Never Too Late (20 page)

It's just that he had thought with Clare it might be different. She was mature, steady, and obviously needed a man in her life she could trust. Someone she could depend on, someone who could give her all the pleasure she'd been living without for so long.

But—it had just been too soon. After Roger. God, what a piece of work he was.

Sam was going to swear off dating. Enough with the women. Clare's departure had hurt so much it had brought tears to his eyes—and that was something that Sam, the big and tough, could hardly bear to think about. So fine—he was good without a woman. His life was full and he was mostly happy. He had his daughter, whom he adored, and a good home life. He loved his work, ski season was almost upon them and he got almost as much pleasure from skiing as from policing. So okay, he thought. It's very clear that Clare is done.
There was nothing there and he wasn't even going to test her feelings once more. Bite me once, shame on you. Bite me twice…

I'm fine on my own, he said to himself. And he said it to himself over and over.

 

By eleven, people began leaving the party. Maggie and Sarah were cleaning up and most of the teenagers had found better things to do than hang out with the folks. Pete saw that Clare was outside by the fire pit, alone. She was sipping on a glass of wine. He went to her.

“Well, you certainly had a big birthday,” he said.

She raised her eyes to him and smiled a slightly lopsided smile. She touched the pendant. “How many women do you suppose get divorce gifts?” she asked him, and her words were slightly slurred. He laughed at her.

“Get enough to drink?” he asked her.

“Well, what do you expect? Here I was, celebrating my big day with three men I've been intimate and almost intimate with. For a while there I was worried there might not be enough wine at this party to get me through it.”

Pete could do that math. So, Sam hadn't scored. He considered that a plus. Less messy that way, if she had had to end it. Less fallout.

She put a hand on his chest. “Better be careful, Pete. You know what happens when I get a little too much wine in me.”

“I feel pretty safe,” he said. “At least while your sisters are still in the kitchen.” She swayed against him slightly. He put an arm around her waist and, holding her steady, pulled a lawn chair closer to the fire. “Here, birthday girl,” he said. “You'd better sit down.”

“'Kay,” she said.

He pulled a chair alongside and sat down beside her. She leaned against him and he put an arm around her. “Clare, I think you're drunk.”

“There is no think about it,” she said, snuggling closer. “I guess my sister called Sam and invited him before she knew I had to—you know. God, that was the awflest day.”

“He seems to be holding up all right,” Pete said. “He's young. He'll bounce back.”

She turned her head and looked up at him. “How'd you get your invite?”

“Jason, I think. Maggie said she asked Jason for some ideas. That's my guess.”

“Ahh,” she said, snuggling back against his arm. “I'm glad of that. Really, if they'd asked me, you would have been the only one I'd've said. Certainly not
Roger.
” Pete chuckled. “'Course,” she said, touching the diamond. “He gives very nice divorce gifts. I'm thinking of divorcing him again.”

“I doubt it would work twice.”

“You never know. Roger's a lamebrain with a lot of money.” She looked up at him. “Know what Maggie said? She said, ‘That better not have come out of the settlement.'”

It felt so good to hold her. He just wished she would stop talking.

“Did you get me a present, Pete?” she asked him.

He'd been standing right there when she opened the card that held the tickets. “Yes,” he said. “Tickets to the Billy Joel concert in San Francisco.”

“Thas right,” she slurred. “Are you taking me to that?”

“You have two tickets,” he laughed. “You can take anyone you like.”

“Well, I think it should be you!”

“Whatever you want, Clare,” he said, pulling her a little closer.

“Pete? Tell me one of those stories? From when we were kids. You know.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I remember the time during Christmas break one year. I think it was the year after graduation. Yeah, we were about nineteen, you and me. Mike was twenty-one, I remember that, because he was legal. A bunch of us went skiing. We rented a cabin so we could spend the night. We went to Utah, remember? Couldn't just go to Grandpa's place in Tahoe—too close to the parents. They might pop in. I think there were ten of us. We packed up food, booze, skis. Mike bought the beer. Lotsa beer.”

“Mmm,” she said.

“We had a little cabin that had one bedroom, but that didn't matter. We had sleeping bags. We spread them out on the living room floor, in front of the fire. After skiing all day and drinking beer all night, we just lay on the floor in front of the fire.”

Clare's wineglass tipped from her hand and Pete caught it. She had fallen asleep. Or passed out. He put the glass on the ground.

“I wonder if I should worry about the fact that when I tell you these stories, you fall asleep?” She snored softly. “There must be something about me.” She snuggled closer. Her head lolled slightly. “After all that beer,” he went on, “it didn't take long for everyone in the cabin to be asleep. In fact, you fell asleep on me then, too. Mike was sprawled out on the couch, you and I were lying on the floor. You put your head on my shoulder, kind of like this, and went to sleep.” He gently touched
her cheek. “I didn't sleep all night. I just held you. Once, while you were asleep, I snuck a little kiss. Wasn't much of a kiss, since you didn't respond. It was kind of like…” He lifted her chin with a finger so that her face was tilted up. He touched her lips lightly with his. “Like that. I could've…No, I couldn't. I wouldn't take advantage of you. Especially with Big Mike right there. Never mind Big Mike. I treasured you.”

He bent his head and put a soft kiss on her forehead. “Ah, Clare,” he said. “What are we gonna do?”

After a few minutes, he carefully disengaged himself and, putting his hands under her arms, lifted her to a standing position. She was limp as a noodle. “Come on, Clare. I think you've had enough.”

“Hmm?” she asked, eyes still closed.

He put his arm under her knees, the other behind her back and lifted her easily in his arms. He went into the house and saw that Maggie and Sarah were just about done in the kitchen. They turned to look at him, mouths open slightly in surprise.

“Where would you like me to put the birthday girl?”

 

There was a roaring inside Clare's head. She opened one pink eye and saw her sister Sarah, dressed in one of Clare's nightgowns, using the blow-dryer to style her hair. The blow-dryer must be broken—it sounded like a jet engine. Clare picked up the TV remote from her bedside table and threw it at Sarah, hitting her in the butt with it.

Sarah turned off the blow-dryer and turned around. “Morning,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” Clare whispered.

Sarah put down the dryer and went to sit on the side
of Clare's bed. “Someone had to stay and make sure you were all right. There might've been a little titch of alcohol poisoning last night.”

Clare groaned. “Did I have a good time?”

“You tell me. You passed out on Pete Rayburn.”

She sat up suddenly and a pain shot through her head. Head down, her face canopied by her hair, she rubbed her temples. “Oh, God. Please tell me you just made that up to punish me.” Slowly, carefully, she lay back down on the pillow. “Where?”

“Outside. By the fire. He carried you to bed.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned.

“What happened?” Sarah asked. “One minute you were a little tipsy, the next Pete was asking, ‘Where would you like me to put the birthday girl?'”

She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Who undressed me?”

“Not Pete.”

“Did I…Did I do anything really, really embarrassing?”

“Well, you were outside alone with Pete when you passed out. Last time I peeked out the door, you were leaning against him and he had his arm around you. Hey, do you have a thing for Pete Rayburn?”

“I obviously have a thing for chardonnay….”

“He's very cute. In fact, the place was dirty with cuties last night. Maggie and I were watching them flock around you. I keep trying to imagine what that must be like. You could have had your pick.”

“I think I did,” she said. “Only I can't remember it.”

“Were you fooling around with Pete Rayburn?”

“Sarah, how many ways can I say I don't remember? I had on all my clothes, right?”

She nodded. “Right down to the panty hose.”

“If I live through the day, do you think I have to call him and apologize?” Clare asked.

Sarah shrugged. “He didn't look all that unhappy, Clare. God, I've always wanted to be carried off to bed,” she said wistfully.

“Did you want to be carried to bed because you were trashed?” Clare asked.

“Well, at least you didn't get sick,” Sarah said.

Clare's features froze. She paled. A strange look came over her face and her complexion slowly went from white to ashen.

“Uh-oh,” Sarah said, moving out of the way.

Clare threw back the covers and bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door.

 

That night just before ten, Clare called Pete. When he said hello, she said, “I'm so, so sorry.”

“Not necessary,” he said. But he laughed.

“Was I completely obnoxious?” she asked. “No, don't tell me. I don't even want to know. Was I?”

“You were hysterical,” he said. “You're a cute drunk.”

“Ugh.”

“Hangover?” he asked.

“You can't imagine.”

“The sad truth is, I sure can. I was carried off to bed once in my younger days. But I was dragged up the stairs by my heels—by one of my teammates. I think he bounced my head off every stair. I was bruised from head to toe. It was a nightmare.”

It was her turn to laugh.

“You said finding yourself surrounded by all your ex-lovers drove you to it,” he told her.

“That was discreet of me,” she said. “How many people overheard that remark?”

“We were completely alone. Sitting out by the fire while your sisters cleaned up.”

“What else did I tell you?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Aw, you just babbled. You did mention how much you liked your divorce gift and said you were thinking of divorcing Roger again.”

“
He
didn't see me passed out, did he?”

“Almost everyone was gone. Only your sisters saw you—and I left so they could put you safely to bed.”

“Then I should say thank you in addition to I'm sorry.”

“You keep falling asleep on me. Do you think I should take that personally?”

“I think it means I feel safe,” she said, and once the words were out, she realized they were true.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he answered. “And say good night before it happens again.”

 

Clare got the old house, and at a bargain even Maggie admitted was superb. She asked George if she could go on a part-time schedule at the store so she could remodel the house and to that end, she took George over there to see it. Clare had to push the warped front door with all her might to get it open. They entered a foyer just left of a large living room, littered with debris. To the left of the foyer was a wide-open staircase with a banister that was literally falling down. The dingy, old wallpaper was peeling off the wall and the baseboards were scraped, dented, broken and horrible looking. Walking straight ahead brought them to a small kitchen
with no appliances and old, yellowed linoleum that was cracked and peeling. A swinging door on the far right wall of the kitchen took them to the dining room, almost as large as the living room. There was a large hearth in the living room, some of the bricks of which were missing or broken. An old wrought-iron chandelier dangled crazily in the middle of the room and looked as if it might crash to the floor any second. The paint—very likely leaded—around the window frames and sills was cracked and peeling.

George stood in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle, looking at the damage. And Clare said, “Dad. Isn't it
great?
”

T
his was the time of instant divorce. Roger had been served three weeks ago and according to the paperwork he would be a single man in one more week. He stared at the documents knowing there was no longer anything he could do to turn this around. Clare had left him shortly after Christmas and it was already October; the holidays were just around the corner. Had it not been for her accident, the divorce would have been accomplished much sooner. Roger knew what Clare thought—that his regret and guilt were contrived just to get her back into his life for reasons even he didn't understand. But that wasn't true. His regret and guilt were completely genuine and he knew exactly why he wanted her in his life. She was pure and classy and sincere, while he was a shallow, weak idiot. She had given his life substance. Only a fool would cheat on Clare and risk losing her.

Clare had given him more chances than he deserved. Their marriage was over. He had meant everything he said to her at her birthday party—that he understood it
was time to move on; that he was grateful for the years and their son. All he could do now was try to repair his relationship with Jason and maybe, in the end, earn some respect.

He didn't bother to call Jason—if Jason answered the phone when he called, it was by accident. If Jason was home when Roger stopped by, he tried to avoid him. But Roger was going to go to the house and keep going until he convinced Jason to spend a little time with him. Even if it was miserable, he would keep doing it. He intended to show Jason that he was important, that even if he couldn't have Clare in his life he wanted his son.

It was Sunday, sunny and crisp. People had started putting out scarecrows and pumpkins. Little farming towns like this one really got into the harvest. Halloween was a big deal. He drove over to the house and went to the door. Jason answered and jumped in surprise when he saw Roger. “Hey,” he said, stepping back a step.

“Hey, yourself, pal. I thought maybe we could do something today. Go-carts? Movie? There's a game on…I bought a big screen. We could swing by the store, get some snacks—”

“Um, I'm kinda busy. I…um…I kinda have some plans.”

“Want to take a friend?” He shrugged. “I'm flexible. Whatever.”

“You shoulda called. Aren't you s'pose to call?”

“I don't know,” he said honestly. There was no custody issue—Jason was fifteen and made up his own mind. “I'll do whatever I'm supposed to. Want me to go back out to the car and call?” he asked, trying to make a joke.

“Maybe next week. Or the week after, depending on, you know, homework and stuff.”

“Jase, holidays are coming up. I want us to spend some time together, have some fun, get back on track, if possible.”

“Yeah, well…I might need to think about that.”

“You could think at the movies. If we take in a movie, you won't have to talk to me,” he said, smiling lamely. “Or we could go out and practice driving. You're going to want that learner's permit pretty soon.”

Roger saw Jason's eyes light up a little, though he could tell the kid tried to hide it. “Yeah, I could think about that. Maybe you should call next week.”

“Are you sure? Because I can wait till you finish whatever you're doing, or if you have plans with friends, we could take a whole crowd out. Pizza?”

“I think you should maybe call next week. Okay?”

“Jason, just so you know, I miss you, man. I'm going to keep pestering you till you give me a chance. It's been a really tough year for you and I know you're still pissed, but—”

“Naw, I'm not that pissed. But I am kinda—”

“Yeah, I know. Kinda busy. But I'm not giving up, son.” He reached out to grab Jason's shoulder and give an affectionate squeeze, but the kid jumped. Roger made contact, but it didn't come off as cool as he planned. “I'm not going to fight you, son. I'm just going to keep trying and trying.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “See ya later, then.” And he backed into the house and closed the door.

Well, that wasn't far off from what Roger expected. It still stung. This was exactly why it was so hard to keep asking, keep trying. Every time Jason rebuffed him it had
taken Roger weeks to put himself out there again. But this time it would be different. He'd call Jason every day this week and try to get something set up for next weekend.

He turned to leave just as Pete Rayburn was pulling up to the house. Just what he needed, competition with Pete for Jason. It caused him to frown darkly.

“Hey, Roger,” Pete said brightly. “What's up?”

“Not a lot, Pete. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Clare. You here for Jason?”

He let out a breath. “I tried, but he's…You know…” He shrugged.

“Ah.” Pete thought a minute. “Hey, I know. Come here.” He turned and walked back to his car, opened the trunk. He took out a football and tossed it in the air. “Let's throw the ball around.”

“What for?”

“Trust me. I have a little experience with this.”

“With what?” Roger asked.

“Divorced father of two,” he said, and then he grinned. “Believe me, if you think boys are tough, you oughta try a couple of pissy little girls.”

“Yeah?”

“Whoa,” was all Pete said. He backed out into the street at a trot and fired the football at Roger, who caught it clumsily.

“Pissy little girls, huh?” Roger said, firing it back.

“They were horrible. Even though it was a mutual split and I decided it was best to leave, it was somehow all my fault. I had to crawl on my belly like a snake and plead for mercy.” He shot the football back at Roger, who caught it better this time. And laughed.

“How long did it take?” Roger asked.

“I don't know. Months. Maybe a year. They still have
their dark moods.” Pete caught the ball. “I've always had a hard time understanding girls. The boys, I get. Go out for a long one,” he told Roger, and Roger complied.

“You're having a good season,” Roger yelled. “Winning everything.”

“Yeah,” he said, and then to Roger's adequate catch, “Good one!”

Roger came a little closer—he wasn't about to try a long pass and look stupid. After all, Pete did this every day. “So,” he said. “You and Clare?”

“Old friends,” Pete said, noncommittal. “We kind of remet during her, ah, teaching career.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I think she's seeing that young guy,” Roger said.

“Um. I don't think that worked out,” Pete said.

Without meaning to, Roger actually hung his head. “I probably screwed that up.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself, Roger. Go deep. Farther. Farther.”

“You're showing off,” Roger said with a laugh, but did as he was told. And caught the ball admirably. Then, braving humiliation, went for the return of the long pass. And made it.

“Whoa! Look at you!”

“What are you doing?” Jason yelled from the end of the drive.

Pete immediately trained the ball on Jason and fired it at him. Jason caught it, then stood there with it. “Your dad went to the trouble to come over…he should have someone to play with.”

Jason turned toward Roger and threw it to him. Roger to Pete. Pete to Jason. In less than thirty minutes there was running, falling, fumbling, tripping, laughing, one
pair of jeans torn at the knee, one jacket tossed on the curb. And Pete yelled, “Hey, Jason—your mom home?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me out, you guys. I wanna ask Clare something.” And he jogged toward the front door, leaving father and son to their football.

Clare answered while he was still knocking. She had a confused frown wrinkling her brow. “What did you do?”

“It's not a very secret formula—introduce a ball and all boys will play.”

“Amazing.”

“I think Roger and I bonded. As divorced men are wont to do.”

“Further amazing.”

“I went through the ex-husband to get to the ex-wife,” he said. “I must be freaking fearless.”

“I haven't heard from you in…” She wrinkled her brow, but she knew exactly how long it had been. “Since my fortieth birthday. I finally decided you were just being kind and I was totally obnoxious. And you hoped to never run into me again.”

“You had some serious stuff going on,” he answered. “I didn't want to get in the way.”

“Like what?”

“Like breaking the hearts of virile young cops and divorcing rich dimwits like Roger.” He smiled. “Plus, it's football season. They're killing me.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I thought it would be okay to get in the way now.” Grin. “I want to take you someplace, if you can get away.”

“Where?”

“Secret. What do you think?”

Before she could answer, the front door opened. Jason stuck his head in and said, “Mom, I'm going with Dad to get some dippin' strips. That okay?”

“Sure. Take house keys. I'm going out with Pete for a little while. How long, Pete?”

“Couple of hours,” he said.

Jason didn't seem to think there was anything unusual about this. He ran past them and up the stairs to his room to get his keys. Then in a flash he was back and out the door.

“Completely amazing,” she said.

As they drove, Clare told Pete a little bit about Sam. Not the details like the goodbye kiss, or the shattered look on his face when she told him. If she recalled that, it still caused a little ache to creep into her heart.

“He's a tough kid,” Pete said. “Don't worry about him.”

“Did you know he has a daughter?” she asked.

“Yeah, I know. He was really young.”

“He's still really young,” she said. She looked at Pete's profile as he drove. It didn't seem as though he had changed so much in twenty years. Suddenly she could picture him the way he was that night in her college apartment. The details came flooding back—that first tentative touch, the way he cautiously leaned toward her and gently touched her lips, as if anxious to see if she would respond or slap him. That light kiss, barely there. The way his arm slipped around her waist, hesitatingly. How his breath caught when she invited a deeper kiss. Oh, she remembered it now. He had moved so slowly, so carefully. She could even remember the taste of his mouth—Chianti and desire. And yes, his hand trembled slightly as it crept to her breast, giving her every opportunity to stop him, to push him away.
But she had put her hand over his and pressed it down harder, and he made a sound of such longing it shook her. Stirred her.

She should have known then what she knew now—he had adored her. He wanted her fearfully. Had he been making a conquest, even one born of wine and darkness, he would have taken her acquiescence and swooped down on her. He would have taken her quickly before she could change her mind. But he had not. Instead he was gentle, giving her the time to be sure. Time to respond. Until she begged him to be less gentle.

What she also remembered, it had been
good.

“Hey,” Pete said, stealing a look at her. “You okay?”

She shook herself. She'd been staring at him open-mouthed. “Oh sorry,” she said. “You haven't changed that much. Can you believe we're forty?”

He laughed and said, “Me first.”

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“We're almost there. Haven't you figured it out yet?”

“Does it have anything to do with football?”

“There could possibly be some football involved, yes,” he said.

“Thanks for doing that with Roger and Jason. Brilliant.”

“They need each other. Jason just doesn't realize how much yet.”

“Are we almost there?” she asked.

“Almost.”

Suddenly she recognized a street they turned down. She held her breath without meaning to. Pete pulled up in front of his parents' house and she slowly let out her breath. She looked across at Pete.

“Is this okay?” he asked. “Are you up to it?”

The house looked the same as it had twenty years ago—brown with yellow shutters and trim, a long porch. Not a fancy house, and the neighborhood was about forty years old, but kept up nicely. It didn't look as if it had aged a day. It brought tears to her eyes. “Give me a second,” she said.

“They want to see you,” he said. “They've been begging. Especially my mom.”

“Sure,” she said, but she said it a little weakly. “Maybe you should have asked me. Or at least told me.”

“We don't have to go in, it's up to you. We've spent a lot of time talking about the past. I thought it might be a good idea to move into the present. And I was afraid you'd say no.” He patted her hand. “It's okay if you cry. I won't take it personally.”