“It’s gone, isn’t it?” he said to her.
She nodded. Yes, the moment was gone. Probably it was all for the best, she told herself. She needed time to think. She needed to be sure she could handle a physical relationship with Pat. She didn’t believe in sex without commitment, but commitment didn’t have to mean marriage. Could there be such a thing as temporary commitment? Limited commitment? Certainly there was more involved here than simple sex. If she made love with Pat would she be strong enough to pick up the pieces when the relationship ended? It was this last thought that worried her the most.
He touched her hand. “Are you still sorry Timmy stopped us?”
She smiled. “I don’t know.”
An honest answer, he thought. It wouldn’t have been his.
She finished her cocoa and searched for her coat. “I think it’s time I went home.”
“Would you consider spending the night here?”
She let the idea roll through her mind, then sighed heavily. “No. I’d consider the loan of your car, though. I’ll drop it off on my way to work tomorrow morning.”
The next day Megan stood in the doorway of the cooper’s shop at the west end of Duke of Gloucester Street, just across from BrutonParishChurch. The air was sweet with the smell of shaved wood, a nippy breeze played in the bare tree limbs, and the tower bells pealed noontime in Bruton Parish. She watched Pat and Timmy cross the street and follow a tour group to her station. After checking everyone’s ticket, she turned to Pat and grimaced at the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “You look awful.”
“I didn’t sleep all night. From now on I’m going to be more sympathetic to the parents of teething babies.”
Timmy was slouched in the stroller, sound asleep.
“You sure you’re not hallucinating?” she asked. “This kid’s out like a light.”
“This is the only time he sleeps. He wakes up the minute I get him in the house. I’ve been pushing him around for hours. Seems like days.”
“I wish I could help you, but I don’t get off work until five.”
“I’ll be dead by five.”
She smiled. “Try to survive. We’re scheduled to make red cabbage and cranberry sauce tonight.”
“Don’t those things come in jars?”
Her eyes widened. “What about our old fashioned Thanksgiving?”
“Maybe we should modernize it. I could cook some burgers on the barbecue and buy a bunch of pies at the supermarket. If I wait until Thursday, they’ll be on sale.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of this.”
“Megan Murphy, you’re a hard woman.” His gaze dropped to her chest. “Fortunately, even though you’re a hard woman, you still have a few soft spots.”
“I thought you were supposed to be tired.”
“I’m beginning to wake up.” His voice grew husky. “We have unfinished business.”
“I think so too.”
Pat’s mouth dropped open.
“After all, I’m twenty – seven years old, and I have normal biological urges and emotional needs. Just because I’m destined never to get married doesn’t mean I can’t… um, get debauched.”
“I wish I weren’t so tired. Now I’m starting to imagine things. Did you just say you wanted to get debauched?”
“Yes. The sooner the better. How about right after the red cabbage? It has to cook for three hours, anyway. It would give us something to do.”
At five o’clock Timmy was sitting in his high chair, gnawing on his drool – soaked blanket while Pat called out for a pizza.
“Listen kid,” Pat said, returning to the table, “you’ve got to help me out here. I’ve got a long night ahead of me. I’ve got to debauch Megan for three hours. I’m gonna need some quiet.” He was going to need more than quiet, he thought. He was going to need a transfusion. He was out on his feet.
Timmy blinked and pounded his tray table. His face turned red and crinkled, and he began to whimper. “Mum, mum, mum,” he cried.
“Poor kid.” Pat lifted Timmy out of the chair.
“Teething and no mum, mum, mum to comfort you.”
Even if Mum returned, Pat wasn’t so sure he wanted to entrust Timmy to her care. Not even a phone call all this time she’d been gone. Not even a letter. Not his idea of a loving mother.
Megan and the pizza delivery boy arrived at Pat’s house simultaneously.
“Deliveries for Patrick Hunter,” she announced. “One pizza and a strumpet to go.”
“Hear that, Tim. They sent us a strumpet with our pizza. What do you suppose we should do with it?” Pat paid for the pizza and handed Timmy over to Megan. “Timmy says we should have the strumpet for dessert. What do you think?”
“I think I’ll take a shower.”
“I’ll put the pizza away. We can eat it tomorrow.”
“Fine with me,” Megan commented as she sashayed from the room.
When Megan got out of the shower she found the bedroom candles lit and the comforter turned down. The stairs creaked, and Pat walked into the room, carrying two crystal brandy snifters.
“Timmy’s asleep,” he said. “The tooth has broken through the gum. I think he’ll be okay now.”
He handed her a glass. “I’ve warmed some brandy for us.” He took a sip from his own glass and set it on the night table. “Are you sure, Meg?”
Megan just looked at him. How could you ever be sure? she wondered. She’d thought she was sure with David. Look where that had gotten her. No guarantees, she told herself, but this felt right. She liked and respected Pat… and she might as well admit it, she’d fallen for him. She didn’t want to run away.
The night before, she’d stood looking at the plastic bag hanging in her closet. She’d broken out in a cold sweat at the memories it had provoked, but that hadn’t changed her feelings for Pat. It would be terrible to ruin something beautiful and special because of that bag, she’d thought. She’d take a chance and go one step at a time.
“You have beets in your hair,” she said. “Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll get comfy.” She waited until the bathroom door clicked closed, then dropped her towel and slid between the cool sheets. She tucked the comforter under her arms and listened to the water spraying against the stall door. It was a nice, intimate sound. A husbandly, loving sound.
The water stopped, and moments later Pat emerged, wearing a short royal – blue terrycloth robe. He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her. “Mmmm,” he said. “Brandy.”
“I toasted you while you were in the bathroom.”
“What did you say?”
“To Pat, the cute pediatrician.”
He made a face. “That’s not very romantic.”
“Okay, then
He thought a moment. “To Tibbles, for bringing you to me.”
“To Tibbles.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing the comforter to slip below her breasts.
His hands skimmed along her neck and her shoulders, and down her arms. She’d finally come to him, and he wanted to please her, protect her, comfort her, cuddle her. He was overwhelmed by the loving feelings flooding through him, barely able to breathe, wanting to cover her with kisses.
