Second Honeymoon

From her seat, Meg watched Scott embrace his parents, then heard him apologize for being late. “…last-minute changes the creative director needed to go over.” Meg flinched. Brenda Sampson. It figured.

“It’s good to have you here,” Scott said as he accompanied his parents back to the dining room, false heartiness apparent in his conciliatory gestures. “Sorry, honey,” he mumbled, resting a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Kids, I’m glad you didn’t wait. I’ll bet you were hungry.”

“Starving,” Justin said, helping himself to a second steak.

Hayley pointed to her brother’s plate. “Too much red meat isn’t good for you.”

“At least I’m not a picky eater, like you.”

“Children,” Meg admonished.

Somehow Meg endured the rest of the dinner, watching stoically as Marie and Bud hung on Scott’s every word about the Jordan department-store account.

At one point, Marie leaned over, and, eyes glowing, asked Meg, “Aren’t you proud of your husband?”

Even as Meg reluctantly murmured, “Yes,” she had to admit that in some ways she was proud of his accomplishments. But why did she have to play second fiddle? Why couldn’t she feel as important to him as his new accounts?

Between the main course and dessert, Bud tapped on his wineglass. “I have an announcement to make.”

Hayley and Justin made eye contact as knowing grins formed on their faces. Meg went on alert. Her children were seldom in cahoots.

“Saturday, you two—” he nodded at Scott and Meg “—will celebrate a milestone twenty years of marriage, and if you don’t have anything special planned…”

Meg was overcome with bitterness. Anything special? Just a separation. Is that special enough?

“…Marie, Hayley, Justin and I have arranged to take you to dinner at the country club to celebrate.”

Scott caught Meg’s eye briefly as if to say “Don’t ruin this for them.” Then he said, “Mom, Pops, that’s really not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Marie interrupted. “We are so proud of this wonderful family you’ve created. You’re both busy, talented people who somehow manage to keep the spark alive. That needs to be celebrated.”

Meg, cheeks flaming, nearly choked as she responded, “That’s very generous of you.”

What she was really thinking was that, unbelievably, she and Scott had his parents fooled. For the moment, anyway.

EXHAUSTED, SCOTT FINISHED brushing his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and made his way to bed where Meg was already sleeping—or pretending to—her back to him, one arm tucked under her pillow. There’d been no opportunity to talk with her, to apologize for being late. Not that he could have convincingly explained what had detained him. She wouldn’t care. Especially if his reason involved Brenda. And it did.

He should’ve been home to greet his parents. He could have called. But cowardly as it was, he hadn’t wanted to hear Meg’s nagging accusations; he was harboring more than enough guilt himself. On the drive home, he’d second-guessed his motives. Could his conversation with Brenda have waited until tomorrow? Not if they wanted to get the logo redesign ready for Monday’s pitch to the Jordans. Brenda had needed an immediate decision. They couldn’t afford to blow this deal—it was the firm’s big chance to nail a high-profile client.

He lay on his back, head cradled on his hands, willing sleep to come. Moonlight striped the far wall. He heard muffled movements above as his parents prepared for bed. He’d been glad to see them—and grateful for their presence, buffering him from Meg’s hostility. Lately it seemed most of his conversations with her centered on his apologizing. For what? Making a living? Seeking success?

Childish though it might be, he had basked in the approval in his mother’s eyes as he told about the possibility of getting the Jordan account. But lying there, he knew it wasn’t her approval he craved.

It was Meg’s.

He turned on his side, studying the curves of his wife’s body, one bared shoulder creamy against the soft green blanket. He raised a hand to trace the indentation of her waist, the rise of her hip, but stopped himself, knowing she would tense under his touch.

He desperately needed to bury himself in her, to leave behind all his macho bluster and immerse himself mindlessly in her love and acceptance. To lose the public Scott Harper in an explosion of pure lust—and intimacy.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Hadn’t happened in a long time. Meg didn’t want him. The sooner he came to grips with that reality, the better. But it hurt. And made him feel more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible.

BUD JERKED AWAKE, the elbow to his ribs an urgent summons. “What?”

“You’re snoring again. Roll over,” Marie said, pushing gently against his shoulder.

“Okay,” he mumbled, sorry he’d disturbed her, but equally sorry she’d disturbed him. He’d been having a great dream about playing baseball for some high-school team. “Bud, Bud, he’s our man,” the crowd had chanted. Made him feel good. Young.

But now he was wide awake, while beside him Marie quickly settled back into the sleep of the dead. She could do that. Fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Didn’t seem fair. He’d probably be awake for hours now. Especially since he was unaccustomed to this strange bed.

Around him the house was silent except for the periodic cycling of the air conditioner. Tomorrow they’d be going to watch Justin play soccer in the afternoon, and then to the football game where Hayley was cheering. Good kids, both of ’em. A bit spoiled, though. They hadn’t even volunteered to clear the table, much less do the dishes. Maybe they did have homework, as they’d claimed, but while he’d been getting ready for bed, he’d heard Hayley chattering on the phone, and not about school assignments.

After dinner he’d talked with each of the grandkids privately. They’d both assured him they hadn’t spilled the beans and that their parents knew nothing about the anniversary surprise. Justin, though, had mentioned something that worried Bud. “Grampa, I don’t know if our surprise will help.” When Bud pressed him for an explanation, Justin had shuffled his feet and said, “Never mind.”

Bud propped himself up on a second pillow to alleviate a touch of heartburn. He replayed his grandson’s remark. Not that Scott and Meg wouldn’t like the surprise but that it wouldn’t help. Help what?

In the calm of the night, he reflected on their arrival. No Scott. Meg determinedly pleasant. Her careful avoidance of the issue of Scott’s lateness. Almost as if she didn’t expect him for dinner.

And what about Scott? When he’d finally shown up, he’d been the charming host, asking them all the right questions, entertaining them with his story of wooing the Jordan account.

Bud sat up and burped, relieving some of the pressure in his chest, then lay back down. The missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Meg. Scott had touched her rather perfunctorily on his return, but they hadn’t addressed any conversation to each other. Certainly, they hadn’t exchanged any of those silent, loving glances married couples use as romantic shorthand.

A sense of foreboding caused Bud to roll over on his side and cuddle Marie close. Not Meg and Scott. Surely it was just his imagination.

They’d been too polite, too reserved, too distant. What was the word he was searching for? Too unnatural. He tried to relax, tucking Marie’s head into the crook of his neck. Even her nearness failed to ease his worries. He had the strongest sense that something was wrong between Meg and his son.

And whatever the something was, he could only pray that the long-planned anniversary surprise would help. He wished Justin thought so, too.

What did the boy know that he didn’t?

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAYS WERE ALWAYS HECTIC in the Harper household. If Scott didn’t have a golf game, he usually spent part of the day working. Justin’s athletic schedule frequently underwent last-minute changes and Hayley often came home from a Friday-night sleepover exhausted and moody. Meg longed for that impossible luxury—an entire day free of carpooling, errands and social obligations. But it wasn’t happening today. Oh, no, their twentieth anniversary had dawned with Marie’s sudden demand for a hair appointment.

Getting her in with Giorgio had not been easy. Now Meg owed him big-time—he’d been appalled that his client actually expected him, stylist extraordinaire, to set Marie’s hair on rollers. Shortly after returning from the hairdresser’s, Meg had heard an anguished cry from Hayley. Upon investigating, she’d discovered her daughter, horrified expression on her face, staring out her bedroom window overlooking the front yard. “See, Mom, I told you it was embarrassing!” Gathered on the lawn were several neighborhood teenage boys examining the motor home. Justin, with the flair of a carnival barker, was pointing out the features of the oversize vehicle.

“Maybe they think it’s cool.”

Hayley snorted, then grinned. “In some alternate universe.”

Unbelievably, Scott had made it to both Justin’s soccer game yesterday and Hayley’s football game. This morning he’d slipped out of the house for a round of golf with Bud without a mention of their anniversary.

Fresh from a late-afternoon shower, Meg stood in the doorway of her closet studying her choices of party apparel. Darned if she’d wear the black chiffon Scott liked. No, she needed something flamboyant, in-your-face. Something to make a statement about her independence. She pulled out an electric-blue cocktail suit with a magenta silk shell. The short, hip-hugging skirt made her feel halfway sexy, and the color would bring out the blue of her eyes. This could be her last anniversary observance, so she might as well go down with all flags flying.

She’d just finished applying her makeup when she heard Scott return from his game. Fleetingly, she wondered what he was feeling today. Had he spent any time remembering the small college chapel where they’d exchanged vows? The way they couldn’t wait to escape the reception in their haste to get to the hotel? Had he recalled how passionate their lovemaking had been? How naively certain they’d been that theirs was a forever-after kind of love?

Scott walked through the door and stripped off his golf shirt. “How much time do I have?”

Like she was his keeper? “We’re due at the club at six.”