The Reluctant Cinderella (7 page)

“It's okay. But…oh, Megan. What did he
say?
”

Lord. Where to start? How to tell it? “He, um…” She decided she'd better just lay it out there. “He asked me out.”

Carly made a tight, strangled sound. Her face went chalky-pale. “I…excuse me?”

“He asked me out. I, um, turned him down. But I didn't
want
to turn him down. I'm very attracted to him. I didn't expect that, to be so attracted. And I never in a million years thought that he'd be attracted to me. But, well, he is. He said so. And he, um, well, did you know that he owns a house right here in Rosewood?”

Carly was staring at her as if she'd just committed murder—or worse. “I don't… A house?”

“Yes. It's a few blocks away from here. It's empty now, but he says he really does like Rosewood and he's hoping someday to move back here.”

“A house? What are you talking about? Greg doesn't need a house. He has a house. Our house.
This
house…”

Megan shut her eyes, sucked in a fortifying breath
and made herself continue. “No, Carly. He says it really is over, between the two of you. That you're divorced and that's how it's going to stay.”

“No…”

“Yes—and that house I just mentioned? Well, he showed it to me.”

Carly's fine nose wrinkled in an expression midway between sheer horror and disgust. “
You?
He showed
you
his house….”

“Yes. And…and he kissed me, Carly. I mean,
we
kissed. Each other. He kissed me and I kissed him back.”

Carly blinked several times in rapid succession. “I don't…I can't…” She paused, collected herself, said with an awful kind of calmness, “You know what? I heard, from Irene Dare, that she and Rhonda had seen you with Greg. I didn't believe Irene. I thought she was just carrying tales, telling lies, stirring up trouble the way she and Rhonda like to do. I would never, ever have believed that Greg would…” She seemed to run out of words. She shook her head, tried to continue. “That
you
could…” The words ran out again. She swallowed. And then, with great care and a terrible, wounded dignity, she rose to her feet. She drew herself up tall and straightened her robe. “You
kissed
my husband?”

Megan put out both hands in a placating gesture. “Carly. No—I mean, yes. I did kiss him. But he's not your husband anymore and you really have to come to grips with that, I think.”

Carly was shaking her head, backing away. “You…you pretended to be my friend.”

“No. Carly. I
am
your friend…” Megan let her hands drop limply to her sides. “Or I was…”

“You stole my husband from me.”

“No. I hardly knew him. I swear. And until the third of July, when I went up to his office for that first interview, Greg never showed an interest in me. He'd even forgotten that he'd told you he'd see me. It was just pure luck that I caught him at his desk.”

“Pure luck…” Carly made the words sound like a curse.

“Carly—”

“You said you told him you wouldn't go out with him.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“And
then
you kissed him?”

Megan didn't even try to defend herself. “Yeah. And then I kissed him.”

Carly tipped her chin high. “I don't know what to believe. All this you're telling me, it could be just lies.”

“Oh, no. Please…”

“But the one thing I do know now is that you are not my friend, Megan. You are not my friend and I will never speak to you again.”

“Oh, Carly. Please don't—”

“Shut up.” Carly put both hands to her temples and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Just shut up. Shut up and get out of my house and never come back here again.”

A
t home, there was no one.

Angela had taken the kids to day camp and gone to work. Megan knew that she should head for the office, as well.

But the awful scene with Carly had pretty much wiped her out. She went up to her apartment and sat on her bed and stared out the window that faced the backyard and wondered how she was going to manage to get through the day.

Sweet, gentle Carly had kicked her out of the McMansion and told her never to come back. Carly hated her now. That really hurt. And what hurt even more was the sneaking suspicion that maybe Megan deserved Carly's hatred.

No.

No, that wasn't true. She didn't deserve hatred. Fury, maybe. A good strong lecture for not being honest from the first.

But hatred?

Megan shook her head and let out a sad little laugh. What did it matter what she deserved? She
had
Carly's hatred. That was the bald truth.

Carly hated her. And Megan really, really needed to talk to Angela. She needed her sister's wisdom and level head. She needed Angela to tell her that yes, she had blown it royally. But now, at least, she'd told the truth and accepted the consequences.

Megan picked up the phone—and hesitated. She always tried to avoid bothering her sister at work. It was a small office and Angela was always on the go there. But hey, this was a special circumstance. She started to dial—and then thought of poor Carly.

Sitting in that big house all by herself. Who was Carly going to call at an awful time like this? For Megan, there was and always would be Angela's strong shoulder to cry on, Angela right there with her, to help her decide what to do next.

Who did Carly have? According to Greg, she was estranged from her family. And in the neighborhood, except with Megan, Greg's ex-wife always tried to put on a brave face.

How bad off was Carly right now? She'd been in an emotional tailspin for months. Could the news Megan had just dumped on her be enough to put her over the edge in the most final kind of way?

Oh, no. Impossible. Carly wouldn't…

But then again, what if she did?

Oh, God. What if she did?

Someone, Megan realized, ought to check on Carly and make sure she was okay. Someone should hold her hand, provide a listening ear and a big box of tissues. Megan would do it, if she herself didn't happen to be the problem.

Yes, she was fully aware that Angela would advise her to leave it alone. And Angela would probably be right.

But Megan just couldn't let it be. She felt too…responsible.

So she started dialing. She began with sweet Mrs. Fulton across the street. Sylvia was the wise and understanding grandmotherly type, the perfect neighbor to come calling when a woman's life and hopes and fading dreams came crashing down around her.

But Sylvia wasn't at home. Megan hung up without leaving a message. What could she say?
Hi, Sylvia. When you get this message, could you go check on Carly and make sure she's not slitting her wrists or anything?

Uh-uh. Bad idea.

Marti Vincente, maybe? But again, no one answered. Marti and Ed were probably already at the restaurant for the day.

Next, Megan tried Jack Lever's house in hopes that Zooey, the widower's live-in nanny, might be around to run over to Carly's. No answer at the Levers', either.

Who next? Irene Dare? Rhonda Johnson? God forbid—wait. What about Rebecca Peters?

Megan looked up the number and tried it. But Rebecca didn't pick up.

Molly Jackson? Molly was a total career person. Megan really didn't expect to catch her at home, but was just worried enough to give her a try.

And what do you know? After two rings, Molly answered, “Hello?” Megan, who suddenly realized she had no idea where to begin, only gulped. And Molly demanded, “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Uh. Hi, Molly. It's Megan. Megan Schumacher? I…well, I guess I didn't expect to get lucky and find you home….”

Molly cleared her throat and replied just a tad defensively, “I was feeling a little under the weather this morning, that's all.”

Megan remembered the incident in the powder room during the block party last month. Wow. Did Molly have some awful disease or something? “Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have bothered—”

“It's perfectly all right. I'm much better now.”

“But if you're sick—”

“I'm not,” Molly said with finality. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking I'd pull it together and go to work. And I will. Soon. But what can I do for you?”

“I…have a big favor to ask of you.”

“Whatever I can do.”

“It's about…oh, I don't even know where to start….”

Molly laughed. “I have days like that. Way too many of them lately. Days like today, as a matter of fact…and come on. Hit me with it. As I said, I'll do what I can.”

“Thanks,” Megan said. “Ahem. Well. You see, it started at the block party last month, when Carly offered to get Greg to give me an interview….”

“Hey, that was nice of her.”

“It was. Really nice.”

“How did the interview go?”

“Great. I got the contract.”

“Well, hey! Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I also kind of…fell for Greg.”

There was a stunned silence. Then Molly asked, “Greg
Banning?
”

“That would be the one.”

“Are you saying that he…fell for you, too?”

“It kind of seems that way.”

“Well. No kidding…”

“No kidding.”

“So what, exactly, happened?”

“Um. It was like this….” Megan told the story quickly. She hit the salient points: the instant and shocking attraction between her and Carly's ex; the way Megan had tried for days to deny that attraction. The meeting Monday in Poughkeepsie; Greg's asking her out and her telling him no; that kiss she shouldn't have shared with him. And how she'd finally gotten up the nerve to fess up to Carly just half an hour ago.

There was a huge silence on the line when she
finished talking. Finally, Molly said, “Megan, I really don't know what to say.”

“Yeah, well. I understand.” And she did. Much too well.

Gingerly, Molly suggested, “Maybe you should have picked someone else, you know?”

Good advice.
Excellent
advice. Just say no. Nothing simpler. And, somehow, in this case, about as easy as trying to stop an oncoming train by standing in front of it—not that that was any excuse.

Molly added, “Then again, they
are
divorced. Carly will have to learn to live with that.”

“Maybe so. But as of this morning—she hasn't. Not in the least.”

“She took it badly, then?”

Understatement of the year. “Very, very badly.”

“I'll bet she needs a friend right now….”

“I
know
she needs a friend right now. And I was wondering—”

“I hear you. And I'm on my way over there.”

“Oh, Molly. Thanks—and can you maybe
not
tell her that I called you and asked you to check on her? I've got a sinking feeling that would only make things worse.”

“Gotcha.”

“And will you just, you know, give me a quick call after you talk to her?” She rattled off her cell phone number. “Just so I know she's all right.”

“Will do. And Megan?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck. I have a feeling you're gonna need it.”

Megan thanked Molly again and said goodbye and then sat there a little longer, staring out the window, wanting her sister beside her.

And more than her sister, Megan wanted Greg. In spite of everything, she
still
wanted Greg.

 

Eventually, she got up and went to work. For much of the day, her killer workload distracted her. Somewhat.

Still, somehow, in every relentless beat of her heart, it was there—her longing for Greg. She told herself she only had to hold out. Over time, the longing was bound to fade.

Molly called in the afternoon to say that Carly was all right. Her neighbor seemed reluctant to say more and Megan didn't push her.

As always, Megan picked the kids up at four and watched them until Angela got home. The sisters stole a moment in Angela's room with the door shut. Megan reported that she'd done what she had to do, that Carly knew about her and Greg.

Angela gave her a hug. “I know it was hard, Meg. But you did the right thing.”

And then Michael pounded on the door crying that Anthony wouldn't play with him. Angela had to go sort out the dispute.

Megan rushed back up to Poughkeepsie, where she worked until after ten, getting ready for the trip into the city the next morning. Strictly speaking, the meeting tomorrow would be to agree on terms. But the marketing execs would be there. They'd want to
see progress on the Banning's campaign. Megan was determined they would have it—and then some.

When she finally got home that night, it was well after eleven and the lights were off in the main house. So much for her opportunity to have a long heart-to-heart with her sister. Megan dragged herself up to her apartment, put on her pjs and climbed into bed—where her longings and her worries took over and wouldn't let her rest.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she threw back the covers and padded into her tiny kitchen. She heated up a little milk, added some honey and sat down at the table to drink the age-old sleeping aid.

Her purse was right there on the table where she'd left it. She dragged it over in front of her, popped the clasp and slid Greg's card from the inside pocket.

Yep. There it was, his home number: 555-8346.

And wouldn't you know it? The phone was right there on the table, not two inches away from her steaming mug of restful hot milk. She picked it up.

Not that she would actually call him….

At a quarter of one in the morning? No way. Only stalkers and hopelessly lovesick fools did things like that. She set the phone back on the table. And then, just as she was giving it a small extra push, to send it out of easy reach, the darn thing rang.

The sound was shrill and strange in the quiet darkness of her kitchen. She let out a little gasp of surprise and then snatched it up and pressed the talk button. “Hello?”

“It's twelve-forty-five at night and I can't sleep.
I know the last thing I should be doing is bothering you. So call me a stalker and hang up the phone. That should do it, shame me into keeping my promise and leaving you the hell alone….”

Her throat tightened up. She gulped to loosen it and then whispered, “Oh, Greg…”

A moment of taut silence passed, then he murmured, “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head, though she knew he couldn't see her do it. “I'm sitting here at my kitchen table with a mug of hot milk and honey—and that card you gave me with your phone number on it.”

“You were going to call me?” The joy and triumph in his voice made her heart feel too big to fit in her chest.

She confessed, “Well, no. I've just been promising myself that I won't.”

Another silence was followed by a bleak, “I understand. Well. Goodbye, then…”

“Greg, wait!”

More silence. She started to think she'd lost him, that he'd hung up. But then he asked gruffly, “What?”

“Don't go. Please….”

He paused, chuckling deeply. “Well, all right. You've convinced me.”

“I can't stop thinking about you.” The damning words just sort of popped out. And she found she couldn't regret saying them.

Gently, he asked, “And is that such a bad thing?”

“No…” She traced the handle of her mug with a careful finger. “Yes. Oh, I don't know.”

He chuckled again. “Well. At least that's one thing you're sure about.”

She chided, “You think this is funny?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Good. Because it's not—not in the least….”

“I know.” His voice was soft and low. Intimate. Tender. “I've been thinking….”

She found she had to swallow again before she could speak. “About?”

“You.”

She dragged in a long breath and let it out slowly as something moved through her—something warm and good. Maybe it was happiness. She heard herself whisper, “Oh.”

“I don't know what it is about you, Megan. But from that first day, when you bowled me over with your ideas for Banning's…” The words trailed off.

She prompted, “What about that day?”

“Right from the first moment, I felt as if I
knew
you. As if I'd always known you. As if I'd only been waiting, forever, for you to show up, so the two of us could get on with the rest of our lives. Is that crazy?”

She couldn't help sighing. “Well, yeah. Pretty much.”

He laughed again. “Then go ahead. Call me crazy. That's okay. Call me whatever you want. Just tell me you'll give it—give us—a chance.”

She admitted the truth. “I can't stop thinking about you, either.”

“Good.” His voice was a rough whisper, one that
sent a hot shiver running under her skin. “So then. What else is there to do but go for it?”

“Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“I, um, well, I talked to Carly.”

He knew what she meant. “About us.” He didn't sound upset.

“Yes. This morning. I felt like such a cheat and liar, you know?”

“You weren't. You aren't.”

“Well, I sure feel like one. I talked to my sister about it, about us, about how guilty I felt. Angela said I needed to get it out there, to tell Carly the truth. So I did. Finally. I told her…how you asked me out and I turned you down. How you showed me your house on Sycamore Street. And how I kissed you, even though I'd told you I wouldn't go out with you. She was…it really hurt her, Greg. She kicked me out of her house and told me never to come back.”