Never Too Late (7 page)

“So you're divorced?”

“No. Never married. I was going to college in Reno when my girlfriend got pregnant. Long story short, she wasn't interested in marriage or in having a baby, for that matter. She's from New Jersey and went home to her family and decided to have Molly adopted. That's before we knew she was Molly. If she'd had the paperwork sent to me right away, I might have signed off—but some time passed and I brooded. I wasn't ready to
be a father, that's for sure, but I was less ready to have someone else raise my child.”

“And how old is Molly?”

“She's almost ten.”

Shock settled over Clare's features as she did the math.

“That's right—I was all of eighteen. Nineteen when she was born. And I had to fight to get her.”

“Your girlfriend's family?”

He sat at the end of a chaise, facing Clare but not reclining. “This is just for you, okay? I haven't exactly explained this part to Molly. Can't figure out how. Her mother and grandparents didn't want to keep her, they wanted her adopted. Gone. Out of the picture.”

“But you got her.”

“My mother cashed in everything she had to help me fight a legal battle out of state, but yes, I've had her since she was two months old.” He pulled the coffees out of the bag and handed her one. She leaned back on the lounger and carefully lifted her legs up. “That's life, huh?” he said. “How one stupid, irresponsible mistake can somehow turn into the best thing that ever happened.”

They talked a little about their kids; she asked how he managed to work full-time and raise a child. With a lot of help, was the answer—his mother, a Realtor, was pretty flexible. And he worked four ten-hour days, giving him three off each week. They had a dog, Spoof, and Molly's best friend lived down the block—so they always had a safe place for her to go if Dad and Gram weren't home.

All the while he talked, the dispatcher sent messages by way of his radio, the receiver attached to his right shoulder, which was turned down, but she could see his
eyes dart now and then toward it, keeping tabs on what was going on. And in the back of Clare's mind came this startling reality—in the past six months and in the previous times she'd been separated, she had never really been on her own. It was more of a respite before going back into that marriage.

This young man was doing so much better by himself than she, so much older and with so much more experience, had done.

“I have so much to figure out,” she finally said.

“Figure out getting on your feet. There's plenty of time for everything else.”

“My biggest problem is that my son, Jason, is furious with his father. I mean livid. He won't even speak to him.”

Sam whistled. “Ouch. Well, I hope they work that out. A young man needs a dad. Mine died when I was so young.”

Just as she was about to offer her condolences, the front door to the house flew open with a bang and she heard Jason. “Mom! Mom!” And Dotty. “Clare! Oh, Clare!” The sound of running and shouting caused her to sit upright and Sam to stand by the time Jason and Dotty found them on the patio.

“Are you all right?” Jason, red-faced, demanded.

“Jason. Yes,” she said, confused.

“The patrol car,” Sam said. He stuck out a hand. “You must be Jason. I just brought your mom some Starbucks.”

“Who are
you?
”

“Jason, this is Sam. He was the police officer at the accident.” Dotty came up behind Jason before the handshake could be completed. Her hand twisted her sweater
closed over her ample chest and there was a look of terror on her face. “Dotty, this is Sam. He was the police officer at the accident.”

“Starbucks,” he said, lifting his paper cup.

“Oh my Lord, I thought something had happened to you—and you called the
police!
”

“Everything is fine. Jason, it turns out I know your grandfather. Sort of. I go to his hardware store all the time.”

Clare struggled up, getting to her feet slowly. “Sam has been kind enough to check on my progress since the accident. And today he surprised me with coffee.”

He looked at his watch. “And my coffee break is more than over. Good thing we're not having a crime wave around here—I'd better get going.”

“Let me see you to the door,” Clare said.

“You don't have to. I know the way and I hate to make you move around too much.”

“I'm supposed to be walking. Good for me, they say.”

As they went to the door, they could hear Dotty and Jason settling their nerves with exclamations and deep sighs.

“You didn't tell them about me,” Sam said.

“I guess I didn't,” she said. “It never occurred to me that the police car would throw them into a panic. Sometimes I just don't think ahead.”

When they got to the door, Sam looked at her and said, “Look, I don't want to throw any curves while you're trying to recover—but are you absolutely sure I'm being kind? Or thoughtful and sensitive? And that there's not another reason I've been in touch?”

The questions threw her. What would a handsome young man like Sam want with an older woman like
Clare? came to mind. But all she said was, “I have a cracked pelvis.”

He put his thumb and forefinger under her chin, looked into her eyes and said, “Well, it won't be cracked forever.” And then he left her to think about that.

“C
lare, I can barely hear you,” Maggie said into the phone.

“Because I'm in the closet,” Clare replied in a low voice.

“Did you say you're in your closet? Get
out
of your closet! So I can
hear
you!”

“Just a minute. Just a minute, it isn't that easy.” The closet in question was not a walk-in closet. It was a mere cubbyhole with a sliding door. But she had to talk to somebody, and it was imperative that Jason and Dotty not overhear.

Once out, behind the closed bedroom door, she realized she'd gone over the top by trying to hide. This was her cell phone so there was no extension and Jason was probably either watching TV or in his room with his stereo turned up.

Clare sat on her bed. Still, she kept her voice down. “Did you hear anything I said?” she asked Maggie.

“You said the police officer who was at the accident came to see you?” she repeated by way of a question.

“The young police officer. Very young. Twenty-nine.”

“Okay…?”

“He brought coffee. And…” She was momentarily speechless. She couldn't go on. It sounded so ridiculous even in her mind, it was impossible to comprehend.

“Clare! What?”

“He asked me if I was sure he was just being thoughtful. Was I sure it wasn't something more than that. Maggie, I think he's
pursuing
me!”

“Well now,” Maggie said. “Any chance you might have sex again before you die?”

“Sex,” she said in a slow, shocked breath.

Maggie burst into laughter. “For God's sake, Clare. You're just coming into your prime! You could teach the boy a few things.” Silence answered her. “You haven't forgotten how, have you?”

“How can you talk about sex?” Clare wanted to know.

“Well, usually if things go well, sex follows. Good luck to you.”

“Ugh. What I can't figure out is—why would a handsome young man his age be interested in someone like me?”

“Is this a trick question?” Maggie asked. Silence again. “God, I hate that you don't know things about yourself. Important things. You're attractive. No, you're beautiful. You're fun, you're sincere. You're ridiculously tidy, patient and wise.”

“Tidy, patient and wise?” she asked, laughing suddenly. “Yeah, I'm sure this good-looking young buck has been searching high and low for a woman who's tidy! Besides, I'm not wise—I've made some of the dumbest choices for a woman my age.” She thought for a second and said, “I am tidy, though.”

“He probably just liked your face and body—the rest will come. Tell me about him. What's he like?”

“He's nice,” she said. “Very conscientious. It seems that he got his girlfriend pregnant when he was just a kid—eighteen years old. And rather than go along with an adoption, he fought for custody. He's raising his ten-year-old daughter with the help of his mother. How many guys do that?”

“This the first time you've heard from him since the accident?”

“I didn't tell you? He came to the hospital right before I was discharged. He brought flowers. Then he called me. He's called me a few times. But I thought he was interested in my recovery. I thought he felt bonded to me because he saw the crash, then saw my wrecked body. I guess I thought that it was natural for someone like him to want to see how everything turned out.”

“Clare, you're hopeless.”

“Well, how was I to know?”

“Do you like him?”

“I don't know. I mean, sure, I like him fine. I never thought of him in that…
that
way.”

“And handsome?”

“Oh Maggie, he's the kind of handsome that would knock you out of your shoes. He has a dimpled smile that can make you wet yourself.”

“Jesus, Clare…”

“What?”

“What a lousy time to have a cracked pelvis!”

“This is simply ridiculous,” Clare said, matter-of-fact.

“Aw, have some fun. How many times does something like this come along?”

“I'll think about fun later—when I have my life straight.”

“You are such a drag,” Maggie laughed. “I'd have been all over that. Even with a crack in my pelvis!”

 

Clare welcomed the distraction of settling into her old house, sans Roger. He'd found an apartment in a luxury complex complete with pools and gym where he could no doubt meet many lovely single women. By mid-June, Clare had moved home. Well, it wasn't as though
she
moved. She merely walked into the house. Jason, George, Sarah and her brother-in-law toted all their things.

To her great relief, the house seemed to welcome her. But then she didn't go upstairs to the scene of the crime. She stayed downstairs and if there was anything she needed, Jason fetched it.

Summer in Breckenridge was glorious. The flowers were full, the fields were green and there was still a little snow on the highest peaks. The haze of pain had lifted and Clare could appreciate the beauty of her town, her mountains. Ordinarily she would have taken care of the yard and garden, but she was forced to hire a landscaping service. So when they were there she pestered them, making sure everything was done to her satisfaction. It was such a relief to be outdoors again after that long, wet and painful spring.

Roger called all the time, sweet depression dripping from his voice. He surprised her by stopping by a couple of times, but while she was civil, she wouldn't let him stay long. She didn't want him to get too comfortable. He was filled with offers of help, begging to see her more often if only to be sure she was getting better. Something about seeing her limp a little must have
worked on his conscience. He sent her generous checks very regularly, something she'd had to ask him for during past separations. And flowers—she hated when he sent her flowers! She could almost smell him, he was getting so close. So, she had the locks changed.

By the end of July she was hardly ever using the crutches, though she still had occasional pain. She could manage the stairs
and
the laundry, though she couldn't carry things up and down. There was a little complication with transportation—she didn't have a car anymore, and her little secret was that if she did have a car, she'd be terrified to drive it. But there were plenty of people from her dad to her sisters who would happily take her wherever she wanted or needed to go. She was still seeing the physical terrorist twice a week.

She had Jason bring her the paperwork stowed in her upstairs desk, including her records of all the schools in Breckenridge—not so very many, where she had done substitute teaching. She spruced up her résumé and got started.

Clare hadn't held a full-time teaching job since before Jason was born, only filling in from time to time. And you don't need the greatest teaching skills to do that. In fact the only real requirement is a whip and a chair; the little heathens gave the sub their absolute worst. She had faced each one of those days with anxiety and dread, but knew the wisdom of keeping her hand in. Not to mention a little money now and then that was entirely her own.

The nice thing about having kept her face in the school district of a small town, was she was known and liked. There were two job offers almost immediately. Both were in the English department, one in middle
school—eighth grade, and the other high school, though she had been hoping for younger kids. She was tempted to take the middle-school job just to avoid running into Pete Rayburn who taught and coached at Centennial High, but Jason had turned fifteen over the summer and was starting high school in the fall, so running into Pete was going to happen, no matter what she did.

And…she had made that promise to herself, that she was going to seek Pete out and see if she could mend those embarrassing fences. After all, it had been nineteen long years. And they were grown-ups now.

She took the fifteen-year-olds and thought of all the advantages of being in school with her son every day.

“Aw, man, I'm gonna want to
die!
”

Jason did not.

In August Clare went up those stairs and looked into the master bedroom. She had always loved that room, but now all she saw was a blond stranger bouncing atop her unfaithful husband. So she called the consignment shop to come and take the furniture away and then called a local decorator. Ordinarily she would have done all the work herself. Growing up the daughter of a hardware store owner had many advantages and she was a master at everything from wallpaper and paint, to crown molding. But even if she felt one hundred percent most days, she knew the logic of not pushing her luck.

Just a couple of weeks later when she went back into the bedroom everything was changed, from the sheets to the window treatments. It was entirely new, without a trace of Roger's infidelities.

She gathered materials from her new employer and set about the task of preparing lesson plans for the year ahead, and as she did so she began to fantasize about
doing any other kind of job than teaching. Why hadn't she become an architect? A nurse? Been a business major? How could she face one hundred and twenty fifteen-year-olds a day? One hundred and twenty Jasons and Jasonettes?

But surely they would be more tame if she was the regular teacher and not the sub….

She had all but forgotten about her flirty younger man. From his few calls over summer, he was all cooled down. She reminded him a couple of times about how sore her pelvis was and he moved back into his assigned slot as the local cop who was only concerned about how she was feeling, how her recovery was going. She did have one small handicap—she happened to enjoy talking to him.

And when he called she found herself eager to regale him with tales of her hectic days; of redecorating, job interviewing, shopping for work clothes, getting Jason ready for school, sidestepping Roger and working on study plans for her new job. She hadn't seen him all summer, since the day last June when he showed up with coffee. Five months had passed since the accident and she was nearly back on her feet. Only a little annoying soreness remained—she was ready to go back to work and get on with her life. Then one day Sam called and said, “You know, it's been weeks since I've seen you, and I bet you're just about fully recovered.”

“I just about am,” she said, surprisingly glad to hear his voice. “Feeling really great, as a matter of fact. Have you had a good summer?”

“I stay pretty busy when Molly's out of school—and we had a nice long vacation in July. Got a cabin on the North Shore of the lake and really relaxed.”

“Your mom went along?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

Clare surprised herself by thinking, then he wouldn't have taken a woman along. But she banished the thought as a ridiculous regression into dangerous fantasies. “It must have been fun,” she said. And then the doorbell rang and she said, “Damn it. Can you hold on one second? Someone's at the door.” Carrying the phone with her, she opened it and there he stood, not in uniform this time but in jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt that happened to show off his tanned and muscled arms. She gulped at his physique and kept herself from sighing at his hard good looks. “This is a cute trick you have,” she said, clicking off her phone.

“I know,” he said, treating her to that incredible smile.

“So, besides being very funny, what are you doing here?”

“On a mission,” he said with a shrug. “Got a few minutes?”

“Actually, I'm right in the middle of…of…”

“Come on, I'm not going to kidnap you. Or maybe I should. You probably couldn't put up much of a fight.” He dangled car keys in front of her. “I bought a new car. Wanna see?”

“Sure,” she said amiably. How typical of a young guy, she thought. Car proud. There in her drive sat a Lexus SUV, a lovely deep blue color. “Wow,” she said. “Breckenridge is paying cops pretty well these days.”

“We get by. How about a spin?”

“Well, just a short one. I really am in the middle of something.” But she was in the middle of absolutely nothing and Jason was out running around with his friends. She moved toward the passenger door and he said, “Clare.”

She turned. “Hmm?”

He dangled the keys. “You drive.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I couldn't! It's your brand-new car.”

“I'd like to see how it feels in the passenger seat.”

Her heart began to pound and her palms started to sweat. “No, really. I can't. I don't think I'm up to it.”

He met her by the passenger door, slipped an arm around her waist and led her firmly to the other side of the car. “You haven't been on this horse in a while, Clare. I haven't missed that in all your running around, you've always had someone driving you. You start work pretty soon and you're putting this off. If you're scared, let's get it over with.”