скачать книгу бесплатно
“Better now?” Chessie asked, tucking her legs up under her on the cushions.
Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with the last of the several tissues she’d employed after Chessie had shoved a box of them in her face. “Better enough to feel really, really embarrassed, you mean? Then, yes, I’m fine. I don’t know what happened down there.”
Chessie pulled a face. “I do. I opened my big mouth and inserted my size-nine foot. You told me right off the top that you weren’t sure you were going to say yes to the guy. Richard was it?”
“Yes, Richard. And he’s the dearest man,” she added quickly, hastening to defend him. “He’s kind and generous and gentle and …”
“Boring?”
“No! Richard is anything but boring. The boys and I live with him, you know.”
Chessie took a drink from her glass. “There’s nothing wrong with that. But, hon, your reaction downstairs? Maybe living with and marrying are two different things? I mean, fun’s fun and all of that, but marriage is a pretty big commitment.”
Elizabeth hastily raised her hands and waved them in front of her, as if to wipe away the last few moments of conversation. “Let me start over. I work for Richard. I work for him, and the boys and I live in his guesthouse. Better?”
“Definitely clearer,” her new friend said, smiling. “So what sort of work do you do for the guy?”
Elizabeth was feeling more confident now, with the subject of marriage at least temporarily shelved. “Richard’s a writer. He’s never married, lives alone and would probably starve to death without realizing it if someone didn’t take care of him. That’s how it began, with me answering his ad for part-time employment. He didn’t ask for skills, and since I really don’t have any outside of taking care of a house and making a fairly memorable pot roast, I seemed to fit the bill. But it was clear from the outset that Richard needed more than just someone to pick up after him and prepare a few meals.”
“I think I’m getting the picture. The creative genius who forgets to eat and walks around for hours with his glasses on top of his head, thinking he’s lost them?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Pretty much like that, yes, when he’s deep into a book. I’d thought I’d just come and go, with him not even realizing I’d been there. But often we talked about things, about his work. Within a week he’d found out I was renting an apartment with the boys, and he’d convinced me that boys need green grass to play on and their mother within earshot whenever possible. The next thing I knew I was a salaried, full-time employee, and the boys and I were installed in the rooms above his garages. They’re very large garages.”
“How convenient for him—that is, for all of you. Sounds like this Richard of yours is pretty wealthy. I mean, garages—plural.”
“There was family money, he told me, but he’s also quite successful on his own. His books are wonderful. He runs his ideas past me now, using me as a sounding board, I guess you’d say, since he used to bounce ideas off Sam The Dog—that’s his dog’s name—but Sam isn’t a very harsh critic. As he had me take on more and more of what he calls his scut work, Richard hired a new housekeeper so that now I’m strictly his personal assistant. Except for Sunday pot roast, of course.”
“Can’t forget the memorable pot roast,” Chessie said, lifting her soda glass in a small toast. “So what does an author’s personal assistant do?”
Elizabeth knew that Chessie wanted to keep her talking, keep her mind off what had happened downstairs, and she was more than willing to go along with that idea.
“Oh, I run errands, balance his checkbook, answer a lot of fan mail, fight with his publicist over proposed interviews and photo shoots he never wants to do, do Internet research for him, proof his pages once he’s ready for someone else to see them. And I’ve even come up with an idea or two for him. Richard swears he doesn’t know how he ever produced a single word without me. It’s … it’s very exciting—especially since, as I already told you, I have no formal training of any kind. Richard says I have a natural good ear, whatever that is.”
“It all sounds like a dream job. And Richard doesn’t mind the boys?”
Elizabeth lowered her head slightly. “I don’t think he notices them much on a day-to-day basis. But he certainly doesn’t mind them. It’s, as you’d imagine, a very large property. The boys have lunch with Richard regularly, once a week, and he asks about their schoolwork and what they want to be when they grow up—things like that. He bought them an entire array of those interactive electronic games, the complete systems with all the bells and whistles, and then gave them each new computers and flat-screen television sets for their rooms. For Christmas, he gave the three of us a week in Florida and passes to all the theme parks, even though he couldn’t come with us. The twins think he’s Santa Claus and Bill Gates, all tied up with a ribbon around his neck.”
“Not a lot there not to love, huh?”
“No, there’s not,” Elizabeth agreed, once more not quite meeting Chessie’s eyes. “He is … a bit older than I am.”
Chessie seemed to sit up straighter, as if coming to attention. “Oh, yes? How much older? Ten years? Fifteen?”
“Seventeen.” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “But that just makes him more stable, more dependable. And … and we have so much in common.”
“Yes. You both make sure Richard is well taken care of,” Chessie said, and then winced. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know the man. But I think I see where this is going. Richard has found what he thinks is his muse, and you’ve found a secure home and probably a pretty good future for the twins. Am I right?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“You tell me. I’m not the one who burst into tears downstairs.”
Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. “I know, I know. But marrying Richard is so very logical.” She dropped her hands into her lap and looked at Chessie. “Jamie and I married when we were halfway through college, and as I told you before, I was already pregnant with the twins. I hadn’t planned to leave school, but the pregnancy changed all of that, for both of us. Jamie worked at a job he hated and went to weekend college to finish his bachelor’s degree. Everything was a struggle, but that was all right, because we had the boys. We had each other. Young love, you know? And then, just when he’d found a great job and we finally were seeing the end of the student loans and formula and diaper bills, Jamie got sick.”
She turned her head, her hands forming into fists she batted together as if to beat away the anger she still felt at the unfairness of it all. The anger and the loss and the terror and the cruel, twisting grief that had mentally and physically pushed her to her knees at Jamie’s graveside that last awful day. The long, sleepless nights, the responsibilities that never stopped, the loneliness that had at last turned her grief to some sort of stony acceptance.
“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth,” Chessie said quietly. “So very sorry.”
“So am I. We were so in love. And then we were so … tired. So stressed all the time. And just … and just when we thought we could find what we’d seemed to have lost in those diapers and bills, those constant pressures, it was all snatched away, and I felt as if my life was over. I care very much for Richard, and he cares for me. It’s … it’s safer.”
“He knows you don’t love him?”
Elizabeth pulled a fresh tissue from the box sitting on the cushion beside her. “Oh, I do love him. And he loves me. In our own way. We’re very good friends. We’re … compatible.”
“And he’s all right with that? You’re all right with that?”
“Sometimes,” Elizabeth said defensively, and then sighed. “And sometimes … well, sometimes maybe not so much.”
“So what you’re telling me is that you and Richard love each other—but you’re not in love with each other? You’re very good friends and compatible. Do you think people really can be that way? That it’s safer? Surely somebody gets hurt, sooner or later? Somebody breaks the bargain, and falls in love for real?” Then Chessie held up her hands. “Hey, but not my problem, not my business to interfere, right? I’m sure you’re doing some very heavy, sensible thinking about all of this.”
“If we can call trying on wedding gowns to see what happens even the least bit sensible.”
“Oh, I don’t know. How did it make you feel trying on that gown?”
Elizabeth felt a ridiculous giggle prickling at the back of her throat. “Beautiful, passionate, seductive, exciting. I’d have married it tomorrow, no hesitation.” Then she sighed. “But I’m no closer to knowing what I should do about Richard’s proposal than I was this morning or last week.”
“Then you know what, Elizabeth? Forget it for now. Tell Richard you need more time, and just … forget about it. School only let out a couple of days ago, you’ve got the twins home and need to do something to keep them occupied for the summer, all sorts of things to do. Am I right?”
“I only let them game, as they call it, two hours a day. They’re already telling me they’re bored. And, believe me, bored twins of a certain age—of any age, I’m beginning to think—can be like ticking time bombs. Yes, I need to devote some time to them. And Richard leaves in a few days for a five-city book tour and won’t be home for a week. Yes, you’re right. It’s not like either Richard or I are in any sort of huge rush.”
“Yeah, the test didn’t show up positive this morning,” Chessie said, grinning.
“Hardly. The only time I’ve been in Richard’s bedroom was when I was in charge of changing the sheets. Oh, I shouldn’t be saying these things. Why have I said any of these things, come to think of it?”
Chessie shrugged as she got to her feet. “It’s me. I seem to have this power over people. They look at me and the next thing I know, I’m learning their life stories. But the thing is, I love it. Maybe bridal consultants are the female version of bartenders? Now, before you go, let me call my cousin Will.”
Elizabeth got to her feet, gathering up the used tissues and shoving them deep in her pockets. “Your cousin?”
“Yes, Will. William J. Hollingswood, Esquire, to be formal about the thing. He’s coaching a youth baseball team this summer, which is probably why I thought about T-ball earlier. Let me see if he has room for two more on the roster. If that’s okay?”
“It is, but we’re not Allentown residents, if that means anything. Richard’s house is in Saucon Valley.”
Chessie was already dialing a number on her phone. “Nifty neighborhood. But it doesn’t matter. Will’s is a sort of special team, just created last week. The twins will be fine. Oh, darn, it went straight to voicemail.” She put down the phone. “Tell you what, Elizabeth. You give me your number and I’ll call you once I’ve got ahold of Will.”
Elizabeth took one of Richard’s cards from her purse and turned it over, writing her cell-phone number on the back. “I’ve only got a cell, but you can try Richard’s number if I don’t answer. And I can’t thank you enough, Chessie. I wouldn’t have had the faintest idea about how to sign the boys up for anything like this.”
“No problem,” Chessie said, turning over the card. “Richard Halstead, novelist. Nope, don’t recognize the name. But don’t ever tell him I said that.”
“I won’t. He writes more for men, I guess. Although he certainly has his share of female fans. Oh, and Chessie? Since Richard will be out of town all next week, and the housekeeper never minds watching the boys, would you … that is, I’d love for you to be my guest for dinner one night.”
“Only if we go dutch treat,” Chessie said. “And we’ll take Eve along, and maybe Marylou—God, we have to take Marylou if she isn’t busy with one of her projects. A real girls’ night out. I’m guessing you don’t have many of those.”
“No, I don’t,” Elizabeth said as the two of them descended the stairs to the first floor once more. “Thank you, Chessie. I’m really, really glad you kidnapped me.”
Once Elizabeth had gone, Chessie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched in numbers as she headed for her office, away from Eve’s always listening ears.
“Will? Yeah, yeah, sorry for hanging up on you a couple of minutes ago, but I just had an idea when I heard your voice, an idea that I think is even better than my original idea, which wasn’t all that bad in its own altruistic way, by the way. Although this one could almost be altruistic if you didn’t look at it too hard, and—no, I have not been drinking. You know I don’t drink. Just listen, okay?”
Her cousin’s answer was short and to the point.
“Okay, so court convenes again in two minutes and we all know the legal world can’t go on without you, except that it’s going to, once your suspension kicks in. I’ll talk fast, you listen faster. I’ve got twins, boys, seven years old. They need a youth baseball team.”
She pulled the phone from her ear for a few moments while Will gave his opinion of youth baseball teams.
“Right, gotcha. A sin and a shame and a totally over-the-top reaction to your, I’m sure, perfectly calm and reasonable arguments to the judge. No, you’re never snarky, especially in court.” She laughed. “Yes, now I’m being snarky. But my heart goes out to you, it really does. Will you take them? Good. First practice tomorrow morning at nine, got it. Yeah, I know the field. They’ll be there. Now, for the second idea. Their mother is a widow, and she needs some fun.”
This time she rolled her eyes as she held the phone away from her ear for a few more moments.
“No, she does not bark. No, she does not have a tail. Although the same can’t be said for the last blind date you threw at me, buddy boy, so cut that out. You owe me one. You even said so, and I’m collecting, all right? And she’s gorgeous, Will, she really is, but maybe a little sad, a little confused.”
Chessie sighed as Will tried yet again to hang up on her. “Yes, yes, court awaits. No, I don’t want you to be held in contempt again. And no, she’s not a head case. I said confused, not certifiable. That would be the guy you set me up with at your secretary’s wedding reception, remember? Look, I’m not asking you to marry the woman, sport. I just want you to pay her a little attention, that’s all. Maybe take her to dinner a couple of times.
“Why? Because she doesn’t believe in romance anymore, that’s why. I think she’s afraid of it, I don’t think she thinks she deserves it and I think she’s going to make a big mistake if someone doesn’t remind her that her hormones are just resting, not gone. Can you do that? Pay her some attention? Nothing heavy, just flirt a little?”
She heard the bell over the front door of the shop ring to announce another customer. Still holding on to the phone, she began making her way to the reception area as Will pressed her to be more specific in her instructions.
“You want me to tell you how to be charming? Just for God’s sake, don’t take her to bed. I only want you to wake her up a little, you handsome bastard, you,” she ended, suddenly realizing there might be a problem if her plan worked too well. “I mean it, Will. Shake her up a bit so she remembers she’s not just a mom, but that she’s still young and desirable, and then back off, the way you always do. Nicely! And then we’re even, honest. Well, as long as you don’t try to throw any more blind dates my way. Agreed?”
She smiled at his answer. “Oh, you egotistical pig—I knew I could count on you.”
Chapter Two
Elizabeth pulled her small SUV into a parking space between a battered family van and a shiny black Mercedes-Benz and cut the engine. They were here. At the ball grounds … ball fields … something like that. And twenty minutes late, thanks to a wrong turn off the highway.
“I think that’s your team down there,” she said, pointing straight ahead at the windshield. “Ready?”
The silence from the backseat was deafening.
“I said,” she repeated, unsnapping her seat belt and turning around, “are you ready?”
Mikey took one hand off the handheld game he was playing and held it up, his index finger extended. “Soon as I beat this level, Mom, okay?”
“You’ll never beat that level. You always end up zapped,” his brother said. “You die like a dog, every time.”
Elizabeth reached back and grabbed the game. “Die? Who said you could play games where people die?”
“Oh, Mom,” Mikey whined as the game made a sound much like a dying whistle, followed by a splat. “Now you did it. And nobody dies, doofus, so why did you say that? The game is rated E, for everyone, just like it says on the box.”
Elizabeth looked at the screen and saw an exasperated-looking duck walking out of a pond on large webbed feet, shaking its feathers and glaring at her accusingly. “I’m sorry, Mikey,” she said, handing the game back to him. “Um … better duck next time?”
“Good one, Mom,” Danny told her. “Can we go home now?”
It had been a fight all morning. First to get them both up, then to get them to throw on shorts and tops and tie their sneakers—after they’d found their sneakers. Danny’s left one had been in the freezer and, no, she didn’t ask who had done that, because she already knew. They couldn’t decide what they wanted to eat, they needed to brush their teeth—as if either of them ever did that without first being threatened.
Elizabeth got out of the car and opened the rear side door, motioning to the boys to hurry up. “Today, people. Anyone would think you two don’t want to play baseball.”
“We don’t,” Danny said, grinning at her, his smile minus his top two front teeth. “But Richard said we should humor you.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Do either of you know what that means? That you should humor me?”
Mikey at last undid his seat belt and slid down off the safety booster seat, Elizabeth holding on to his arm as he jumped to the ground. “Not me. I only know that Richard said it’s easier to humor women than it is to fight them. Unless you wanted us to eat spinach or something.”
Elizabeth’s annoyance melted like spring snow under the warm, gap-toothed smiles of her sons. Boys could get away with murder, just with their smiles. Including boys who were well into their forties. It was simply impossible to stay angry with any of them.
She made shooing motions with her hands, aiming both boys toward the grassy incline that led down to the small ball field … ball court … whatever.
As she followed them, Elizabeth quickly realized she had already made at least two mistakes, and the boys weren’t even officially signed up yet. One, they were the only children wearing shorts, and two, they were the only children not carrying gloves. No, mitts. She remembered that word from Jamie. They were called baseball mitts.
Danny and Mikey stopped a good distance from the other children and turned to look at her, their identical big blue eyes that were so much like their father’s gazing at her in mute appeal.
“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she said, stepping between them and taking their hands. “Let’s look for Mr. Hollingswood, all right? Chessie told him we’d be here.”
She walked closer, careful to stay to the left of the long white chalk line that seemed to mark the beginning of the playing area, heading toward a low wooden bench and three men who were watching as the children threw balls at each other. Elizabeth would have thought that they were playing catch, except it didn’t seem that anyone was actually catching anything. There was just a lot of throwing and then chasing after the ball going on, except for the trio of boys who were huddled together, examining a worm one of them was holding.
Chessie had said her cousin was a hunk; that was how she’d described him. Elizabeth thought that wouldn’t be much of a help until she got closer to the three men. Then it got very easy to pick him out.
He was taller than the other two men wearing matching bright blue T-shirts with the word Eagles stitched on the back at shoulder level. He had none of the softness around the gut the others had. He was wearing classy tan Bermuda shorts as opposed to their baggy jeans, and he had his baseball cap on backward, the coal-black hair beneath it looking mussed in the way only great hair can.
Besides, as he raised the reflective, wraparound sunglasses he was wearing, giving her a glimpse of a pair of emerald-green eyes, and started walking toward her, he said, “Elizabeth Carstairs? Hi, I’m Will Hollingswood, Chessie’s cousin. These your boys?”
That pretty much cinched it.
“Yes, I’m Elizabeth. And,” she said, raising one hand first, and then the other, “this is Danny, and this is Mikey. Boys, say hello to Mr. Hollingswood.”
“Coach,” Will corrected quickly. “It’s shorter. Hi, boys. You like baseball?”
“No,” Mikey said, and Elizabeth gave his hand a warning squeeze, so that her son quickly added, “Thank you?”
“Close, Mikey, but not quite the answer I was hoping for,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Tell Coach you want to learn how to play baseball.”
“But I don’t,” Mikey, always honest, told her not quite as quietly.
“But we need the fresh air,” Danny piped up, always helpful. “And Mom needs the break. That’s what Richard says.”
Elizabeth looked at Will, who had now pushed his sunglasses up on his head as he gazed at her, his smile wide and white and pretty much something out of a toothpaste ad, if GQ even allowed toothpaste ads.
“They really don’t know much about sports. I’m sorry.”
“Well, this should be fun,” he said, and Elizabeth felt hot color running into her cheeks. “Do they have mitts?”
