Darling obstacles (11 page)

"May," Maggie said obligingly. She sent Max upstairs to listen to records with Kristin. "You're welcome to wait here for Dr. Wilder, Miss Strayer," she said. "Feel free to turn on the television. Would you care for a cup of coffee or tea?"

"Aren't you afraid to be harboring a potential kidnapper?" Sandy snapped. "May I at least use your telephone, Mrs. May? If I call Greg and he confirms my story, will you let me take the kids?"

"Of course."

Greg could not be reached; he was in surgery. Sandy hung up with an angry scowl. Dinnertime

came and went. Maggie fed all six children spaghetti and meatballs at the kitchen table. Sandy declined an offer of food and sat sulking in front of the television set. Maggie ate with the kids and Kristin helped her with the dishes afterward.

At seven-fifteen, the telephone rang. It was Paula Wilder. She identified herself in that startlingly adult manner of hers and then went on to ask, "Mrs. May, are my brothers and sister still at your house?"

"Yes, they are, Paula," replied Maggie.

"My father just got home and he said that they should be here. He said that he sent some woman to pick them up and bring them home."

Maggie frowned. If Greg thought he was going to conduct an argument with her using Paula as an intermediary, he was in for a surprise. "Put your father on the phone, Paula."

"Yes?" Greg's voice, cool and . . . challenging?

"Miss Strayer is here and so are your children, Dr. Wilder. Since you didn't inform me of the change in plans, I felt that I couldn't, in all good conscience, permit the children to leave with a stranger." Maggie gasped. She'd rattled off her entire mentally rehearsed speech without once pausing for breath.

"Very commendable, Mrs. May." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice. "You are, as always, most conscientious."

Maggie stared at the telephone receiver in confusion. Greg seemed to be baiting her, deliberately trying to provoke her. She quickly discarded the notion. Why would he want to do that? He'd made it quite clear this past week that he wanted nothing at all to do with her.

"Has Sandy been at your house all this time," he asked, "waiting for the official word that you deem necessary to release the kids? That must have made for a rather interesting few hours."

Maggie seethed at the mockery in his voice but was determined to stay cool. "It hasn't been pleasant for either Miss Strayer or myself, Dr. Wilder. Next

time I suggest that you inform me of any change in our previously made arrangements yourself. "

"Shall I send you a printed itinerary of my activities? Or would you prefer to be informed of my whereabouts by telephone daily?"

He was trying to pick a quarrel with her. Maggie was certain of that now. But why? Their relationship had been impeccably courteous in the past, but since last weekend he had been brusque to the point of rudeness. She was tired of speculating about his motives and tired of the verbal fencing as well. "Greg, if you don't want me to baby-sit for your children anymore, just tell me so. You Ye not going to goad me into saying it myself. Ill tell Miss Strayer that she can leave with the children now." Maggie hung up quickly and relayed the message to Sandy, whose scowl never faded.

"We don't want to go home," complained Josh. "Can't we stay here tonight, Maggie?"

She glanced at him in surprise. Josh always called her by the more formed Mrs. May.

"It's boring at home," Wendy piped up. "Paula talks on the phone all night and Max cries and there's nothing to do."

Maggie stared at the little girl, amazed. It was the most she had ever heard Wendy say at one time in the two years she'd known her.

Maggie's thoughts turned to Max, who was in Kristin's room listening raptly to the Top 40, and she wondered if he would pull a number like last week's tantrum. At this rate, he probably would. It had been that kind of a day, that kind of a week.

"I'm leaving," Sandy Strayer said. She had obviously reached the end of her patience. "With or without the kids, I don't care. I've already wasted two hours here."

"The kids can stay here if they want," Maggie said, and Wendy and Josh let out a whooping cheer. Sandy stormed from the duplex in a definite huff. Maybe she would give Greg the fight he seemed to be

seeking, Maggie thought grimly, and assured herself that she couldn't care less.

By eleven o'clock that night, all the children were tucked into bed. The whispers and the giggles and the running between rooms had gradually decreased, then ceased altogether. They were asleep at last. Maggie blessed the wonderful silence.

She changed into a pink and white candy-striped nightshirt—a Mother's Day gift from her brood— slipped on her comfortable white chenille robe and pink fuzzy slippers, and settled down with the morning paper. Who cared if the news was almost a day old? It was the only time of day that she had the time and peace to read.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later she frowned in irritation. Who on earth could be at her door at this time of night? She thought suddenly of Mrs. Jenkins next door and her annoyance instantly turned to concern. The elderly widow was in good health, but she lived alone and Maggie made it a point to talk with her daily. But today she hadn't! It had been so hectic with all the children all evening that she'd totally forgotten her neighbor. Maggie hurried to the door, half expecting to see the police and the paramedics waiting to give her the bad news.

She opened the door, her heart thudding. Greg stood before her. She was so stunned to see him that she simply stood and stared without uttering a sound.

"I'm getting wet," Greg said at last, and Maggie finally noticed the teeming rain. The wind was blowing, rendering the small overhang useless. She was stupefied by the sight of Greg. He was truly the last person she would have expected to find on her doorstep.

'The children are in bed, asleep,'' she said, for she could divine no other reason for his being there.

"Thank heavens for that!" Greg muttered. He paused. And then, "May I come in or are you going to make me stand out in the rain to apologize?"

"Apologize?" Maggie echoed. She gave her head a slight shake as if to clear it. Was she dreaming?

"Yes, apologize." He'd told himself he was going to wait until she asked him in, Greg reminded himself. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't make a move until she did, that she would have to be the one to break the impasse. But it was cold standing out in the wind and rain—and he had been waiting all week for her to make that first move. And while he'd been waiting, the wall between them had grown as solid as that damned doorstep. Now it appeared that she was willing to see him soaked sooner than invite him inside. He was justified in breaking his promise to himself, he decided as he stepped inside the duplex. Maggie was forced to step aside to admit him.

He removed his wet beige raincoat, revealing a well-tailored gray suit. Maggie remembered his date that evening with Sandy Strayer and stiffened.

"Tonight was an unqualified disaster," Greg informed her, watching her intently. "Typical of most of my dates these days."

"Tomorrow is another day," Maggie quoted with acid sweetness. "Maybe you'll recoup your losses then."

"With Sandy? I don't think so. I don't think she'd go out with me again unless she was paid to do it. And it would have to be a rather hefty sum at that. She was positively furious by the time she arrived at my house. And I was in a foul mood after you and I had exchanged poisoned barbs over the phone. I made no attempt to smooth her ruffled feathers and she—"

"I'm really not interested in hearing an account of your date with Sandy Strayer," Maggie cut in coolly.

"But you would be interested in hearing my apology," he said dryly.

She looked straight ahead through the old screen door at the rain pelting the doorstep, at the porch light flickering above the mailbox. Anywhere but at Greg himself.

He took a deep breath. "It's rather difficult to

apologize to someone with the emotional range of the sphinx, but 111 give it a try. It was a rotten trick to send Sandy to pick up the kids. She sensed a setup and she was right. It was unfair to her and to the kids and"—he cleared his throat—"it was unfair to you, Maggie. I'm sorry," he added stiffly.

He didn't sound particularly sorry to Maggie. He seemed more irritated that remorseful, and prefacing his apology with that crack about the sphinx was hardly a penitent act. "Your apology, such as it is, is accepted," she said coldly. "And the next time there's a change in plans involving the children, I suggest you advise me of it yourself. And no, a printed itinerary of your schedule is not necessary."

Greg stared at her for a full ten seconds before he exploded. "Dammit, Maggie, what does it take to get through to you?"

She was startled by the sudden outburst. Greg was angry. Incredibly, furiously angry.

"Sending Sandy Strayer over here was akin to bringing in the heavy guns, but you remained as aloof as ever," he said, his eyes darkening with rage. "All week IVe waited for some kind of human response from you, something, anything at all, but you Ve been so damned distant and utterly unreachable—"

"You re the one who's been unreachable!" cried Maggie, stung by his accusation. "You—you've barely spoken to me all week."

"How could I? You've been as inaccessible as the Army guard who patrols the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Have you ever tried to converse with him?"

"You're the one who stood on my doorstep and glared at me all week. You made that guard seem positively friendly in comparison with you, Greg Wilder."

"Where else could I stand, Mary Magdalene? I didn't rate an invitation to come inside your home. I still don't. I had to ask if I could come in, and if it hadn't been raining, you probably would have said no." He sighed with exasperation. "You really don't give a damn about me, do you, Maggie? I could spend

the next ten years standing on your doorstep waiting for my kids and it wouldn't bother you at all. I'd thought that after last weekend you—that you and I . . ."He made an exclamation of disgust. "Obviously, I was wrong. My mistake."

Maggie listened with slowly dawning comprehension. "Are you saying that on Monday you expected me to ask you inside?" Shed wanted to, she remembered. She almost had. But she had been afraid to make the first move, had thought it should come from Greg. Apparently he'd had it totally reversed. While she'd been too nervous to ask him in, he had been waiting for her to do so!

"Of course I expected you to ask me in," he said. "At least I hoped you would. Having given a very convincing portrayal of a jealous idiot the day before, I could hardly compound my mistake and charge inside your house uninvited, could I?" His smile was bitter. "I hoped that you'd forgiven me for my caveman tactics, but you made it clear that you want nothing to do with me, that a cold, impersonal business relationship between us suits you just fine." He shifted his raincoat from one arm to the other. "Hell, I don't even know what I'm doing here tonight."

Her mind whirling, Maggie tried to sort out the monumental misunderstanding. Greg seemed to think their week-long estrangement was her fault! "But you've been so distant and cold all week that I assumed you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought you'd made it clear that you wanted a cold, impersonal business relationship."

"How could you make such an insane assumption after last weekend? You know how much I—" He swallowed, remembering their passionate urgency. Maggie remembered, too, and their eyes met and held, the shared memories alive between them. "I want you," Greg said, his voice deepening. "And you want me, too, Maggie. Don't try to deny it. The way you responded to me proved it."

"I—I wasn't going to deny it. And when you

kissed me on Sunday after wed quarrelled . . ." Her face flushed but she kept her gaze level with his. "I didn't think you were acting like a caveman or a jealous fool, Greg/' she added softly. "I wanted to see you the next day. But I didn't know you were expecting me to—to ..."

"Make the first move?" he said.

She nodded. "When you didn't, I assumed you were letting me know you didn't want me anymore."

"Maggie, possessive and passionate exhibitions aren't exactly my style." He dropped his raincoat onto a chair. "I was more than a little disconcerted by that scene on Sunday and I promised myself that I wouldn't overwhelm you again, that I'd let you set the pace. I felt I couldn't rush inside and grab you."

"Funny thing about that," whispered Maggie. "I was expecting you to do just that." What a strange situation they'd found themselves in. Similar to stepping into a role in a play without knowing the script or the dialogue or the characters.

"So we've been at cross-purposes all week?" Greg groaned. His jewel-colored eyes were troubled. "And if I hadn't come here tonight and demanded to be let in, you would have kept withdrawing from me."

She nodded. She never would have realized that Greg was expecting any response but the one—or lack of one—that she'd given. "Did your fights with Alicia go this way?" she dared to ask. "With you waiting in silence until she made the first move to hash things out?"

"Alicia and I never fought!" he said grandly.

Maggie had to laugh at that. "Oh, come on, Greg, I was married, too, you know. All married couples fight, some more than others, of course. But even the most compatible, devoted couple has an occasional spat—unless they're a pair of real vegetables."

"So you've switched from child psychology to marriage counseling, Dr. May?" But Greg was smiling as he teased her. He shrugged. "I suppose Alicia and I did have an occasional spat or two."

"When Johnny and I fought, I was the one who withdrew until he made the first move to clear the air," Maggie said, frowning thoughtfully.

"Hmm, I see your point. Our usual withdrawal-into-silence pattern worked with Alicia and Johnny, but is disastrous for the two of us. We're going to have to work twice as hard to communicate."

Us. We. Maggie grasped at the words as harbingers of hope. That she and Greg actually were an "us" and a "we." But she didnt dare search for hidden meanings in his remarks. This past week was a perfect example of how easily she could misinterpret him.