A Mother's Heart (11 page)

She was halfway back to the middle of the room when
she saw it, in the bookcase, used as a bookend. One of her sculptures, a clumsy bust she’d done of herself at his request.

Wow. She backed up, oddly not wanting to go near it, or think about why he might have kept it after rejecting her so cruelly. The edge of the bed hit the backs of her thighs and she sat abruptly, then let herself fall back, feeling an odd jumble of pleasure, despair, longing and frustration. The pain of that breakup had stunned her. Out of the blue, her first experience with terrible grief—she hadn’t been convinced she could survive. And now, seeing him again…

A sound made her sit up as quickly as she’d flopped down. Her blood quickened and rose to her cheeks. Grant’s no-longer-a-boy’s body filled the doorway, one arm up on the jamb, watching her with undisguised heat in his narrowed eyes.

Ohhhh my.
There he was. Exactly as he used to be. And she responded exactly as she always had. Her brain turned off and her body revved up, ready to go. She never gave in all the way, didn’t lose her virginity until college, but…they’d certainly tried everything else. Given how horrible her first experience had been, and how desperately she’d adored Grant, she’d often wished he’d been the one.

“Maggie.”

“Grant…” Her arms folded instinctively across her chest. “Whatever you’re thinking—”

“You know what I’m thinking.”

“—stop thinking it. I’ve had a really great day today, but it’s been emotionally draining, first meeting Clara, then finding out you, of all people, are her neighbor, and—”
Shut up, Maggie.
“I think it’s better not to go there.”

“Ever?” He walked into the room, stood beside the bed, hands on his hips, still watching her intently. “Or just now?”

“Is that what you brought me up here for?”

“No.” He shook his head, almost regretfully. “But once I saw you lying on my bed…a lot of memories came back.”

“Of a lot of years ago.”

“True.” He rubbed the back of his neck; the look went out of his eyes. He became the civilized man she’d met again that evening. She was grateful and…desperately disappointed.

“We both have changed. Me for the infinitely better and you…whew.” Grant shook his head. “I don’t know
what
happened to you.”

“Ha!” Maggie jumped off the bed. “I’m leaving.”

“You need a ride?”

“Not from you. I rented a car. I even know the way still.”

He grinned and gestured to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

“The perfect gentleman?”

“The sooner you’re out of here, the better.”

Ouch. Her face fell, she couldn’t help it.

“Because…” He stepped closer; her nerve endings were still waiting for his touch. “If you’re in my bedroom much longer, Maggie Chesterton…”

“No more gentleman. I get it.” She left the room as best she could on seriously weakened knees. Her face was no longer fallen.

He followed her downstairs; she was aware of his body behind her in a totally primal way. Two serious boyfriends after him, a few shorter liaisons, and no one had ever affected her physically like this. What would it be like to make love to him all the way?

She needed to think about something—anything—else. Too much to process today. She needed space and calm to figure out the smart thing to do about Grant.

Outside, the chilly air was still and faintly scented with lilacs. They stopped by her car opposite Clara’s house; the atmosphere grew tense with her desire to avoid an awkward good-night, and who knew what emotions on his end.

“Thanks for the coffee, Grant. It’s so nice to see you again.” She tried to keep her voice light and held out her hand, a stupid mistake. The last thing either of them wanted to do was shake hands, which became obvious when he took gentle hold of her shoulders.

“I want to see a lot of you while you’re here, Maggie.” He leaned closer. She knew what was coming, didn’t make a move to object, but still, the touch of his mouth shocked her. Brief, gentle, so familiar and so strange, too. It sent electricity ricocheting through her body. “Would that be okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She could barely speak. “That’d be nice.”

Oh my goodness.
Somehow she managed to get into her car, start the engine and drive away with a casual wave. Totally dazed from one quick kiss—if he did anything more serious, she’d probably go up in flames.

Down, girl. Think about this in logical and practical terms.
Yes, it would be nice to see more of Grant while she was in town. He could help her figure out her confusing and eccentric mother. He could give her a good excuse to get away when being a new daughter became too much.

Mount Lucas turned into Witherspoon; she was heading toward Hulfish, then Palmer Square in downtown Princeton, where her lovely room at the Nassau Inn waited.

And he could also turn her carefully controlled life completely upside down.

M
AGGIE OPENED
one eye, then bolted upright. She’d over-slept. She’d be late for work. She was…

…in Princeton. At the Nassau Inn. In a room on the third floor, done in soothing pale colors.

Okay. She put her hand to her still-panicked heart and slid back down onto the beautifully poufed pillows. Yesterday had ended up being one of the most exhausting days of her life. Starting with travel, meeting Clara, rediscovering Grant, and then being assailed with a work crisis the second she arrived at the hotel and checked her messages. Seven of them, all problems, all requiring her intervention, decision, action.

That’s what she got for thinking she could be out of touch for a few hours. By 2:00 a.m. she’d gotten everything straightened out, smoothed feathers, typed up about a dozen e-mails, left a few voice mails, took a shower, finally fell into bed…

And couldn’t sleep.

Too many emotions whirled, and no matter how often she went through progressive exercises to relax her body, her thoughts refused to calm down.

Around four, she got up and went to the hotel’s fitness center, trying to exhaust herself to the point where she could sleep. Another shower, another hour lying in bed
trying to think of anything but Grant and Clara, Clara and Grant, and Grant and Grant…

Yeah, good luck. When she finally dozed off she’d even dreamed of him. He’d been chasing her across a field with that familiar heat in his eyes. Maggie had been running away, not in fear but in taunting challenge. Then she’d tired of the game and let him catch her; he’d scooped her up and kissed her with such passion that she’d become wildly aroused, woken up…then had to go through more relaxation exercises to fall back asleep again.

She pushed her hair out of her face. What was her plan? Already 10:00 a.m., she should call Clara and see what time to come over. Today would be easier since Maggie was going to the little house knowing what to expect.

And Grant…

Maggie turned over, rested her cheek on the cool soft sheet, remembering his lips on hers last night, his arms around her, in reality and in the dream. She needed to stay in control, not to allow tender memories to take over her common sense. Meeting Clara had already made her emotionally vulnerable; she was ripe for thinking she was falling for Grant just because she needed support for this complicated reconnection with her birth mother.

The room phone’s peal made her jump. She dragged herself out of bed and picked up the receiver, opening the room’s curtain to the sunshine. Beautiful day.

“Hi there.” Grant’s deep voice sent shivers of pleasure through her that she did not want to be having. “How did you sleep?”

“Terribly, you?”

“The same. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh.” Uh-oh. If she admitted she’d been thinking
about him, too, this would get very intense in exactly the way she most wanted to avoid. Grant might have changed, but this was his old go-with-the-feeling behavior and she needed to be on her guard. He’d broken her heart once already; she wasn’t going there again. “I had a work crisis. Kept me up for hours.”

“You
worked
last night?”

“I had to.”

“I thought you were on vacation.”

“Yes, but they needed—”

“They needed to remember you’re on vacation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you completely unavailable when you go away?”

“Completely. I wrap my cell phone in foil, bury it in the backyard, then disappear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Have lunch with me today?”

Maggie sank into the grey-green upholstered chair next to the phone, sideswiped by the abrupt invitation. She wanted to go. Definitely. But if she saw him every day while she was here, if he kissed her again…then what? She had no desire to re-open old wounds. “I should spend time with Clara today. She’ll want me to—”

“She wants you to have lunch with me. I spoke to her this morning to make sure I wouldn’t be interrupting any plans. She said she wanted to paint this afternoon, and that we should catch up.”

“I see.” Maggie wrinkled her nose. She did not like being boxed into situations. Even ones she wanted to be in. Grant had always been a pro at getting her to do what he wanted. Once he decided back in high school that she was going to belong to him, she practically had no say in the matter. “Well…”

“You can’t tell me you weren’t planning to eat. And I
thought you might appreciate being rescued from one of Clara’s meals.”

She laughed and felt herself giving in. Lunch wouldn’t hurt. She could talk to him then, tell him that while it was great to find him again, she was really here this week to see Clara. “Lunch would be nice, thank you.”

“I’ll pick you up at Clara’s at twelve-thirty.”

“Yes. Okay.” She replaced the receiver, guiltily giddy. This man had carved Maggie and Grant Forever on a tree by her house and had broken that promise when it no longer suited…

So shoot her, it was just lunch.

Since she was at the phone anyway, she dialed the number Clara had given her the night before, fantasizing that her mother had magically transformed overnight into a fashionista neatnik foodie with an ambitious life plan.

“Hello, good morning, dear. I knew it was you by the way it rang.”

Maggie was about to comment on the joys of caller-ID, when she remembered Clara had an old-fashioned land line. “Uh, really?”

“No, I just guessed. I don’t get many calls. When are you coming over? I can’t wait to see you. Even Wobbles says he’s anxious for you to get here.”

She laughed nervously. “He said that?”

“Of course not, he’s a dog.”

“I slept late. I’ll dress and be on my way.” And make sure she grabbed breakfast from anywhere that wasn’t Clara’s house.

“Lovely, dear. Can’t wait to see you.”

Maggie hung up, feeling slightly sick—headachey from lack of sleep, yes, but also…she so wanted to be eager to spend time with her mother, but the thought of entering that
cluttered dog-smelling house still didn’t do it. Maybe Clara would want to take Wobbles for a brisk walk.

A quick shower and session with the blow dryer to tame her hair, then a trip to Nassau Bagel Company for bagels, orange juice and the largest espresso she could find, and she was again parked across the street from her birth mother’s house, noticing today how desperately the lawn needed seeding in some spots, mowing in others. Maybe while she was here, she could help her mother get organized.

The idea cheered her enough to propel her out of the car and to Clara’s front door with quick firm steps. She liked goals, tasks, ways to keep busy and productive. This would benefit both of them. And maybe by working in and around her mother’s house, Maggie could break through the weirdness of her initial impression of Clara and find common ground between them.

The door opened as Maggie raised her hand to knock. Her birth mother appeared, today dressed in hot pink and black checked knit pants and a yellow turtleneck with glittering silver streaks of lightning and green paint smudges on one shoulder. On her feet were fuzzy yellow and brown cartoon character slippers.

This time Maggie was ready. Stomach and jaw tense, but ready. And actually, she liked this outfit better than the pajamas.

“Good morning, good morning.” Clara ushered Maggie in while Wobbles attempted his usual thorough investigation. “Looks like a beautiful day.”

“You haven’t been out yet?”

“I was reading the paper. What a state the world is in. Makes me want to move to another planet sometimes.”

“Very true. I brought you some bagels.” She held out the sack, not wanting to hear anymore about her mother’s possible access to other planets. “With cream cheese.”

“Oh, aren’t you nice.” Clara took the bag and gazed at it reverently. “We love bagels, don’t we, Wobbles?”

Wobbles gave a muted woof, apparently appreciating the sound of his name.

“Come in, sit down and let’s have a chat.”

“Okay.” She walked toward the living room, hoping against hope that her mother had been embarrassed by the state it was in and had cleaned.

Um, no.

“Here.” Clara cleared an armful of magazines from the paint-splattered, sheet-covered sofa. “Have a seat. How was your night?”

“Oh. The Nassau Inn is so nice. Beds are very comfortable.”

Clara put the magazines down on an already-laden wing chair and turned, concern evident in her eyes. “You didn’t sleep.”

Maggie’s brows lifted in surprise. “How did you know?”

“You look tired, for one.” She started counting on her fingers. “Two, you said you’d slept late. Three, you had a hugely emotional day yesterday and were most likely keyed up for hours after you left Grant’s. Would you like some tea?”

“No, I just had coffee, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Well, sit. We’ll have a talk.”

“Okay.” She sat gingerly on the sofa, aware almost immediately of dust, which must have wafted up when disturbed by her weight.

“So.” Clara smiled calmly.

“So.” Maggie smiled nervously and had to stop her clasped hands from tapping up and down against her thighs.

“I imagine you want to know about your father and why I gave you up.”

Maggie nearly jumped. Nothing like a gradual lead-in. “Uh, yes. Yes, I would.”

“He was a wonderful man. And a complete sh—” Her gaze snapped to Maggie. “Um, well, you know.”

“Yes.”

“Grant reminds me of him a lot.” She stared off dreamily. “They have the same animal magnetism, the same underlying bad boy aura. Only Grant has grown up, and I don’t think Jake ever would have. He offered to marry me when he found out I was pregnant, but I knew he didn’t have the least desire to be my husband, which made me less than enthusiastic to be his wife.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’ve lost track of him. Maybe you’d like to find him, too?”

“I…not right now. Not…soon.” She could not deal with that much upheaval in this short a time.

“Of course not yet. Well, his name was Jake Crawford. I met him at school and was head over heels in about two minutes. Jake lived for getting in trouble, and for some reason he made me want to get into trouble, too. Which I certainly did.” She shook her head, but more with amusement than regret. “Funny how opposites attract like that. I’m still not sure what he saw in me. Probably stability and respectability and a maternal figure, all the things he wanted so badly and at the same time wanted to destroy.”

Maggie sat rigid. Clara could be telling Maggie and Grant’s story. Had history repeated itself through the generations?

Wobbles dragged himself up to her and thrust his head under her hand, pawing at the sofa and stirring up a new cloud of dust. A sudden burst of claustrophobia made her jump to her feet.

“Can’t sit still? Your father was like that.”

“Oh. Well, no, but I—”

“Shall we go for a walk?”

“Let’s.” She had to keep from sounding too relieved.

“Excellent. Wobbles would like that, too.”

And he would, but first Clara had to find his leash, which was eventually retrieved from under the bed in the guest room. Then it was necessary to find Clara’s hat, which she finally did, squashed flat under a couch pillow and covered with dog hair. Then a tissue was necessary, to tuck in her sleeve, and finally, dark glasses, which were miraculously where they were supposed to be, on top of the refrigerator.

“Now. Off we go.”

Maggie followed her outside. “I was thinking that this afternoon, after lunch with Grant, I could help you tidy up.”

“Tidy what, dear? Oh what a day, smell that air.” She took a long rapturous sniff. “Spring is such a gift every year, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. I meant your house. I could help you clean.”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“I thought…”

Clara patted her on the shoulder. “You’re on vacation. I’ve done my own cleaning for years, no need for you to pitch in.”

She began to stroll, so leisurely Maggie itched to sprint ahead and keep circling back. To her a walk meant a chance to get out and stride, arms pumping, heart rate rising, calories burning.

Obviously to Clara this was less of a walk and more of an amble. Maggie had to concentrate on slowing her steps, which made her feel nearly as claustrophobic as she had sitting inside.

“I just thought since there’s so much to do that you’d like some help.”

Clara didn’t answer for a while and Maggie finally glanced at her. Her mother was frowning at the sidewalk. “Is your place in Chicago neat? Spotless?”

“Sort of.” She had a bad feeling about this. She’d wanted to help and was terrified she’d offended instead.

“The way I live must be…startling, then. Unpleasantly. Is that why you didn’t want to stay with me?”

“No, no.” Her heart sank guiltily. “Of course not.”

Clara stopped, which forced Maggie to stop and face her. “The truth, Maggie.”

“It had…something to do with my decision. But not all.”

“Oh dear.” She looked so crestfallen Maggie wanted to kick herself; why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? “I feel terrible. If you want me to clean, I can certainly do it. There always seem to be more fun and rewarding things to do with a day, though.”

“No, no, please.” Maggie put her hand on her mother’s soft arm. “Forget I said anything. If you wanted help, I would have been happy to, but it’s fine to leave everything the way it is.”

“If you’re sure it doesn’t bother you.”

“Yes. I am. Truly.” She stared her birth mother down until Clara seemed satisfied Maggie was telling the truth and resumed walking…make that ambling…down the sidewalk.

“I hear you’re spending the afternoon with Grant.”

“We’re having lunch…”

“Oh, yes, that’s what I meant. Just lunch. Yes.”

Maggie eyed her sharply. She sounded more vague than usual. “He’s picking me up at your house.”

“Mmm-hmm. Look at that star magnolia. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Gorgeous.” She barely glanced, then caught herself and made herself pay attention. Yes, it was truly—

“You were in love with Grant.”

Maggie nearly tripped over something that wasn’t there. “Way back. Years ago, when I was a kid. In high school.”