Darling obstacles (2 page)

"What happened?" Kevin asked him. "Why did Max attack your dad's girlfriend?"

"She told Max if he didn't behave himself, she was going to throw his teddy bear in the Potomac River," said Josh.

The neighbors gasped in shocked disapproval. "That is no way to talk to a child," reproved Mrs. Jenkins, a grandmother of eight who occupied the other half of the Mays' duplex. For the past five years she had stayed with the May children at night while Maggie worked the eleven to seven shift at the desk of a major airline in nearby Baltimore.

"That awful lady should be ashamed of herself!" Kari exclaimed indignantly, her hands on her hips.

"Does your father know what she said to Max?"

Maggie wondered aloud. She agreed with Mrs. Jenkins and Kari. It had been a cruel remark to make to a child and the beauteous Francine should be ashamed of herself.

"No, he doesn't know," Josh replied cheerfully. "And Max got her really good! She's bleeding!"

"Maggie!" Max was sobbing now, his howls of fury changing to those of a hurt, frightened child. His father stopped spanking him and dumped him into the back seat of the car. Without glancing at the interested little crowd of spectators, Greg Wilder climbed into his car, slammed the door, and fiercely gunned the engine. The big Cadillac lurched forward, then tore away in a burst of speed.

"Hey, he forgot Josh," Kari said, giggling. The neighbors laughed. Someone made a remark about big shots with fancy cars and fast women and neglected children.

"Let's go inside," Maggie said quickly, and shepherded the four children into her half of the duplex.

"You can stay here tonight, Josh," she told the boy. "You can borrow a pair of Kevin's pajamas and we have an extra toothbrush."

"Come on, Josh, let's finish our Lego fort," Kevin said. The two boys raced up the narrow staircase to Kevin's bedroom.

"Can we watch Dorothy now, Mommy? It's just about the time she should be in the witch's castle," Kari said, taking her mother's hand.

"She knows the whole movie by heart." observed Kristin with big sisterly indulgence.

"So do I," Maggie said, smiling. "Let's go in and watch Dorothy outsmart the witch." She guided her daughters into the living room where the television and her ironing awaited them.

Ten minutes later the doorbell sounded again. "Do you think it's Dr. Wilder, Mom?" Kristin asked apprehensively.

Kari looked alarmed. "Don't answer it!"

Her daughters' anxiety disturbed Maggie.

Recently on a TV talk show she had heard a psychologist explain the results of a study conducted on the daughters of widowed mothers. The effects of their fathers' absence began in childhood, when the little girls tended to be nervous or fearful around men, and extended into the teenage years, when the girls acted wary and shy around boys their own age. According to the eminent psychologist's latest book, the girls' inability to relate to men could hamper them in forming lasting attachments with the opposite sex.

Maggie tended to disregard most of what she heard from the so-called experts, but this particular study had struck a nerve. Was it happening to Kari and Kris? she thought, frowning. Had the lack of a father or a father figure begun to instill a fear of men into her daughters?

"He'll hit Josh, Mommy!" wailed Kari.

"There is no reason to be afraid of Dr. Wilder," Maggie said firmly. "He doesn't go around indiscriminately hitting children. He was very angry tonight and Max was misbehaving and—"

The doorbell rang again and she hurried to answer it. The girls remained where they were. Greg Wilder was at the door. The debonair, self-confident man who had appeared earlier was gone, replaced by an obviously embarrassed, flustered parent.

"Dr. Wilder, please let Joshua spend the night here," Maggie said quickly. Her voice quavered and, much to her dismay, she sounded as anxious as Kristin and Kari.

Greg looked down into her upturned, pleading green eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. What a hell of a day this had turned out to be! he thought. He'd been in surgery since seven a.m. emerging between operations only to talk to the patients' families. The most grueling case, both physically and emotionally, had been a six-hour operation to remove a malignant brain tumor from a twenty-year-old college student. It had been impossible to remove it all and he'd felt like crying along with the family when he'd told them the

grim prognosis. His meeting with the residents on his service had been overly long and he had stopped for a final check on his patients, thus landing him in the thick of Baltimore's weekend rush hour traffic.

When he had finally arrived home he had found his fourteen-year-old daughter Paula ready to leave to spend the night at a girlfriend's house. She hadn't been pleased when he'd reminded her that she was supposed to baby-sit for her sister and brothers that night. When he had left the house, Paula had been in her room sulking, having told him that he was the meanest and most unreasonable father in the world for making her change her plans.

Going to the dinner-dance at the Riverview Country Club with Francine Gallier was probably the last thing he felt like doing tonight, but she had invited him three weeks ago and he had accepted, and he felt obligated to go. He had tried to generate some enthusiasm by mentally listing her attributes. She was beautiful, sensual, exciting—good company and good in bed. And he needed to relax, to socialize, to be with a woman. The demands of his profession, his concern about the children ... He had to have some outlet, didn't he?

Was he rationalizing because he was feeling guilty about leaving the children for yet another evening? he had wondered as he'd driven back to Maggie's to pick up Josh. He had been totally unprepared for the dreadful scene with Max. Max's temper tantrums were becoming an increasing source of concern. When he'd heard the unceasing howls from Maggie's living room he had charged inside to intervene. Now he was back on the doorstep, with Maggie holding the screen door only slightly ajar. Some things never change, he thought, grimacing.

"Max and Wendy were crying in the back seat," he said, 'and Francine was smoldering in the front when I realized that I'd left without Josh." Greg heaved another sigh. "Damn. I—I feel terrible about spanking Max. Alicia would have been horrified. She

didn't believe in corporal punishment of any kind and until recently"—his shoulders sagged—"neither did I."

Maggie watched him, listened, unsure of what to say. Their doorstep conversations were always light and pleasant and laced with the more humorous aspects of childrearing. They smiled a lot and never alluded to any problems. But Greg wasn't smiling now; he looked tired and discouraged. She wasn't sure if he was addressing her or merely voicing his thoughts aloud. A great wave of sympathy washed over her.

She felt sorry for the man, she realized with some surprise. She'd never really considered how complicated his life actually was; he always seemed so cool and in total control. For the first time she viewed his life from another angle. His profession was a difficult and demanding one, and having total responsibility for four children would have to increase the pressure on him to appalling levels. Why, it was no wonder he needed to go out, to socialize, to be with a beautiful woman like Francine. But when he tried to do it, he was sabotaged by his kids!

Greg noticed how Maggie was clutching the door as she stared at him. "And now here you are," he said, "staring at me as if I'm a confirmed proponent of child abuse." He was totally disheartened. "You needn't plead to keep Josh here to protect him from the wrath of his monster father."

"I was thinking no such thing," Maggie said swiftly. "I—I was thinking how very tired you look, Dr. Wilder."

Her unexpected remark took Greg by surprise and he stared down at her. There was no condemnation in her eyes, only compassion and warm concern. He had seen her look that way at the children, his and her own, but never at him. And she hadn't made some flippant joke either; she'd answered him seriously. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had a serious conversation. Their doorstep chats were

invariably light and humorous and superficial. "I am tired, Maggie." He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it. He felt a sudden urge to sit down and talk to her seriously, to share his depression and the helplessness he felt about the sad future of his young patient, to tell her how worried he was about his children and how guilty he felt about failing to meet their needs. She would understand, he knew it instinctively.

But there was no time to talk. Francine was waiting for him and they were already late for the dance. And how could he sit down and talk to Maggie when she never let him inside her house? There wasn't a whole lot to say when relegated to a doorstep. Greg sighed again and condensed all his feelings into a weary, "It's been a . . . rough day all around."

"I understand," Maggie said soothingly.

He gazed into her warm green eyes and was astonished by his longing for her understanding, for her comfort. He felt compelled to deny that longing. "You couldn't understand!" he burst out. "You've never experienced the frustration and the regret and the guilt I've felt in dealing with my kids. You're the perfect mother, struggling to get by on your husband's death benefits and your baby-sitting fees and working that miserable night job, but never slighting your kids. You've been baby-sitting for my children for the past two years and four months, and I've watched you, Maggie. You're patient and kind and selfless, the type of parent every kid deserves to have. Your kids are happy and well-adjusted. You never lose your temper or yell at your kids or—or hit them!"

Maggie had to laugh at the image his words evoked. "You make me sound awesomely saintly, a regular Mother Machree. And though I'm tempted to let you go on believing that I have a halo over my head, I wouldn't dare. One of my kids might tell you about the time they tracked mud into the kitchen ten seconds after I'd finished washing and waxing the floor. I

chased them around the yard with a mop, screeching like a banshee."

Back to humor again, Greg thought. He tried to smile, but the result resembled a bleak grimace. Maggie used jokes to shut him out, he realized with a sudden flash of insight. And it was just as effective as keeping him outside her house, on her doorstep.

Maggie waited expectantly for Greg to laugh at her little joke. She wanted to lighten his mood, to make him smile. But he didn't. He looked even more glum. She dropped all attempts at humor and said honestly, "Actually, there have been countless times when I've felt tired or depressed or angry and have taken out my feelings on my children. I know all about guilt and regret. I'm sure all parents experience the same feelings you mentioned at one time or another, Dr. Wilder. It goes with the territory. And I think single parents feel them doubly hard."

Greg shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. What was the matter with him? Right now he felt an incredible longing for her to stroke his hair and soothe him, much in the same way he'd seen her comfort Max. He was half-afraid he might totally disgrace himself and blurt out his need. "You're very understanding ..." His voice was stiff and controlled. "I don't usually carry on this way ..."

Maggie was certain he regretted his impulsive outburst and wondered if she'd been presumptuous, offering an experienced doctor her own unscientific opinions. But he looked so drained and discouraged; she wanted to comfort him somehow. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to put her arms around him and smooth away those lines of exhaustion and worry from his face. Thoroughly disconcerted by her feelings, she sought to banish them by mocking herself. Greg Wilder certainly didn't need her to comfort him! He undoubtedly had women standing in line to do the job. One of them was in his car right now.

Donning her protective emotional camouflage, Maggie slipped back into the role she knew best, the

comfortable maternal role. "Dr. Wilder, why don't you let Max and Wendy spend the night here with us?" Her voice was soft, pleasantly melodious, a mother's voice. "The two little girls can sleep in the girls' bedroom and I'll move Kristin into my room. Karl would be absolutely thrilled to have Wendy and—"

"You can't tell me that any of them will be thrilled to have Max," Greg interrupted wryly.

Maggie grinned. "Ob. Kristin and I both get a kick out of Max. And the other kids enjoy him, too, though they might not want to admit it. I have a cot I can set up in Kevin's room and all three boys can sleep in there tonight."

Greg considered her offer. It would certainly simplify things if the three younger children stayed here. Paula could spend the night with her friend and stop sulking, and after the dance he could go to Francine's apartment and spend the entire night there. Usually, he had to stumble out of bed when he most wanted to sleep, get dressed, and leave his date's apartment to drive home because he didn't dare leave the children alone all night. His decision was made. "Thank you, Maggie. The kids can stay here. I really appreciate it." Now why didn't the idea of a child-free, passion-filled evening with Francine excite him? he wondered. He should be feeling as blissfully free as a teenager with the family car and no curfew. But he didn't. He felt flat . . . and oddly lonely. He reached for his money clip. "Let me pay you in advance."

Maggie shook her head. "Oh, no, Dr. Wilder. This doesn't count as baby-sitting. Tonight my kids are having their good friends over to spend the night with them.'' A slight breeze ruffled her hair and she smoothed her bangs back in place with her left hand.

She was pretty, Greg mused, watching her. He'd always thought so. Lovely complexion, high cheekbones, cute upturned nose, and soft, well-shaped mouth. Why, even in those old clothes she was wearing she . . .

Maggie was aware that he was staring at her and

lowered her eyes, embarrassed. He had never looked so long and so hard at her. Lord, she knew she looked bad tonight, but she obviously looked even worse than she thought. The contrast between her and the elegant Francine clearly had stunned him. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her. Maggie made a mental note to pitch her ancient clothes in the trash tonight.