Second Honeymoon

Meg was within minutes of serving the meal, and still there was no sign of Scott. He hadn’t even bothered to phone. Despite the awkwardness, Meg refused to make excuses for him, but Marie more than made up for that. “Scotty works so hard. I know he’ll be here as soon as he finishes whatever business he has.”

Meg bit her lip. Marie’s very words got at the heart of the problem—Scott would be home when he’d addressed his more important obligations. Only then would he be ready to face priority number two—his family.

The sliding glass door to the patio opened. Beaming, Bud raised a platter toward the women. “Behold. Best darn steaks you’ll ever put in your mouth.”

Justin followed, rubbing a hand over his stomach. “I’m starving. Can we please eat?”

Well, why not? Meg thought to herself. Let the Harpers experience what we do. Dinner without the lord and master. “Call your sister,” Meg said, and instructed Bud to set the meat on the table.

Marie readjusted the parsley around a plate of deviled eggs. Apparently Meg hadn’t even done that satisfactorily. “Surely we’re not going to eat without Scotty.”

Meg clenched her fingers. “He should be here any minute. He wouldn’t want us to let the food get cold.”

“Those steaks are perfect now, sweetheart,” Bud added, by way of support.

Marie stared wistfully out the kitchen window. “It doesn’t seem right not to wait.”

Hayley and Justin took their places at the table. “Come on, Gramma and Grampa,” Justin pleaded. “Let’s eat.”

Reluctantly Marie picked up the plate of eggs. Meg gave one last desperate look down the street before following with the salad and baked potatoes.

Fortunately, the kids kept the conversation going and, to Meg’s relief, displayed obvious pleasure in their grandparents’ visit, asking them numerous questions about the great motor-home odyssey. Hayley, especially, seemed eager to make them feel at home. Meg toyed with her salad, resentment robbing her of an appetite. How could she and Scott maintain this charade of a marriage for even one more day, much less carry off an anniversary? And when would they have the opportunity to make the decisions so vital to their future? Find time to communicate those decisions to their children and the Harpers? First, though, before anything could happen, Scott had to appear.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, she heard the garage door open, followed by the sound of a car pulling in.

“That must be Scotty.” Marie nearly knocked her chair over, bounding up to greet her son. Bud rose, too, but the kids went right on eating.

From her seat, Meg watched Scott embrace his parents, then heard him apologize for being late. “…last-minute changes the creative director needed to go over.” Meg flinched. Brenda Sampson. It figured.

“It’s good to have you here,” Scott said as he accompanied his parents back to the dining room, false heartiness apparent in his conciliatory gestures. “Sorry, honey,” he mumbled, resting a hand on Meg’s shoulder. “Kids, I’m glad you didn’t wait. I’ll bet you were hungry.”

“Starving,” Justin said, helping himself to a second steak.

Hayley pointed to her brother’s plate. “Too much red meat isn’t good for you.”

“At least I’m not a picky eater, like you.”

“Children,” Meg admonished.

Somehow Meg endured the rest of the dinner, watching stoically as Marie and Bud hung on Scott’s every word about the Jordan department-store account.

At one point, Marie leaned over, and, eyes glowing, asked Meg, “Aren’t you proud of your husband?”

Even as Meg reluctantly murmured, “Yes,” she had to admit that in some ways she was proud of his accomplishments. But why did she have to play second fiddle? Why couldn’t she feel as important to him as his new accounts?

Between the main course and dessert, Bud tapped on his wineglass. “I have an announcement to make.”

Hayley and Justin made eye contact as knowing grins formed on their faces. Meg went on alert. Her children were seldom in cahoots.

“Saturday, you two—” he nodded at Scott and Meg “—will celebrate a milestone twenty years of marriage, and if you don’t have anything special planned…”

Meg was overcome with bitterness. Anything special? Just a separation. Is that special enough?

“…Marie, Hayley, Justin and I have arranged to take you to dinner at the country club to celebrate.”

Scott caught Meg’s eye briefly as if to say “Don’t ruin this for them.” Then he said, “Mom, Pops, that’s really not necessary.”

“Nonsense,” Marie interrupted. “We are so proud of this wonderful family you’ve created. You’re both busy, talented people who somehow manage to keep the spark alive. That needs to be celebrated.”

Meg, cheeks flaming, nearly choked as she responded, “That’s very generous of you.”

What she was really thinking was that, unbelievably, she and Scott had his parents fooled. For the moment, anyway.

EXHAUSTED, SCOTT FINISHED brushing his teeth, turned out the bathroom light and made his way to bed where Meg was already sleeping—or pretending to—her back to him, one arm tucked under her pillow. There’d been no opportunity to talk with her, to apologize for being late. Not that he could have convincingly explained what had detained him. She wouldn’t care. Especially if his reason involved Brenda. And it did.

He should’ve been home to greet his parents. He could have called. But cowardly as it was, he hadn’t wanted to hear Meg’s nagging accusations; he was harboring more than enough guilt himself. On the drive home, he’d second-guessed his motives. Could his conversation with Brenda have waited until tomorrow? Not if they wanted to get the logo redesign ready for Monday’s pitch to the Jordans. Brenda had needed an immediate decision. They couldn’t afford to blow this deal—it was the firm’s big chance to nail a high-profile client.

He lay on his back, head cradled on his hands, willing sleep to come. Moonlight striped the far wall. He heard muffled movements above as his parents prepared for bed. He’d been glad to see them—and grateful for their presence, buffering him from Meg’s hostility. Lately it seemed most of his conversations with her centered on his apologizing. For what? Making a living? Seeking success?

Childish though it might be, he had basked in the approval in his mother’s eyes as he told about the possibility of getting the Jordan account. But lying there, he knew it wasn’t her approval he craved.

It was Meg’s.

He turned on his side, studying the curves of his wife’s body, one bared shoulder creamy against the soft green blanket. He raised a hand to trace the indentation of her waist, the rise of her hip, but stopped himself, knowing she would tense under his touch.

He desperately needed to bury himself in her, to leave behind all his macho bluster and immerse himself mindlessly in her love and acceptance. To lose the public Scott Harper in an explosion of pure lust—and intimacy.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Hadn’t happened in a long time. Meg didn’t want him. The sooner he came to grips with that reality, the better. But it hurt. And made him feel more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible.

BUD JERKED AWAKE, the elbow to his ribs an urgent summons. “What?”

“You’re snoring again. Roll over,” Marie said, pushing gently against his shoulder.

“Okay,” he mumbled, sorry he’d disturbed her, but equally sorry she’d disturbed him. He’d been having a great dream about playing baseball for some high-school team. “Bud, Bud, he’s our man,” the crowd had chanted. Made him feel good. Young.

But now he was wide awake, while beside him Marie quickly settled back into the sleep of the dead. She could do that. Fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Didn’t seem fair. He’d probably be awake for hours now. Especially since he was unaccustomed to this strange bed.

Around him the house was silent except for the periodic cycling of the air conditioner. Tomorrow they’d be going to watch Justin play soccer in the afternoon, and then to the football game where Hayley was cheering. Good kids, both of ’em. A bit spoiled, though. They hadn’t even volunteered to clear the table, much less do the dishes. Maybe they did have homework, as they’d claimed, but while he’d been getting ready for bed, he’d heard Hayley chattering on the phone, and not about school assignments.

After dinner he’d talked with each of the grandkids privately. They’d both assured him they hadn’t spilled the beans and that their parents knew nothing about the anniversary surprise. Justin, though, had mentioned something that worried Bud. “Grampa, I don’t know if our surprise will help.” When Bud pressed him for an explanation, Justin had shuffled his feet and said, “Never mind.”

Bud propped himself up on a second pillow to alleviate a touch of heartburn. He replayed his grandson’s remark. Not that Scott and Meg wouldn’t like the surprise but that it wouldn’t help. Help what?

In the calm of the night, he reflected on their arrival. No Scott. Meg determinedly pleasant. Her careful avoidance of the issue of Scott’s lateness. Almost as if she didn’t expect him for dinner.

And what about Scott? When he’d finally shown up, he’d been the charming host, asking them all the right questions, entertaining them with his story of wooing the Jordan account.

Bud sat up and burped, relieving some of the pressure in his chest, then lay back down. The missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Meg. Scott had touched her rather perfunctorily on his return, but they hadn’t addressed any conversation to each other. Certainly, they hadn’t exchanged any of those silent, loving glances married couples use as romantic shorthand.

A sense of foreboding caused Bud to roll over on his side and cuddle Marie close. Not Meg and Scott. Surely it was just his imagination.

They’d been too polite, too reserved, too distant. What was the word he was searching for? Too unnatural. He tried to relax, tucking Marie’s head into the crook of his neck. Even her nearness failed to ease his worries. He had the strongest sense that something was wrong between Meg and his son.

And whatever the something was, he could only pray that the long-planned anniversary surprise would help. He wished Justin thought so, too.

What did the boy know that he didn’t?

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAYS WERE ALWAYS HECTIC in the Harper household. If Scott didn’t have a golf game, he usually spent part of the day working. Justin’s athletic schedule frequently underwent last-minute changes and Hayley often came home from a Friday-night sleepover exhausted and moody. Meg longed for that impossible luxury—an entire day free of carpooling, errands and social obligations. But it wasn’t happening today. Oh, no, their twentieth anniversary had dawned with Marie’s sudden demand for a hair appointment.

Getting her in with Giorgio had not been easy. Now Meg owed him big-time—he’d been appalled that his client actually expected him, stylist extraordinaire, to set Marie’s hair on rollers. Shortly after returning from the hairdresser’s, Meg had heard an anguished cry from Hayley. Upon investigating, she’d discovered her daughter, horrified expression on her face, staring out her bedroom window overlooking the front yard. “See, Mom, I told you it was embarrassing!” Gathered on the lawn were several neighborhood teenage boys examining the motor home. Justin, with the flair of a carnival barker, was pointing out the features of the oversize vehicle.

“Maybe they think it’s cool.”

Hayley snorted, then grinned. “In some alternate universe.”

Unbelievably, Scott had made it to both Justin’s soccer game yesterday and Hayley’s football game. This morning he’d slipped out of the house for a round of golf with Bud without a mention of their anniversary.

Fresh from a late-afternoon shower, Meg stood in the doorway of her closet studying her choices of party apparel. Darned if she’d wear the black chiffon Scott liked. No, she needed something flamboyant, in-your-face. Something to make a statement about her independence. She pulled out an electric-blue cocktail suit with a magenta silk shell. The short, hip-hugging skirt made her feel halfway sexy, and the color would bring out the blue of her eyes. This could be her last anniversary observance, so she might as well go down with all flags flying.

She’d just finished applying her makeup when she heard Scott return from his game. Fleetingly, she wondered what he was feeling today. Had he spent any time remembering the small college chapel where they’d exchanged vows? The way they couldn’t wait to escape the reception in their haste to get to the hotel? Had he recalled how passionate their lovemaking had been? How naively certain they’d been that theirs was a forever-after kind of love?

Scott walked through the door and stripped off his golf shirt. “How much time do I have?”

Like she was his keeper? “We’re due at the club at six.”

“I showered in the locker room. Is this a sport-coat-and-tie event?”

Meg bit her tongue. Had he even looked at her? Noticed how she was dressed? “Yes,” was all she said.

He removed his shoes and socks, then stepped out of his slacks. “Pops managed a couple of birdies today.”

“I’m sure he had a good time.” Meg groaned inwardly. Talk about a stilted conversation. She was well aware that neither of them had mentioned the anniversary. But what was there to say? Happy anniversary would ring false, and they were long past reminiscing about other anniversaries. The big question was whether she cared.

She ducked her head. Despite the brave front she put on, part of her did care. But she wasn’t sure there was any way to fix things. Somewhere along the line, their common path had forked, and new paths had led them farther and farther apart, shattering her long-held dream of a happy home, different from the one in which she’d grown up.

She fussed with her hair, then studied her jewelry box before deciding on a pendant necklace and matching earrings. With a stab, she realized Scott had given them to her on their fifteenth anniversary.

“Meg?”

She turned from the mirror to see Scott standing tall and handsome in front of her, his tan suit sharply pressed, his paisley tie matching his shirt nicely. “Am I presentable?”

“You’ll do,” she said, rising to her feet and, out of habit, straightening his tie. She could smell the fresh tropical scent of his aftershave, sense the wiry tension in his body. She stepped away, determined not to lose herself in his masculine charm. It took more—a lot more—than occasional pangs of sexual need to make a marriage work. Abruptly, she spun around. “We’d better get on with the show.”

“Show?” he mused. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. All we are is one big act, at least according to you.”

His words stung. He made their situation sound so impersonal. “A lot can happen in twenty years, Scott.”

“Yeah, more than I ever bargained for.” His voice took on an urgent tone. “Are you sure about this, Meg? About the separation?”

For a moment she thought she heard a plea in his question, but when she looked into his eyes, they were stony.

“I don’t see that we have a choice. We’re both too unhappy. And it’s not fair to the kids.”

With that, they made their way toward the front hall where the Harpers, Justin and Hayley waited. It was as if the curtain had just gone up and they’d walked onstage, smiles pasted on their faces.

“Happy anniversary,” Marie trilled, echoed by the others.

Hayley’s skirt was shorter than Meg would’ve liked and Justin’s shirt was sloppily tucked in. Hayley pirouetted, checking herself out in the hall mirror, but Justin stared, first at his father, then at Meg. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she read hesitation and dread in the look he sent them.

“Can we just go?” he asked.

Bud laughed, “Attaboy, son. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Show? There was that word again. Meg prayed she could get through this evening without ruining it for her in-laws or her children.

INSIDE THE HIGH-CEILINGED lobby of the country club, Scott nodded to the hostess, then, knowing it was expected, put his hand on the small of Meg’s back and started toward the main dining room.

“Mr. Harper, this way, please.” The hostess redirected them toward a private room.

Bud gave a satisfied chortle. “Nothing but the best for you two.”

Just as well, Scott decided, to be out of the public area where it would’ve been harder to pull off the charade.

Marie joined them. “This is so exciting. I love being able to share such a special occasion with you.”

It was special, all right. Short of a miracle, it was probably their last anniversary together. The thought made Scott queasy.

“Here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Harper.” The hostess flung open the door, and what she revealed made Scott’s stomach even queasier. Beside him he heard Meg’s small, sharp intake of breath.

Standing in the room, glasses raised, were friends from the neighborhood, the club, the office. Stunned, Scott barely heard the chorused, “Happy anniversary!” All he could think was that the ante for this evening had just skyrocketed.

Suddenly he felt more tired than he could ever remember. And older. But sure as hell not wiser.

Meg’s grip on his arm tightened, and as she caught his eye, a determined smile on her face, he realized what the crowd expected and protocol dictated. He lowered his head and kissed his wife, something he couldn’t remember doing for quite some time.

As he drew away, Bud clapped him on the shoulder. “Gotcha, didn’t we, boy?”

His mother was hugging Meg. “Did we pull it off? Are you surprised?”

Hayley and Justin stood to one side, observing the scene like proud directors of the drama.

Scott found himself stammering. An intimate family dinner he could’ve handled. But this?

This called for an Academy Award–winning performance.

JUSTIN HAD SCARFED DOWN three rolls waiting for the main course. That was the trouble with grown-up parties. They stood around boozing it up for ages before they even sat down. Then, all the waiters brought you was a salad with smelly cheese and ruffly greens that looked like his grandmother’s doilies. The rolls had saved his life. He hoped to God they’d bring the meat and potatoes soon.

His parents and grandparents were seated at the head table, but he was sitting with the Morrisons from the neighborhood and their kid Trevor, who was palming his roll into pellet-shaped balls.

Hayley looked ridiculous. Holding a champagne glass filled with orange juice, she was acting as if she were twenty-five instead of fifteen. Yet he knew she was as anxious as he was about how their parents would react to what was still to come.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time, especially his grandmother, who’d been working on the guest list and arrangements since last spring. He’d never been able to see what the big deal was about twenty years. What did you expect when you got married? “Till death do us part,” right? So what was twenty years?

Lots of kids in his class had divorced parents. In fact, sometimes he thought he was the oddball. Brian, a guy on his softball team, spent a month with his mother and a month with his father. How weird would that be?

Chewing thoughtfully on his fourth roll, Justin studied his parents. His mother was kind of a babe, he guessed. Sleek blond hair, slim figure, blue eyes the color of the Dallas Cowboys’ uniforms. She was laughing, but it sounded like glass breaking. And his dad? He had that puffed-up, I’m-a-success look, as if he expected to cinch a huge deal any minute. But they weren’t really looking at each other. They’d kissed, yeah, but after that? It seemed like they were more interested in the guests.

He’d thought everybody was supposed to be celebrating love tonight. So why didn’t it seem like they were?

Finally. The waiter approached and set a huge slab of pink prime rib in front of him. It came with a side of curlicue-shaped mashed potatoes. Looking at the meat, he was repulsed to find white streaks of fat running through it.

He glanced at the head table once more. His father was bent over his meal as if he’d never seen food before, and his mom had her back to him, flapping her hands as she talked to his grandfather.

Justin stared at his plate and knew he wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.

And the worst was yet to come. The party was only the first part of the surprise.

The next one? He was pretty sure it didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of working.

MEG EXCUSED HERSELF before dessert and sought asylum in the ladies’ room. Fielding all the well-meaning comments and fawning expressions of joy had strained the limits of her civility. She and Scott should’ve been allied in a facade of marital bliss, but he’d become unresponsive, glum. That left her to carry on the pretense that this anniversary was a lovefest.

Fortunately the powder room was empty. She leaned against the counter, studying her reflection in the mirror. The disappointment in her eyes was all too evident. She pulled a lipstick out of her evening bag and carefully redid her lips, knowing that no amount of makeup could mask her rising sense of panic. She dabbed some cold water on the back of her neck, the chill jolting her into awareness.

And just in time. As the door swung open, she could hear Trish Endicott, the wife of one of Scott’s colleagues, saying to the woman with her, “She and Scott make an incredible team, don’t you think?”

Meg gave a silent laugh. The two of them an incredible team? Then Trish completed her thought. “Brenda and Scott are awesome together. So creative.”

Meg swallowed the bile that filled her throat. Creative? She just bet they were.

When Trish caught a glimpse of Meg, she stammered. “You know,” she said, blushing, “their work on the department-store account.”

Meg put the lipstick in her bag and closed it with a snap. “Yes, they do work well together.” She stepped around the women. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the table.”

Outside, she leaned against the wall, controlling her breathing. Were Trish’s remarks innocent, or was there more to them? Had she merely given voice to Meg’s suspicions? Now, she’d have to go back into the dining room where Brenda was, of course, an invited guest, slap a smile on her face and somehow get through this endless evening.

No sooner had she rejoined Scott and her in-laws, than Bud, a cheery grin on his face, stood up, tapped a spoon against his water glass and called for silence. Beside her, Meg saw Marie straighten, her eyes twinkling as she watched her husband.

Meg’s heart sank. Toasts. Please, she pleaded to whatever deity was in charge of graceful exits, just let this be over.

Then Meg saw that Justin and Hayley had joined their grandfather, Hayley preening in her center-stage role and Justin casting uncertain glances at her and Scott.

“The children, Marie and I thank all of you for coming to help us celebrate Meg and Scott’s twentieth.” He beamed. “And for keeping this party a secret.” Raising his champagne glass, he invited the crowd to stand and lift theirs. Then he turned to Scott and Meg, and Meg felt Scott slowly—grudgingly—put his arm around her. “To a bride, still as beautiful as the day she made my son the happiest of men. And to you, Scott, for having such good taste in women. Here’s to you both with our wishes for twenty more wonderful years of marriage.”

Looking into her father-in-law’s loving face, Meg’s eyes misted. Then the congratulations of the guests engulfed her.

“Cheers.”

“Hear, hear.”

“To Meg and Scott.”

Scott pivoted her toward him and lifted his glass. She held her breath in anticipation of his obligatory response. “Thank you, Dad, Mother, Hayley, Justin and all of you who gave up your time to be with us tonight.” He paused and Meg could feel her husband gathering himself. “And to you, Meg. Thanks for twenty years of—” his hesitation seemed to last an eternity “—togetherness.”