A Mother's Wish (2 page)

“Mother, would you please get out of this bed,” Lindsey said, standing over her. Then in enticing tones, she murmured, “I have coffee.”

“You tricked me before.”

“This one’s real coffee. The other stuff, well, I apologize about that. I guess I misunderstood the lady at the
health food store. You were right. According to the directions, you’re supposed to use it in the bath, not drink it. Sorry about that.”

Meg could see it wasn’t going to do the least bit of good to hide her face under a pillow. “I can’t buy my way out of this?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“You’ll feel much better after you exercise,” Brenda promised her. “Really, you will.”

An hour later, Meg didn’t feel any such thing. She couldn’t move without some part of her anatomy protesting.

“You did great, Mrs. Remington,” Brenda praised.

Meg limped into her kitchen and slowly lowered herself into a chair. Who would’ve believed a workout DVD, followed by a short—this was the term the girls used—one-mile run, would reduce her to this. In the past hour she’d been poked, prodded, pushed and punished.

“I’ve got your meals all planned out for you,” Lindsey informed her. She opened the refrigerator door and took out a sandwich bag. She held it up for Meg’s inspection. “This is your lunch.”

Meg would’ve asked her about the meager contents if she’d had the breath to do so. All she could see was one radish, a square of cheese—low-fat, she presumed—and a small bunch of seedless grapes.

“Don’t have any more than the nonfat yogurt for breakfast, okay?”

Meg nodded, rather than dredge up the energy to argue.

“Are you going to tell her about dinner?” Brenda asked.

“Oh, yeah. Listen, Mom, you’ve been a real trooper about this and we thought we should reward you. Tonight for dinner you can have a baked potato.”

She managed a weak smile. Visions of butter and sour cream waltzed through her head.

“With fresh grilled fish.”

“You like fish don’t you, Mrs. Remington?”

Meg nodded. At this point she would’ve agreed to anything just to get the girls out of her kitchen, so she could recover enough to cook herself a decent breakfast.

“Brenda and I are going shopping,” Lindsey announced. “We’re going to pick out a whole new wardrobe for you, Mom.”

“It’s the craziest thing,” Meg told her best friend, Laura Harrison, that same afternoon. They were unpacking boxes of books in the back room. “All of a sudden, Lindsey said she wants me to remarry.”

“Really?”

Laura found this far too humorous to suit Meg. “But she wants me to lose ten pounds and run an eight-minute mile first.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Laura muttered, taking paperbacks from the shipping carton and placing them on a cart.

“What?”

“Lindsey was in the store a couple of weeks ago looking for a book that explained carbs and fat grams.”

“I’m allowed thirty fat grams a day,” Meg informed her. “And one hundred grams of carbohydrates.” Not that her fifteen-year-old daughter was going to dictate what she did and didn’t eat.

“I hope Lindsey doesn’t find out about that submarine sandwich you had for lunch.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Meg said. “I haven’t been that hungry in years. I don’t think anyone bothered to tell Lindsey and Brenda that one of the effects of a workout is a voracious appetite.”

“What was that phone call about earlier?” Laura asked.

Meg frowned as she moved books onto the cart. “Lindsey wanted my credit card number for a slinky black dress with a scoop neckline.” Lindsey had sounded rapturous over the dress, describing it in detail, especially the deep cuts up the sides that would reveal plenty of thigh. “She said she found it on sale—and it was a deal too good to pass up.” She paused. “Needless to say, I told her no.”

“What would Lindsey want with a slinky black dress?”

“She wanted it for me,” Meg said, under her breath.

“You?”

“Apparently once I fit the proper image, they plan to dress me up and escort me around town.”

Laura laughed.

“I’m beginning to think you might not be such a good friend after all,” Meg told her employee. “I expected sympathy and advice, not laughter.”

“I’m sorry, Meg. Really.”

She sounded far more amused than she did sorry.

Meg cast her a disgruntled look. “You know what your problem is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Laura was quick to tell her. “I’m married, with college-age children. I don’t have to put up with any of this nonsense and you do. Wait, my dear, until Lindsey gets her driver’s license.
Then
you’ll know what real fear is.”

“One disaster at a time, thank you.” Meg sat on a stool and reached for her coffee cup. “I don’t mind telling you I’m worried about all this.”

“Why?” Laura straightened and picked up her own cup, refilling it from the freshly brewed pot. “It’s a stage Lindsey’s going through. Trust me, it’ll pass.”

“Lindsey keeps insisting I’ll be lonely when she leaves for college, which she reminded me is in three years.”

“Will you be?”

Meg had to think about that. “I don’t know. I suppose in some ways I will be. The house will feel empty without her.” The two weeks Lindsey spent with her father
every year seemed interminable. Meg wandered around the house like a lost puppy.

“So, why
not
get involved in another relationship?” Laura asked.

“With whom?” was Meg’s first question. “I don’t know any single men.”

“Sure you do,” Laura countered. “There’s Ed, who has the insurance office two doors down.”

“Ed’s single?” She rather liked Ed. He seemed like a decent guy, but she’d never thought of him in terms of dating.

“The fact that you didn’t know Ed was single says a lot. You’ve got to keep your eyes and ears open.”

“Who else?”

“Buck’s divorced.”

Buck was a regular customer, and although she couldn’t quite understand why, Meg had never cared for him. “I wouldn’t go out with Buck.”

“I didn’t say you had to go out with him, I just said he was single.”

Meg couldn’t see herself kissing either man. “Anyone else?”

“There are lots of men out there.”

“Oh, really, and I’m blind?”

“Yes,” Laura said. “If you want the truth, I don’t think Lindsey’s idea is so bad. True, she may be going about it
the wrong way, but it wouldn’t hurt you to test the waters. You might be surprised at what you find.”

Meg sighed. She’d expected support from her best friend, and instead Laura had turned traitor.

By the time Meg had closed the bookstore and headed home, she was exhausted. So much for all those claims about exercise generating energy. In her experience, it did the reverse.

“Lindsey,” she called out, “are you home?”

“I’m in my room,” came the muffled reply from the bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Something she couldn’t put her finger on prompted Meg to hurry upstairs to her daughter’s bedroom despite her aching muscles. She knocked once and opened the door to see Lindsey and Brenda sitting on the bed, leafing through a stack of letters.

Lindsey hid the one she was reading behind her back. “Mom?” she said, her eyes wide. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Hello, Mrs. Remington,” Brenda said, looking decidedly guilty.

It was then that Meg saw the black dress hanging from the closet door. It was the most provocative thing she’d seen in years.

“How’d you get the dress?” Meg demanded, angry that Lindsey had gone against her wishes and wondering how she’d managed to do it.

The two girls stared at each other, neither one eager to give her an answer. “Brenda phoned her mother and she put it on her credit card,” Lindsey said at last.

“What?”
Meg felt ready to explode.

“It was only a small lie,” Brenda said quickly. “I told my mom it was perfect and on sale and too cheap to resist. What I didn’t tell her was that the dress wasn’t for me.”

“It’s going back right this minute, and then the three of us are paying Brenda’s parents a visit.”

“Mom!” Lindsey flew off the bed. “Wait, please.” She had a panicked look in her eyes. “What we did was wrong, but when you wouldn’t agree to buy the dress yourself, we didn’t know what to do. You just don’t have anything appropriate for Chez Michelle.”

Chez Michelle was one of the most exclusive restaurants in Seattle, with a reputation for excellent French cuisine. Meg had never eaten there herself, but Laura and her husband had celebrated their silver wedding anniversary at Chez Michelle and raved about it for weeks afterward.

“You’re not making any sense,” Meg told her daughter.

Lindsey bit her lip and nodded.

“You have to tell her,” Brenda insisted.

“Tell me what?”

“You’re the one who wrote the last letter,” Lindsey said. “The least you could’ve done was get the dates right.”

“It’s tonight.”

“I know,” Lindsey snapped.

“Would someone tell me what’s going on here?” Meg asked, her patience at its end.

“You need that dress, Mom,” Lindsey said in a voice so low Meg had to strain to hear her.

“And why would that be?”

“You have a dinner date.”

“I do? And just who am I going out with?” She assumed this had something to do with Chez Michelle.

“Steve Conlan.”

“Steve Conlan?” Meg repeated. She said it again, looking for something remotely familiar about the name and finding nothing,

“You don’t know him,” Lindsey told her. “But he’s really nice. Brenda and I both like him.” She glanced at her friend for confirmation and Brenda nodded eagerly.

“You’ve met him?” Meg didn’t like the sound of this.

“Not really. We exchanged a couple of letters and then we e-mailed back and forth and he seems like a really great guy.” The last part was said with forced enthusiasm.

“You’ve been writing a strange man.”

“He’s not so strange, Mom, not really. He sounds just like one of us.”

“He wants to meet you,” Brenda put in.

“Me?” Meg brought her hand to her throat. “Why would he want to do that?”

The girls shared a look, reminiscent of the one she’d caught the night before.

“Lindsey?” Meg asked. “Why would this man want to meet me?”

Her daughter lowered her eyes, refusing to meet Meg’s. “Because when we wrote Steve … “

“Yes?”

“Brenda and I told him we were you.”

S
teve Conlan glanced at his watch. The time hadn’t changed since he’d looked before. He could tell it was going to be one of those nights. He had the distinct feeling it would drag by, one interminable minute after another.

He still hadn’t figured how he’d gotten himself into this mess. He was minding his own business and the next thing he knew … He didn’t want to think about it, because whenever he did his blood pressure rose.

Nancy was going to pay for this.

He was early, not because he was so eager for tonight. No, he was only eager to get it over with.

He tried not to check the time and failed. A minute had passed. Or was it a lifetime?

His necktie felt as if it would strangle him. A tie. He
couldn’t believe he’d let Nancy talk him into wearing a stupid tie.

Because he needed something to occupy his time, he took the snapshot out of his shirt pocket.

Meg Remington.

She had a nice face, he decided. Nothing spectacular. She certainly wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but she wasn’t plain, either. Her eyes were her best feature. Clear. Bright. Expressive. She had a cute mouth, too. Very kissable. Sensuous.

What was he supposed to say to the woman? The hell if he knew. He’d read her letters and e-mails a dozen times. She sounded—he hated to say it—immature, as if she felt the need to impress him. She seemed to think that because she ran an eight-minute mile it qualified her for the Olympics. Frankly, he wondered what their dinner would be like, with her being so food conscious and all. She’d actually bragged about how few fat grams and carbs she consumed. Clearly she wasn’t familiar with the menu at Chez Michelle. He couldn’t see a single low-fat or low-carb entrée.

That was another thing. The woman had expensive tastes. Dinner at Chez Michelle would set him back three hundred bucks—if he was lucky. So far he’d been anything but …

Involuntarily his gaze fell to his watch again, and he groaned inwardly. His sister owed him for this.

Big time.

“I refuse to meet a strange man for dinner,” Meg insisted coldly. There were some things even a mother wouldn’t do.

“But you have to,” Brenda pleaded. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Remington, I feel really bad springing this on you, but Steve didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve just
got
to show up. You have to … otherwise he might lose faith in all women.”

“So?”

“But he’s your date,” Lindsey said. “It would’ve worked out great if …” she paused and scowled at her best friend “… if one of us hadn’t gotten the days mixed up.”

“Exactly when did you plan on telling me you’ve been communicating with a strange man, using
my
name?”

“Soon,” Lindsey said with conviction. “We had to … He started asking about meeting you almost right away. We did everything we could to hold him off. Oh, by the way, if he asks about your appendix, you’ve made a full recovery.”

Meg groaned. The time frame of their deception wasn’t what interested her. She was stalling, looking for a way out of this. She could leave a message for Steve at the restaurant, explaining that she couldn’t make it, but that seemed like such a cowardly thing to do.

Unfortunately no escape plan presented itself. Brenda was right; it wasn’t Steve’s fault that he’d been duped by
a pair of teenagers. It wasn’t her fault, either, but then Lindsey was her daughter.

“He’s very nice-looking,” Brenda said. She reached behind her and pulled out a picture from one of the envelopes scattered across Lindsey’s bed. “Here, see what I mean?” Meg swore she heard the girl sigh. “He’s got blue eyes and check out his smile.”

Meg took the photo from Brenda and studied it. Her daughter’s friend was right. Steve Conlan was pleasant-looking. His hair was a little long, but that didn’t bother her. He wore a cowboy hat and boots and had his thumbs tucked into his hip pockets as he stared into the camera.

“He’s tall, dark and
lonesome,
” Lindsey said wistfully.

“Has he ever been married?” Meg asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Nope.” This time it was Brenda who supplied the information. “He’s got his own business, same as you, Mrs. Remington. He owns a body shop and he’s been sinking every penny into it.”

“What made him place the ad?” she asked the girls. A sudden thought came to her. “He
is
the one who advertised, isn’t he?”

Both girls looked away and Meg’s heart froze. “You mean to say you two advertised for a husband for me?” She spoke slowly, each word distinct.

“We got lots of letters, too,” Brenda said proudly. “We went through them all and chose Steve Conlan.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” Lindsey prodded.

Meg gestured weakly, still too shocked to react.

“Steve says he decided to answer your ad because one day he woke up and realized life was passing him by. All his friends were married, and he felt like something important was missing in his life. Then he knew it wasn’t
something
but someone.”

“What about female friends?” Meg asked, thinking he didn’t look like a man who’d have to find companionship in the classifieds.

“He said in his letter that …” Lindsey paused and rustled through a sheaf of papers, searching for the right envelope. “Here it is,” she muttered. “He doesn’t have much opportunity to meet single women unless they’ve been in an accident, and generally they’re not in the mood for romance when they’re dealing with a body shop and an insurance company.” Lindsey grinned. “He’s kind of witty. I like that about him.”

“He said a lot of women his age have already been married and divorced and had a passel of kids.”

This didn’t sound too promising to Meg. “You did happen to mention that I’m divorced, too, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Lindsey insisted. “We’d never lie.”

Meg bit her tongue to keep from saying the obvious.

“Just think,” Brenda said, “out of all the women who advertised, Steve chose you and we chose him. It’s destiny.”

The girls thought she’d feel complimented, but Meg was suspicious. “Surely there was someone younger and prettier, without children, who interested him.”

The two girls exchanged a smile. “He liked the fact that you count carbs and fat grams,” Brenda said proudly.

So much for their unwillingness to stretch the truth. “You actually told him that?” She closed her eyes and groaned. “What else did you say?”

“Just that you’re really wonderful.”

“Heroic,” Brenda added. “And you are.”

Oh, great. They’d made her sound like a thin Joan of Arc.

“You will meet him, won’t you?” Lindsey’s dark eyes pleaded with Meg.

“What I should do is march the two of you down to that fancy restaurant and have you personally apologize to him. You both deserve to be grounded until you’re forty.”

The girls blinked in unison. “But, Mom … “

“Mrs. Remington … “

Meg raised her hand and stopped them. “I won’t take you to Chez Michelle, and as for the grounding part … we’ll discuss it later.”

Two pairs of shoulders sagged with relief.

“But I won’t have dinner with Steve Conlan,” she said emphatically. “I’ll go to the restaurant, introduce myself and explain what happened. I’m sure he’ll agree that the best thing to do is skip dinner altogether.”

“You’ll wear the dress, won’t you?” Lindsey asked, eyeing the slinky black concoction hanging outside her closet door.

“Absolutely not,” Meg said. She refused to even consider it.

“But you don’t have anything special enough for Chez Michelle. Just try it on, Mom.”

“No. Well … “

“Come on, Mom. Brenda and I want to see how it looks.”

An hour later Meg pulled up at Chez Michelle in the very dress she’d sworn she’d never wear. It fit as if it’d been designed just for her, enhancing her figure and camouflaging those stubborn ten pounds. At least that was what Lindsey and Brenda told her.

“Hello.” The hostess greeted her with a wide smile. “Table for one?”

“I’m … meeting someone,” Meg said, glancing around the waiting area looking for a man who resembled “tall, dark and lonesome” in the photo. No one did. Nor was there a single male wearing a cowboy hat.

The only man who looked vaguely like the one in the photograph stood in the corner of the room, leaning indolently against the wall as if he had all the time in the world.

He straightened and stared at her.

Meg stared back.

He reached inside his suit pocket and took out a picture.

Meg opened the clasp of her purse and removed the photo the girls had given her. She looked down at it and then up again.

He appeared to be doing the same thing.

“Meg Remington?” he asked uncertainly.

She nodded. “Steve Conlan?”

He nodded, too.

He wore a suit and tie. A suit and tie. The guy had really gone all out for her. Meg swallowed uncomfortably. He’d invited her to this ultrafancy restaurant expecting to meet the woman who’d exchanged those letters and messages with him. Meg felt her heart settle somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. She couldn’t very well introduce herself and immediately say it had all been a mistake and cancel dinner. Not when he’d gone to so much trouble.

“I believe our table is ready,” Steve said, holding out his arm to her. His hand touched her elbow and he addressed the hostess. “We can be seated now.”

The woman gave him an odd look, then picked up two huge menus. “This way.”

Meg might’ve been wrong, but she thought she heard some reluctance in his voice. Perhaps she was a disappointment to Steve Conlan. After the fitness drill Lindsey and Brenda had put her through, Meg was feeling her advancing age.

Pride stiffened Meg’s shoulders. So she hadn’t signed
any modeling contracts lately. What did he expect from a thirty-seven-year-old woman? If he wanted to date a woman in her twenties, he shouldn’t have answered her ad. Lindsey’s ad, she corrected. It was all Meg could do not to stop Steve Conlan right then and there and tell him this was as good as it got.

Especially in this dress. It was simply gorgeous. Meg knew now the girls had made the perfect choice. She was glad she’d given in to them on this one. Besides, Lindsey was right; she didn’t own anything fancy enough for Chez Michelle. Before she could stop herself she’d agreed to wear it. Soon both girls were offering her fashion advice.

They were escorted to a linen-covered table next to the window, which overlooked Elliot Bay and Puget Sound. The moon’s reflection on the water sent gilded light across the surface, and the restaurant’s interior was dimly lit.

Meg squinted, barely able to read her menu. She wondered if Steve was having the same problem. Originally she hadn’t intended to have dinner with him. Wouldn’t even now, if he hadn’t gone to so much trouble on her behalf. It seemed crass to drop in, announce it had all been a misguided attempt by her daughter to play matchmaker, ask his forgiveness and speedily disappear.

“I believe I’ll have the chicken cordon bleu,” she said, deciding on the least expensive item on the menu. “And please, I insist on paying for my own meal.” It would be unforgivable to gouge him for that as well.

“Dinner’s on me,” Steve insisted, setting his menu aside. He smiled for the first time and it transformed his face. He studied her, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her.

“But …” Meg lowered her gaze and closed her mouth. She didn’t know where to start and yet she didn’t know how much longer she could maintain the pretense. “This is all very elegant ….”

“Yes,” he agreed, spinning the stem of his water glass between his thumb and index finger.

“You look different than your picture.” Meg had no idea why she’d told him that. What she
should
be doing was explaining about Lindsey and Brenda.

“How’s that?”

“Your eyes are much bluer and you’ve cut your hair.”

He gave a slight grin. “And your picture didn’t do you justice.”

Meg hadn’t thought to ask Lindsey which one she’d mailed Steve. “Can I see?”

“Sure.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.

Meg took one look and rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe Lindsey had sent this particular photograph to anyone. It’d been taken just before Christmas a year earlier. She was standing in front of the Christmas tree wearing a white dress that drained all the color from her face.
The flash from the camera made her eyes appear red. She looked like she was recovering from a serious ailment.

“This is one of the worst pictures ever taken of me,” she said impatiently. “The one of me at the bookstore is
much
better.”

Steve’s brow creased with a frown. “I see. You should’ve sent that one.”

Meg realized what she’d said too late. “You’re right, I should have …. How silly of me.”

The waitress came and they placed their orders, both declining a drink, Meg to keep down the cost and Steve, no doubt, to hurry the meal along.

Once the server had left the table, Meg carefully smoothed the napkin across her lap. “Listen, Steve … “

“Meg … “

They both stopped.

“You go first,” he said, gesturing toward her.

“All right.” She cocked her head to one side and then the other, going over the words in her mind. “This isn’t easy ….”

Steve frowned. “It’s been a pleasure to meet me, but the chemistry just isn’t there and you’d like to let me down gently and be done with it.”

“No!” she hurried to assure him.

“Oh.”

The disappointment in his tone came as a mild shock.
Then she understood. “You … expected a different kind of woman and—”

“Not in the least. If the truth be known, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

She swallowed. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Why not?”

“Because …” She dragged in a deep breath. “Because I’m not the person you think I am. I mean …” This was proving even more difficult than it should have. “I didn’t write those letters.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Then who did?”

“My daughter and her friend.”

“I … see.”

Meg’s fingers crushed the linen napkin in her lap. “You have every reason to be upset. It was an underhanded thing to do to us both.”