Love, Suburban Style (31 page)

“I’m not being maternal with her!” Meg cuts in. “She talks to me. She’s lonely. That’s all.”

“I realize that. But it’s not healthy for her to latch on to you when you’re only going to—” He breaks off, shaking his head.

“When I’m only going to what?”

Hurt her. Leave.

“Nothing,” he mutters, and shifts gears. “Where’s the fuse box?”

“Forget it.”

“What?”

“Forget about the wiring. I’ve got an electrician coming anyway. And we can’t just turn a blind eye to whatever’s going on between Cosette and Ben.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Have a talk with him.”

“Do you really think he’ll open up to you?”

No. But Sam is feeling ornery and argumentative. “He’s my son. I think I know him.”

“Well, Cosette is my daughter, and I don’t think I know her at all.”

“Really? That’s funny, because you seem to think you know mine.”

As soon as the words are out, he wishes he could take them back.

Too late.

Meg’s eyes blaze as she says, “You know what? You should go.”

“I said I’d help you. I’m going to help you.”

“No, really. Just go.” She strides to the door, gives it a push, and holds it open with her foot. “And send Cosette home when you get there.”

Sam gives a curt nod and strides across the threshold. “Good luck,” he says in parting.

As though this is an official parting of ways.

“You, too,” she responds crisply.

As though she agrees that it is.

Wondering what the hell just happened, Sam retreats toward home.

He fights the urge to look back, knowing she won’t be watching him anyway.

Chapter
16

A
lot can happen in two weeks and a couple of days.

A lot, or nothing at all.

It depends on how you look at it.

For Meg, reflecting on the first half of September as she pulls into the Metro-North Station parking lot, it’s been a whirlwind of domestic drama, and, well, bona fide drama. As in theatrical drama. She’s been busy preparing for today’s
Sunset Boulevard
auditions here at school, and with Sophie Flickinger and a couple of her friends who also signed up for private voice lessons. Meanwhile, back at 33 Boxwood, her furniture has arrived and the licensed electrician—who finally showed up—has a complete overhaul under way. He said there was no sign of faulty wiring and couldn’t tell her why things were flickering and fizzling, but talked her into updating everything anyway.

Not only that, but she’s sure now the house is haunted.

So yes, a lot has happened.

But where Sam Rooney is concerned, nothing at all has happened.

She’s seen him only from afar, at the soccer field, in his yard at home, or in the parking lot at school. Nothing more. No interaction. She’s been trying to convince herself she hasn’t been looking for him at every turn and that she doesn’t care that things ended on a sour note.

That isn’t true.

She does care, and she has been looking.

She can’t help it.

He worked his way under her skin. That’s her own fault; she should have known better. She
did
know better.

Yet she allowed herself to repeat her old pattern of falling for the wrong guy, knowing up front that he isn’t in the market for something long-term. That was evident with Sam from the start. All the way through, really.

It should have been no surprise at all when he picked a fight with her, then walked away.

Will she never learn?

Worse yet, Kris confronted her with a phone call, saying she’d heard through “the grapevine” that Meg and Sam were involved.

Meg, who had no doubt that the grapevine consisted of Brett and Laurelle, assured her old friend that there’s nothing going on between her and Sam.

Which currently happens to be true.

“Are you sure, Meg?” Kris asked. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt. Sam might seem like a great guy—and he is, really—but believe me, he’s off-limits.”

“Why? Not that I’m interested, because I’m not,” she added hastily. “Just curious.”

“He and his wife were perfect together. Everyone said it. He was devastated when she was killed, and he isn’t looking to replace her. You would only get hurt if you got involved with him, so don’t.”

“I won’t,” Meg promised, and added a silent,
ever again.

Now, as she pulls the Hyundai into a spot, she hears a train whistle and sees that the 5:56 from Grand Central is pulling into the station.

Good timing. Geoffrey should be on it.

They’re going to have to hustle if they’re going to make it to the Glenhaven Park Auditorium before the six-fifteen auditions get under way.

Much to Bill Dreyfus’s delight, Geoffrey has agreed to sit in on the auditions with him and Meg.

“Two seasoned Broadway performers—how did we get so lucky?” the drama teacher exclaimed when he shared the news with the students at the last preaudition meeting.

Among them were both Cosette and Ben.

Meg was only mildly surprised when her daughter announced her intent to try out for the musical—she’s made a few friends already, and they’re mostly theater kids.

But Ben? That was unexpected. As far as Meg can tell, his circle of friends—aside from Cosette—is made up mostly of jocks and student government types.

If she and Sam were on better terms—speaking terms, even—she’d ask him about Ben’s motivation.

But they’re not. And when she asked Cosette, she just shrugged and scowled.

That’s nothing new. She’s shrugged and scowled her way through adolescence; why should things change now?

Maybe Meg expects more of her because she’s changed outwardly. No, she hasn’t conformed entirely to prepdom—and Meg doesn’t particularly want her to—but her extreme appearance has gradually given way to a more mainstream style.

Not, Meg senses, out of conscious effort to fit in among her peers, thank goodness. Rather, Cosette seems to have reached a point where she no longer has something to prove.

Ben probably has something to do with that.

As far as Meg can tell, her daughter and Sam’s son are a romantic item. Cosette steadfastly refuses to confirm that, though.

Meg didn’t tell her that she read her IM log that day in her room, and she hasn’t resorted to snooping ever since. But she’s done her best to keep tabs on her daughter and to keep the lines of communication open.

Cosette and Ben continue to jog together most mornings and nights, and to talk on the phone, and, presumably, online. There’s no reason to put a stop to any of it. Meg can only cross her fingers that her daughter doesn’t wind up getting hurt somehow.

Like I did.

Spotting Geoffrey descending the steps from the platform, she honks the horn.

He makes a beeline over, toting a Bloomingdale’s shopping bag and an overnight bag. He’s finally agreed to spend the night in suburbia so he can oversee the auditions and attend Cosette’s soccer game tomorrow.

“Hello, honey.” He gives Meg a bear hug as he slips into the passenger seat.

“How was your trip?”

“See that guy over there? I shared a seat with him.”

Meg follows his gaze toward a good-looking businessman wearing a suit and toting a briefcase, climbing into a parked black BMW.

“I hate to break it to you, Geoffrey, but he’s probably going home to his wife and kids.”

“I know, but he’s still a hottie. And that commuter train is full of them at this time of day.” Geoffrey settles back. “You know, I’m going to take the train up from now on. It definitely beats driving.”

He spent three hours last weekend stuck in traffic on the Henry Hudson. He arrived in a foul mood, demanding to know when Meg was going to give up this suburban charade and move back to the city.

“I have to give it a chance,” she told him.

“You have. And it’s over. Come home, Astor.”

“I did come home. And it’s Meg.”

She only wished she felt that strongly about Glenhaven Park being home. Yes, she’s settling in. But she still hasn’t found many—all right, any—new friends.

Yes, Kris is here—but Meg isn’t particularly eager to join her circle of friends. Anyway, her real estate career is hectic. When they parted ways after lunch at Tokyo Cafe, she promised they’d get together again soon, but so far, hasn’t been able to fit Meg into her schedule.

Meg just received a telephone invitation to an upcoming party at Olympia Flickinger’s house, and she’s going. But she suspects it will be populated by former female professionals who run their families’ lives like precision corporate teams with enormous budgets.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Meg just can’t relate.

Now, as she pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward the school, Geoffrey fills her in on his week, and she realizes with a pang that she can no longer relate to his world, either. He’s immersed in his usual social whirlwind and in urban cultural pursuits, auditions, show openings, travel plans.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!” he exclaims. “I met Deeanna Drennan at Lorrie’s cast party the other night. She was there as somebody’s date.”

“And…?”

“Do you want the truth, or do you want me to make you feel better?”

“I’ll take the truth.”

“I really wanted to hate her. I wanted her to be a vapid, uncharismatic bobblehead. But she isn’t. She’s definitely got something. Don’t get me wrong, she’s no Astor Hudson—you’re one of a kind—but she’s got that glow. And she was a sweetheart, on top of it, very friendly and nice. Oh, and there’s already been some buzz about the show, and she’s supposedly terrific in it. Sorry, Astor.”

“It’s Meg,” she murmurs.

I really am Meg, now,
she realizes. She must be, because what Geoffrey just said about her rival didn’t sting.

Her envy of the actress who usurped her, her pain over not being cast—all of that seems as though it happened to someone else. Much fresher is her ongoing stress with the rattletrap house, and her worries about Cosette, and, yes, her heartache over Sam.

I live here now. This is my life.

Yet Glenhaven Park still doesn’t feel like home. And New York no longer is.

“So now you know what I’ve been up to,” Geoffrey concludes. “How about you? What’s new?”

“Nothing, really.”

I’m just caught in between two worlds, and I’m lonely. That’s all.

“How can that be when you’ve lived here for only a month? Technically, everything is new.”

“I know, but…” She trails off, wishing she could unburden herself, wondering if he’d possibly understand.

“I’m all ears.”

She hesitates, trying to figure out how to begin, bringing the car to a stop at an intersection as the light turns from yellow to red.

The car driving behind her honks loudly.

“It’s red!” Geoffrey shouts out his window. To Meg, he says, “Do they want you to go through a red light?”

“Probably. Nobody here has much patience.”

“And I thought New York was bad.” He shakes his head. “So what’s doing, honey? You said you had to talk to me about something.”

“Do you remember my New Year’s resolution?”

Wait a minute. What is she doing? What is she saying? This wasn’t supposed to be about that.

“Do I remember the insanely impossible vow you made about not getting involved with men? Oh, yeah.”

“I broke it.”

“Good for you!” he crows, and holds up a hand in an attempted high five.

Meg ignores it. “It’s not good, Geoffrey. I’m a mess.”

“You don’t look like a mess.”

“But I am.”

“Well, you were a more obvious mess when your career went down the toilet and your daughter got expelled. So what happened now? Did our young Annie Oakley bring a rifle to her new school?”

“Nothing like that.”

“So you fell in love.”

“No, I didn’t!” she protests. “I never said anything about love.”

“Well, it’s obvious. You said yourself you’re falling apart.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“No, you said you’re a mess.”

“Right. That’s not the same thing as falling apart.
Falling apart
means you’re hopeless. And I’m not.”

“Semantics,” he says with a shrug.

The horn honks behind her again.

Frustrated, she sticks her head out to shout at the impatient driver.

Geoffrey stops her. “Um, honey? The light is green. You’re supposed to go.”

Oh. Oops.

She drives on, aware of the tailgating road rage candidate behind her, wishing she had never opened this conversational door with Geoffrey.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I only met him briefly, I know, but I really didn’t expect Sam to turn out to be an ass like the rest of the guys you’ve dated. Pardon my French.”

“It’s not that he’s an—” She breaks off, looking over at him in disbelief. “Did you just say
Sam
?”

He nods.

“But I never told you who I was talking about.”

“You didn’t have to. The vibes between you two were obvious when I met him the night you moved in. And that day at the soccer practice, the way you were looking at each other from afar… I’d have had to be blind not to notice that you were in love.”

“We’re not in love!” Meg protests. “We’re not even speaking.”

“You broke up?”

“We were never even a couple.”

“What happened, then? And don’t tell me nothing, because clearly, it was something.”

“It was something… but I’m not sure what. I guess it’s the same old story. Sam obviously doesn’t want to get involved, and God knows I don’t need another failed relationship in my life.”

“No,” Geoffrey agrees, “you don’t.” He covers her hand on the steering wheel with his own, gently. “Honey, you need to forget that Sam exists and move on.”

“He lives next door to me. How can I forget he exists?”

“You can’t, as long as you live there. Maybe you really should move back to New York.”

“But Cosette is happy here. Finally, she’s making friends, fitting in… she’s even auditioning for the musical.”

“I know. So can we cast her in the lead?”

“Are you kidding? The other parents would grab torches, form a mob, and run me out of town.”