Fourth Down Baby: A May-December Romance (7 page)

Every moment with Laurie is magical, plain and simple. I enjoyed raising Whitney. We were a team, and we faced a lot of scary times together, but I was so young then. Looking back, I realize that there were times I resented being too young to even buy beer, but still taking my daughter to preschool. Not that I drank even then, not after it got me into trouble with being talked into unprotected sex with Brad.

But as much as I loved raising Whitney, it's different with a more mature perspective. Laurie is precocious, like Whitney worries about, but it's an innocent precociousness, and she's a lot like how Whitney was when she was five. Oh, if I could only do it again. I'd remember to savor each moment.

“Not that it matters,” I whisper to myself sadly. “It takes two to make a baby, unless you happen to have a donor.”

It's what I want, really. I'd like another chance. Whitney's been a perfect daughter. I've tried to tell her that so often over the time she's been home, but I'd like to do it again.

I can’t stop my mind from wandering to Cory, and my hand is moving with a mind of its own, stroking lightly on the side of my neck where I like to be touched, and my breasts ache. It's been so long since I've had a man. It's even been a long time since I've indulged in a little self-exploration. My hands come down to cup my breasts, and it feels so good. I only wish that he were here—so we could finally indulge in what I know we’ve both wanted. I lift my shirt up, feeling my hand on my stomach and then on my breast.

The front door rattles, and I pull my pajama shirt down quickly, sitting up guiltily as Whitney comes in, her face flushed and her face beaming. “Mom . . . it was so amazing!”

“Shh,” I reply, but I can't help but feel a weird mix of happiness and annoyance. Great, Whitney, you and Troy are now out in public, but couldn't you have waited another ten or fifteen minutes to get home? I'm burning between my thighs, and my nipples feel like I've got rocks instead of skin right this second.

“Sorry,” Whitney says, still grinning but quieting down. “But it was perfect. We danced, and at the end, when we kissed . . . oh, Mom, I love him. I really do love him. I know it's too fast to say it, but I can't help it.”

“And he loves you too?” I ask, knowing the answer without having to ask. Anyone with a pulse and an ounce of empathy could have read the looks Troy was giving Whitney in the church. They might as well have had neon signs above their heads. I chastise myself. Patricia, just because you got interrupted in the middle of a fantasy, don't take it out on your daughter.

“I think so. Actually, and I'm not trying to scare you or say we're going fast, but at the end, Pete and Dani came up to us, and they joked about when Troy and I are going to get married. Instead of laughing it off, Troy just said we're going to let it develop. But the way he said it . . . I can’t help but be happy.”

I smile, my happiness overtaking my sexual frustration. “Whitney, I'm glad. Really. And if it takes you two a week, a month, or a year . . . if you two get married, I'll be proud to give you away.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Whitney says, and I can see in her eyes that she is truly moved. “I have a request too, then.”

“What, sweetheart?” I ask, and she smiles.

“Go find yourself happiness too. You gave your entire life to me, and I love you, but I don't want you to be alone anymore.”

I nod, not wanting to tell Whitney how close her words are to the thoughts that I had just a few minutes before she came in. “I promise, Whitney. If the right man comes into my life, I won't say no.”

“
T
roy
. . . are you out of your damn mind?” I say, staring at the number he's just told me. We're at the reception, and until Troy approached me three minutes ago, I've hated it all. It's why I actually have a drink in my hand. I figured it would numb my annoyance. She had been there, dammit! I saw her in the third row on Dani's side of the church.

Just knowing that Whitney's a mom . . . I'm still trying to wrap my head around that, but it explains so much of why she ghosted on us five years ago. Not a good explanation. It reeks of nineteen fifties bullshit, but it still helps explain things.

“I'm serious, Cory,” Troy says, handing me back my business card with the number written on the back, just so I don't forget. “Half.”

I glance at the card, which should have told me something was up as soon as Troy asked. I mean, he and I have swapped emails and phone calls enough that his messages show up as starred on my inbox. I whistle again at the number. Seven figures, and he wants to turn it over to me.

“Troy, I still haven't passed the last of my licensing exams yet. For fuck's sake, I'm still an intern,” I protest, tucking it into my pocket, where it sits like a lump of radioactive metal, hot and burning in my mind. “I know I've been giving you some under the table advice the past couple of years, but this . . . Jesus, they're paying you this much to play football?”

“They are,” Troy says quietly, seriously. “This is important. I want to set up for the long term. Things are different than they were even just a few weeks ago.”

I sip my drink, then set it aside. I don't need this shit right now. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Troy, but this amount of money will either make or break you over the next few years.”

“There's nobody else in the world I'd trust more with it,” Troy says, level but supportive at the same time.

“You know I’ll treat it like my own, but Troy, you know what they say—friendship and business don't always mix.”

“Not always, but in this case, I trust you.”

I nod and glance across the room to where Whitney is talking with some of the other ladies in attendance. Seriously, this feels like a junior high dance, with guys on one side, girls on the other, and two miles of barbed wire and poison gas in between. “Troy, you know I don't mean to pry into your business, but I've been doing a little quick math in my head. That little girl with Patricia Nelson today—”

“Laurie.”

“She's not Patricia's. She's got the same face, just like Whit's, in fact, but Patricia hasn't had a kid in the past five years. I know that much.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Troy says with a smirk and pats me on the shoulder.

“I guess what I'm saying is . . . Laurie's got blonde hair, and you're blond . . . you know what I'm sayin'?”

Troy chuckles again and shrugs, frustrating my question. “One more thing. I'd like to look at setting up some sort of blind trust again. I want it to be a lump sum payout sort of thing, maturing when someone turns either eighteen or twenty-one.”

“I can get that set up.” I nod, going back to business. “What amount are you looking at?”

“We'll talk that later. I need to work out some details on that first,” Troy says.

I nod and pick up my drink, taking a sip. “Well, I'll email you as soon as I get the details back in San Fran. In the meantime, though, I think I'm going to stir the pot around here. This junior-high boys and girls shit's gotta stop. You coming with?”

Troy shakes his head and smiles a secret little smile. “Nah. I've got plans on throwing my own hand grenade in this little party, and I wouldn't want to do that too early. Just . . . use some discretion, know what I mean?”

“I can be discreet. Remember, I'm an investment banker, or I want to be. We have to do nondisclosure shit all the time.” I get up and walk across the floor, my mind whirling. Troy and Whit, back together. As awesome as that is, I wonder if that's why Patricia isn't here. It would explain things. She's the sort of woman who wouldn't want to put pressure on her daughter. Besides, that helps my feelings too, so I'll run with that explanation.

“Whitney Nelson, I just had to come over here and say it's good to see you again,” I say.

She gives me a quick hug and pats my stomach. "How're you doing, Cory? You’ve gained some weight.”

“Hey, it's only five pounds!” I laugh it off, knowing that she's messing with me. “You, on the other hand, look absolutely amazing. And can I ask—that little girl with your mom at the ceremony?"

“Yes, she's my daughter, Laurie,” Whitney says, and there's a sense of pride in her eyes, one I can understand. Regardless of whether it was smart for her to leave, Whitney's busted her ass the past five years, and I'm impressed.

"You know, she looks a lot like you. She has the same cute smile.”

Whitney gives me a smile of her own, so much like Patricia's that I'm caught off guard and my heart surges. Jesus, they look so much alike. They could be sisters and not mother and daughter. Troy's one lucky son of a bitch. “Thanks. What about you? Have you found someone?"

I see Dani behind us, and she looks up, a bit surprised, but I play it off. I cover with a line of bullshit. "Whit, you know me. There's no way I'm ready to settle down yet."

We keep talking, and at the end, I give Whitney another hug. I whisper in her ear, “Take care of him, Whit.”

I leave her behind after exchanging meaningful looks, only to be rodeoed in by Dani, who looks great in her white cocktail dress she's wearing for the party. “That was sweet of you.”

“They deserve happiness,” I say, giving them both a bit of a sad smile. “I'd like to see what they've got planned. There's certainly something up their sleeves.”

Dani nods, then pulls my arm. “Come on, Pete would love to talk to you. And I'm not letting anyone get all moody at my wedding reception.”

“Deal, Harley. I can't believe you pulled back into the ponytails for this thing either.”

Dani's still got some of the diamond studded combs in her head, but she's parted her hair back to her normal style, and she's as cute as ever. “You know I can't help it.”

* * *

I
'm sitting
with Troy as the food starts, and I have to laugh as we try the chicken Florentine. This is too much like the prom to be overlooked. “Good God, man, it's the Lone Ranger and Tonto all over again.”

“Yeah, you always were the one who was
tonto
,” Troy jokes, using the Spanish meaning of the word.

“What're you talking about, Kemosabe?” I toss back. “I'm the Lone Ranger.”

Troy laughs, and we listen as the speeches start. When Pete gets up, he's seriously looking like the happiest man on the face of the planet, and I'm jealous again, but I can't fault him. He deserves happiness. “ . . . and all I can say is . . . am I not the luckiest guy in the world right now, or what?"

“We feel sorry for Dani though!” I call up, earning a laugh.

I sit back, thinking as Dani and Pete have their first dance. Everyone claps when the song is over. I'm lost, imagining that someday it'd be my turn in his place, but my bride would have auburn hair and she'd be slightly taller.

Troy gets up, and I know what's coming, but even I'm caught up in breathless anticipation—or shock—as he crosses the dance floor, going over in front of Whitney's table.

I watch silently in a weird mix of sadness and total elation as Troy and Whit come together, nobody else joining them on the dance floor, but instead, we're all spellbound as they dance, the music fading away before Whitney stands on her tiptoes and kisses him. Everyone swarms them, Dani and Pete at the front, exchanging hugs and congratulations.

Troy finds my eyes in the crowd, and he nods. I understand and nod back.

My turn.

* * *

F
rom
: Cory Dunham

To: Patricia Nelson

Subject: You and I

Dear Patricia,

It's taken me a few days to put this into words, and I've tried about a dozen times, but I don't have much of a gift for words, so I'll just stumble through this as best I can. First, I can understand why you didn't go to the wedding reception. I mean, that had to have been hard enough for Troy and Whitney, and it probably was best that Laurie wasn't there to ask a ton of questions. I hear that Troy told Laurie that he's her father. That's great.

Maybe I'm a fool. If so, I'll be a total fool, because watching your daughter and Troy dance, the only thing that was going through my mind was that I wanted us to be out there too. I wanted to hold you in my arms, to dance with you.

On the other hand, I also know that if that's to ever happen, I need to be deserving of your affections. It's part of what's driven me since I left years ago.

I'm going to take the next few months to try and get things squared away here in San Francisco. I've already taken the first step—I learned today that I passed my final licensing exams, so I can put everything in my name as the broker now. But it's just the start.

Patricia, I'm asking you to give me a little more time. From the way our eyes met in the church, I know I've been on your mind as much as you’ve been in mine.

I want to see if there's a chance for us to find the happiness that I saw at Dani and Pete's wedding, or that I saw when Troy and Whitney kissed. I'm not saying it'll be easy. It doesn't seem like easy is in the vocabulary of the Silver Foxes. But I think it’s worth it, don’t you?

Tell me that we at least have a chance. Tell me that I'm being a fool, but a fool with a chance. Because if I know that, I’ll move heaven and earth if I have to.

Yours truly,

Cory

* * *

F
rom
: Patricia Nelson

To: Cory Dunham

Subject: RE: You and I

Dear Cory,

You are a fool. A blatant, total, wonderful fool.

But you’re right. It’s worth it.

Patricia