Never Too Late (28 page)

“That would be great. Marry you and have you look at my sister like you want to die of heartbreak at every family dinner. No thanks.”

“I said, that's
not
an issue. It has nothing to do with us.”

“Oh, God, you still want her.”

“No!”

“Sam,” she said pleadingly, “at least be honest with me.”

He reached for her, but all he got of her was her arm. “You want to know if it hurt, Sarah? Yeah, it hurt, okay? But it's in the past. It's over, and I don't have any illusions about it—I'm never going back that way. It's never gonna happen. You don't have to worry that I'll make hurt little puppy dog eyes at my wife's sister. I'm a man. A responsible man.” He took a breath. “I probably suffered more hurt pride than loss, because I've been really happy. With you. You know I'm not just saying that.”

She looked away from him and he grabbed her chin and made her look back. “You've been happy with me, too. I know you have.”

Her chin quivered. She couldn't speak.

“Come here, damn it! Let me hold you!”

“I
can't!
”

“Well, why
not!
”

“Because you're going to make me cry and I don't want to cry!”

Of course, that was all it took. The floodgates opened and she began to sob. Sam gathered her up in his arms and held her on his lap while she cried. And cried. And
cried. He tried kissing her tears away, but ultimately he had to grab the tissue box off the beside table and give it to her.

While he held her, he thought about their short history together. He was already more comfortable with her than he'd been with women he'd known far longer. The very few women he'd known longer. There was something symbiotic about it—as if it was just right. Something about this was working for her, too, because it hadn't escaped his notice that she was growing more beautiful, more lush each day. She was blossoming under his attention. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkled, her laugh was quick and infectious. And yes, he was insatiable. But so was she.

When she finally stopped crying, he said, “Sarah, you know how I came to have Molly. How it was an accident and the best thing that ever happened to me.” She nodded, her head still resting against his shoulder. “I don't want to be unhappy about this. We're having a baby—I want us to be happy. No more tears. We'll work this out.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “We don't have to get married because we're having a baby. Marriage is serious. We should be sure.”

“Having a baby is serious, too.”

“I know. And we'll treat it seriously. I think we need a little time for the rest. I need a little time. To be sure.”

“Okay, baby. You take the time you need. I'll be right here. In this all the way.” He lifted her in his arms and laid her gently on the bed. He settled down beside her and gathered her close.

“I don't think I can tonight, Sam.”

“It's okay, honey. But I have to have you close. At
least let me be close to you.” He kissed her temple and she curled up in the circle of his arm and before long, slept. Probably exhausted, he thought. From skiing and nerves and crying. Plus, pregnancy made a woman tired.

He kissed her brow and held her. Held them both.

 

It was the middle of the night when Sam followed Sarah down the mountain. It was close to morning when he got home, but he still helped himself to a couple of beers. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. He called Sarah from his cell phone to make sure she was all right. She said she was, but her voice was thick and he suspected she'd been crying again. “I'll call you in the morning,” he said. “Later in the morning.”

He stayed in his room when he heard the sounds of his mother getting Molly off to school. When the house quieted, he went to the kitchen. His mother had the paper spread out in front of her on the kitchen table. He sat down opposite her. He rested his elbows on the table and looked down, hanging his head. When he looked up, his mother was staring at him. “Remember the women I introduced you to at the game?” he asked. “Clare and Sarah? Sarah is the younger one. The artist. Art teacher. I've been seeing her.”

“She's very pretty.”

“She's pregnant.”

“Oh dear,” she said.

“I asked her to marry me, but so far she says no.”

Joan folded her hands on top of the newspaper. She stared at her son. “Well. At least you're consistent.”

S
arah knew one of the first things she had to do was tell her sisters, but it took a couple of weeks to work up the courage. No one seemed to have noticed that she was acting a tad differently. Clare was too busy knocking boots with her new boyfriend and Maggie was constantly hovering over her daughters, watching one's hair grow and monitoring the other to make sure she wasn't having sex.

It seemed as though Clare's house was the best bet, because Sarah wasn't ready to tell George yet. That might take a couple more weeks. She asked if they could meet there for an after-work drink. Jason had no idea how well he cooperated with Sarah's plans. He walked into the house, saw the women gathering, and said, “Oops, girls' night. I'm outta here.” And he fled for his room.

Maggie helped herself to a glass of wine. “Who called this summit?”

“I did. I have something to tell you. I'm pregnant.”

Stunned silence and wide eyes answered her. She sat on the family room couch while her sisters just stood there, staring down at her, dumbfounded.

“With child,” Sarah said, looking up at them. “Bun in the oven. Knocked up.”

“Sarah,” Clare said. “You've been seeing someone?”

“Oh yeah, every inch of him. I was keeping it pretty quiet.”

“So, who did the honors?” Maggie asked, still a bit in shock.

“Okay, you'd better sit down.” When they did, she said, “It was Sam. Sam Jankowski.”

Another vacuum of silence. Then Clare shot suddenly to her feet and said, “That son of a bitch! He did my little sister! I'm going to kill him!”

“Well, there are couple of things you should know before you kill him,” Sarah said. “I went after him. I stalked him. I chased him like a crazed and wanton maniac. That night I saw him with you at the restaurant, my heart about burst out of my chest. Love at first sight. Then when you said you had no interest in dating him any longer, I thought—oh, my God, he's on the loose!” She shrugged. “I couldn't risk someone else getting him.”

“Your makeover,” Maggie said.

“Uh-huh. Seeing Clare and Sam like that—all that lust just emanating from them, I thought what I'd give to have some of those feelings in my life. Especially with a guy like Sam. I took a hard, painful look in the mirror. I didn't stand a chance the way I used to be. Hell, even
I
couldn't stand to see myself like that. So I fluffed up and went looking for him. I found out he's a ski patrol at Afton Alps every Monday.” She smiled. “I've been doing a lot of skiing lately. Among other things.”

“This is just unbelievable.”

“When did all this happen?” Clare asked.

“It started in November. Around the first good snow
fall. I don't think he ever saw it coming.” She shrugged. “Turns out I haven't lost my touch after all.”

“How far along are you, honey?” Maggie asked.

“A couple of months. He got to me right off the bat. Potent little devil.”

“And are you well? Feeling okay?” she asked.

“So far. Baby seems to be perfect.”

“Have you told him?” Clare asked.

“Yeah. He said, ‘That sucks.'”

“The son of a bitch! I'm going to kill him!”

“And you're having the baby?” Maggie, always all business, wanted to know.

“Uh-huh. You know, I never thought I'd have a child. If you had asked me six months ago what the rest of my life looked like, I would have said, just more of the same. Art, the store, dinner at Dad's on Sunday. Now I have this whole new life in front of me.” She touched her stomach. “Inside of me.”

“Do you love him?” Maggie asked.

“I love him so much it makes my head swim. And he's so good to me—treats me like, God, I don't know. Like I'm precious. Royal. So considerate of my feelings. Romantic, even. He asked me if I wanted to have the baby and when I said yes, he said, ‘Okay, we'll get married.' There's just one hitch. He doesn't love me.”

“He
told
you that?” Clare demanded.

“No, not exactly. He said he loved me—but he didn't say it real convincingly. I asked him if he loved me enough to marry me and he said, ‘Sure. Of course.' Sure? Not, I love you so much I'll die if you don't marry me, but sure. So I had to press the issue and he hemmed and hawed and came up with some lamebrained comment like he was positive it would grow, given time.”

“Oh, see? He has to die!”

“You said no,” Maggie said. It was not a question.

“I said no. Well, specifically what I said was that I thought we should take the time to be sure, because no matter what he might say, I just don't think he's there yet. I admit it, I'm scared. I don't want to marry someone just because I'm pregnant. What if it's a mistake? What if I look into his eyes in five years and see misery and regret?” She swallowed. “I think I could be happy with Sam. Right now, he makes me happier than I've ever been in my life. But I don't know. Am I crazy?”

“You don't have to marry anyone, Sarah. You have a very supportive family.”

“Have you seen him since you told him? Or did the bastard cut and run?” Clare asked.

“Clare, you know better than anyone, he's not a bastard. He's an angel. His problem is he's a lousy liar. And no, he didn't run. He checks on me every day. Several times a day. He calls, stops by the shop, wants to know how I'm feeling, whether I've told the family. He offered to come with me to tell you. In fact…” She stopped and tried to collect herself as tears threatened. “He took me to dinner in Tahoe Saturday night and when we were finishing dinner, he slid a hotel room key across the table. And I thought, what the hell, I can't get pregnant. And he was…”

She had to close her eyes and purse her lips together to try to keep control. She swallowed convulsively. That night he had been so wonderful. So tender. Their lovemaking, usually so tempestuous, adventurous, wild, was slow and careful and sweet. He kept kissing her belly, and other places. He usually made her body scream, but that night he'd made it sing. It sang many choruses, as
it turned out. When it was over he said to her, “Sarah, I'm going to take care of you whether you like it or not.”

“…he was so gentle. So tender and careful.” And then she lost it. The tears descended on her and she fell into a full-blown cry, burying her face in her hands.

Maggie and Clare bolted out of their seats and rushed to her, arms around her, holding her and comforting her.

“God, I'm sure doing a lot of that lately,” Sarah finally said. “I bet this gets old after about nine months.”

“When are you going to tell Dad?” Clare wanted to know.

Sarah shuddered. “Do you think he's going to be totally ashamed of me?”

“Honey, he loves you. He knows you're not a bad person. These things happen to people.”

“It's a lot more convenient when they happen to married people. Or at least people who are sure they're mutually in love. It looks like I could be a single mom. Anyone have any pointers?”

“Pointer number one—you could choose an easier job. Like neurosurgery.”

“Well,” Maggie said, going back to her chair. “It's official. Everyone is having sex but me. And I'm the only one who's married!”

 

George McCarthy was nodding off in front of the TV when Sarah went to him. “Dad?”

He popped awake. “What, honey?”

“I have to talk to you about something. If you're not too asleep?”

He grunted and straightened in the chair. “Wasn't sleeping,” he said. “It's okay. What's on your mind?”

“This is pretty tough. I'm afraid you're going to be
very disappointed in me. It's about that cop—the one who kept coming into the hardware store when he had a crush on Clare? Sam?”

“I know who Sam is. But she said—”

“Clare stopped seeing him quite a while ago. In fact, she only had one real date with him. And after she stopped seeing him, I started. Well, a couple of months after.”

“That a problem?” he asked. “Cause I don't know what kind of problems you girls have….”

“It's not a problem for us, Dad. Thing is…” She cleared her throat. “You know all those art projects and exhibitions I wanted to see that were taking so much time? So many late nights? Staying out of town? They weren't art projects or exhibitions.”

“Oh,” he said, catching on immediately. He grunted. “You live with your old man. Not a lot of privacy in that.”

“I'm pregnant,” she said, and instantly the tears sprang to her eyes and she thought, Oh hell—this is getting ridiculous. I'm a fountain.

His eyes widened and his mouth turned down into a frown. “Is he going to be responsible?”

“He has offered to marry me,” she said. “But I don't think I want to marry him.”

“What about the baby?” George asked.

“I want the baby,” she said through tears.

He looked at her for a long hard minute. Then he said, “Come here, duckie.” He used to call her that when she was a little girl. Duckie. She went to him, kneeling on the floor beside his chair, laying her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her.

“I'm a little old-fashioned,” he said. “I think when you're having a family, you should be husband and wife.
But I don't want you to be with any man you don't want to be with.”

She could tell him all about it, about how Sam could act as if he loved her, could touch her as if she was the most loved woman alive, but when it came down to it, she wasn't convinced he felt as deeply about her as she felt about him. But why complicate things any further—this was all messy enough.

“Children are to be loved,” George said. “I love my girls, I love their kids.” He lifted her chin. “I'll love this one. No matter what.”

“I'm sorry, Daddy.”

“We never apologize for new life. It's our sweet compensation for losing the ones we love.”

 

Jason had served his time and was getting along better with his dad. Maybe there was truth to that business about kids wanting limits. So Roger, pleased with his son, had called and asked Jason if he wanted to go skiing on the weekend, and Jason, probably suffering from a bad case of cabin fever after being grounded, leaped on it. He also asked if Mom could go. “Sure she can, if she wants to. But don't be too surprised if she doesn't.”

But Pete was busy with his girls, it was Sunday, and she had nothing better to do. To be safe, so that Roger wouldn't get the far-fetched idea she wanted to spend time with him, she called Sarah and asked if she was still cleared to ski. “The doctor says for a few more weeks, and try to take it easy. But you know—if I hurt anything out there, which I don't plan to, it's not going to be a uterus.”

“Problem is,” Clare said, “they want to go to Afton Alps.”

“I can't go to Afton Alps, Clare,” Sarah said. “I'm certainly not avoiding Sam—he hardly lets me out of his sight. I'd just rather not run into him when he's skiing with his daughter. He hasn't sprung me on her yet and I don't want to get involved with his family until a few things are settled. Let's go to Squaw Valley.”

Clare, Sarah and Jason were excused from Sunday dinner at George's and up the mountain they went, with Roger.

Roger was pretty good on a pair of skis, Clare was a little better, but she was playing it safe because of her pelvis injury—wouldn't want a repeat of that. It was Sarah who could cut it up. So Jason, who fancied himself an extreme snowboarder, hooked himself up with her and wanted to do the big runs. He was wedging it down the advanced Black Diamond slopes with speed and ease. She could still stay ahead of him. She regretted that it took Sam in her life to rediscover this sport—out there on the slopes with the wind in her face and speed under her skis, she felt alive, exhilarated. And not worried about what was going to become of her.

They took on the advanced slopes, then moved to the expert hills.

“Let's go over there, where it's new powder,” Jason begged.

“No way, buster. Red flags. It's restricted.”

“It's no big deal,” Jason said. “C'mon, Aunt Sarah, don't be a wimp. You can handle it.”

She grabbed the front of his jacket. “Listen, bub. That's no game, the red flags, the warning signs. There's no ski patrol over there. It could be junk on the hill, a weak snow ridge threatening avalanche, anything. You never cross the flags. Never.”

“Wuss,” he said.

“Tell you what, if you can handle this expert hill, I'll stand amazed.” She popped her goggles on. “Last one down is a rotten egg.” And she shoved off. She gathered speed, skated the skis, bent over and got her center of gravity low, tucked the poles and went for it. She shifted her weight and cut right and then left around a mogul, but the next one she jumped, going several feet into the air and landing soft and sweet on her skis, perfectly. She tucked and flew. She chanced a glance and to her delight, Jason was right behind her, wedging around the moguls skillfully; the snowboarders didn't jump them. She was going to slow down and let him have the race. Aw, but then she just couldn't. She went for it. Forty miles an hour. She felt as if she was sailing. Flying.