Second Chance (13 page)

“I'm Courtenay. And I think what you're both doing is disgusting.” It was certainly one way to start a conversation. Fiona didn't know what to say in response, and was frozen on the spot, while John looked as though he were about to faint or throw up.

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Fiona said calmly, finding her tongue finally. “I understand. This must be hard for both of you. But I'm not trying to take your father away from you. We just like spending time together. He's not going anywhere.”

“That's not true. He already has. He's been living with you all summer. The doorman said he only came here to pick up clothes.” Fiona learned later that Mrs. Westerman had checked, and told the girls. The little dear.

“We spent some time together, and he's probably lonely here without you,” Fiona said, glancing at the other sister then. John looked crushed by the exchange, and as if he were about to burst into tears. He hadn't expected this reaction from his children, he was sorely disappointed in them, and deeply hurt. He had been loyal and faithful to their mother and her memory, he had done everything he could to save her, and stood by her till the end. And he had been there for his daughters, without reservation, ever since. Now they were begrudging him any kind of happiness with another woman, and had vowed to hate Fiona on sight, which they did. Beyond reason. “It's nice to meet you, Hilary,” Fiona continued, as she stood awkwardly in their living room, and no one asked her to sit down. John was standing next to her, looking devastated. He'd been going through this since San Francisco, and it had been totally unexpected. And relentless. He had no idea what to do with them, or how to turn it around. He was mortified that they had been rude to Fiona. He had told them that he expected them to at least be polite. He had also told them that Fiona was a wonderful woman, and it wasn't her fault that their mother had died. Nor his. But they had said they hated him and Fiona anyway, and cried all weekend. And so had he. Now he was running out of patience, and getting angry at them for being so unreasonable. Hilary was ignoring Fiona entirely. She was the prettier of the two, although they were almost identical and looked like twins. Both were blue-eyed blondes like their mother, but they had a look of John about them too.

“You both seem to have forgotten your manners,” he said sternly. “There's no reason to punish Fiona for going out with me. I've been faithful to your mother's memory for two years. Fiona has nothing to do with this. She's a free woman and she has every right to go out with me, and I have every right to be with her, if I choose.”

But before either of them could comment, a stern, spare, angry-looking older woman walked into the living room. She was wearing a navy dress with an apron over it, sensible black orthopedic shoes, and her hair was pulled back so tightly in a bun, she nearly looked like Olive Oyl, with none of the charm. She looked like an angry cartoon. Fiona had to fight an overwhelming urge to say “Mrs. Westerman, I presume,” but fortunately she didn't. Instead, John made the introduction for her, and Mrs. Westerman refused to acknowledge her, she just looked straight at him.

“Dinner's been ready for an hour and a half. Are you going to eat?” she said sternly to him. It was nine o'clock by then, and Fiona apologized to her as well for being late, and the older woman refused to even look at her, as she turned on her heel and stomped back into the kitchen. She clearly was on the side of the two girls, and the late Mrs. Anderson. Fiona couldn't help wondering if John's late wife would have been this unreasonable. It was hard to believe the level of hostility she was getting from them, harder still to understand.

John waited for the girls to stand up, and followed them into the dining room. It was definitely not going to be an easy dinner, and Fiona felt desperately sorry for him. He was doing all he could to keep the ship afloat. But she felt as though they were having dinner on the
Titanic,
and were going down fast.

The girls took their places, as John motioned Fiona to a seat next to him, with a look of grief-stricken apology, and she smiled at him to reassure him. Somehow she knew they were going to get through it, whatever it took, and afterward they could talk about it with compassion and humor. She was determined to be there for him, and was trying to give him all the strength she could. And as she looked at him lovingly, Mrs. Westerman walked into the dining room and slammed dinner on the table. The roast beef was dry and charred beyond all recognition, and the potatoes around it had been burned to a crisp. The vegetable, whateve it had once been, was unrecognizable, and literally nothing on the table was edible. Instead of slowing dinner down when Fiona was late, or taking things off the stove, Mrs. Westerman had just let everything keep cooking, to prove the point, and register her own disapproval of her employer's alleged treason. She had pledged her allegiance to the girls when they came home from San Francisco the night before and told her what had happened over the summer while they were all gone, and she was outraged and said that everything their father was doing, whatever it was, was a sin. And she didn't want to work for a sinner. She had told the girls she might quit over it, which had frightened them even more. She had told John the same thing when he got home from the office that night. Like the girls, she was punishing him.

Fiona knew she had been with the family since Hilary was born, twenty-one years, and she was going to do everything she could to make life difficult for him. It was not only unfair, it was sick.

“What do you say we order a pizza?” Fiona said, trying to lighten the mood, but both girls glared at her, as Mrs. Westerman slammed a door in the kitchen, and could be heard banging cupboards loudly throughout the meal.

“I'm not hungry anyway,” Hilary said, and stood up, as Courtenay instantly followed suit. Without another word to their father, or her, both girls marched to their rooms. Fiona sat and looked at John sympathetically, and reached out to touch his hand, but he looked as though he had been beaten, and could barely look at her. He was not only heartbroken at the way they had treated him, but deeply ashamed at having exposed Fiona to that scene.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” Fiona said to him.

“So am I,” he said in a hoarse voice, rough with tears. “I can't believe they behaved that way, and I'm sorry about dinner too. Mrs. Westerman was extremely loyal to Ann, which was wonderful, but that's no reason to do this to you. I'm sorry I put you through it.”

“I'm sorry I was late. That didn't make things any easier. I totally lost track of time.”

“It wouldn't have made any difference. They've been like this since I told them on Saturday. I thought they would be so happy for us, and for me. I was shocked, and I thought they'd get over it by the next day, but they didn't, they just got worse.” She was suddenly afraid that it might mean the end of the relationship, she looked frightened when she looked at him, and he saw it too. He was a decent man, and his heart went out to her. He got up from where he was sitting, and went to put his arms around her to reassure her, just as Mrs. Westerman opened the kitchen door, and let Fifi, the family Pekingese, into the room. She had been the late Mrs. Anderson's beloved pet, and had been Mrs. Westerman's charge ever since. Fifi paused in the doorway, growling as she looked at them, and seeing Fiona and John with their arms around each other, it was hard to say if she thought Fiona was attacking him, but without pausing for breath, she flew straight out of the kitchen like a heat-seeking missile, and landed at Fiona's feet. And before either of them knew what had happened, she had sunk her teeth with full force into Fiona's ankle. It had surprised her more than anything, but the dog absolutely refused to let go, as Fiona clutched John, and he poured a pitcher of water onto the dog, and then yanked her away from Fiona and threw her toward the kitchen. The dog left yelping, and soaked, as Mrs.

Westerman screamed that he had tried to kill the dog, and ran shrieking into the kitchen in tears with the dog in her arms, and no apology to Fiona, who was bleeding profusely from a nasty little wound.

John put a wet napkin on it, and sat her down. Fiona was shaking, and felt utterly ridiculous for the mess she was making. But her ankle wouldn't stop bleeding, as John put pressure on the wound, and then looked at her miserably as he helped her hobble into the kitchen, and shouted a warning to Mrs. Westerman to lock up the dog. But she had already retreated to her room with Fifi. They could hear the dog barking furiously through the door. All John wanted to do was get the hell out, and go home with Fiona, but he knew he had to stay till the girls went back to school at least. He had never been through anything like this. He studied her ankle, as she sat on the kitchen counter, with her foot in the sink, and he looked at her with embarrassment and grief.

“I hate to say it, Fiona, but I think you need stitches.”

“Don't worry about it,” she said calmly, wanting to make the horror of the evening better for him, “these things happen.”

“Only in horror movies,” he said grimly. He tied a kitchen towel around her leg, helped her off the counter, and walked her out of the apartment gingerly, as they both watched the blood stain the towel quickly. It had already soaked through by the time they hailed a cab, and blood was dripping down her foot as John carried her into the hospital and deposited her in the emergency room with a look of disbelief.

When the doctor on duty examined her finally, he said it was a deep wound, and she needed stitches. He administered a local anesthetic and sewed her up, gave her a tetanus shot, since she hadn't had one in years, and then gave her antibiotics and painkillers to take home with her. She was looking a little green around the gills by then. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it had been a rough evening. She got dizzy on the way out, and had to sit down for a minute.

“I'm sorry I'm such a wimp,” she apologized, “it's really nothing.” She tried to make light of it for him, but she was feeling awful. The anesthetic was wearing off, her ankle was killing her, and the little beast had bitten as hard as it could, nearly as hard as his daughters. The dog was their alter ego—and Mrs. Westerman's as well.

“Nothing? My daughters were horrible, the housekeeper was unthinkable, and my dog attacked you, and you just had eight stitches and a tetanus shot. What the hell do you mean, nothing?” He was furious, and didn't know who to take it out on. “I'm taking you home,” he said miserably, and told her to stay where she was till he found a cab. He was back five minutes later, and carried her out, and when he got her home, he undressed her, put her to bed, gave her her medicine, and propped her foot up on a pillow. He went downstairs to get them both something to eat and make her a cup of tea, and when he came upstairs with a tray, she already looked better, and he made a decision. He told her he had, and she looked terrified as she waited to hear it. After a night like that, he could only have come to a single conclusion, that having Fiona in his life was just too difficult for him. She sat stoically while he gathered his thoughts and looked at the woman he had fallen in love with in Paris, or even before that. It had been love at first sight for him.

“Fiona, if you'll have me, I'd like to move in with you this weekend, after I take Courtenay back to Princeton. Hilary is leaving Friday night for Brown. I'm not staying in the apartment with that woman. There's no reason for me to be there. I want to be here with you.” He looked down at the sleeping bulldog, who had barely stirred when they got home, and smiled. “And Sir Winston. The girls will just have to get used to it. I'll go home when they come for holidays or weekends. And eventually, I hope you'll come with me. We'll get you shin guards and a stun gun to use on Mrs. Westerman and the dog. Will you have me?” he asked almost humbly, and she burst into tears. She had been so sure he was about to tell her it was over, and she didn't want to lose him. She was just so sorry that his daughters hated her. The housekeeper was another story, and the dog was a little beast. But she was truly upset about his children.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked, looking worried.

“Yes, I am,” he said firmly. He had no qualms about it. And he had never been as angry at his children, or as disappointed.

She couldn't stop crying as she looked at him, and he took her in his arms again. She had had a hell of an evening. “I'd love you to move in with me,” she said, still unable to stop crying as he held her. It was as much the shock of what had happened as the relief that he didn't want to leave her.

“Then why are you crying?” he said gently.

“Because I'll have to make more room in my closets,” she said, and laughed through her tears, and he joined her.

Chapter 9

Fiona was sitting
at her desk the next day when Adrian came in to see her, after a meeting. She was looking at photographs on a light box behind her desk, and swiveled around as he came in.

“So how was it?” He had been dying of curiosity all night, and hadn't had time to stop in to see her all morning, and the one time he did, there were people with her.

“It was interesting,” she said obliquely.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, the housekeeper hated me and probably tried to poison me, but she burned the dinner so totally that I never got to eat it. The girls said they hated me, and haven't spoken to their father since Saturday when he told them. They refused to talk to me, told us we were disgusting, and stomped off to their rooms since there was nothing to eat anyway. And then the dog attacked me.” But at least she smiled at him when she said it. She hadn't lost her sense of humor.

“You're exaggerating, I hope. About the dog at least. Seriously, how bad was it? Did the kids lighten up eventually?”

“No. And I wasn't kidding about the dog either. I had eight stitches.”

“Are you serious?” He looked thunderstruck, and with that she lifted her leg onto the desk and rested it there, it was heavily bandaged and an impressive sight.

“I had a tetanus shot, and I'm on antibiotics. The only good news is that he was so upset, I thought he was going to end it with me. Instead, he's moving in this weekend.” She looked delighted as Adrian stared at her leg in disbelief.