Love, Suburban Style (25 page)

Anyway, a little space between lustful teenagers is always a good thing.

“Is your mom there?” Sam asks.

“Hang on a second.”

The phone clatters and he hears a bellowed “Mom! Phone!”

A few moments later, Meg picks up. “Hello?”

“Hi, Meg. It’s Sam.”

“Oh!” She sounds surprised. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I’m calling for two reasons. One is to tell you that I’m having a soccer practice tomorrow at one over at the field.”

“Okay, Cosette will be there. I might have a friend in town, but he can come with us.”

He.

Ignoring a flicker of jealousy—and his hope that the friend will turn out to be her gay friend from last weekend—Sam goes on, “The other reason I called is to tell you that I can come over today to look at your wiring.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Did you find an electrician?” he asks hopefully.

“No, but I will.”

“I’ll come take a look. You shouldn’t take chances with stuff like this. It could cause a fire.”

“I know. If there were absolutely anyone else I could even think to ask to take a look, I would, really… but there’s no one else.”

“So I’m really rock bottom on your list then, huh?”

There’s a pause.

She says awkwardly, “I don’t, um, I mean, I really appreciate—”

“I’m just teasing you,” he says with an equally awkward laugh, wishing he would just shut up and hang up.

Instead, he asks, “What time do you want me to come over?”

“Um… about three-fifteen, three-thirty would be good.”

“No problem.”

Then, instead of hanging up, he says, “You know, I’m glad it worked out so that we could have dinner with you and Cosette the other night. I mean… I think the kids had a good time.”

And so did I.

Despite his initial reservations about going to a restaurant with her—afraid it would feel like a date—it didn’t. Not with the kids there.

The conversation flowed, and they laughed a lot. For a while, they played, “Do you remember…?” and “Did you know so-and-so…?” That was particularly fun. It’s still amazing to Sam that Meg was on the periphery of his world for years, yet he never knew her.

And it was refreshing to come across somebody other than Bill Dreyfus and a handful of other longtime locals who remember what Glenhaven Park was like in the old days.

Meg remembers. She seemed as wistful as Sam is about lost people and places of their childhood.

Now, she says, “I had a good time, too… thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

He insisted on picking up the check at Cheesecake Factory, then wondered later if he shouldn’t have. Maybe that made it seem like he thought it was a date.

But… a date? With three kids on board?

She didn’t think that.

The only reason it even entered his mind was that he was so darned attracted to her.

And now you’re headed to her house this afternoon.

Is that a good idea?

He doesn’t have a choice.

And anyway, Cosette will be home and awake, to put a damper on any romantic rekindling that might occur.

“You’re going
where
?”

“To Geoffrey’s,” Cosette says again, as Meg stands in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, having just gotten out of the shower. “You have to drive me to the train in fifteen minutes. He’s meeting me in Grand Central.”

Meg shakes her head. “No.”

“Mom, you have to. It was his idea.”

“I thought you said he called for me, to make plans for coming up here tomorrow.”

“He did, but you were in the shower, and he said it would be great if I took the train down and spent the night with him, and then we could take the train back up together tomorrow morning in time for soccer practice.”

“He said it would be great, or you did? And don’t lie, because you know I’m going to see him tomorrow and find out the truth.”

“Well, I was telling him how boring it is here and how much I miss the city and how I would love to come down just for a night, and he invited me. And now he’s on his way to Grand Central and I have to go catch the one-twenty-six because I just told him I’ll be on it. I knew I had to catch this train because you’re giving your first voice lesson at two, and I already packed my bag. Okay?”

No. This is not okay.

For one thing, she isn’t entirely anxious to spend the night solo in the house. Yes, the last few nights have been uneventful, and it isn’t as if she’s seen that apparition again, but there have been times when she’s felt as though someone is in the room with her, only to find it apparently empty.

But she can’t really insist that her daughter hang around overnight because she’s afraid the house is haunted, can she?

Or because if Cosette leaves, Meg will be here alone with Sam when he shows up…

Unless she can convince Olympia Flickinger to stick around after Sophie’s voice lesson to chaperone the inspection of the wiring—and any stray sparks that might erupt.

“Mom…” Cosette prods, “
Okay?
”

“Okay,” Meg says reluctantly, thinking Sam might show up with his own kids in tow anyway. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to get back home to them. He’s not going to stick around. Nothing is going to happen with him.

And the resident ghost—if it exists—isn’t going to act up, either.

“Good. Go get dressed,” Cosette says briskly. “Oh, and you should blow-dry your hair and wear makeup, and your new jeans.”

“Cosette, I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s nothing going on between me and Sam, so I don’t have to get all fixed up for him.”

“Sam?” Cosette gapes at her. “I meant because the Flickingers are coming over, and you should make sure you look good for your first lesson.”

“Oh.” Meg’s face grows hot.

“There’s something going on with you and Sam?”

“No! I said there’s nothing going on between me and Sam.”

“I know what you
said
… but why would you say it unless there was a chance of something happening… or you want there to be a chance of something happening?”

“I’d say it because I know how your mind works, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“I don’t have the wrong idea, Mom. Not at all,” Cosette says cheerfully.

Another half hour to go until it’s time to head over to Meg’s, and Sam paces the house as restlessly as a doomed patient waiting for test results.

No,
he thinks, frowning, pacing.
Not like that at all.

He feels more like a kid who wakes at dawn on Christmas morning and has to wait a little longer to see what Santa left.

Yes, this is eager anticipation, as opposed to dread.

Dread would be more suitable. He hates that he’s excited about seeing Meg again, but for some reason he can’t help himself.

For some reason? She’s a desirable woman and you’re attracted to her. That’s the reason.

Well, it’s purely physical. Chemical. Biological.

And if he can get turned on, he should also be capable of turning it off. It’s that simple.

He’s a science teacher, for God’s sake. He should understand how these things work.

Yes, but you teach physics. Not chemistry or biology.

He’s out of his league when it comes to that stuff. Oh, he’s memorized the periodic table of the elements, and he’s dissected plenty of frogs, even a pig.

But when it comes to romantic chemistry and biological urges…

Well, he’s clueless.

And he can’t rattle around this house for another thirty minutes thinking about those things, or he’ll go crazy.

Physical activity. That’s what he needs to take his mind off Meg.

That, or a cold shower.

But he doesn’t want to take a shower before heading over there because then it might seem as though he’s trying to look nice and smell nice for her.

No, he’ll go just as he is, in sweatpants and a T-shirt and sneakers, unshaven, shaggy-haired.

So… physical activity.

Sam strides out the back door and hesitates on the small wooden deck. Now what? Run around the yard?

Or clean it. The perimeter is lined with tall old maples and oaks; a couple of limbs came down in the storm and need to be dragged to the brush pile.

But Sam is feeling too restless for any of that. Spotting Ben’s basketball perched on a bin in the open garage, he strides toward it.

After August’s last gasp of heat and humidity, this September afternoon is sunny, dry, breezy… and welcome.

Sam bounces the basketball a couple of times. He’s about to dribble toward the hoop when a sound reaches his ears.

Somewhere, somebody is singing. Beautifully.

So beautifully that it literally stops him in his tracks, the basketball tucked under one arm, balanced against his hip as he listens.

It’s probably the radio, he thinks momentarily.

Then he knows that it isn’t.

It’s Meg.

Her voice is carried through an open window, high and clear and lilting, like nothing Sam has ever heard before.

He knows nothing about music, other than that he likes some of it—mostly classic rock—and dislikes some—mostly rap or whatever it is that kids at school listen to when they blast their car radios, the stuff with the throbbing bass and lewd lyrics.

“
I don’t know why I’m frightened… I know my way around here…
” Meg sings sweetly, and Sam is mesmerized.

She must have written this song,
he realizes as the lyrics unfold.

It’s about coming home to rediscover a familiar place, about how she’s slowly discovering that everything is as if she never said good-bye.

The melody is lovely, but it’s the passion in her voice—and in the lyrics—that captivate Sam so that he can barely breathe. He can only listen, his heart pounding as he grasps the meaning she’s fervently conveying in the song.

“I’ve spent so many evenings… just trying to resist you… I’m trembling now, just thinking how I’ve missed you…”

She tried to tell me,
he realizes. She said she had a crush on him back in high school… that she was afraid the other night to be with him, afraid of what might happen…

All of this—it’s what she was trying to get across to him, but he didn’t quite understand how profound her feelings really were. Now, in song, propelled by the soaring passion in her powerful, lyrical voice, her feelings are evident.

Stunned by the heartfelt outpouring of emotion, Sam stands absolutely still, listening, until the song is over, and there’s nothing but the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the boughs overhead.

He wonders if Meg suspects that he might be out here, listening. If she was singing to him.

Probably not.

She’s simply an artist, expressing herself.

What she’s saying, though, is coming straight from her heart, speaking straight to his. And Sam can’t ignore it.

He tosses the ball blindly into the open garage and glances toward Meg’s house.

He’s going over there… and not just to inspect the faulty wiring.

There’s no reason to keep things strictly platonic today. His kids—especially Katie—aren’t around to get ideas about him and Meg hooking up permanently.

Anyway, Sam isn’t thinking about the future right now. He’s thinking about the past… and the present. Just as Meg is in her song.

Sam is tempted to go right to her, but it isn’t time. He swiftly strides toward his own house.

He’s going to take a shower.

Not a cold one.

A long, steamy shower.

Then he’s going to shave and get dressed for what might promise to be a long, steamy night ahead, if Meg’s daughter wasn’t around.

That’s how he knows things won’t go too far this time.

If Cosette wasn’t there… well, there’s no telling what might happen.

But with a built-in chaperone, they’ll be safe.

All Sam knows is that he can’t stay away from Meg or pretend that there’s nothing simmering between them. Not after hearing the desire in that song.

Meg is still dumbfounded by the Flickingers’ announcement that Glenhaven Park High School will be putting on
Sunset Boulevard
as this year’s fall musical production.

“It’s an ambitious undertaking for a high school production,” Olympia said, seeing the look on Meg’s face when she heard the news.

Yes, that…

And it’s ironic after what happened to Meg in the city.

Talk about a fading star…

At least you’re not trying to make a comeback, though.

Not onstage, anyway. Her own personal comeback is right here in Glenhaven Park.

And so far, she’s faring about as well as the fictional, legendary Norma Desmond did.

Well, at least she knows all the music to that show; she was cast as Norma back in her summer stock days.

Watching the Flickingers drive away after they’ve extracted a promise to meet with them again midweek—
as Cosette would say: ch-ching
!—she reflects on what just happened.

When Sophie and her mother showed up with all the sheet music from the show, Meg was immediately in her element. She fought the urge to sing her way through the entire Andrew Lloyd Webber score, settling on her own favorite show stopper, the haunting “
As If We’ve Never Said Good-bye.
”

Singing it today, however, she found new meaning in the lyrics about a woman who suddenly finds herself revisiting—and trying to recapture—the past.

She sang it with her soul, with her entire being, the way she used to sing on the stage. She would lose herself in song, and the theater and the audience would disappear.

When you sing something over and over again, it becomes methodical unless you can discover something fresh every time. Great artists do that.

I used to do that.

It’s been a long time, though. Too long.

Today the walls of the decrepit old house fell away, and the Flickingers disappeared, and there was nothing but Meg, and her music, her passion, once again.

When she finished her impromptu performance, both Olympia and Sophie were silent for a change. Even Chita Rivera, who had wandered into the room to listen, sat staring appreciatively at her mistress.