying halfway across the room. Why oh why did
Grant have to start that business again? I thought he was going to give me more
time to think. He’s never been stupid enough to proposition me right in front
of my own son, so what was the problem tonight?

It must’ve been the dress... The
perfume.

She had chosen the dress with care,
wanting to look nice, to please Grant. It was a deep green silk which did
marvelous things for her complexion and figure, and she’d piled her hair high
on her head, leaving little tendrils hanging in front of her ears. Later, she’d
felt one curl slide loose to lie on the nape of her neck. She should have
tucked it back up. It was my own fault, she decided. If I don’t want to turn
him on, then I should take care not to dress in a way he likes.

Immediately, though, she denied that
notion. Grant had seen her dressed nicely before. He’d also seen her in jeans
and a sweatshirt. It didn’t matter what a woman wore—if a man was going to make
a pass, he was going to make it, regardless, and she hadn’t worn that dress
simply to please him, but to make herself feel good.

I like dressing up. And I don’t see why
I should have to go around in a gunnysack just so Grant can keep his hands and
his eyes to himself. To say nothing of his thoughts. But why does his saying he
wants me make me so angry? My goodness, we’re both adults. Maybe he’s right...
Maybe I am frigid. But I don’t think so... With David I was anything but.

David... A sweet smile of remembrance
curved Eleanor’s lips and softened her eyes for a long moment. She drew in a
deep breath and let it out slowly, unpinned her hair, tossed her head until it
fell free and loose against her neck and shoulders. She leaned back, raised her
arms and stretched, arching her back, feeling the silk of her dress play across
her skin. Then, with a start, she leapt to her feet, the horrible conviction
that she was being stared at from out of the night coming over her in a wave of
goose pimples. She went to the window, wondering for an instant if Grant had
followed her home. The motion sensor lights hadn’t come on. She stared out into
the darkness for a moment then, realizing if there were someone out there, she
was in a vulnerable position, she jerked the drapes closed.

Back at her computer Eleanor worked
furiously for another hour or two, then shut it down and prepared to go to bed.
That night, for the first time in years, she felt compelled to lock her doors.
That night, too, for the first time in years, David’s face returned to her
dreams. His gray eyes looked deeply into hers and his resonant voice, until now
the only clear memory she’d had murmured, “Sweetheart, sweetheart...” over and
over again.

When her alarm went off the next
morning, Eleanor reached out and slapped it angrily on the back of its noisy
head, silencing it. She felt as if her head a just touched the pillow, as if
she had never closed her eyes all night. She stumbled into the kitchen after a
wash in cold water, and turned on her coffee-maker. The sun peeked over the
trees to the east and she stepped outdoors to breathe in the early morning
scents. Golden light bathed one corner of the rose arbor in the glow of the new
day and she walked, barefoot, to it, admiring the tender green shoots covering
it, and the dainty yellow buds with the dew still fresh upon them. As she
turned to go back inside before Philip caught her out here with no shoes, she
looked down at the roots of the original bushes, the ones David had told her
would never grow to cover the arbor. She gasped, looked closer, spun and ran
for the house.

She sank weakly into a chair in the
kitchen, her eyes wide with fright. For there, in the mud from the rain a few
days ago, she’d seen big booted footprints, pointed in the direction which
showed her clearly that her sensation of the night before had not been nerves
brought on by Grant’s attempt to get her into his bed. Someone had been looking
at her! And from the size of the prints, she knew it had not been Grant.
Unbidden, the thought came to mind of the freeloader, if that’s what he was,
who’d headed toward the Anderson place, or the Exley’s. But no... Why should a
stranger come looking in her windows? Maybe Bill had been around during the day
when she was working and she hadn’t noticed him. She’d asked him to spread some
manure around the rosebushes. Of course. That was it. She was just being
foolish, letting her imagination run away with her.