You're My Baby (7 page)

“I just wanted to extend a special welcome. I hope you'll enjoy Keystone.”

“Thanks.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Is that all? Can I go now?”

“Yes, that's all. Bye.” She watched him walk away, eyes averted, melting into the river of students flowing toward the next class.

She leaned wearily against the doorjamb, then closed her eyes. Thank God her planning period was next. She didn't know when she'd ever been so tired.

“Pam, are you all right?” Connie's voice brought her to attention.

“Oh, sure. It's been a long day, that's all, and I just met Andy Gilbert for the first time.”

Connie stepped inside the empty classroom. “And?”

She sighed, rubbing her hands together, oddly aware of her vacant ring finger. “I think Grant and I have our work cut out for us.”

“When does Grant plan to tell Andy about you?”

“Sometime today. Before I move in.”

“Are you scared?”

“Stepmother is a role I haven't played before.”

“It's a challenging one, but if anybody can pull it off, it's you.”

“I wish I shared your confidence.” Added to the demands of the day was the overwhelming sense that she had gotten herself into something way beyond simply providing a father for her unborn baby.

A bell shattered the air, and Connie patted Pam's shoulder. “I'm late. Not setting a great example, huh?” Then she hurried off toward her history class, leaving Pam wondering how she and Grant could have been so naive.

 

I
MMEDIATELY AFTER SCHOOL
Andy disappeared upstairs, claiming homework. He'd spent most of last night unpacking and arranging his room. Then on the way home from school today, when Grant had hoped to tell him about Pam, he'd pulled out a portable CD player, plugged in the headphones and played air drums on his knees to music Grant could hear only as a disjointed metallic beat.

Grant found himself prowling through the house, unable to settle to any task. How long was the kid going
to shut him out? He knew better than to pry. Yet he had to tell Andy about Pam. Hell, she was supposed to move in tonight. Maybe the family dynamic would change for the better with her around. He'd never met a kid who didn't warm to Pam. Surely Andy would be no exception.

Okay. He'd bite the bullet at the first opportunity.

That settled, he wandered into the kitchen and began patting out hamburgers for the grill. Then he tossed a can of pork and beans into a dish, stirred in some brown sugar, catsup and pickle juice and put the casserole in the oven to bake. That plus the deli potato salad he'd picked up yesterday ought to do it.

Grant made himself watch the evening news, then went upstairs and knocked on Andy's door. No answer. He rapped louder. He heard a shuffling, then Andy opened the door, his head phones eased away from his ears. “What?”

“I'm putting on the burgers, son. Dinner'll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Good. I'm starving.” Then Andy shut the door, leaving Grant standing in the hall feeling helpless.

Fortunately the dinner was a hit. There was nothing wrong with the kid's appetite. He'd even extended Grant a grudging “good beans.”

Grant made small talk about a late-breaking national news story, then began inquiring about Andy's day at school. “Did you find your classes all right?”

Andy lifted his eyes from the hamburger he was devouring. “It's not that big a place, Dad. We're not talking electronic circuitry.”

“Meet any of the other kids?”

“The principal introduced me to some guys, but I
can't remember their names. I checked out a coupla chicks in Spanish, but mainly I just hung loose.”

“What about lunch?”

“You call that sewer cuisine ‘lunch'?”

“I meant did you sit with anyone there?”

“The jocks were all in one big group. I wasn't about to crash that. And I sure as hell wasn't going to sit with the dweebs, so I ate by myself.”

“I guess it takes a while to get used to a new school.”

Andy shot him a look as if he'd just made the dumbest remark of the century. “Uh, Dad, that would be a big ‘Roger.'”

“So basically your day—”

“Sucked. There. Are you satisfied?”

“No, Andy. I want you to enjoy your year here. But you'll have to make some effort. You can't rely on everyone else to make you happy.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that.”

They ate in silence broken only by the snap of corn chips and the crunch of dill pickles. Grant chewed mechanically, swallowing with difficulty. Andy's belligerence hurt. But the hell of it was, in the long run it would probably hurt the boy even more than it did him.

He had a sudden wild need for Pam—for her common sense, her ability to laugh, her understanding. But needs like that were dangerous.

“Is there any dessert?”

Grant pulled some store-bought cookies from the bread box. “Try these. Remind me to pick up some ice cream at the store.”

“Dad, pick up some ice cream at the store.” The glimmer of a smile shone in Andy's eyes. A tiny, but significant breakthrough.

Grant seized the opening to ask one more question. “What about your teachers? Like any of them?”

Andy popped an entire cookie into his mouth, but managed between bites to say, “They're okay, I guess. Except for world history. Old lady Flanders is screwy. She's so ancient she prob'ly witnessed Custer's last stand.”

Smothering a grin, Grant agreed. “She is a bit long of tooth, isn't she?”

“Actually, there was one teacher who seemed really cool.”

“Who was that?”

“English. Hot-looking redhead.”

Grant couldn't have said it better himself, but he had more important things to think about than Pam's tantalizing physical features. “Ms. Carver, you mean?”

“That's her.”

He had an opening. “Er, about Ms. Carver…”

“What?”

Forcing himself to look directly at his son, Grant continued. “I have something important to tell you, and there's no easy way to say it.”

Andy looked mildly curious. “Yeah?”

Grant waited a beat for his heart to stop threatening to explode in his chest. “Uh, she's my wife.”

A
NDY STARED
at his father, dumbfounded. “You're kidding, right?”

“No. Pam and I were married Saturday.”

“Well, ex-cuze me, but isn't this kinda sudden?” Jeez, that was only—what?—three days ago. You'd think somewhere along the line his old man could've given him a clue, for cripe's sake.

His dad pushed his hands through his hair, like he always did when he was frustrated. “I know it seems that way, but—”

“If you're married, how come she isn't here?” He might not be a certified adult, but he knew newlyweds slept together. “Does Mom know?”

“Hey, son, one question at a time. Pam will come over later with the first load of her stuff. We thought it would be better for you to get settled before she moved in. Kinda get used to the idea.”

Get used to the idea? It was bad enough he had to stay in Fort Worth with his dad for a whole year, but now he had to live with honeymooners, one of whom was his friggin' English teacher! Ol' Mafia Harry was looking better by the second.

“Son?”

Andy shook his head, trying to clear his brain. “Tonight? She's coming tonight?” His father was staring
at him, a tight-ass expression on his face. “Oh, yeah,” he nodded wisely, “I guess the sooner the better, huh, stud?”

“Andy, please. That's no way to talk.”

“No way to talk? How'd you like to be me? I hafta go live with my old man that I hardly ever see and after I get there, he throws in a small detail he's forgotten to mention. ‘Oh, by the way, I'm married.' Whaddya expect me to do? Turn handsprings?”

“I know it's a shock, but you like Pam, don't you?”

“It's not about ‘Pam.' Oh, hell, that's great! Am I supposed to call my teacher ‘Pam' or call my stepmother ‘Ms. Carver'? And, anyway, what does it matter if I like her? It's not as if I have a choice.”

“Can you help me out here? At least try to make her welcome?”

Andy crossed his arms and stared icily over his father's head.

There went his dad's hand through the hair again. “Let me try to explain this better.” He sucked in a big breath like he was about to shoot a game-winning free throw. “Pam and I have been friends and colleagues for several years. This summer we, er, we were both in Austin for summer programs, and, well, we suddenly saw each other differently.”

Oh, brother. He could go a long time without hearing the details of his dad's hot romance.

“When we got back here,” his father's voice droned on, “it didn't seem practical to wait to get married.”

Then it hit him. Of course, it didn't. “Especially when you needed a housekeeper for me, right?”

If Andy had slapped him, his father couldn't have looked more stricken.

“Jeez, Andy—”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. It
was
kind of a cheap shot. “But, Dad, this is nuts!”

“I suppose it seems that way now. But Pam is a wonderful woman, and she's really looking forward to getting better acquainted with you. Please, give her, give
us,
a chance. That's all I ask.”

All?
He felt dizzy, as if he'd stumbled into a crazy movie of his life, sorta like
Pleasantville
or
The Truman Show.
“What about Mom?”

“I plan to call her tomorrow.”

She would freak out. Would she make him go to Dubai or, worse yet, to that snobby prep school she'd talked about? Andy stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the kitchen chair. “I'm goin' up to my room.”

His dad got to his feet. At first Andy thought he was going to lay a fatherly hand on his shoulder, but instead, he kind of shrugged helplessly. Like he didn't know what to do. “Will you come say ‘hello' to Pam when she arrives?”

Andy shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

“Let me rephrase that.” His father squared his shoulders and fixed him with that schoolteacher glare of his. “I expect you to come greet Pam. I'll let you know when she gets here.”

“Fine.” Andy edged toward the hall, desperate to get away. “Fine, you do that.”

He took the stairs two at a time, stomped into his room, threw himself on his bed and covered his ears with headphones. The driving beat of the heavy metal band matched the angry throbbing of his heart. He'd thought his life couldn't get much worse. Well, he'd thought wrong. He was screwed. Totally.

 

P
AM SHOULDERED
her overnight bag and started up the walk toward her new home. Pausing on the deep front porch, she wondered for the umpteenth time whether she was doing the right thing. But it was way too late for second thoughts.

Just as she rang the bell, the door swung open, and there stood Grant, his thin smile betraying the same awkwardness that was rendering her speechless. “Welcome,” he said, taking the bag and holding the door for her. After depositing her bag in the bedroom, he joined her in the living room. They stood staring at each other, as if waiting for a prompter to throw them their lines.

“Do you suppose this is the first day of the rest of our lives?” she finally managed to say.

“Maybe. Feels weird, doesn't it?”

“Very.” She sat primly on the sofa, watching him as he retrieved an envelope from the top of the bookcase.

“Here.” He laid the envelope in her lap. “These are the keys to the house and my car.”

“Thanks.” She glanced around. “Where's Andy?”

“In his room.”

Grant didn't need to say anything. She knew. “It didn't go well, huh?”

He shook his head. “I'd hoped for a more positive response, but he's pretty hostile.”

“You can't expect him to be thrilled. He thought he'd have you all to himself. I'm an intruder.”

“No, I don't think it's that. I—” his voice cracked “—I don't think he likes me.”

Pam had never seen Grant vulnerable. “Nonsense. We've upset his expectations, that's all.” She willed him to understand. “Give him time, Grant. Love you can easily give, but patience may come harder.”

“How'd you get so wise?”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “It's a whole lot easier when you're the observer, not the parent.”

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Uh, there's something else.”

“What's that?”

“He thinks we're like honeymooners. You know…” A faint flush highlighted his cheeks.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Hands on, you mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you fake it?”

“We'll have to. At least sometimes.”

“Play the part, Olivier. Just play the part.” If only it were that easy. A drama had three acts, five at the most. This was reality theater, 24/7.

Grant shrugged. “I'll get Andy. We need to put this first family meeting behind us.”

Pam stood, laid her hands on Grant's shoulders and tried an encouraging smile. “Curtain's going up, Gilbert.” Then she gave him a stage-wifely peck on the cheek.

 

A
NDY CRANKED DOWN
the volume when the doorbell chimed.
She
was here. He could hear the low murmur of voices, soon followed by the ominous sound of his father's footsteps on the stairs. He still couldn't figure it. His dad,
married.
He guessed he didn't have anything against Ms. Carver, but the whole thing was weird. His dad was a cautious guy. Going off and getting married—it just didn't sound like him.

His father tapped on the door, then opened it a crack. “Son? Pam's here. C'mon downstairs and join us.”

“Cool your jets, okay? I'll be there.” He took his sweet time turning off the CD player, straightening his rumpled bedspread, even lacing up his Nikes.

Downstairs his dad was sitting next to Ms. Carver on the sofa. She looked different, younger, than she had at school, what with her hair up in a ponytail and wearing jeans and all. “Hi,” Andy said, standing awkwardly in the doorway, feeling like a jackass.

Ms. Carver had this big smile on her face. That's one of the things he'd liked about her in class. Her smile. “Andy, I'm so glad to see you again. I know these are much different circumstances, but I'm happy about them. I hope in time you will be, too.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I should say congratulations or something.” He noticed his dad's arm snake around his teacher's shoulders.

“Thank you.” She gestured toward the ugly recliner. “Come sit down, so we can get better acquainted.”

Uh-oh. The inquisition. “I've got a lotta homework, Ms. Carver.” He sat tentatively.

“Just for a little while. And please call me Pam, at least at home.”

“I hope I don't goof up.”

“It won't be the end of the world if you do.”

His father just sat there, letting Ms. Carver—Pam—talk, which she did. “I noticed today that you're a Stephen King fan. Do you have a favorite?”

“I like them all, but my favorite is
Salem's Lot.
”

“Have you read the Poe I assigned?”

He felt a slow burn splotching his face. He hadn't done any homework. And he didn't have any plans to. “Not yet.”

“If you like King, I predict you'll like Poe. He's the father of the mystery story.”

Andy was mildly interested, but darned if he'd let her or his father know it. Maybe later he'd take a peek at his English book.

“One of his eeriest is ‘The Black Cat.' Speaking of which—” she grinned at his dad “—the cats are still in the car. Will you help me get them, Andy?”

“What cats?”

“Viola and Sebastian. My kitties. You'll love them.”

He got up to follow her. “I dunno,” he said. “I've never had any pets. Unless you count goldfish. Which I don't.”

“Well, then, you have a treat in store.”

He helped her lug a big cage inside. When she unlatched the door, a black-and-white fur ball dashed under the sofa, while a silky gray cat with huge green eyes hunkered inside the cage, eyeing him curiously.

“C'mon out, Viola,” Ms. Carver urged. Finally the cat crept forward, sniffing the air in a finicky way. “Meet Andy,” Pam said, scooping up the cat and gently placing it in his arms. It lay there, all soft and furry. Then he felt the rumble against his chest. The cat was purring. For a moment he felt peaceful. Hey, no way. The woman wasn't going to win him over with a stupid cat. “Here,” he said, handing the creature back.

His dad had sidled away from the cage, obviously content to let them deal with the animals.

“Grant, why don't you fix us all some sodas? Maybe some chips. I imagine Andy could eat something.” She winked at him.

He realized he was kinda hungry. After his dad left the room, Pam sat down again, still cradling the cat. She motioned him to join her on the sofa. “Viola is a very particular cat. You should feel honored. She likes you.” Before he could think of an answer, he was startled to discover the cat creeping toward him, then kneading his thigh with her forepaws. “Now, Sebastian, he takes to everybody. But he doesn't like new places.”
She laughed. “He may not come out from under the sofa for days.”

He couldn't freakin' believe it. He was sitting here involved in a conversation about her pets. He didn't even like cats. “Yeah, it's kinda hard to change homes.” Crap. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. He sounded like a big crybaby.

“I imagine it is.” She hesitated. “Especially when you arrive to find a complete stranger married to your father.”

What was he supposed to say to that?
Damn right?

She reached over and ran a hand down Viola's back. “But I'm hoping you and I can be friends and that you won't be too hard on your dad. I think he's been lonely for a long time.”

Her voice sounded sad. Come to think of it, he hadn't ever considered that. About Dad being lonely. It always seemed like he didn't need much of anybody, except for his team and stuff.

“We'll all just have to work it out. How to become a family. As for school, I know it will be awkward at first to have me for a teacher, but I checked your schedule. There's no way for you to take driver's education without having English sixth period. I hope you don't mind.”

“It'll be okay, I guess.”

“I'll work hard not to show favoritism, and I hope you won't let our relationship interfere with your learning.”

“The other kids'll prob'ly call me teacher's pet.”

She chuckled. “We'll have to be sure that doesn't happen.”

She had a nice laugh, too. Maybe it wouldn't be too
bad having her around. But of course she was sucking up now. She needed her stepson to like her.

“Here we go.” With a bag of chips clutched under his arm, Dad juggled three glasses of soda. While they drank, they worked out when they'd bring over Pam's boxes and furniture. Dad seemed kinda nervous about her plans for sprucing up the house, but Andy thought they sounded okay. Dad was a tan-and-gray kinda guy, but Pam was red, orange and yellow. After he'd scarfed down the last of the chips, he excused himself. Maybe he'd actually read “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

Later he sprawled on his stomach across his bed, the lit book propped on the pillow. This was good stuff. He could almost hear the beating heart.
Whoa.
He
could
hear it. Then he realized it was Viola. Purring. While he'd been absorbed in the short story, she'd nudged his door open and now snuggled beside him on his bed.

Cool.

 

G
RANT HELPED
P
AM
bring in the rest of her stuff, including litter boxes, one of which she placed beside the tub in the downstairs bath they would share. And he'd thought wet panty hose would be the most offensive addition to his bachelor quarters! He'd made room in his closet for her hanging things. Now, though, he could see he'd probably have to move his wardrobe to the upstairs spare bedroom, at least if he had any hope of leaving any space between garments. It had been a startlingly swift and complete invasion of his space—her robe hung from a hook beside the shower, the kitty nest was wedged between the bureau and the wall, assorted colognes were aligned on the dresser top and shoe boxes too numerous to contemplate were stacked on the floor. On the bedside table, as if it had always been there was
a dated photograph of a smiling young couple, her parents he presumed.