Dr. Dad (25 page)

“Okay,” she mumbled before taking a bite of her burger.

“All right, I give up.” He forced another crooked smile. “What's bothering you?”

Did he really want to know? Fine. She'd tell him. “I don't think you should date Susannah.”

He made a face that she interpreted to mean,
Fair enough. I'll hear you out.
“It's not as if I'm actually dating her,” he claimed, “but for the sake of argument, why don't you think I should?”

As reasonable as he sounded, she believed he was mocking her. “You like her a lot, don't you?”

“Yes, I do. Don't you?”

“It's different. I like her like this really cool lady who's kind of a special friend. You like her like a man liking a woman.”

He couldn't deny that. “All right. That's how I like her.”

“Well, she's got a boyfriend back in Hollywood.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “How do you know that?”

“It was in a magazine, with a lot of other stuff about her. She and Stephen Yates are like this big, heavy couple.”

“She told me about him,” he said. “They used to be a couple, but they aren't anymore.”

“Maybe that's what she told you, but the magazine…” She set down her burger. She'd thought it would be easy to tell Dr. Dad because she was angry with him, but the more she considered it, the more she realized she
wasn't
angry. She wanted to be angry, but she couldn't be. Not when she knew he was going to get hurt.

“What about the magazine?”

“It said she was pregnant.”

That got his attention. He put down his burger, too, and scowled. “What magazine was this?”

“It came out last summer. So she was pregnant then,
which means she would have had the baby by now. And Stephen Yates is the father. I asked her, and she said it was true.”

“That she had a baby?”

“She didn't exactly say that, but she said the magazine didn't lie.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was upset. Really upset. Lindsey hoped it wasn't with her for having told him about the magazine article. But someone had had to tell him before he got in too deep with Susannah. Someone had had to open his eyes.

“I don't think she has a baby,” he said slowly.

“She's told me she wants to have children.”

“Well, she's got a child back in California. I'm guessing the baby's with Stephen Yates, since he's the father.”

“And you think she just left that baby behind and moved here?” He shook his head. “I don't believe it. She wouldn't do something like that.”

“But she said the magazine told the truth. And the magazine said she was pregnant. ‘Expecting,' it said, and that she and Stephen Yates were going to get married and have the baby.”

“I'll talk to her about it,” he said carefully. He lifted his burger and took a bite, but she could tell his heart wasn't in it. Chewing seemed to be a struggle for him. He stared past Lindsey as if he could see his thoughts in the air around her, like a silent movie.

Lindsey felt bad for him. He'd had enough sadness in his life when her mother had died. He didn't deserve more. “It's just that you don't know her really well,” she said sympathetically. She wished she hadn't had to break the news to him, but telling him was better than not telling him. He would have been much sadder if
he'd found out later, after he was madly in love with Susannah.

“I'll talk to her,” he said again, managing one more bite before he put his burger down for good.

She didn't have much appetite, either. Since he'd cooked dinner, she rose and cleared the table while he continued to stare into space. “You want a cookie?” she asked.

“No, thanks.” He got up from his chair, crossed to the sink where she was standing and wrapped her in a hug. She was surprised. He hadn't hugged her in a while, and it felt good. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, his chin resting on her head and bouncing against her skull with each word. “I'm sure there's an explanation. I'll work things out with her.”

“I just—I don't want you falling in love with her, Daddy,” Lindsey explained. Even though he'd been wearing his shirt all day, it smelled fresh, like him. Clean and fresh and safe. She'd really missed hugging him.

“Why not?”

“She's not right for you,” Lindsey said. “She's a star. You don't understand about stars, Daddy. They're different.”

“You're the only star I care about,” he murmured.

“Susannah isn't a star anymore. And I'm not in love with her. Okay?”

She was reassured. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to skip class tonight? I'll stay home if you want me to,” he said, loosening his hold on her.

“No, that's all right. I've got homework to do, anyway.” She didn't want to do her homework, but she figured saying it would cheer him up.

It did. He stepped back and gave her a real, full-fledged smile. “Okay, Hot Stuff. You do your homework and I'll go to class. And don't worry about Susannah.”

“I'm not worried about her. She's cool. She's terrific. She's just…”
More than you can handle,
Lindsey wanted to say. “She's different.”

“Yeah,” he said, and Lindsey was sure he didn't mean it the way she did. “Susannah is different.”

M
OLLY
S
AUNDERS
-R
USSO
was leading a discussion on setting limits for children. Toby absently noted her warm voice, her dark, blunt-cut hair, the expanding roundness of her abdomen. He ought to have been paying close attention to her words, but they drifted past him, a string of indecipherable syllables and sounds.

How could he concentrate on Molly's lecture after Lindsey had told him Susannah had a child?

He knew Lindsey lied, but only when she had to, when her own neck was on the block. There was nothing sophisticated about her dishonesty, nothing subversive in it. She lied to stay out of trouble or to avoid having to do something she didn't want to do.

She wouldn't lie about something like Susannah's pregnancy being written about in a magazine a year ago.

The Daddy School class blurred out of focus as he dug through his memory, searching for evidence that such a thing might be true. Susannah had said she wanted to be a mother. Why would she have abandoned her child if she wanted to be a mother?

And another thing: why had he told Lindsey he wasn't in love with Susannah? He was pretty sure that statement wasn't true—but he didn't know whether it would still be true tomorrow, or the next day. Until an hour ago, he wouldn't have been surprised to find him
self in love with her. But Lindsey had said he didn't understand the way it was with stars, and maybe she was right. Maybe he was clueless when it came to a whole hell of a lot about Susannah.

Nor did he understand why Lindsey didn't want him to fall in love with Susannah. She adored Susannah. He would have thought she'd be thrilled that her father was in a relationship with an actress she idolized.

None of it made sense. Not Lindsey's concerns, not his own jumbled feelings, not the baby. Certainly not the baby.

“So, I want you to try some of these techniques with your kids and see what works,” Molly said. “Remember, every child is unique. What's effective with one child might bomb with another. Be creative and flexible. Any questions?”

Toby glanced at his watch. He couldn't believe he'd sat in the small community room at the YMCA for a full hour without having absorbed a single word Molly said. Fortunately, setting limits was not a big problem for him with Lindsey. She presented her share of challenges, but she didn't break many rules.

His classmates were rising to their feet, talking among themselves. Molly conferred with one of them privately. Good, Toby thought—she wasn't going to grill him about having zoned out during class.

He'd nearly reached the door when his luck failed. “Toby?” she called to him.

For a moment, he felt a keen empathy for Lindsey, who was chronically being singled out by her teacher for her lapses and shortcomings. Of course, he liked Molly a lot more than Lindsey liked Ms. Hathaway. And he did want to do well in Daddy School. He regretted having been distracted during tonight's class.

Maybe Lindsey regretted being distracted in class. Maybe the reason she couldn't do better in school was that she was too preoccupied with other things in her life—the absence of her mother, compounded by the loss of her best friend, augmented by the physical changes she was undergoing.

“Are you going to give me detention?” he asked Molly, smiling sheepishly.

She smiled back. “I worry about you, Toby. You always seem to have so much on your mind.”

“And it isn't my class work,” he admitted. “I'm sorry. It's no reflection on you. Your lectures are wonderful.”

Her smile evolved into a laugh. “They're not wonderful. I'd like to think they're useful, but wonderful?” Her laugher waned. “Is it your daughter, Toby? Does she have you worried?”

“My daughter is fine,” he said. “It's me. My life has gotten a little too complicated all of a sudden.”

“Complications can be fun,” she assured him.

“Dive in and see what happens.”

That sounded a lot more foolhardy than Toby could afford to be. If he were single, with no dependents, he'd be a lot more reckless. But he was a father—and a mother—to Lindsey, a homeowner, a professional. Complications were the last thing he needed.

He gazed down at the petite teacher, who was still smiling encouragingly as she rubbed her hand over her swollen belly. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Tired. Unfortunately, my baby is never tired. It's constantly moving.”

“That's a sign of good health,” he said. “Take it easy. And make sure you're eating a sensible, well-rounded diet.”

“Yes, Dr. Cole,” she teased. “You seem to forget, I'm Allison Winslow's best friend. She nags me all the time.”

“I'll leave you in her hands, then. She's very good at nagging.” With a grin, he turned back to the door.

“You take care of yourself, too,” Molly called after him.

He left the YMCA building, strolled around to the parking lot in back and climbed into his car. Molly's parting words haunted him. She instructed all the other fathers in the class to take care of their children, but not him. Did she think he cared about Lindsey at his own expense? Or did she simply sense the restlessness in him, that deeply buried ache of loneliness? Did she recognize that he wanted more?

He reached his street at a quarter to nine. The block was quiet, the trees dense with leaves and the moon as round and silver as a new dime glued to the sky. He noticed the den and living-room lights still on in his house. Lindsey wouldn't be getting ready for bed for at least a half hour. He wondered if she'd finished her homework, or if she'd spent the entire evening planted in front of the television, watching a videotape of last week's episode of
Mercy Hospital.

It was early. He was edgy. The only way he would ever find out the truth about Susannah's alleged pregnancy was if he asked her himself. And the only way he would know whether he loved her was if he found out the truth.

He pulled into her driveway, crossed the lawn to the porch, climbed the steps and rang the bell. The air was scented with the fresh smells of grass and the flowers drizzling down from the hanging porch basket. He
waited a minute, rang again, and then the door swung open.

Seeing her made him want to believe everything good about her and nothing bad. Her face was open, as sweet as the night air, and radiant with delight at the mere sight of him. God, yes, he could love this woman…but only if Lindsey was wrong about her.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

“Sure. Come in.” She stepped back, welcoming him into her house. “Would you like something to drink? I've got an open bottle of Chablis.”

“No, thanks.” He headed for the living room. The lamps were on, the drapes pulled back and the windows open to let in the cool evening breeze. That morning's copy of the
Arlington Gazette
lay scattered across the coffee table. The cat sat on the brick hearth of the fireplace, meticulously grooming himself.

Susannah followed Toby into the living room. If she was aware of his tension, she didn't show it. Her hair fell loose down her back, her shirt hung untucked from her jeans and she was barefoot. She looked utterly comfortable and relaxed.

“I need to ask you something,” he said bluntly. He wasn't good at smooth talk or easing into a difficult conversation. He could be diplomatic, he could be optimistic, but he couldn't edge in sideways.

Susannah gazed at him expectantly.

“Do you have a child?”

She blinked, and her smile vanished. Her face lost its glow; the color drained from her cheeks. “No,” she said, turning from him and stalking to the side window, where the breeze was strongest.

“I'm sorry I'm asking. You probably think this is none of my business.”

“I don't know whose business it's none of,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically cold. “I don't have a child.”

“Lindsey told me about a magazine article from last summer. She said the article claimed you were expecting.” He watched her. He didn't like playing the part of interrogator, but he had to know. His question had obviously touched a nerve, which convinced him Susannah had an answer. “Lindsey also told me you said magazines didn't lie about you, or something like that. Maybe she got it wrong—”

“She didn't get it wrong,” Susannah said wearily.

“The magazine didn't lie. Last summer I was expecting. But I miscarried. I lost the baby.”

That made much more sense than her having left a baby behind when she moved from California to Connecticut. “I'm sorry,” he said—sorry for her loss, and sorry for having grilled her this way. Perhaps sorry, as well, that he'd experienced a twinge of relief at the news that she hadn't concealed a baby from him.

“I wanted the baby.” She addressed the window more than him. Some emotion crept back into her voice. “I wanted it so much, Toby. I thought that at last I'd have a normal life. I could be a mother, and this baby would love me for myself, not because I was famous or making a lot of money. It would love me just because I was its mother and I loved it.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again, this time because of her pain.

“I was so thrilled when I became pregnant. It was the happiest day of my life. It hadn't been planned, but I didn't care. I was ecstatic.”

He wished he could think of something to say besides “I'm sorry.” He was a doctor, and he knew
about miscarriages. But he'd never experienced one. He was only a man. The science of medicine couldn't define a woman's sorrow.

“Stephen had told me to get an abortion,” she said.

Toby crossed the room to her. Her voice had changed from sad to bitter, and he wanted to be closer to her, in case she fell apart.

“He said we weren't ready to have a baby yet, and it would screw up my career, and my career was so damned important, the most important thing about me. My father said the same thing. He said if I had the baby I'd want to take time off from work, and my career would go down the toilet. It wasn't as if I was some top-dollar marquee name, he said. I couldn't afford to take a break right now, while I was still on the rise. They both told me to get rid of the baby.”

“But you didn't,” Toby said, reminding her that she'd stood up to all the pressure her supposed loved ones had placed on her. She hadn't given in to them.

“No. Mother Nature took care of it. That was the worst,” she said, her voice cracking. “I miscarried, and they were so happy. They were celebrating, because their problem was solved.”

He understood now—understood why she'd left California, why she'd turned her back on that life, on her acting, on everything that had defined her world for so many years. “So you moved to Arlington,” he concluded.

“As soon as I could. I fulfilled my contract and then quit. I—” Her voice crumbled a little more. “I wanted that baby so much, Toby….”

A low sob escaped her, and he took her in his arms. She wept against his shoulder, her body trembling in his embrace, her tears soaking through his shirt. He
held her tight, absorbing her grief, wishing he could do something to erase the hurting parts of her past. Doctors could heal only so much. He couldn't heal Susannah's anguish.

After a minute she sniffled and pulled back. “I have no right to be crying like this,” she apologized. “You've lost so much more than me. You must think I'm such a wimp. All I lost was the promise of something—”

“You lost much more than a pregnancy,” he told her. “You lost your faith in the people you loved. That must have been agonizing.”

She sniffled again, and brushed her fingertips against her tear-stained cheeks. He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and handed it to her. She studied it as if it were a precious gift, then patted it against her face. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“No—not just for the handkerchief but for putting up with me.”

“Putting up with you?” He laughed. Did she think taking her in his arms was such an ordeal?

“Well…” Her voice sounded watery, and she dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes again. “You spend your working life taking care of your patients, then you come home and take of your daughter. And here you are, taking care of me as if I were another helpless little child.”

“You're not a helpless little child,” he murmured, using his thumb to catch a tear that had escaped her and skittered down her cheek. “You're a woman, Susannah. A woman strong enough to walk away from the life that made you miserable.” He dropped his hand back to her waist, not wanting to let go of her.
“I'm not taking care of you. I'm just letting you borrow a handkerchief.”

She gave him a lopsided smile, wiped her cheeks one last time and returned the square of linen to him.

“I take care of my patients because it's my job,” he explained. “I take care of Lindsey because she's my daughter. I'm not taking care of you.”

“Yes, you are.” She sighed and lowered her eyes.