That Certain Summer (5 page)

At the sound of a car in the driveway Saturday afternoon, Karen lifted the living room curtain to peer outside. “Kristen, your father's here.”

“I'll be right out.”

“You're going to be late.”

“I said I'll be out in a minute!”

Karen rolled her eyes. After eighteen months, you'd think Kristen would give up on this ploy. Did she really think that by hanging back in her room whenever Michael came by—thereby forcing her parents to engage in small talk—she might prod them into a reconciliation?

Good luck with that. Michael had no interest, and she found the whole thing awkward.

The bell chimed, and she headed toward the foyer. Straightening her shoulders, she tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled the door open. “Hello, Michael.”

“Hi.” He gave her his usual dismissive, distracted glance. “Is Kristen ready?”

“Almost. She'll need a little help getting to the car.”

“Oh. Right.” He looked toward his late-model sports car, then stepped inside.

She gave him a quick once-over. As usual, his attire was impeccable. The crease in his khaki slacks was razor sharp, the starch in his Oxford shirt crisp. It didn't matter where he was—in the classroom at the university, on the golf course, or attending today's school picnic with his daughter. He was Mr. GQ.

He was also in great shape, even if he was thirteen years her senior. Regular visits to the gym and a diligent exercise routine had kept him looking far younger than his fifty-one years. Only the touch of gray in the dark brown hair at his temples hinted at his age. But instead of making him look older, it gave him a distinguished appearance.

Maybe that's why he still attracted younger women.

Good looks, stylish clothes, and firm abs were no excuse for infidelity, however. Even if your wife was a little overweight and more plain Jane than Jane Russell.

She lifted her chin a fraction and shut the door with more force than necessary. “I'll check on Kristen.”

Her daughter chose that moment to appear. What a coincidence.

Not.

“Hi, Dad.” Kristen's voice was a little too bright, and she refused to meet Karen's gaze.

“Hi, sweetie.” He moved forward and gave her a hug. “I see you've been collecting some autographs on that cast.”

“Yeah. Most of the kids stopped by in the beginning, but they don't come around as much anymore.”

“You'll see them all today, though. Are you ready?”

“Uh-huh. Mom, where are the brownies?”

“In the kitchen. I'll get them.”

“Were we supposed to bring something?” Michael directed his question to Kristen as Karen passed by.

“Yeah. But Mom makes great brownies.”

“Stephanie could have picked up a cake at the bakery.”

Meaning his cute little love interest didn't frequent the kitchen. Karen stifled a smirk. No wonder Michael's waistline was so trim. He probably hadn't had a home-cooked meal since they separated.

“Homemade stuff is better. And Mom's a great cook.”

Misplaced though it was, Karen had to admire her daughter's tenacity.

“Could you hurry it up, Karen?” Michael called. “I don't want to keep Stephanie waiting.”

Not even a thank-you.

How typical.

Their voices carried into the kitchen as Karen retrieved the brownies, and she didn't feel one iota of guilt about listening in.

“Why did you bring her?”

“We're a couple, Kristen. We do things together.”

“But this was supposed to be just us. Father-daughter time.”

“I thought the end-of-school picnic was a family event?”

“It is. But Stephanie's not family.”

“She may be.”

“She isn't yet.”

“Look, do you want to call the whole thing off?”

Karen stepped back into the room to find them glaring at each other.

Shoulders slumping, Kristen ended the standoff. “I've been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“Then let's go and enjoy ourselves.”

“It would be better without Stephanie.”

Smiling sweetly, Karen handed the plate of brownies to Michael. “Have fun.”

His lips tightened into a thin line. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Karen's smile faded as she regarded her daughter. Kristen had been so excited about spending the day with her dad. He hadn't given her a lot of attention in the past few months—thanks to Stephanie, Karen assumed. Now she was fighting back tears.

Karen reached over to hug her, whispering as Michael opened the door, “I'm sorry, honey.”

“It won't be the same.” Kristen sniffled in her ear. “Nothing's the same.”

What could she say?

After giving her one more squeeze, Karen backed away. Michael and Kristen left the house in silence, and a few minutes later she heard the car start. From behind the sheer curtain in the living room, she watched as Michael pulled out of the driveway.

Stephanie was in the passenger seat, looking out the window—away from Michael. Michael was staring straight ahead, both hands gripping the wheel. Kristen was sitting in the back, her leg propped on the seat, her arms folded tight across her chest.

Looked like they were all in for a jolly afternoon.

“Karen? Val. Can I ask a favor?”

A caution sign flashed in Karen's mind, and she shifted the phone to a more comfortable position as she pulled plates out of the dishwasher. “What is it?”

“My car was making a funny noise on the way down from Chicago, so I took it to the shop this morning. I couldn't believe Fred was still there. He must be eighty-five! Anyway, he says I need a new timing belt—whatever that is. He gave me a ride home, because the car won't be ready until late in the day. I was planning to go to the grocery store while Mom naps, and I wondered if you might be able to run me over there. I grabbed a few quick things on Thursday during her therapy session, but the whole kitchen needs to be restocked.”

Turning toward the window, she considered the request as she watched the sun play hide-and-seek with the branches of the maple tree. Her first inclination was to say no. She'd much rather stay home and enjoy the rare treat of uninterrupted personal time on a
Saturday afternoon. On the other hand, she did need some things herself. If she took Val, she should still have plenty of time to herself before Michael brought Kristen home from the picnic.

“Okay. When do you want to go?”

“ASAP. I just got Mom settled for her nap. I should be able to escape for a couple of hours.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thanks. I'll be ready.”

Not likely. Val had always run late for everything.

But nine and a half minutes later, when she pulled into the driveway, her sister was already on the porch—looking chic as always, of course. Her loose blonde hair shimmered in the sun, her long legs were tanned and trim beneath her white shorts, and her black-and-white-striped knit top showed off her curves to perfection.

Karen squirmed in her seat and smoothed a hand down the denim on her thigh. Would it have killed her to take five minutes to freshen up? Brush her hair, apply some lipstick, change clothes instead of pulling her long hair back with a rubber band, going au naturel in the makeup department, and settling for too-tight jeans and baggy T-shirt that emphasized her extra pounds instead of disguising them.

Then again, why even try to compete with Val?

“Hey, I appreciate this.” Her sister slid in beside her. “Sorry for the short notice.”

“I need some stuff too.” She put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. “Shopping today will save me a trip early in the week. Work is busy this time of year, and I hate having to stop at the grocery store after a long day.”

“How's the job going?”

“Okay. It took me a while to adjust to the nine-to-five routine, but the construction business is interesting, and I like the steady paycheck as well as the feeling of independence. I even got a promotion a few months ago. I'm an administrative assistant now.”
If she couldn't compete with her sister on looks, at least she could point to her success in the business world.

To her surprise, Val's pleasure seemed sincere. “That's great! But you always were smart. With your business degree, I was amazed you didn't shoot for a higher position than secretary to begin with.”

“I had very little experience, and the degree was fourteen years old. I assumed that was the best I could do.”

“I'm glad they're recognizing your intellect. If our places were reversed, I'd still be a secretary.”

Karen shot her a skeptical look. “I don't think so.”

“Trust me. People see me and think ‘dumb blonde.' Including Mom. As far as she was concerned, my appearance was my only asset. She always told me you were the one who got the brains.”

Her mother had praised her to Val?

That was news.

She flexed her fingers on the wheel. “Well, she always told me you were the one who got the looks.”

“She's a piece of work, that's for sure.”

They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive, but for once it was companionable rather than strained.

After circling the crowded lot twice to find a parking spot, Karen led the way into the store. Pulling a cart free for Val and another for herself, she followed her sister toward the produce section.

“How did Mom do with her first therapy session?” Karen picked up a bag of Fritos from a table of snack-food specials near the entrance. “When I asked her, all she said was that it went fine.”

“It did. Mom's therapist had her wrapped around his finger in sixty seconds flat. It was amazing. Can you imagine Mom being docile? Or flirty?”

She almost choked on the sample of gooey butter cake she'd snagged from a display as they passed. “What!”

“Yeah. It's a kick, isn't it? David knows just how to handle her. And I'm not having any trouble at home, either, since she doesn't want to disappoint him on Tuesday.”

“You're kidding!”

“Cross my heart.”

“I'll have to take some lessons from him.”

“Wouldn't help. It's that male charm thing. Though I would have thought Mom would be immune.”

Karen wiped the powdered sugar off her fingers with a napkin. “How old is this guy?”

“I don't know. He's got a five-year-old . . . maybe midthirties.”

“Handsome?”

“In a boy-next-door sort of way.”

“How about that?” She shook her head. “But let's not look a gift horse in the mouth. I was afraid it might take both of us to drag Mom to therapy.”

“Nope. I think she'll go like a lamb.” After examining a head of broccoli, Val put it in her cart. “But I get plenty of resistance on other fronts. Like food. She doesn't like anything I make.”

“So I've heard a time or two.”

“Now why do I think that's a gross understatement?” Val snagged a bunch of green onions. “I hear complaints every day, but her eating habits are atrocious. I'm trying to remedy that.”

As Val regaled her with stories about the healthy menus she'd been preparing—and their mother's reaction—Karen's lips quivered. “I'm surprised she hasn't had another stroke.”

“Not yet. And not only is her diet healthier, she's bound to lose a few pounds. A good thing, if you ask me. She's gained a lot of weight. So tell me how Kristen's progressing.”

As Karen gave her an update, they trundled up and down the aisles, heading at last for the meat and seafood section. While Val perused a selection of tilapia, Karen scanned her sister's cart. Val had focused on natural foods like whole-grain breads and fruits and vegetables, while her own basket was full of microwave dinners, salty snacks, cereal, and sweets.

“I guess those dishes you're making for Mom are the reason you stay so slender. Maybe I should adjust my diet too.”

“Are you trying to lose weight?”