Dr. Dad (11 page)

“I know.” Lindsey slouched in the chair. “She's such an idiot. I hate her.”

He suppressed another laugh. “She didn't astonish me with her brilliance, either,” he confessed. “But you're going to have to tough it out. Only two more months and you'll be done with fifth grade.”

“I hate her,” Lindsey said so vehemently he wondered whether Ms. Hathaway had contributed to her teary mood.

“Any particular reason?” he asked.

“No.”

Hearing the single syllable was like having a door slammed in his face. Lindsey hated Ms. Hathaway for a definite reason, and she wasn't going to tell him what it was.

“How about slicing the pickles while I cook the burgers,” he suggested. Maybe if they worked side by side, he could keep a casual conversation going until he pried loose what Ms. Hathaway had done to annoy her.

She crossed to the refrigerator and pulled the pickle jar from the shelf on the door. He watched her movements, ungainly and graceful at the same time, and his heart ached for her, for her undefined misery, for the changes she was going through. “Ms. Hathaway thinks you're very smart,” he commented lightly, “so I guess she can't be that much of an idiot.”

“Believe me, Dr. Dad—she is.”

He sent Lindsey a sidelong look. She was grinning. The girl who'd been sobbing hysterically just minutes ago was smiling now. “Anyway,” he said, flattening the patties in the pan, “she thinks you're capable of amazing things, if you'll only work harder.”

“Yeah, well.” Lindsey shrugged.

“So work harder,” he said.

“Uh-huh.”

“It won't kill you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He glanced at her as she sliced a pickle into six even spears. God, he loved her. Loved her so much he'd
gladly storm into every drugstore in Connecticut to buy tampons for her. Loved her so much he'd let her wail and rage and be inscrutable.

Even knowing that she lied to him couldn't change that. It broke his heart, but it didn't make him love her any less.

T
HE LAST LIGHT
had faded from the sky by the time Susannah reached her block. She didn't mind. The neighborhood had sidewalks, and the falling darkness camouflaged her more effectively than her eyeglasses and her braided hair.

Her caution was silly, really. More neighbors than just the Coles must have figured out who she was by now. Perhaps some, like Toby, didn't watch a lot of TV, so they wouldn't recognize her. Others might just be discreet, allowing her her privacy. She shouldn't keep making midnight runs to the all-night grocery store as if she were a vampire, lethally allergic to sunlight. And she shouldn't put off taking her power walks.

That evening, when the lack of exercise had finally gotten to her, she'd waited until the drizzle had dried up and then ventured out. One car on Guilford Lane had slowed to a crawl as it passed her, but that could have been for a dozen reasons having nothing to do with her famous face. The teenage boys shooting hoops in a driveway hadn't interrupted their scrimmage to look at her, and if people glimpsed her through their windows, they refrained from chasing her down the street waving pads and pens under her nose and demanding autographs.

Maybe in Arlington she'd found the perfect place to
settle—a city where few people knew who she was and even fewer cared.

She'd left her porch light on, and that, along with the illuminated windows, gave her house a warm, welcoming glow. She loved the peaked roof, the neat white clapboard, the dark-green shutters framing the windows. She loved the sweet fragrance of buds and blossoms in the air. She loved the daffodils lining people's driveways, the moist air fragrant with the scent of blossoming magnolias and forsythia, the peaceful murmur of a car in the distance, a dog barking, the rustle of leaves as a squirrel scampered along a tree branch, the honks of migrating geese slicing through the sky. Even when she was walking at a swift pace, with weight bands strapped around her wrists and her lungs pumping with aerobic efficiency, she could appreciate the bucolic beauty of her new neighborhood.

As she neared her house, she heard a car approaching her from behind. Pivoting, she saw it slow down, signaling to turn into the Coles' driveway. Even though the driver was merely a shadow in the darkened interior, she knew who he was.

Toby steered his car up the driveway and into the garage. She knew she, too, ought to go inside, but she lingered on the front lawn, wishing he would emerge to say hi to her. God, she was like an infatuated schoolgirl, longing for a glimpse of him, a greeting, an acknowledgment that she hadn't imagined the strange intimacy she'd felt with him last night.

She waited. She heard the click of his car door closing, and then…he came outside.

She tried not to smile too broadly as she approached the hedge bordering his driveway. He approached from
the other side. “What are you doing out so late?” he asked.

“Late?” She laughed. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet. Back in California, she'd be just leaving the studio at around nine o'clock, after a long day of rehearsals or taping.

“Exercising,” he said, answering his own question, then running his gaze the length of her body, taking in the pale-blue sweatshirt, the black Spandex leggings, the white socks and leather walking shoes and the weights strapped around her wrists.

“How about you?” she asked, providing her own answer, as well. “Did you have that father class?”

“Daddy School,” he corrected, then nodded.

“How did it go?”

He almost replied, then paused and gave her one of his crooked smiles. “Why don't you come over and I'll tell you about it? I've got cold drinks in the fridge, if you'd like one.”

A cold drink sounded great. Going to Toby's house to talk sounded even better. She strolled to the end of the hedge and around it to his driveway.

They entered his dark garage together. It was cool, the cement floor echoing, the air smelling of gasoline and fertilizer. Toby touched his hand lightly to her shoulder as he threaded a path around his car, two bicycles, a gas grill and a hose coiled onto a spool. She felt the warmth of his palm, his certainty and protectiveness as he escorted her past the obstacles to the inner door. When he let his hand drop, a chill took its place.

He reached around her to unlock the door, then hit the button to close the garage. As they walked through the mudroom into the kitchen, Susannah unstrapped
her weights from her wrists. She flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders and smiled. If her house had looked warm from the outside, his felt warmer.

From the den came the murmur of voices and music. “Lindsey?” he called out. “I'm home.”

“Hi,” she called back.

“Did you finish your homework?”

“Yeah.”

He shot Susannah a dubious look, as if he didn't believe Lindsey. Tugging open the refrigerator, he surveyed his inventory. “I've got cola, milk, bottled water, beer and some wine left over from last Friday's dinner.”

“The wine sounds good,” she said, even though wine was not an appropriate refresher after exercise. She remembered drinking a toast with Toby that evening, sipping the wine, asking for a refill and then being so caught up in him she'd had to flee.

She wouldn't flee tonight. She was getting used to the idea that Toby was an attractive man—used to it enough that she could handle the attraction. Maybe she was a little smitten with him, but she was still recovering from her last relationship. She wanted to be on her own, unattached, independent, unbeholden. Fantasizing about a gorgeous neighbor could be entertaining as long as she didn't do anything foolish—like let him know how gorgeous she thought he was.

He pulled the wine from the refrigerator, and a bottle of beer for himself. “The wine's a little cold,” he apologized, fetching a goblet from a cabinet. “Let it warm up before you drink it.” He poured a glass for her, then twisted off the cap on his beer. “Lindsey?” he hollered into the den. “Susannah and I will be out on the porch.”

“Susannah? Susannah's here?” A scramble of footsteps, and Lindsey suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, slightly breathless. “Hi!” she said, greeting Susannah with much more enthusiasm than she'd greeted her father.

Susannah smiled. “Hi, Lindsey.”

“You were exercising?” Lindsey asked, appraising Susannah's getup. “That's so cool. What kind of exercise do you do?”

“Just walking,” Susannah said. “I used to jog when I didn't have as much time to exercise, but walking's actually better for you.”

“Yeah,” Lindsey said, making no move to return to the den. “So, what's up? You just dropped by?”

“Your father and I ran into each other outside.”

Lindsey eyed her father, silently questioning. Then her gaze traveled to the beer and the glass of wine on the counter. “You came over for a drink?”

“Yes.”

“Can I join you?”

“I don't think so,” Toby broke in. “It's getting close to your bedtime, Hot Stuff. Maybe it's time to turn off the TV and get your school things together for tomorrow.”

Lindsey rolled her eyes and curled her lip. “It's
early,
Dad. None of my friends go to bed this early.”

“I didn't say you had to go to bed,” he elaborated.

“I said you should get your stuff together for school. Did you make your lunch yet? Did you take a shower?”

“Jeez.” Her eyes rolled again, aiming first at the ceiling and then at Susannah as if hoping to find an ally in her. “He treats me like a baby.”

“It's something dads do,” Susannah assured her.

“It's perfectly normal.”

“It's stupid.” With a huff, she spun around, her socks whispering on the tile floor, and stomped back into the den. After a moment, the television clicked off.

“Let's go out on the porch,” Toby suggested, leading Susannah through a back door off the kitchen into a three-season porch, the jalousie windows shut tight against the cool night. He clicked on the lamp on the glass-topped table between two sling chairs, set Susannah's glass on the table and gestured for her to sit.

She sank into the canvas pouch of the seat, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Through the slatted windows came the muffled chirps of crickets—a peaceful, rural sound. The sky had grown dark, but the glass held the night safely back.

Toby took the other sling chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a minute, then let out a slow breath in an uninhibited display of fatigue. It occurred to her that closing one's eyes in front of another person was an act of pure trust. He must feel very comfortable with her.

Well, of course he did. Last night he'd told her things he wouldn't have told her if he didn't.

“So, how was the Daddy School?” she asked him.

He opened his eyes and grinned at her. Tiny creases formed at the outer corners of his eyes, and the curve of his lips etched lines around his mouth. “It was interesting,” he said, then added, “it was good.”

“Are you going to go back for more classes?”

“Definitely.” He took a swig of beer straight from the bottle. “The teacher is a preschool teacher named Molly Saunders-Russo. She's a real dynamo. She
works with younger children, mostly, but this class was for fathers of older children.”

“Were they all…single?” Susannah asked, deciding not to use the word
widowers.
It carried too much sadness.

He shook his head. “Some were single, but most were married. They'd come because they didn't have the rapport they wanted with their children. Most of them are there for advice in how to communicate with their kids, how to get their kids to listen and how to keep their kids out of trouble. Most of them feel inept when it comes to fathering.”

“You don't feel inept, do you?” Susannah asked.

Before Toby could offer more of an answer than a self-deprecating snort, Lindsey appeared in the doorway. Although she addressed her father, her gaze zeroed in on Susannah. “I made my lunch, Dr. Dad. It's too early to go to bed. Can't I watch a little more TV?”

Her wheedling didn't soften him. “No. It's late. Go upstairs and shower, and if you're still not tired you can read in bed for a while.”

“I don't want to read in bed,” she said, sending Susannah a pleading look. Susannah gave her nothing more than a sympathetic smile. Frustrated, Lindsey stormed away from the doorway.

“That didn't seem inept at all,” Susannah murmured.

Toby snorted again. “It would be nice if I could get her to do the right thing without having her hate me.”

“She doesn't hate you,” Susannah assured him.

“She's just angry.”

“She lied to me today,” Toby blurted out, then glanced away, as if shaken by his own statement.

“Lied to you?”

“It scared me,” he admitted. “It's not that what she lied about was so significant, but if she can lie to me about nonsense now, what will she be doing when she's fifteen and has a boyfriend and all her friends are drinking or using drugs? What am I going to do if I can't trust her?”

Susannah had no answer for him. “Did you ask the teacher at the Daddy School?”

He took another slug of beer and turned back to her. She could see the worry in his eyes, the fearful, desperate love he felt for Lindsey. “We did talk about lying. Molly—the teacher—said it was important to understand
why
a particular child was lying, so you could deal with the underlying issue. For example, is she lying because she's afraid of how you'd react to the truth? Or is she lying because all her friends are lying about the same thing? Or is she lying to protect a private part of herself from you?”

“Why do you think Lindsey lied to you?” Susannah asked.

He leaned back in his chair and gave a bemused chuckle. “You can't possibly find this interesting. The tedious travails of a frazzled father and his clever daughter. I mean, really.”

She laughed, too. She was surprised at how interesting she found Toby's problems. They were so domestic, so wonderfully ordinary. So unlike what she'd had in her own life up to now. “Of course I'm interested,” she told him. “Someday, I hope I'll be a mother. Maybe I need to learn what the job entails before I take the plunge.”

“No one can ever know exactly what to expect before the fact,” he warned her. “Each child is differ
ent.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “You want to be a mother?”

She felt a twinge low in her belly, in her womb, as she thought about the baby she should have had. “Yes,” she said more forcefully than she meant to.

He continued to study her, his eyes dark and assessing, his smile curious but not probing. She wasn't going to tell him about the baby. She felt close to him, but not
that
close.

Or maybe her idea of closeness was for him to open up to her while she refused to open up to him. That didn't seem fair. But she couldn't talk about the baby. Not even to him. It was too painful. “What did Lindsey lie about?” she asked, as much to distract herself as because she honestly wanted to know.