Prescription: Marry Her Immediately (12 page)

“I like this cereal,” the little boy said. “Is there more?”

“There should be. We just opened it.” Amy peered into the box. “Where’d it all go?”

Guiltily, Quent glanced at his bowl. He and Greg had snacked on cereal last night and he’d eaten two helpings for breakfast. “Sorry.”

“I guess a half-gallon of milk wasn’t enough, either.” Amy indicated the empty carton. “Can you stop by the supermarket later?”

“You mean tonight?” Quent’s dismay must have shown on his face. He knew it wasn’t fair to burden Amy, who’d only volunteered to baby-sit now and then, but his workload today was a killer.

“Do you have to
stay late?” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll get take-out food on the way home, if you don’t mind waiting until seven-thirty to eat.” So much for his intention of cooking a healthy meal every night. “Do you suppose you could feed the kids?”

According to Lucy, Greg liked peanut-butter sandwiches as well as pasta, and Tara could eat baby food in a pinch. He’d posted a list of their preferences on the refrigerator.

“No problem,” Amy said. “Eight o’clock’s bedtime, so you can kiss them good-night and then we’ll have dinner
à deux.
”

“That would be great.” Being around her gave Quent confidence in the future and a quiet sense of happiness. It was more than he’d expected.

Last night when it was time to put the children to bed, she’d cuddled Tara and crooned a lullaby. As Quent listened, the day’s tensions had seeped away.

Her singing had reminded him of innocent times long ago, when the world felt safe. He wanted to float away on the sound of Amy’s voice.

Although moving in together hadn’t originally been part of his plan, Quent liked it better with every passing moment. He’d missed being part of a real home.

“I’ll pick up the kids at Aunt Mary’s and stop at the supermarket after work,” Amy said.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he protested. “I know you hate shopping for food.”

She reached out to catch Tara’s cup as, once again, it teetered near the edge of the tray. “With the kids along, it’ll be an adventure.”

“Thanks,” he said. “We’ll
get a system worked out soon so we don’t end up in crunches like this.”

“I suspect crunches go with the territory.” When Amy got up to clear the remains of breakfast, he hurried to help her.

Once they’d loaded the dishwasher, it was past time to get ready for work. Even with two bathrooms, they were in danger of running late.

While Greg watched TV in the living room, Quent and Amy agreed that Tara would be safe playing unsupervised in her room. A child gate blocked the doorway, and she had plenty of toys to keep her busy.

Quent was getting out of the shower when he heard Tara shriek. Grabbing a towel, he flung it around his waist and ran into the hall.

At the same time, Amy darted from her bedroom. Her hair tumbled from beneath a shower cap and the bathrobe clung to her damp skin.

“Did you hear that?” she gasped. “Tara! Are you all right?”

Whack! A toy flew over the childproof gate and crashed into the opposing wall. Another shriek followed. This time, Quent recognized it for what it was: laughter.

Coming abreast of the opening, he barely missed getting smacked by a cloth book. “Dada!” Tara greeted him, and held out her arms to be picked up.

“She called me Dada!” he said, elated. Every instinct urged him to whirl the little girl in the air, except for one obstacle: He’d have to let go of the towel first.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there?” Amy demanded with a grin. Obviously, she’d noticed his dilemma. “Come on, Daddy, you’re not going to let a little false modesty get in the way of playing with your baby, are you?”

“
You
could take her.” Playfully,
he eyed the bathrobe she was holding shut. “I promise I won’t look. Well, maybe I’ll peek, but I’ll never tell anybody what I see.”

Her gaze scorching his body, she opened her mouth as if to make a retort. Nothing came out. Quent couldn’t speak, either. Awareness swelled inside him of her velvety skin and his own bare torso. Of how tantalizing she would feel pressed to him, her breasts grazing his chest, her hands dropping the robe to stroke his hips. In the hallway, he heard his own ragged breathing, matched by hers.

A teddy bear whacked into his shoulder. “Da!” shouted Tara.

“Way to go!” said Amy. “Hit him again, kid!”

“Hey!” Quent protested.

“Ten points if you make him drop the towel,” she told Tara. “We women have to stick together.”

“No fair ganging up.” Quent returned to the bathroom with as much dignity as he could salvage. Which, in a towel, wasn’t much.

Okay, so there were bound to be a few miscues on the road to perfect parenthood, he told himself as he dried off and got dressed. With luck, his physically excited state would subside by the time he dropped the children at day care.

He was definitely looking forward to that private dinner with Amy tonight.

Letting Greg push a
miniature cart provided by the supermarket had seemed like a good idea when Amy arrived at the store. She changed her mind the third time he raced out of sight down an adjoining aisle.

Why had she ever quibbled about shopping back in the days when all she had to do was stroll down the aisles at her own pace? That would be an unimaginable luxury for a woman with two tots.

By the time she reached Greg, he’d piled half a dozen items into his basket. “Please put these back.” Amy demonstrated by returning a box of crackers to the shelf. “You can carry the cereal if you want to.”

Seated in Amy’s cart, Tara clapped her hands with glee. “Mick!” she announced, and pointed to the milk carton beside her.

“That’s right, it’s milk,” Amy said. Much as she wanted to encourage Tara’s language acquisition, it was hard to concentrate with both children demanding her attention.

“I’ll keep the cookies,” Greg announced, snatching a package she’d been on the verge of removing.

“Okay, I suppose a little dessert won’t hurt anything.” Amy knew Quent planned to fix healthy food for the kids, but surely there
was leeway for sweets. Keeping one eye on the kids, she finished restoring the other items he’d collected to their proper places.

“I’m hungry.” The little boy pried at the cellophane wrapping. “I want to eat my snack now.”

“It’s almost dinnertime, honey.” Amy groaned to hear herself sounding like a stereotypical mother. But what else could she say?

“Cookie!” Tara demanded and waggled her fingers at her brother.

“Later, guys.” Amy lifted the package from Greg’s grasp.

He stomped his foot and glared at her, a picture of four-year-old outrage. Reacting to his mood, Tara began to scream for a cookie.

Amy stared at them in dismay. She treasured these kids, and she knew that, underneath, they were fond of her. She didn’t want to come across as some kind of ogre, but she counseled parents on dealing with exactly this kind of situation. “If you let them win by throwing temper tantrums, they’re in control,” was her standard line.

She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to stand tough, especially with other shoppers glaring as if she must have done something cruel to make the kids scream this way. “I’m sorry but the answer is still no,” she told Greg. “You and Tara can eat cookies after supper. Let’s go check out.”

“I’m hungry!” he bellowed louder than she would have dreamed possible for such a small child.

“Cookie!” shrieked Tara.

Amy didn’t notice who was pushing a cart toward her until she heard Mrs. McLanahan say, “What have we here? I know these aren’t yours.”

“It’s a long
story,” Amy told her. “Let’s just say that they’re my responsibility.”

Today, she’d told her secretary about letting Quent and the kids stay at her condo, which meant the story ought to be spreading far and wide. She wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the inevitable questions and assumptions. In any case apparently word hadn’t reached Mrs. McLanahan.

“Care for a suggestion?” the widow asked.

“I’d be grateful,” she said.

“Open the package and give them each one cookie now. If they behave themselves, they can have more after dinner,” Mrs. McLanahan advised.

“I always tell parents not to give in to tantrums,” Amy said, torn between the desire to do what was right and the need to restore peace.

“When kids are overtired or hungry, they can’t control themselves,” the elderly woman told her. “Next time, give them a snack before you go grocery shopping.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” Amy opened the package and handed each child a cookie. “That’s all you get until after dinner. If you fuss any more, I’ll put them away till tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Greg wolfed his down. He looked ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry I fussed.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Tara tore her cookie into two pieces, gobbled one and stuck the other up her nose. Amy, Noreen and Greg all started to laugh. Delighted to be the center of attention, the baby chortled and out flew the cookie fragment. Tara didn’t seem to mind.

Mrs. McLanahan departed without inquiring further. Judging by the twinkle
in her eyes, however, she hadn’t given up on hearing wedding bells.

The children were little angels on the trip home, and they ate their dinner messily but without protest. Afterward, Amy gave them each more cookies and helped get them ready for bed.

“Uncle Quent will be home soon,” she told Greg. “You can stay up till he gets here.”

He yawned. “Will you help me say my prayers?”

“Of course.” Amy hoped Quent wouldn’t mind if they went ahead. She could see that children operated on their own timetable.

The boy knelt by the bed and bowed his round head so all she could see was a tumble of brown hair. In Amy’s arms, Tara curled sleepily.

“Dear God, thanks for the cookies,” Greg said. “Please send more tomorrow. Amen.”

“Is that the way Lucy taught you to say prayers?” Amy asked, trying to hide her amusement.

“No.” Greg, who’d hopped to his feet, knelt again. “Dear God, it’s me again. Thanks for Amy and Uncle Quent. Thanks for Aunt Lucy, too. I like our new home. Please let me use the dartboard again soon. Amen.” He slanted an uncertain glance at her. “Is that okay?”

“It’s fine,” she said.

In the other room, the phone rang. Amy hurried to answer.

It was Lucy, anxious to confirm that the kids were doing well. Amy put them each on the phone in turn, although Tara wasn’t capable of carrying on much of a conversation.

Afterwards, she spoke to Lucy again. “How are you doing? You must miss them a lot.”

“I do,” the other woman admitted. “There’s an upside, though. At work today, we got really busy. It was a relief to be able to stay late without worrying about the hours at the day-care center. I’m sorry. That probably sounds hard-hearted.”

“Working mothers always
feel torn between one obligation and another.” It was an issue that came up frequently with Amy’s clients.

“That’s the truth,” Lucy said. “Is Quent there?”

“He’s not home yet. I’m expecting him any minute.”

“He’s lucky to have you.” Lucy’s sigh reverberated over the phone. “There’s a lot to be said for the two-parent family.”

“That’s for sure. You deserve a medal for what you’ve done this past year,” Amy said.

“I feel a bit guilty about relinquishing the children,” Lucy admitted. “I keep telling myself it’s for the best.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Fifteen minutes later, Quent arrived, tired but happy, surrounded by the scent of take-out fried chicken. “I’ve been thinking about you and the kids all day,” he said as he handed over the sacks of food and pulled off his jacket. “This sure beats coming home to an empty apartment.”

“For me, too.” As Amy followed him into the children’s room and watched him hug them, her heart swelled with longing.

She wanted this to be real. She wanted these to be her children, for Quent to be her husband. Then, after dinner, the two of them would go to bed together and hold each other all night.

Her body quickened. This morning, she’d itched to run her hands over his half-naked body and strip away the towel. He’d clearly responded to her, too.

In the past, each time they’d nearly made love, fate had intervened. After she nearly fell into the harbor, Quent had abruptly withdrawn, and she still didn’t understand why. Surely he would begin to change now that they were living together. Would tonight be a turning point? She wondered if she would finally find out how it felt to become his lover, and whether she dared to take that step, knowing that he didn’t love her.

The children fell asleep
as soon as their heads hit their pillows. The adults made a beeline for the kitchen.

Quent set out paper containers on the table. “I hope you like the meal.”

“It’s one of my favorites.” The smell of chicken, corn bread and mashed potatoes went directly to Amy’s stomach. She produced plates and cutlery, and the two of them dug in. “How was work today?”

“We had a preemie this morning, five weeks early. Healthy as a horse,” he said.

“That must have been a relief.”

“It sure was.” He downed some food before adding, “The clinic was busy, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. The flu season appears to be mild this year.”

“That’s a blessing.”

“I’d like to hear about your day, but I guess you can’t talk about your clients, can you?”

She paused with a drumstick in one hand. “No. I can share Mrs. Ryerson’s gossip, though. One of the admitting clerks got caught raising a lion at home.”

“A full-size lion?” he asked in amazement.

“Can you believe that? She bought it as a cub and tried to keep it shut up in her home.”

“And nobody noticed?”

“She told people she had a big dog.” Amy shook her head in disbelief at the woman’s nerve.

“What gave her away?”

“The neighbors finally
figured out that the roaring wasn’t coming from her stereo system.”

He chuckled. “You can’t accuse them of being nosy.”

“Or else they play music so loud they couldn’t hear over it,” Amy said.

“A lion.” He helped himself to some coleslaw. “One of my roommates had an iguana once. It escaped. We never did find out where it went.”

They chatted on about nothing of importance. Being alone with Quent in the cozy kitchen at night, eating companionably and sharing anecdotes from the day, gave Amy a sensation of belonging.

When his outstretched leg bumped her ankle, a tremor of excitement ran up her spine. Every movement he made reverberated through her.

By the time she finished eating, Amy was contemplating ways to slip onto his lap. Better yet, she imagined him catching her as she moved toward the sink and drawing her into his arms.

He was watching her, no question about it. Awareness crackled between them.

“Why don’t we—” she began.

“Amy,” Quent said.

“Mmm?” She could scarcely breathe.

“We…what I’d like…” He searched for words. “What I want to do is to carry you down the hall and ravish you like a caveman, but…”

“Great!” she said.

“You mean that?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, already regretting her impulsive response.

“I didn’t think so.” Across the table, Quent’s blue eyes were troubled. “I hate denying my instincts. It sure would feel right to make love to you.”

“I heard a ‘but,”’ Amy
said. “You’d better finish that sentence.”

“Going to bed together would change everything. I want to do this right, when it happens.” Then he added three words that chilled her. “If it happens.”

Until now, she’d known Quent didn’t love her, but she’d hoped that might change. Didn’t physical intimacy, especially when accompanied by genuine liking, sometimes lead to much more?

“I thought about you all day,” he went on. “I imagined what might happen tonight. In the past, I’ve taken things pretty casually with women, although I’ve never deliberately hurt anybody.”

“You’ve decided to make an exception in my case?” she asked with what she hoped was light irony.

“About hurting you? Never,” he said. “About taking it lightly, yes. You’re special. I don’t want to start something and maybe ruin it while we’re adjusting to taking care of the children. Relationships can be tricky. We’ve both seen that in our parents’ marriages.”

That made sense, she conceded. At least he didn’t claim to have lost his desire for her.

“Besides, you agreed to let me move in for the kids’ sake, not to be your lover,” Quent went on.

At this rate, she might still be a virgin when she was sixty! “Hey, what’s the big deal?” Amy joked. “In my vast experience…”

He raised a hand to stop her. “I don’t want to hear about your adventures with other guys, or how I fail to measure up to them, either.”

She couldn’t believe he had any doubts on that score. Maybe it was time, painful as it might be, to level with him. “The truth is, I’m not as experienced as you think.”

“Whoa!” Quent rocked
backward in his chair. “Please don’t spoil my illusions. I like the fact that you know your way around. It’s a turn-on.”

“It is?” Oh, what a tangled web she had woven!

“You’re my fantasy woman,” he said. “Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

“All right.” There was no sense in belaboring the point, since he’d made it clear they weren’t hopping into bed anytime soon. Amy couldn’t bear to think about how disappointed he was going to be when they did.

If it happens,
he’d said. Maybe it never would. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, after what he’d just told her.

“How about a game of darts?” Quent asked.

“You’re on,” she said, and proceeded to beat him two games out of three.

Q
UENT AWOKE
to intense darkness. At his apartment, car lights sometimes flashed by on the street and the people in the next unit played the TV late. Here, all was stillness.

Then he heard the sound that must have penetrated his sleep. The murmur of voices in the hallway. Conditioned by years as a medical resident, he arose and went to see what was happening.

Only after his feet hit the floor did his body register stiffness from sleeping on a mattress that offered little protection from its metal frame. He shrugged it off.

In the hallway, the faint glow of a night-light cast shadows. Quent made out Greg’s little shape as it disappeared into his bedroom, and Amy’s, following.

He glimpsed her tangled
dark hair and the eddying fabric of her gown. Guessing that his intrusion might interfere with getting the boy back to sleep, Quent waited in the semi-darkness.

Amy emerged sooner than expected and ran right into him. As he reached to steady her, her breasts nudged his arm. Through the gossamer fabric, her body pressed itself against his, each curve delineated with excruciating clarity.

They stepped back, both apologizing at once, then fell silent. Neither moved. In the lull, the rhythms of their breathing intertwined.

In Quent’s fevered mind, his palms glided along the flare of her hips. He imagined her yielding as his palms stroked upwards, lifting the nightgown. Beneath it, she would be nude and breathtakingly lovely.