Right Next Door (27 page)

 

Carol woke around three with her stomach in painful knots. She lay on her side and at a breath-stopping cramp, she tucked her knees under her chin. A wave of nausea hit her hard, and she couldn't stifle a groan. Despite her flu shot last fall, maybe she'd caught one of the new strains that emerged every year.

She lay perfectly still in the fervent hope that this would ward off her growing need to vomit. It didn't work, and a moment later she was racing for the bathroom.

Afterward, sitting on the floor, her elbows on the edge of the toilet, she breathed deeply.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked from behind her.

“I will be. I just need a couple more minutes.”

“What's wrong?” Peter asked. He handed her a warm washcloth, following that with a cup of water.

“The flu, I guess.”

He helped her to her feet and walked her back to her bedroom. “I appreciate the help, Peter, but it would be better if you went back to bed. I'll be fine by morning.”

“I'll call work for you and tell them you're too sick to come in.”

She shook her head. “No…I'll need to talk to them myself.” Her son dutifully arranged the blankets around her, giving her a worried look before he slipped out of her bedroom.

Peter must have turned off her alarm because the next thing Carol knew it was eight-thirty. The house was eerily silent.

Sitting up, she waited for an attack of nausea. It didn't come. She'd slept without waking even once. She was astonished that she hadn't heard Peter roaming about. He was usually as noisy as a herd of rampaging buffalo. Perhaps he'd overslept as well.

In case he had, she threw the sheets back, sat on the edge of the bed and shoved her feet into slippers before wandering into the kitchen. The minute she stepped inside, it was obvious that her son had been up and about. A box of cold cereal stood in the middle of the kitchen table, along with a bowl half-filled with milk and crusts from several pieces of toast.

Posted on the refrigerator door was a note from Peter, informing her that he'd phoned the hospital and talked to her supervisor, who'd said Carol didn't need to worry about coming in. He proudly added that he'd made his own lunch and that he'd find a ride home from track practice, so she should stay in bed and drink lots of fluids. In a brief postscript he casually mentioned that he'd also called Grandma Pasquale.

Carol's groan had little to do with the way she was feeling. All she needed was her mother, bless her heart, hovering over her and driving her slowly but surely crazy.
No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than the doorbell chimed, followed by a key turning in the lock and the front door flying open. Her mother burst into the house as though Carol lay on her deathbed.

“Carol,” she cried, walking through the living room. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I'm feeling much better, Mama.”

“You look terrible. Get back in bed before the undertaker gets wind of how you look.”

“Ma, please, I'm just a little under the weather.”

“That's what my uncle Giuseppe said when he had the flu, God rest his soul. His wife never even got the chicken stewed, he went that fast.” She pressed her hands together, raised her eyes to the ceiling and murmured a silent prayer.

“Peter shouldn't have phoned you,” Carol grumbled. She certainly didn't need her mother fussing at her bedside, spooning chicken soup down her throat every time she opened her mouth.

“Peter did the right thing. He's a good boy.”

At the moment Carol considered that point debatable.

“Now back to bed before you get a dizzy spell.” Her mother made a shooing motion with her hands.

Mumbling under her breath, Carol did as Angelina insisted. Not because she felt especially ill, but because arguing required too much energy. Carol might as well try to talk her mother into using canned spaghetti sauce as convince her she wasn't on her deathbed.

Once Carol was lying down, Angelina dragged the rocking chair into her bedroom and sat down. Before another minute had passed, she was busy with her knitting. Several balls of yarn were lying at her feet in case she wanted to start a second or third project in the next few hours.

“According to Peter you were sick in the middle of the night,” Angelina said. Eyes narrowed, she studied Carol, as if staring would reveal the exact nature of her daughter's illness. She shook her head, then paused to count the neat row of stitches before glancing back at Carol, clearly expecting an answer.

“It must've been something I ate for dinner,” she suggested lamely.

“Peter said you were looking at parts of a toilet no one should see that close up.”

Her teenage son certainly had a way with words. “I'm feeling better,” she said weakly.

“Your face is paler than bleached sheets. Uncle Giuseppe has more color than you, and he's been in his grave for thirty years.”

Carol leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She might be able to fool just about anyone else, but her mother knew her too well.

Several tense minutes passed. Angelina said not a word, patient to a fault. Yes, her mother knew; Carol was sure of it. She kept her eyes closed, afraid that another searching look would reveal everything. Oh, what the heck, Angelina would find out sooner or later.

“Alex asked me to marry him last night.” Carol tried to keep her voice even, but it shook noticeably.

“Ah,” her mother said, nodding. “That explains everything. From the time you were a little girl, you got an upset stomach whenever something troubled you, although why you should be troubled when this man tells you he loves you is a whole other question.”

Carol didn't need to hear stories from her childhood to recognize the truth.

“So what did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” she whispered.

“This man brings color to your cheeks and a smile to your eyes and you said
nothing?
”

“I…need time to think,” Carol cried. “This is an important decision…. I've got more than myself and my own life to consider. Alex has a son and I have a son…. It isn't as simple as it sounds.”

Her mother shook her head. Her rocker was going ninety miles an hour, and Carol was positive the older woman's thoughts were churning at equal speed.

“Don't be angry with me, Mama,” she whispered. “I'm so frightened.”

Angelina stopped abruptly and set her knitting aside. She reached for Carol's hands, holding them gently. A soft smile lit her eyes. “You'll make the right decision.”

“How can you be so sure? I've been wrong about so many things—I've made so many mistakes in my life. I don't trust my own judgment anymore.”

“Follow your heart,” Angelina urged. “It won't lead you wrong.”

But it would. She'd followed her heart when she married Bruce, convinced their love would see them through every difficulty. The marriage had been a disaster from the honeymoon on, growing more painful and more difficult with each passing day. The horror of those years with Bruce had shredded her heart and drained away all her self-confidence. She'd offered her husband everything she had to give, relinquished her pride and self-respect—and to what end? Bruce hadn't appreciated her sacrifices. He hadn't cherished her love, but turned it into something cheap and expendable.

“Whatever you decide will be right,” her mother said once again. “I know it will be.”

Carol closed her eyes to mull over her mother's confidence in her, which she was sure was completely unfounded. Angelina seemed to trust Carol's judgment more than Carol did herself.

A few minutes later, her mother started to sing softly, and her sweet, melodious voice harmonized with the clicking of the needles.

The next thing Carol knew, it was early afternoon and she could smell chicken soup simmering in the kitchen.

Angelina had left a brief note for her that was filled with warmth and encouragement. Feeling much better, Carol helped herself to a bowl of the broth and noodles and leisurely enjoyed her first nourishment of the day.

By the time Peter slammed into the house several hours later, she was almost back to normal.

“Mom,” he said rushing into the room. His face was flushed and his eyes bright. It looked as though he'd run all the way home. His chest was heaving as he dropped his books on the table, then tried to catch his breath, arms waving excitedly.

“What is it?” Carol asked, amused by the sight her son made.

“Why didn't you
say
anything?” he demanded, kissing both her cheeks the way her mother did whenever she was exceptionally pleased. “This is great, Mom, really great! Now we can go fishing and camping and hiking all the time.”

“Say anything about what?” she asked in bewilderment. “And what's this about fishing?”

“Marrying Mr. Preston.”

Carol was half out of her seat before she even realized she'd moved. “Who told you…who so much as mentioned it was a possibility?”

“A possibility?” Peter repeated. “I thought it was a done deal. At least that's what James said.”

“James told you?”

Peter gave her a perplexed look. “Who else? He told me about it first thing when I got to school this morning.” He studied her, his expression cautious. “Hey, Mom, don't look so upset—I'm sorry if you were keeping it a secret. Don't worry, James and I think it's a great idea. I've always wanted a brother, and having one who's my best friend is even better.”

Carol was so outraged she could barely talk. “H-he had no business saying a word!” she stammered.

“Who? James?”

“Not James. Alex.” If he thought he'd use the boys to influence her decision, he had another think coming.

Carol marched into her bedroom, throwing on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. Then she hurried into the living room without bothering to run a brush through her tousled hair.

“Where are you going?” Peter demanded. He'd ladeled himself a bowl of soup and was following her around the house like a puppy while she searched for her purse and car keys.

“Out,” Carol stormed.

“Looking like that?” He sounded aghast.

Carol whirled around, hands on her hips, and glared at him.

Peter raised one hand. “Sorry. Only please don't let Mr. Preston see you, all right?”

“Why not?”

Peter raised his shoulder in a shrug. “If he gets a look at you, he might withdraw his proposal. Honestly, Mom, this is the best thing that's happened to us in years. Don't go ruining it.”

J
ames answered the door, and a smile automatically came to his lips when he saw it was Carol. Then his eyes narrowed as though he wasn't sure it was her, after all. Carol realized he was probably taken aback by her appearance. Normally she was well-dressed and well-groomed, but what Alex had done—had tried to do—demanded swift and decisive action. She didn't feel it was necessary to wear makeup for this confrontation.

“Where is he?” Carol asked through gritted teeth.

“Who? Dad?” James frowned. “He's watching the news.” The teenager pointed toward the family room, which was adjacent to the kitchen.

Without waiting for James to escort her inside, Carol burst past him, intent on giving Alex a piece of her mind. She was furious. More than furious. If he'd honestly believed that involving the boys would affect her decision, then he knew absolutely nothing about her. In fact, he knew so little, they had no business even considering marriage.

She refused to be pressured, tricked, cajoled or anything else, and before this day was over Alex would recognize that very clearly indeed.

“Carol?” Alex met her halfway into the kitchen. His eyes softened perceptibly as he reached for her.

Carol stopped just short of his embrace. “How dare you,” she snapped.

“How dare I?” Alex repeated. His eyes widened with surprise, but he remained infuriatingly calm. “Would you elaborate, please, because I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

“Dad?” James ventured into the kitchen, giving Carol a wide berth. “Something must really be wrong,” the boy said, and then his voice dropped to a whisper as he pointed to Carol's feet. “Mrs. Sommars is wearing two different shoes.”

Carol's gaze shot downward, and she mentally groaned. But if either of the Preston men thought they'd throw her off her guard by pointing out that she'd worn a blue tennis shoe on her right foot and a hot-pink slipper on her left, then she had news for them both.

“I have the feeling Mrs. Sommars was in a hurry to talk to me,” Alex explained. The smile that quivered at the corners of his mouth did little to quell her brewing temper.

James nodded. “Do you want me to get lost for a few minutes?”

“That might be a good plan,” Alex replied.

James exchanged a knowing look with his father before discreetly vacating the room. As soon as Carol heard James's bedroom door close, she put her hands on her hips, determined to confront Alex.

“How dare you bring the boys into this,” she flared.

“Into what?” Alex walked over to the coffeepot and got two mugs. He held one up to her, but she refused the offer with a shake of her head. “I'm sorry, Carol, but I don't know what you're talking about.”

Jabbing her index finger at him, she took several steps toward him. “Don't give me that, Alex Preston. You know very well what I mean. We agreed to wait, and you saw an advantage and without any compunction, you took it! Did you really think dragging Peter and James into this would help? How could you be so foolish?” Her voice shook, but her eyes were as steady as she could make them.

“I didn't mention the possibility of our getting married to James, and I certainly didn't say anything to Peter.” He leaned against the kitchen counter and returned her disbelieving glare with maddening composure.

Angrily Carol threw back her head. “I don't believe you.”

His eyes hardened but he didn't argue with her. “Ask James then. If he heard that I'd proposed to you, the information didn't come from me.”

“You don't expect me to believe that, do you?” she cried, not nearly as confident as she'd been earlier. The aggression had gone out of her voice, and she lowered her hands to her sides, less certain with each minute. The ground that supported her outrage started to shift and crumble.

“I told you I wouldn't bring the boys into this,” he reminded her smoothly. “And I didn't.” He looked over his shoulder and shouted for James, who opened his bedroom door immediately. Carol didn't doubt for an instant that he'd had his ear pressed to it the entire time they'd been talking.

With his hands in his jean pockets, James strolled casually into the room. “Yes, Dad?”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“About what?” James wore a look of complete innocence.

“Apparently you said something to Peter about the relationship between Mrs. Sommars and me. I want to know what it was and where you found out about it.” Alex hadn't so much as raised his voice, but Carol recognized that he expected the truth and wouldn't let up until he got it.

“Oh…that,” James muttered. “I sort of overheard you saying something to Uncle Barn.”

“Uncle Barn?” Carol asked.

“A good friend of mine. He's the one I was telling you about who kept Jim while I was out of town.”

“Call me
James,
” his son reminded him.

Alex lifted both hands. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” James went on to say, “you were on the phone last night talking to him about the basketball game tonight, and I heard you say that you'd
asked
Carol—Mrs. Sommars. I'm not stupid, Dad. I knew you were talking about the two of you getting married, and I thought that Peter and I had a right to know. You should've said something to us first, don't you think?”

“For starters, this whole marriage business is up in the air—when and if anything's decided, you two boys will be the first to find out.”

“What do you mean, the wedding's up in the air?” This piece of information obviously took James by surprise. “Why? What's the holdup? Peter and I think it's a great idea. We'd like it if you two got married. It'd be nice to have a woman around the house. For one thing, your cooking could use some help. But if you married Mrs. Sommars—”

“James,” Alex broke in, “I think it's time for you to go back to your room before Carol decides she wants nothing more to do with the likes of us.”

James looked affronted, but without further questions, he pivoted and marched back into his bedroom.

Alex waited until his son was out of sight. He sighed loudly and rammed his fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry, Carol. I had no idea James overheard my conversation with Barney. I thought he was asleep, but I should've been more careful.”

“I…understand,” Carol whispered, mollified.

“Contrary to what James just said,” Alex continued, the line of his mouth tight and unyielding, “I don't want to marry you for your cooking skills. I couldn't care less if you never cooked again. I love you, and I'm hoping we can make a good life together.”

James tossed open his bedroom door and stuck out his head. “Peter says she's as good a cook as his grandmother. She's—”

Alex sent his son a look hot enough to melt tar.

James quickly withdrew his head and just as quickly closed his door.

“I'll talk to Peter and explain the mix-up, if you'd like,” Alex offered.

“No…I'll say something to him.” Suddenly self-conscious, Carol swung her arms at her sides and retreated a couple of steps. “I suppose I should get home….”

“You were sick last night?” Alex asked, his expression concerned. “James told me when I picked him up after school. I would gladly have given Peter a ride, but he'd apparently found another way because he was gone before James could find him.”

“Peter decided to run home.”

“But you
had
been ill?”

She nodded. “I…must've caught a twenty-four-hour bug.” Her eyes darted around the room. She felt so foolish, standing there with her hair a tangled mess, wearing the oldest clothes she owned, not to mention mismatched shoes.

“You're feeling better today?”

“A lot better. Thank you.” She was slowly but surely edging toward the front door. The sooner she escaped, the better it would be for everyone involved. If Alex was merciful, he'd never mention this visit again.

She was all the way across the living room and had just reached the front door, when Alex appeared behind her. As she whirled around, he flattened his hands on either side of her head.

“Have you come to a decision?” he asked softly. His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Do you need any help?”

“The only thing I've managed to come up with is the flu,” she murmured in a feeble attempt at humor. Alex wasn't amused, however, and she rushed to add, “Obviously you want to know which way I'm leaning, but I haven't had time to give your proposal much thought. I will, I promise I will…soon.” She realized she was chattering, but couldn't seem to stop. “We're still on for Friday night, aren't we? We can discuss it then and—”

The doorbell chimed, frightening Carol out of her wits. She gasped and automatically catapulted herself into Alex's arms. He apparently didn't need an excuse to hold her close. When he released her several awkward seconds later, he smiled at her, then kissed the tip of her upturned nose.

“That'll be Barney now. It's time the two of you met.”

 

“
That
was Carol Sommars?” Barney asked for the third time. He scratched his jaw and continued to frown. “No wonder Bambi mistook her for a bag lady. I'm sorry, man, you're my best friend and we've been buddies for a lot of years, but I've got to tell you, you can do better than that.”

Chuckling, Alex dismissed his friend's statement and walked into the family room. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget Carol's mortified look as she bolted from the house.

Barney certainly hadn't helped the situation any. Doing his best to keep a straight face, Alex had introduced the two. Barney's eyes had widened and his mouth had slowly dropped open in disbelief. It took a moment before he had the presence of mind to step forward and accept Carol's outstretched hand. Barney had mumbled that it was a pleasure to finally meet her, but his eyes had said something else entirely.

“Trust me,” Alex felt obliged to explain, “she doesn't always look like that.”

Barney stalked over to the refrigerator and opened it. He stared inside for a long time before he reached for a cold beer. “What time do the Trail Blazers play?”

Alex checked his watch. Both he and Barney were keen fans of Portland's professional basketball team. The team had been doing well this year and were in the first round of the play-offs. “Seven.”

“So,” Barney said, making himself comfortable in the overstuffed chair. He crossed his legs and took a long swig of beer. “What happened to her foot?” he asked casually. “Did she sprain it?”

“Whose foot?”

“Carol's,” Barney said, casting Alex a questioning glance. “She was wearing a slipper—you mean you didn't notice? Did she twist her ankle?”

“Nah,” James answered for Alex, wandering into the family room holding a bag of pretzels. He plopped himself down on the sofa, resting his legs on the coffee table. “Peter says she does weird stuff like that all the time. Once she wore his swimming goggles in the shower.”

Barney raised his eyebrows. “Should I ask why?”

“It made sense—sort of—when Peter explained it. His mother had gone to one of those cosmetics stores and they put some fancy makeup on her eyes, and she didn't want to ruin it when she took a shower, so she wore Peter's rubber goggles.”

“Why didn't she just take a bath?” Barney asked. He threw Alex a look that suggested his friend have his head examined.

“She couldn't take a bath because the faucet was broken,” James said, “and her brother hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet.”

“That makes sense,” Alex said in Carol's defense.

Barney rolled his eyes and tipped the beer bottle to his lips.

To his credit, Barney didn't say anything else about Carol until James was out of the room. “You're really serious about
this
woman?” His question implied that Alex had introduced Barney to the wrong one, and that the whole meeting was a setup to some kind of joke that was to follow.

“I'm totally serious. I told you I asked her to marry me—I can't get any more serious than that.”

“And she's
thinking
about it?” Barney asked mockingly. Being the true friend he was, Barn clearly couldn't understand why Carol hadn't instantly leaped at Alex's offer.

To be honest, Alex wondered the same thing himself. True, he'd blurted out his proposal in a parking lot. He still had trouble believing he'd done anything so crazy. As a contractor, he'd sold himself and his company hundreds of times. He'd prepared bids and presented them with polish and professionalism. He always had solid arguments that made his proposals sound attractive and intelligent. Carol deserved nothing less.

But something had happened to him when he'd visited her birthing class. Something enigmatic and profound. Even now he had to struggle not to get choked up when he thought about it.