One Sexy Daddy (11 page)

“But I can drive,” Stacy said. “And Bob doesn't have his license yet.”

“I don't see how that…”

“Karen signed up for ballet lessons in Geneva,” Adam interrupted. “And I'm not so good at keeping house. I don't think any teenaged boy could clean and cook as well as Stacy.”

“And I don't really mind,” Stacy added. “Anything to help get the school built.”

“Sure,” Betty Carbol said, in a tone that made everyone stare.

“Speaking of the school,” the fire chief said. “Can I ask how you're installing the smoke detectors and sprinklers?”

“Yeah, and how will the security at the door work?” the police chief asked.

After a cocktail hour that became an informal village meeting, Mrs. Pincham announced dinner would be served on the patio.

With a warning glance to her husband, she also declared that there would be no further “business talk” about the school. Stacy helped Mrs. Pincham lay out platters of steak, vegetables, potatoes and bread. Betty poured water and iced tea at each place setting. The children were fed at the kitchen table by Bob, the eldest Pincham son.

“So how do you like Deerhorn?” the police chief asked.

Stacy took her place at the end of the table and unfolded her white linen napkin on her lap.

“It's a wonderful town,” Adam said, smiling at each of its beneficent leaders in turn. When his eyes met Betty's, she frowned and looked away. “It's small, friendly, safe; a very good environment for raising children.”

“And I don't understand why tourists don't flock here,” Mr. Pincham complained. “What have other towns got that we haven't?”

Several at the table agreed that it was a monumental injustice that nearby Geneva was booming while Deerhorn languished.

“It's too bad that Geneva has picked up the tourist dollars and you haven't You're right on the lake,” Adam said. “And Tanglewood is a surprisingly sophisticated French restaurant. You have a lot to offer a weekend tourist.”

“I hear you and Stacy had dinner at Tanglewood a few nights ago,” Reverend Miller said, shoveling a forkful of steak into his mouth just as the toe of Mrs. Miller's nice new pumps met his kneecap with a smack! “Hey, what'd I say?”

“Nothing that hasn't been said a hundred times in the past two weeks,” Betty observed.

“They know.”

“No, they don't.”

“They know.”

“No, they don't Well, except for Betty. And if they did, what would be so terrible about that?” Adam asked. “You can answer that. She's half a block ahead, she can't hear us.”

They walked home from the mayor's party amid fireflies and the chuk-chuk-hiss of lawn sprinklers left out by forgetful homeowners. Karen had skipped ahead, jumping up in vain attempts to grab the lower leaves of drooping trees. Stacy and Adam had agreed that the dinner had been meant as an informal business meeting to discuss the school, and that he had done a good job of answering questions and encouraging comments.

“Really, what would be so terrible if a few people thought they knew?”

“My reputation.”

“Nobody I've met in Deerhorn seems so judg
mental that they'd object to a single woman having a relationship with a man. How else would you have any children for the school I'm building?”

“This isn't the kind of relationship that's going to lead to marriage and children.”

“So it's a slightly different kind. But I don't like having to pretend. The police chief's wife asked me if I would mind sharing you.”

“Sharing me?”

“She meant whether I would mind having you baby-sit her daughter on Wednesday afternoons.”

“Oh.”

“It took me a few minutes too,” Adam said. “Why does this relationship have to be a secret?”

“It's not a relationship. It's an affair. A two-times-only affair.”

“You're not telling me—”

“I am telling you. Never again.”

“Wait a minute—you want me as much as I want you.”

“Yes, but I have more self-control than you do.”

“Not at particular moments.”

Stacy pursed her lips.

“Even if it happens a third time,” she said. “And I'm not saying it will, but if it does, it doesn't make for a relationship. It's an affair.”

“And what's wrong with an affair?”

“Would you want your daughter to know about it?”

She had him there.

“There's no other choice,” Stacy said. “I have to live in this town after you're gone. I don't want any talk about me.”

“I don't like it,” he said firmly. “I just don't like it.”

She stopped. Put her hands on her hips.

“This is the kind of affair that you've had in every town you've ever worked in. I bet sometimes you've been discreet and sometimes you've flaunted it.”

“Yeah, so?”

“This is one you're going to keep secret.”

“And when I go to Vegas?”

“You'll find another woman,” she said, with a matter-of-factness that was an act of will. She had started to think about the future, the future without Adam and his daughter, a future that would be considerably less enjoyable.

But she was a realist and this was no time for let's pretend about a future that couldn't be.

“You'll remember me fondly,” she softened. “And I'll remember you. Always.”

Karen ran back to them with her hands closed together as if in prayer.

“Look what I got!”

She opened her hands and out flew twin fireflies. They dotted the air with a helix of bright yellow and then disappeared.

“I made a friend tonight,” Karen said, squeez
ing in between Adam and Stacy. She linked her arms in theirs. “The mayor's daughter Pam is really nice. And she says I can come over tomorrow and play with her Barbies. Can I, Dad?”

“I'll be at work, but if it's okay with Stacy…”

“Can I?”

“It's okay.”

As they walked down the sidewalk to the house, Karen chattered happily. Stacy let her hair fall forward so that she could not tell if Adam was trying to catch her eye. She wondered if she would have to give him up before he left, and for the first time, she realized that saying goodbye to him was going to be hard.

“Will you come to our house to put me to bed?” Karen asked. Stacy looked over her shoulder to Adam.

“Please,” Adam said.

Stacy nodded.

“Oh, good, I'm going to run ahead and check the message machine,” Karen said. “I want to see if Pam called to set up our play date.”

“She'll already be in bed!” Adam yelled, but Karen had darted up the flagstone path through the oak trees.

“She's so excited she'll never get to sleep,” Stacy observed.

Karen was disappointed but philosophical that Pam hadn't yet called, and agreed that eleven
o'clock was a late hour for a five-year-old to be making phone calls.

“Let's set an alarm so I won't miss the phone ringing tomorrow morning,” Karen suggested as she put on her pajamas.

“No, you can sleep in,” Stacy said, tucking her up with a blanket. “Daddy's bed is right by the phone and he'll pick it up.”

“Okay. When do you think she'll call?”

“As soon as her mother lets her.”

“Tomorrow's going to be so wonderful. I can't wait.”

“Sleep first,” Stacy warned.

But sleep didn't come. Ten minutes after being put to bed, Karen came out to the living room to ask if it was morning. Adam said no and escorted her back to bed. Ten minutes after that, Karen came back out to ask if she could have a glass of water.

“Okay, pumpkin, but then you have to sleep,” Adam said. He got up from the leather club chair. “One glass of water. That's it.”

After he put her to bed again, he came into the living room and sat on the couch beside Stacy. He yawned and winked, stretched and put one arm around her. She took his hand off her shoulder.

“No, Adam, and certainly not while she's awake.”

“But she'll never get to sleep. And I'm not talk
ing about making love. I just want to put my arm around you. And maybe kiss you.”

“No way.”

He growled to show his displeasure. “Want to look at my drawings?”

“Sure you've got drawings.”

“No, I've really got drawings. They're on my desk upstairs. And crumpled up in balls on the floor.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Stacy, I'm serious. You want to see what the new school is going to look like?”

“No funny business.”

“Scout's honor.”

“You were a boy scout?”

“I wasn't very good at the rubbing two sticks together, but luckily my troop gave out patches for—”

“Adam! I'm warning you I'll go right home if you don't behave.”

He showed her to his study, in which sat his drawing table, a file cabinet devoted to the project, a bed and a chair. On the table was the drawing which the mayor had most recently rejected.

“Why would the city of Deerhorn want a statue of J. P. Lasser?” Stacy asked.

“Beats me,” Adam said, flopping down on the bed. It was late, he was a strong man but he needed his rest. “That was Lasser's suggestion, but the mayor didn't like it.”

“What does the mayor want?”

“Get rid of the columns, no statue, move the west side of the building to the east side and he said something about it being too hard.”

“Too hard?”

“Not soft enough.”

“Soft? What does he mean by soft?”

“I have no idea.”

She studied the picture. “It is missing something,” Stacy said, taking a green pencil from the drawer. “Adam? Adam? Oh, dear.”

He was sound asleep, one arm flopped over his face to shield him from the lamplight. Stacy took out a sheet of paper and meticulously copied the building minus the statue, the columns and she did her best to arrange the west side of the building on the east and vice versa.

Then she added an oak. Another oak. A row of boxwoods and fragrant lilac trees. She detailed a spreading vine and put in a clematis that wound itself around the flagpole. She used every colored pencil he owned. At one o'clock in the morning, she put Adam's pencils away. Karen came to the door sobbing.

“Karen, what's the matter?”

“I just thought of something terrible.”

“What?” Stacy asked, drawing the young girl into her arms.

“What if Pam doesn't call me tomorrow?”

Stacy soothed her with a kiss on her forehead.
“Well, then we'll call her,” she said. “Your father's working tomorrow so maybe we could invite Pam to my house for a tea party.”

“A tea party?” Stacy gulped, swiping her tears with her palms.

“Won't it be fun?”

Stacy led Karen back to her bedroom.

“Will we have to drink tea?”

“Oh, no,” Stacy assured her. She helped Karen get into the bed and put the covers around her. “The very best tea parties have rainbow sherbet punch.”

“They do?”

“Absolutely.”

“What else do tea parties have?”

Stacy plumped a pillow and squeezed into the bed next to Karen.

“Little sandwiches with watercress and cucumber and cream cheese.”

“Eeeeoooowwww.”

“You don't have to eat them.”

“Good.”

“Now close your eyes and I'll tell you everything else you need to know about tea parties.”

“Okay. Are you going to stay with me tonight?”

“Just till you go to sleep.”

“Stacy, why won't you be my mom? I'd be a very nice daughter. Promise.”

“I know you would—but I'm not a mom. I'm a baby-sitter.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her.

“Tell me more about tea parties.”

Karen closed her eyes and Stacy told her about lace napkins, scones, strawberries with cream, and delicate little pastries.

 

M
ARION
B
RANDWEIS
, nee Poplar, awoke early. She had placed several phone calls to her sister the evening before, after she was sure that the mayor's dinner party would be finished. Although Stacy had not told her sister that she was a guest or the more inflammatory news that she was escorted to this party by the handsome contractor, nonetheless Marion was not uninformed. She had been told everything by the wife of the police chief who had learned it from Mrs. Pincham herself when the hostess was purchasing steaks for the occasion just that afternoon.

Marion wanted details.

Marion's first call had been at eleven. Her second at eleven-thirty. Her third at midnight. And then she had fallen asleep. But at seven the next morning she called—not so much to inquire about the silverware Mrs. Pincham had used or whether the contractor tried anything, but more to assure herself that her sister was not in any danger, to body or reputation.

At eight o'clock, Marion could not contain her
self. She dressed and went to her car, but not before meeting Nancy Tigerman who was taking her daily race walk in lilac tights. Nancy pulled off her Walkman earphones when she saw Marion. She walked in place, briskly jerking her arms back and forth.

“How was Stacy's date?”

“It wasn't a date,” Marion said from between gritted teeth.

“Last night. I'm not talking about the Tanglewood dinner.”

“Neither one was a date. She just went because he couldn't get any woman to fly in for dinner at the mayor's house,” Marion said, repeating what she had heard. “And frankly, I can't imagine any woman wanting to.”

“Stacy better watch herself. On the one hand, she hasn't had much experience with men. On the other hand, she isn't getting any younger. And on the other hand, I'd hate to see her throw away something precious on a man who will just use her for his own purposes.”

“You're up to three hands, Nancy,” Marion said. “That's enough.”

Marion drove to her childhood home, knocked on the door with a vehemence that would have roused the dead and then used her key.

“Stacy!”

She proceeded to search the house. When she came to her sister's bedroom, she stared for several
minutes at the smooth quilt, the pristine folds of the extra blanket and the fluffed pillows neatly stacked at the headboard.

She would have been only slightly more horrified if she had found a ransom note.

She approached the window and drew back the organdy sheers. Through the arbor of trees her sister and father had nurtured, Marion could barely make out the bricks of Old Man Peterson's house. It was there that her sister must be lying.

She was torn between happiness, if indeed her sister had found such, and outrage at the man who had given Stacy this happiness. There was also tucked away within Marion's heart the tiniest worry that Stacy might not help her out with the care of her nephews if she were distracted by a summer romance.

She walked down to the driveway pondering her choices. She could not drive down to the bakery, pick up a coffee cake and knock on the door with the innocent demeanor of a friendly neighbor—she had, like other Deerhorn matrons, dropped off a coffee cake just the week before. She could not phone and ask if her sister were there because Stacy would surely be appalled—and besides, if she weren't there, it would be embarrassing. She couldn't knock on the door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar or an egg because one wouldn't drive half-way across Deerhorn for those items.

The adage “leave well enough alone” was not
one that Marion had ever lived by and she did not intend to start this morning.

Then a thought struck Marion.

What if Stacy were not, in fact, sleeping with the handsome contractor but was kidnapped, lost and alone in the woods, or perhaps in some other dire straits? Nothing of the kind ever happened in Deerhorn and the fact that Adam Tyler had been entrusted with escorting Stacy to and from the party with his daughter as chaperone suggested that this was an infinitely tiny possibility.

Yet, such worries served as justification for her next action. It was not curiosity—no, no!—it was sisterly concern which compelled her forward.

She crept through a neglected border of buckthorn and creeping myrtle which snaked around the house. She peered into the living room and then the dining room. Nothing. Barely any furniture, just what the Peterson children didn't take for themselves before they rented it out.