Dear Cupid (9 page)

He frowned in confusion. “But if you knew I was bluffing, why’d you say you had no choice about working for me?”

“Honestly?” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Mostly because I need the money.”

“Oh,” he said, not particularly liking the answer. He’d prefer she spent time with him because of the attraction between them, not because he was paying her.

Their lunch arrived, and Mike spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating the possibility that the attraction wasn’t mutual. Maybe it was all one-sided, and he was setting himself up for a huge belly flop. By the time they returned to his house and parted company, he was more confused than he’d ever been in his life.

~ ~ ~

“Mom?” Dylan said that night as he settled into bed. “Am I ever going to see Dad again?”

Kate straightened from her task of picking up toys in the loft. “Of course you’ll see him again, sweetie. Why wouldn’t you?”

Dylan’s narrow shoulders shrugged beneath his Winnie the Pooh pajamas. “Tomorrow’s Friday, right? The third Friday of the month?”

“Oh, Dylan.” She came forward and sat on the bed facing him. She’d completely forgotten which weekend was coming up. In the two years since their divorce Edward had so rarely taken advantage of his visitation rights, she’d even stopped expecting him to call. A self-preservation measure, she supposed, to lessen the debilitating floods of anger. Reaching up, she brushed a black curl off Dylan’s forehead. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t take these things personally.”

She nearly scoffed at her own words. How could a child not take it personally when a parent forgot they even existed?

His mouth twisted to the side, and her heart twisted with it.

“Dylan, I know I’ve told you before, but it really isn’t your fault Daddy would rather work than spend time with you. He just ... well, he just doesn’t know how to have fun. Not like you and me, eh?” She tried a smile, but felt it slip away. Somehow, the mention of fun made her think of Mike. She realized she’d enjoyed being with him today—and that she hadn’t enjoyed a man’s company in a long time.

“I guess.” Dylan covered his mouth and coughed.

She tipped her head to study his face. He’d looked tired and pale since she’d picked him up from school. “How’s your chest feel?”

“Okay.” He coughed again, making her wince at the deep, gravelly sound.

“You think you need the nebulizer tonight?”

Rather than argue, as he usually did, he nodded. She tried not to show alarm at his easy acquiescence as she prepared the small machine that sat on the nightstand. Flipping the switch, she handed him the breathing tube and watched as he placed it in his mouth like an oversized straw.

“Which book do you want tonight?” she asked. From the time he was little, long before he could understand the words, she’d read to him while he inhaled the medicated mist.

“The Rabbit Book,” he said around the tube, referring to one of his favorite books,
Guess How Much I Love You
by Sam McBratney.

She retrieved the worn volume from the jumble of books on the rickety shelf and settled against the headboard beside him. The Mickey Mouse lamp enclosed them in a small circle of light. With the quiet hum of the nebulizer playing in the background, the rest of the world faded away as she read the words she knew by heart. Dylan’s small, warm body leaned against hers as he lost himself in the story. He smelled of bruised grass and little-boy sweat and the soap he’d used in a halfhearted effort before climbing into bed.

At last she heard him sigh and felt his body go slack. The tube slipped out of his mouth. She checked her wristwatch to mark the length of his treatment. Fifteen minutes. Perfect.

Closing the book, she quoted the last line as she kissed the top of Dylan’s head: “ ‘I love you right up to the moon—and back.’ ”

She turned the machine off and sat in silence, absorbing the stillness of the cabin. With her son’s comforting weight against her, she should have felt content and full of life, and yet, she felt ... a void.

She knew this emptiness all too well. It had started as a small ache that had widened into a bottomless chasm during the years of her marriage. Toward the end, she and Edward had merely gone  through the motions of being married, living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed. They fell into a rhythm of him working sixty-plus hours a week and her frantically chasing an endless To Do list: managing the house, taking care of Dylan, and keeping up with her column. All things that Edward resented as taking her energy away from him. Looking back, she realized Edward had seen her as more his personal assistant than his partner in life. His needs had always come first, while hers didn’t even register on his radar.

How could she have been so blind to fall in love with someone that self-absorbed? Oh, but she had, she remembered with a pang in her heart. She’d been giddy in love with him in the beginning.

Falling for Edward Bradshaw her freshman year at UT had been the easiest thing she’d ever done, like a sweet, thrilling ride down a silken slide. He’d been a year ahead of her in school and a world above her socially. He’d swept her off her feet with his Prince Charming looks and his family’s dazzling wealth. They’d been inseparable for three years, the perfect college couple from football games to rush dances. He’d proposed on his graduation night in the moonlit garden of his parents’ Tarrytown mansion.

He’d told her so earnestly that he needed her to keep him from turning into a stuffed shirt like his father. He’d loved her joy and passion and admired her free spirit.

After the wedding, however, with them out of college and living in his parent’s world, suddenly Kate was “immature,” “unsophisticated,” and needed to “grow up and think about someone other than herself.” Except that “thinking of herself” included taking care of Dylan. As a newlywed, she’d happily run herself into the ground trying to please Edward because he had a budding career as a stock broker, and she was just a pampered, stay-at-home wife. Then Dylan came along and everything changed. She remembered Edward’s eruption the day she’d asked him to pick up his own dry cleaning because Dylan had a doctor’s appointment.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered all the constant insults she’d endured to stay with Edward for Dylan’s sake. If he’d ever turned that belittling resentment on their son, she probably would have left, but he hadn’t. He’d basically ignored Dylan as nothing more than an irritating inconvenience.

Surely that would change, though. Just because Edward had announced in the middle of a screaming fight that he’d made a huge mistake marrying her and wanted out, didn’t mean he didn’t want his son. So what if he hadn’t been a great dad when Dylan had been little? A lot of men didn’t care about babies, but Dylan was Edward’s son. At some point, Edward would look at the amazing child they’d produced and fill up with pride. They just needed to spend more time together.

Which meant, she needed to call Edward and remind him,
again
, about his visitation rights. She cringed at the thought. Her personal discomfort, however, was no reason for her to let him ignore their son, even if his absence made life less painful for her.

Easing Dylan under the covers, she tucked him in, then made her way down the ladder of the loft. The clock on the mantel read eight p.m., a time when even her workaholic ex-husband would be home from the office. Not that he would have quit working for the night, but he would at least be home.

She closed the door to her bedroom to keep Dylan from hearing and used the phone at her desk. As she listened to the ringing, she told herself to be calm, and above all civil. Just because Edward had failed once again to make arrangements for his visitation weekend was no reason to get into a screaming match.

After the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up. She closed her eyes to fight the tightness in her chest as Edward’s voice came on the line.

“Edward,” she said after the beep. “It’s Kate. If you’re there pick up.” She pictured him at his computer, his hands poised over the keyboard as he debated answering. “Edward, please, this is important. We can’t keep talking to each other through our answering machines.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she waited. Still he didn’t pick up, even though she knew in her gut he was there. “Okay, I am calling to remind you that tomorrow is the third Friday of the month, yet you’ve once again neglected to tell me whether or not you’ll be picking Dylan up from school. I realize you’re busy, and it may have slipped your mind, but it hasn’t slipped Dylan’s. He’s smart enough and old enough to know you’re ignoring him. I realize you don’t mean to, but this hurts him. Please don’t do this to him. And please, will you just pick up so we can talk? I know you’re there.”

She waited. Nothing but silence greeted her. She started to give up and disconnect, but anger on Dylan’s behalf nudged her over the edge.

“Okay, you know what? Fine!” she snapped. “If you don’t want to talk to me, or see your son, I’ll call my lawyer so we can renegotiate your visitation. And while both of our lawyers are at it, they can reexamine the amount of your child support payment in light of the fact that your income has increased since the original—”

“Kate, hi!” Edward’s voice broke in, sounding completely thrilled to hear from her. “I’m so glad I caught you before you hung up. I was just walking in the door when I heard the machine.”

Yeah, I
’
ll bet
. She rolled her eyes. “I was calling to see if you plan to take Dylan this weekend.”

“Oh, hell, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“I tell you what,” he said in that smooth, urbane manner that used to make her melt like butter but now made her stomach curdle. “How about next weekend? I know it’s not one of my appointed ones, but I happen to have a couple of tickets to the Longhorn baseball game at Disch-Faulk Field and the client I was going to take bailed out. Dylan likes baseball ... doesn’t he?”

The very fact that Edward didn’t know how much his son loved baseball infuriated her. “Just because he isn’t good at sports doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy them. But so help me, Edward, if I tell Dylan that you’re taking him to a Longhorn game only to have you cancel at the last minute—”

“I said I’d take him, didn’t I?” Edward snapped defensively, losing some of his famous cool facade.

“All right,” she sighed, wanting to believe him, but fearing Dylan’s disappointment at another letdown. “When will you pick him up?”

“Will ten a.m. Saturday be convenient?”

“Perfectly.” She hesitated. “Do you want to keep him overnight?”

In the pause that followed she could almost hear Edward trying to think of a way to return Dylan directly after the game. That way, he could perform his fatherly duty without having to do anything strenuous, like communicate with his son beyond the confines of a ballpark. In truth, she hoped he would return Dylan right away, even as a part of her argued that Dylan needed to spend time with his father.

“Yes. I’d like to keep him overnight,” Edward said at last. “I always look forward to spending time with the little guy.”

The statement made her eyes sting with hope. “I know he’ll enjoy seeing you. He misses you, you know.”

“Well, you tell him he’ll see me next weekend.”

The words rang with so much sincerity, she had to fight tears. “I will.”

The minute she hung up, doubt crept in. Along with anger. She shouldn’t have to work this hard to make Edward carve out time for his son. And she didn’t trust him to keep his promise. God, if he let Dylan down ... Fury started to bubble as she imagined their next confrontation.

Don’t go there, she told herself. Glancing at her computer, she decided work would provide the perfect distraction. She turned to it, determined to put in a few hours. Spending the day shopping with Mike had put her that much further behind. She had a column due on Monday that she hadn’t even started.

Looking for inspiration, she scanned her incoming e-mail. The first letter to catch her eye was from a farmer’s wife in Iowa who wanted to rekindle some spark of romance in her forty-year marriage. After reading the lengthy and heartbreaking letter, Kate realized the woman had suffered years of verbal abuse from a man who’d called her fat, dumb, and lazy so often the woman had all but forgotten her own name.

Kate hit the reply command and typed in three words: Dump the bastard.

Scanning farther down the list, she found a letter from a woman whose boyfriend of three years refused to marry her until she found a job that paid her as much as what he made because he feared she’d be a financial burden. Yet, at present the man lived in her house, ate her groceries, and graciously let her pay all the bills.

Kate hit the reply key and typed: Dump the bastard. Then suddenly she realized what she was doing.

No. No. Wrong! Shaking her head, she emptied her outgoing mail basket. Responses like these were exactly why Gwen wanted to dump
her
. Her advice was supposed to be pithy, insightful, but most of all romantic!

With a sigh, she dropped her head into her hands. The problem was, after five minutes on the phone with Edward, she couldn’t think of a single positive thing to say about the male portion of the human race.
Tomorrow,
she thought, shutting down her computer.
Maybe tomorrow some romantic inspiration will strike.