A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (21 page)

“You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

“If it’s more bad news, trust me, I’m used to it.”

“Well, your luck is about to change. Remember Patricia Van Dusen? The widow of Oscar Van Dusen? She was one of the investors we pitched to when you first started Triple-H.”

How could she forget? The woman whose face had enriched an army of plastic surgeons. “Yes, I remember her.”

“She wants to buy Triple-H. Lock, stock, and barrel.”

“But she didn’t even want to invest in it.”

“She wasn’t sure you could make a go of it. And now that you have, she thinks it’s a concept that could be franchised. Nationally, if not globally.”

Of course it could. “What about price?”

“She’s willing to assume all debt, plus let you keep an ownership stake.”

Valerie tried to recall Van Dusen’s original objections. “Wasn’t she the one who expressed concern about potential lawsuits?”

“Yes, but her lawyers went over everything with a fine-tooth comb, and they’re convinced that’s not a deal-breaker.”

“Do they know about the EEOC complaint?”

“They actually contacted the EEOC, and the EEOC told them Triple-H is doing an excellent job of resolving that complaint.”

Pam
was doing an excellent job of resolving that complaint. Valerie gave her a thumbs-up, but doubts still lingered. “How did they do all of this so quickly?”

“Turns out they’d been considering making an offer anyway, or at least buying a major interest. I told you, Valerie, your luck is changing.”

Perhaps
. “Well, I’ll need to see the details. I don’t want them slashing salaries or anything like that.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll hash it all out. But for the moment, could you please express a little happiness? This is awesome news.”

Of course it was. Eric would make a tidy fee. But he was right. It sounded like she definitely had reason to celebrate. “You’re right, it is. Thank you, Eric.”

“My pleasure. I’ll get back to you with some potential meeting times.”

“All right. And thanks again. I truly am grateful.” She ended the call and filled Pam in on the good news.

“Wow.” Pam shook her head like someone recovering from a punch. “Businesses come and go so quickly here.”

Valerie snorted. “Now if I could just get the Wizard to give me Keith back and a cure for cancer, all would be right with the world.”

The waitress brought their pancakes. “Okay, ladies, anything else I can get for you?”

Valerie admired her decadent stack of chocolate-speckled pancakes and then looked up at the waitress. “You don’t happen to sell love potions, do you?”

Valerie’s heartbeat jumped into overdrive when she rang the doorbell at Keith’s condo. She positioned the tickets in front of the peephole so those would be all he could see.

“What the—” He opened the door and greeted her with a frown. “Valerie, I thought I made myself clear the other night.”

Smiling like a kid about to ask for a pony, she held up the tickets. “Two tickets to this Sunday’s Bears game.”

His frown persisted like a stain. “That’s bribery. How did you get those anyway?”

“I . . . slept with a player?”
Boy
that frown had stamina. “Okay, the truth is one of the assistant coaches brings his kids to Mother Hubbard. I told him that if he could get me tickets, I’d give him a month’s worth of free day care.”

“Very ingenious of you. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What, the free day care? He loved it!”

Keith scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Her armpits dampened despite the November chill. “Oh, come on. Let me at least come in and give you the rest of my pitch.” She held the tickets in front of her face like a fan and batted her eyelashes at warp speed.

He paused long enough that she feared he might slam the door in her face. Instead, he took a step back and opened the door further.

Yes
! She scooted in before he could change his mind. “May I use the bathroom?”

He raised an arm in the direction of the bathroom. “Why not?”

“I’ll just be a minute.” She dashed into the bathroom and closed the door. She removed her coat and shoes, then slipped out of her jeans and pullover sweater, leaving her in nothing but a Bears jersey and a custom-made pair of bikini briefs.
Okay, outfit: Showtime
!

She sauntered into the living room, where Keith sat on the couch reading. He looked up at her and his eyebrows rose, but he still didn’t crack a smile, although he appeared to be struggling not to. She stopped directly in front of him and raised the shirt just enough that he could read the hot-pink message on her black briefs:
Score, Keith!

That did it. He grinned and shook his head. “You are the most determined woman I’ve ever met.”

Ah, the smell of victory! She plopped onto the couch next to him and seductively ran her fingers up and down his arm. “The question is, have I been a
successful
woman?” She leaned her head toward his and brushed his lips with her own.

“Successful in what way?” His breath smelled of Irish stout.

“In luring you back into my life.” She tried to kiss him, but he pushed her back.

“Wait a minute.” His tone was forceful, but not angry. “I can’t think straight when— I feel like this is too important, and I don’t want to just hop back into bed with you without . . . thinking it through.”

Her optimism ebbed as she backed off. “All right. I know you’re probably thinking nothing has really changed, but that’s not true. I’ve had a number of reasons to reconsider the way I live my life, and I’ve decided to make one major change.” She gathered his hands in her own. “First of all, I want you to know this will not affect your job, but we’re selling Triple-H.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “It was just too much, trying to run both companies at once. Too much for me
and
Pam. I’m afraid I was running her ragged. So I decided it would be best to get out.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes, I am. We had the thrill of starting it and proving it was viable, but now it’s time for someone else to take the reins. And it’s also time for me to start paying more attention to the people who are most important to me.” She squeezed his hands and gazed earnestly into his eyes as her own eyes moistened. “I’m hoping you’ll be one of those people.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then withdrew his hands and rubbed his brow. “I don’t know, Valerie. I just . . . I can’t make any promises.”

“That’s okay. I realize I need to earn your trust.” She fought the urge to touch him. “You know, I think when things started getting serious between us, I backed off out of . . . fear. I was afraid I could really fall for you, but that you couldn’t possibly feel the same way about me. I understand now that my own self-doubt blinded me to what you were trying to convey about your feelings. I’m truly sorry for that.”

He seemed receptive to her apology, but she could see the frustration that lingered.

“I also—” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath, then continued. “You may not believe this, but I didn’t want you to blow your chance to be a dad by staying with someone who’s never been able to have kids.”

He grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not going to choose a partner based on whether she’s fertile or not. There are other ways to have kids, and I’m not even a hundred percent sure I want them.”

Whoa
. Had she misread him that badly? “I thought . . . after you told me about Lina’s miscarriage . . .”

“That was a long time ago and completely different circumstances. You see, this is part of our problem. We haven’t spent enough time together to really know what we want from a relationship. That was the main thing I wanted from you, Valerie. Time. And you never had enough of it.”

Ouch
. “And that’s exactly what I’m offering you now.”

His angry expression softened just enough that she decided to risk physical contact again. She put her hands on his upper arms. “Please, Keith. One more chance. That’s all I ask.”

The corners of his mouth inched up, and her heart soared with hope. He held an index finger up between their faces. “One more chance. If you blow it—” He moved the finger to his neck and made a screeching sound as he sliced horizontally.

She laughed and nearly cried as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him like the wife of a sailor home on leave. “Now I understand why Henry the Eighth’s wives loved him so much.”

That made him laugh. “I think you’re probably the only woman in the world who could have talked me into this.”

She cupped his face with her hands and ran a thumb over his lower lip. “And you’re the only man I would work so hard to win back.”

They joined their mouths in a sweet, lingering kiss that reinforced their words and promised many lusty couplings to come. When they finally parted lips, she snuggled under his arm and inhaled his unique scent as she wrapped her arms around his trunk. He laid his head on top of hers and embraced her like a security blanket.

“Thank God I can stop the happy-face act with your mom now,” he said.

“Oh, about Mom.” She sat up. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

A shadow crossed his face. “What is it?”

He truly cared for her mom, so she tried to soften the blow. “Well, you know she had to go in for that exploratory surgery.”

“Right.”

Damn.
How could she soften a fatal diagnosis? “There’s no easy way to say this. She has ovarian cancer, and—” The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t hold back the tears, and why should she? She blubbered out the rest. “It’s so advanced, there’s nothing they can do.”

“Oh, no.” He held her against his chest. “I know it’s called the silent killer, but I thought they were catching it much earlier these days.”

She nodded as she sniffled and sat back up. “They are in some cases. But Mom started having pain months ago, and she didn’t tell anyone because she didn’t want to worry us.” A sob rattled her again, and again he pulled her close.

He rubbed her back and remained quiet for a couple of minutes. Then he asked, “How long does she have?”

She discreetly wiped her nose, trying to avoid having to go hunt for a tissue. “The doctor said three months.”

“Three. Oh, wow. That’ll go fast.”

“I know. That’s another reason I decided to sell Triple-H.”

She could feel him nodding. Then he sat up, forcing her to do the same.

“You know what we should do?” His eyes locked intently on hers. “I told you my dad died of lung cancer, right?”

“Right.”

“When we were at the funeral, all I kept thinking was, ‘Dad would have loved this.’ All of his wacky friends told these incredible stories about him, and his jazz buddies played live music. The whole thing was like this wonderful celebration of his life, and he was the only one who wasn’t there. It seemed ridiculous to have done it
after
he died instead of before.”

“I see what you mean,” she said, warming to the idea. “My dad died so suddenly, we couldn’t have done that. But with Mom . . .”

“We could.” He clutched her upper arms, his enthusiasm flowing into her like a tonic. “We shouldn’t waste any time, either. We’d want to do it while she’s still feeling halfway decent.”

“Yes, yes. Oh, Keith.” She hugged him tightly. “This is such a great idea.”

“Just logical, if you ask me.”

She released him. “I think she’ll love it. Of course, she might resist it at first. She can get all humble sometimes.”

“Let’s not tell her about it then. Make it a surprise.”

“Hmm. Maybe that would work better. Then she wouldn’t have time to get anxious about it.”

“And planning something like this could be tiring, and she needs to keep her strength up.”

So true. She embraced him again. “Thank you for giving me something positive to focus on.”

“Well, I love the lady, too, you know.”

She smiled up at him. “I know you do.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “And I know this must be really hard on you.”

“It is. But having you back in my life will certainly make it easier.”

He folded her back into his arms, and she relished the warmth of his body. Now she could focus more fully on Mom and her needs. And she also had to get herself in to see the doctor. She wouldn’t have given the abdominal cramps a second thought a month ago, but after what happened to Mom, she couldn’t take any chances.

Chapter 17

“This is supposed to be the best holiday party they’ve ever had,” Lorraine chirped as she pulled into a parking space at the senior center.

Helen unbuckled her seat belt. “So you’ve said.”
About twenty times
. She really didn’t feel up to socializing, but she didn’t have the heart to back out on Lorraine. Plus, Valerie had urged her to go. “You should get out as much as you can before the weather gets worse,” she’d said, although Helen suspected what she really meant was, “before you croak.”

Lorraine kept blabbering as they walked into the center. “I don’t know if I told you they asked me to be on the decorating committee, but I wasn’t about to after what happened last year. Did I ever tell you about that?”

Lorraine’s tongue had always worked overtime, but now she seemed determined to gab enough to make Helen forget about the cancer. As if it were possible to forget she’d be dead in a few months. Oh, well. At least she cared enough to try. “Yes, you told me about all the poinsettias you got stuck with.”

“‘Too big to be centerpieces,’ they said.” Lorraine lowered her voice as they entered the building. “So there I was, stuck with fifteen poinsettias. I tried to give them to the church, but they froze to death in my garage before I could get them there.”

Helen checked her watch as they approached the community room. She didn’t hear any party sounds. “I wonder if we’re too early.”

Lorraine opened one of the doors for her. “I don’t think so.”

The second Helen walked through the door, Carol Monkowski, the center’s director, took her by the hand. “Come on, Helen. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Wha—” As Carol dragged her into the room, Helen saw a small audience of people smiling at her, and her pulse took flight. She recognized most of them either from the center or church. Music began blaring, and while she couldn’t place the tune, a black-and-white TV came to mind. Then she saw the couch and the words being projected on a screen behind it—
This Is Your Life
.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

Carol led her to the couch, where she picked up a large book that resembled a photo album. “Helen Palka,” she announced loudly, holding the book so the audience could see the cover, “This is your life!”

Everyone applauded, and Helen’s heart thumped wildly as dizziness forced her to reach out for stability. Carol and Lorraine seated her on the couch.

Carol waved to someone to turn the music down. “Are you okay?”

Helen blinked a couple of times. “Yes, I think I am.”

Carol smiled. “Good.” She opened the book and began reading. “Helen Alma Hilgendorf-Palka, you were born in 1930 in Chicago, Illinois.”

Carol pointed to the screen on the wall, and Helen turned to see the family photo taken when she was about a year old. How on earth did they get that?

A muffled voice came from behind a big room divider on the other side of Carol. Helen couldn’t make out what the person was saying, but the voice kindled a warmth in her soul.

Carol announced, “Here from Des Moines, Iowa, is Helen’s sister, Lillian Reinard.”

Helen’s only living sibling came from behind the divider and walked toward her with jittery arms outstretched for a hug.

Helen drank in the sight of Lillian, with her Audrey Hepburn pixie haircut and wearing one of her satiny jogging suits. As they embraced, she inhaled her powder-puff scent. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Happy crinkles fanned out from Lillian’s cornflower-blue eyes. “You know I’d do anything for my little sis.”

“Ladies, please have a seat.” Carol perched on the armrest, just like Ralph Edwards did on the TV show. “So Lillian, tell us more about what Helen was like when you were growing up.”

Lillian held one of Helen’s hands and stroked it as she might a cat. “I’ll never forget the Christmas when our parents couldn’t afford any gifts, and our father sat us down and told us Santa wouldn’t be coming. Helen said, ‘But, Daddy, Santa is magical. He can always find gifts for us.’ And Dad said, ‘I’m afraid Santa is having a bad year, just like a lot of people.’ It was the Depression, you know. So Helen thought about that for a minute, and then she said, ‘I think we should hire a new Santa.’”

Helen laughed along with the others, even though she’d heard the story a million times.

“Thanks for sharing that, Lillian,” Carol said. “Now let’s hear from someone else who knew Helen in her younger days.”

Helen immediately recognized the grainy sound of her favorite confidant. “When we moved to Chicago, Helen was the only girl who would talk to me. That was seventy-two years ago, and she hasn’t stopped talking yet.”

“From Benton Harbor, Michigan,” Carol said, “here is your best schoolgirl friend, Alice Neiburger.”

Alice came dancing out like she was still a schoolgirl. She hugged Helen and then held her at arm’s length. “You don’t look a day over ninety.”

Alice still colored her hair a ghastly charcoal and wore lipstick that would make a stoplight blush. “And you don’t look a day
under
ninety.” Her retort brought Alice’s shrieking cackle, which hadn’t softened one decibel.

Carol invited them to sit. “Alice, what do you recall about Helen in your school days?”

Alice’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “She was a very good student, but her favorite subject was boys.”

“What?” Helen feigned angry shock. “Look who’s talking!”

“This is your life, sweetie, not mine.” Alice turned to Carol. “She paid me ten cents to talk James Leckman into taking her to the senior prom. Then, a week before the prom, her mom caught her kissing Calvin Ingersoll! So she got grounded for two weeks and didn’t get to go to the prom anyway.”

Helen gave an exaggerated frown, and the audience groaned in mock sympathy.

Carol thanked Alice for coming. “Our next guest is someone who knew Helen after she graduated from high school.”

Helen had no difficulty hearing this person, since he had a voice that boomed in addition to being unmistakable. William Danner—real name Wilbur Danilowski—had been a fixture in the Chicago theater world for more than sixty years. She met him when she played Emily to his George in a production of
Our Town
in the late forties.

“The first time I saw Helen Hilgendorf audition, I thought to myself, ‘Now
that
is the epitome of an ingénue.’”

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. William Danner.”

William strode out from behind the divider, and for an instant, Helen saw only his intense, maple-syrup eyes. But just a few strands of the dark hair remained, more in the eyebrows than on the head. He lifted Helen’s hand and kissed the top.

“Please, have a seat.” Carol sounded a tad starstruck. “William, what can you tell us about Helen the actress?”

“Oh, she was superb. I remember Phil Kleinmann, who was the finest director in Chicago at the time, after he saw her performance as Sabina in
The Skin of Our Teeth,
he said, ‘That young lady has talent in spades.’”

Helen caught her breath. “You never told me that.”

“Didn’t I? Well, perhaps I didn’t want it going to your pretty little head!” He yukked from deep within his chest. “But seriously, it was an honor to work with you, even if it did mean standing in the shadow of your rising star.”

“Oh, William.” Helen waved off his compliment even though she cherished it.

“Thank you for coming, William,” Carol said.

He took the cue, kissed Helen lightly on the cheek and moved down the line.

Carol resumed reading from the album. “Helen, your acting career was cut short when you met and fell in love with Stanley Palka, an Air Force pilot who had just returned from the Korean War.” A photo of Stanley in his uniform appeared on the screen. Heavens, how dashing he’d been! “You and Stanley married in 1956. You worked with Stanley at his father’s grocery store until your dream of starting a family finally came true. In 1963, you had your first child.”

The next voice Helen heard was symphonic music to her ears.

“My friends used to tease me for being a mama’s boy, but I didn’t care. I knew my mom was the coolest one around.”

“All the way from California, here is Helen’s son, Russell Palka.”

Russell came out and embraced her. “Maureen and the boys are here, too.”

“Oh,
good
. But you are entirely too thin.”

“And you are entirely too much of a worrywart,” he responded as they sat.

“Russell,” Carol asked, “Could you give us an example of how Helen was a ‘cool’ mom?”

“Sure. When I was a Cub Scout, Mom was the den mother. One time we went camping, and she told us these great ghost stories—she would act them out and everything—and the last one she told was so scary, Joey Foltak peed his pants.”

“Oh, that’s right. That poor boy was mortified.”

“She would also dress up as the Wicked Witch on Halloween, and she scared off so many kids that we always had lots of candy left over for us!”

Helen shook her head. “You’re going to get me arrested for child abuse.”

Carol chuckled. “Now Russell wasn’t the only product of the union between Stanley and Helen Palka. In 1968, they were blessed with a baby girl.”

A strong, feminine voice came from behind the divider. “My mom wanted a sweet little girl she could dress up and take to ballet classes, but what she got was me, a total tomboy. Still, she always supported me in whatever I chose to do, and that’s what unconditional love is all about.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, Helen’s daughter, Valerie Palka.”

Valerie strode out and into her mother’s arms.

“You’re the one who put all of this together, aren’t you?” Helen whispered.

Valerie gave her a Mona Lisa smile. “I had lots of help.”

Once they were seated, Carol continued. “Valerie, you talked about your mom showing you unconditional love. Can you give us an example of that?”

“I have another Halloween story. I think I was about five, and Mom wanted me to dress up as a princess. But I was determined to be a football player. So she got me a Bears jersey, and she borrowed a helmet from one of the neighbor boys, and she even put those black lines under my eyes. Then the day after Halloween, I was in her sewing room and I discovered she had already bought the pattern and fabric to make a princess costume. So I realized then that she had completely sacrificed what she wanted in order to make me happy.”

Valerie smiled at Helen, who shrugged and said, “Hey, I got out of sewing a costume.”

“Indeed you did.” Carol opened the book again. “So Helen, once your kids were in school, you took a job in the lingerie department of Rosenbaum’s Department Store, where you worked for eighteen years.”

Of course, the next voice was Lorraine’s. “Helen was always fun to work with, because you never knew what might come out of that mouth of hers.”

Lorraine came out, and she and Helen acted as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages, even though it had only been about ten minutes.

Carol asked Lorraine to share a memory, and she jumped right in. “My favorite was the time this man came in and wanted to buy a brassiere for his wife. Helen asked him what size she wore, and he said he didn’t know. So she said, ‘Would you say they’re like plums, apples, or cantaloupes?’ And the man said, ‘I don’t know, I’ve never tasted them!’”

The audience loved that, and Carol had to pause before continuing. “Thank you for that ‘sweet’ story, Lorraine. Now Helen, you and Stanley had been married for forty-four years when he suffered an untimely death in 2000. But someone new recently came into your life.”

Charlie’s voice trembled slightly. “When I think of Helen, two words come to mind: classy lady.”

Charlie ambled out dressed in a festive green plaid sweater, and he actually lifted Helen off the ground with his bear hug.

“Charlie!” Helen scolded. “You’re going to throw your back out again.”

“It would be worth it,” he said with a grin.

“Okay, you two lovebirds, have a seat,” Carol said. “Charlie, tell us how you and Helen met.”

Charlie stroked one side of his mustache, which had every hair in place. “It was at a Labor Day party—”

“No, Memorial Day,” Helen said.

“Memorial Day, right. It was a picnic kind of thing—”

“Barbeque.”

“Barbeque, right. She was seated at a table, and there was an empty chair next to her. So I asked her . . .” He squinted at Helen.

“He said, ‘May I have the honor of sitting next to you?’”

“Right. And she said . . .” He turned back to her again.

“I said, ‘Only if you’re an honorable gentleman.’”

“And I said, ‘But
dis
honorable gentlemen are much more fun.’ And she said—”

“‘Sit.’”

The audience erupted. Then Carol got a coy expression on her face. “Charlie, I understand you have a special request for Helen today.”

“Yes, I do.” He put his hand into the front pocket of his pants and leaned back, but he couldn’t seem to reach what he wanted. So he stood and dug something out, then sat down again. His big, awkward fingers fumbled with the little velvet box, but he finally got it open and showed the contents to Helen. A round blue sapphire flanked by two little diamonds twinkled at her from their setting in a white-gold ring.

Helen couldn’t breathe. She looked at Charlie, whose smile rivaled the brilliance of the ring.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

Marry him? At this point? It was absurd. Why on earth would he want to marry a dying woman? The audience had hushed, waiting for her reply.

“Oh, Charlie.” She couldn’t say ‘yes’. It wouldn’t be fair to him. “You don’t want to marry me. I have no future.”

He straightened his back but didn’t appear daunted. “How do you know
I
have a future? I could have a heart attack tomorrow. Boom. The end. Does that mean I shouldn’t enjoy today?”