“Christmas,” Mrs. Murphy said. “It would be best to marry as soon as possible. It would look better for the adoption.”
Megan ground her teeth and bent over the bowl of sliced apples.
Pat’s sister Laurie was sitting across from Megan. She leaned over and whispered, “Your mom and my mom sure hit it off.”
Megan made a strangled sound in her throat.
“I think they’re planning your wedding.”
“They’re in for a big surprise. I’m
“What about Timmy? Don’t you have to get married before you can adopt Timmy?”
Megan stared at the pile of apple peelings. Everyone assumed Timmy’s mother wouldn’t return, especially since they hadn’t heard from her in all the time she’d been gone. Megan couldn’t remember what her life had been like before Timmy. And it was true: If Pat didn’t have a wife, he wouldn’t stand a chance of adopting the baby. Not a good reason to get married, she thought. You were supposed to get married because you were in love. Megan, her inner voice whispered, you
“So when do you think you’ll get married?” Laurie asked.
“Christmas,” Megan said. “A Christmas wedding in Williamsburg.”
The front door was flung open, filling the cottage with a welcome blast of cold air. Pat and his brother staggered in under a load of boxes and bags.
“Here it is!” Pat announced. His cheeks were flushed, his jaunty red scarf askew, and he was laughing as he set an enormous cardboard carton on the table.
Everyone crowded around to look into the box.
“What is it?” Megan’s mother asked.
“It’s the turkey!” Pat said.
“Turkeys don’t come that big,” Mrs. Murphy said. “It must be an ostrich.”
Mrs. Hunter shook her head. “You’d better measure it. I don’t think it’ll fit in the oven.”
Mrs. Murphy held her big wooden spoon aloft. “We need more stuffing.”
“We need more people,” Mrs. Hunter said. “This bird could feed the Pacific fleet.”
Pat beamed. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
Hours later Megan was sprawled on the braided rug, toasting her stockinged feet by the heat of the fire. “I don’t ever want to see another apple,” she said to Pat. “Look at my finger. It’s got a blister from paring.”
He looked solicitous and kissed the injured finger.
His niece giggled. “Pat kissed Megan’s finger,” she said.
“It’s all right,” Mrs. Murphy said. “They’re going to get married. You can do that sort of thing when you’re engaged to get married.”
Pat leaned close to Megan and whispered in her ear. “Did I miss something? Are we engaged?”
“Yup. Your mom and my mom decided it this afternoon.”
“Have they decided on a date?”
“Christmas.”
Pat considered it for a moment. “You seem pretty mellow about all this.”
“I’m trying to keep a sense of humor. Besides, my jaw aches from grinding my teeth.”
He stretched out on his back beside her and clasped his hands behind his head. “Are you going to do it?”
“Do what?”
He grinned. “Marry me.”
“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”
“It’s the least you could do after having your way with me two nights in a row. And it would probably help my tax return. Of course, it would ruin my image as a cute bachelor.”
She looked at his nose. It wasn’t broken, and the swelling was going down, but he was left with a classic shiner. “I think your image might be a little tarnished anyway.”
Mrs. Hunter finished feeding Timmy and sat with him in the rocking chair. “Don’t you think Timmy resembles Pat?” she asked Megan’s mother. “Around the mouth?”
“Maybe, but he has Megan’s eyes.”
Megan groaned. “Mom, he doesn’t have my eyes. He has Tilly Coogan’s eyes. This is Tilly Coogan’s baby.”
“I know that, dear. But there is a little resemblance growing here. You remember Mrs. Yates and her poodle, and how they looked like each other? And what about Skokey Moyer and that old bloodhound he kept?”
“I think they’ve gone off the deep end,” Megan said to Pat.
He agreed. “Jumped in with both feet.” There was a moment of silence. “Still, you have to admit, he does sort of have my mouth.”
“I think that punch in the nose went straight to your brain.”
“Nope. It’s you. You make me starry – eyed and fuzzy – headed, and all warm and mushy inside.”
“Yuk.”
His eyes grew serious. He lowered his voice, so only she could hear. “It’s true. I can’t concentrate on anything. My stomach’s a mess. My libido’s out of control. Meg, I’m so in love with you it hurts. I can’t stand being away from you, and when I’m with you I can’t stand not touching you, holding you.”
Megan felt her stomach flip and press against her backbone. She experienced the same pain of separation, the same overwhelming desire to join flesh to flesh. For once, she couldn’t blame her mother for jumping to conclusions. Any emotion this strong had to be obvious even to the most casual observer.
She touched her fingertip to his lips, and they exchanged smiles, acknowledging the mysterious power their love held over them.
There was the scrape of a kitchen chair as Mr. Murphy stood and stretched. “I think it’s time to call it a night. I’ve had my supper, lost two games of chess, and need to soak my hand in hot water and Epsom salts.” He tenderly rubbed his swollen, bruised knuckles. “Patrick, you’ve got a hard nose.”
Everyone laughed. The story had already grown to classic proportions and was guaranteed immortality in both families.
“Patrick Hunter is a nice young man,” Megan’s father said as he drove them home in his rental car.
“A doctor,” her mother added. “And his family is wonderful.”
“I like him,” Mr. Murphy said. “I even like him better than David.”
Mrs. Murphy clapped her hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear! David!”
Megan leaned forward from the back seat. “What do you mean, ‘Oh, dear, David’? What about David?”
Mrs. Murphy waved the issue away. “Nothing.Nothing to worry about.”
“Then why am I worrying?” Megan asked. “Why do I have this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach?”
Mrs. Murphy glanced back at her daughter. “It’s just that David called last week. He was wondering about you.”
“And?”
“And he wanted to know where you were living. Well, heavens, Megan, you never
