Authors: Barbara Freethy
"You're what?" Tony asked in a shocked voice.
"I'm getting married."
"But -- but why?"
"Because I ..." She looked at Michael as if she couldn't remember why.
"Because you love Joey," he prompted.
"Right, because I love Joey."
"Joey Scopazzi? The kid who wore braces for eighteen years, whose glasses always slid off his face into his tapioca pudding? You're marrying him?"
"He doesn't wear braces or glasses anymore, and yes, I'm marrying him. I want a family and a house and kids, things you don't have any interest in." She stood up abruptly, clutching a batch of papers to her chest. "Excuse me, I have copies to make."
Tony shook his head in bewilderment as she walked down the hall. "Engaged? I can't believe it. She's been following me around since seventh grade. We've been dating on and off for twelve years. She's always been there for me."
"But you haven't always been there for her. She's an attractive woman -- "
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you? I got three postcards from you in the past year, none with a return address."
"I can't believe she got engaged that fast. She knew I was coming back. I told her I needed time to think after Angela died."
"People take a couple of weeks to think, a month at the most. You've been gone almost a year." He opened the door to his office, and Tony followed him inside.
"So I had a lot to think about."
"Did you come to any conclusions?"
"As a matter of fact, I did." Tony smiled proudly. "I bought a boat, Michael. She's a beauty. Wait until you see her."
"The boat is here?"
"Yeah. The brother of a friend of mine has been sailing out of the San Juan Islands up north, but he needed some quick cash and decided to sell his boat."
"And you just happened to have some cash? What did you do -- rob a bank?"
"I saved it."
He laughed. "No way."
"I did. Okay, I had a few good hands of poker, too."
"Did you cheat?"
"Does it matter?" Tony asked with a grin. "Anyway, I came home to pick up the boat, say hello to the family, and see if Helen wants to go back with me. She would love the Caribbean."
"Helen?" Michael sat down behind his desk. "My loyal assistant who never calls in sick, who never arrives late, and who dutifully calls her mother every day of the week? That's the woman you're thinking of asking to sail across the world with you?"
"She's great in bed."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
Tony sprawled in the chair in front of Michael's desk. "I didn't know she was fooling around with Joey Scopazzi. Why did she have to pick him? Why couldn't she find someone who didn't grow up with us, who wasn't such a weasel?"
"Joey is a nice guy. He runs his father's dry cleaning business now. He's very responsible."
"Yeah, and he sounds like a lot of laughs. So, what's new around here, besides Helen and Joey?"
He smiled. Tony would love his next piece of news. "Frank and Linda are planning a surprise party for your parents' fortieth wedding anniversary on Saturday night."
"Oh, man." Tony propped his feet on the edge of Michael's desk. "Anniversary parties and weddings. My timing sucks."
"As always. Maybe that's why your old girlfriend is marrying someone else."
"She's not married yet."
"Why can't you just accept that Helen is with someone else, and be happy for her? Be her friend."
"I don't know how to be friends with a woman. If there's no sex involved, what's the point?"
For a moment Michael thought Tony was serious, then he saw the hint of a smile playing around Tony's mouth. "Yeah, right. You know, you don't need Helen, you need a woman who won't take crap from you. Helen is too nice for you."
"Then tell me where I can find myself a gorgeous bitch."
"Try any bar in the financial district after five. So, what are you going to do with this boat?"
"Run charters. I finally get to be my own boss."
"Don't kid yourself. You open your own business and you'll do nothing but cater to everyone else, to your clients, to your banker, to your crew. It's called being a grown-up."
"No, not that, please."
"Do you have a business plan?"
Tony made a face. "Unlike you, I don't plan out every move I'm going to make. Sometimes I just jump and then look down."
"That's a good way to break your neck." He sat back in his chair. "Owning your own business is a risk."
"Yeah, well, if you took a risk once in awhile, you wouldn't be stuck building square boxes for business suits."
He frowned, once again reminded of how far he had strayed from his original goals, but he had made the right decisions. He had a family to support. Ideals were fine, but they didn't put food on the table.
"How are the girls?" Tony asked, changing the subject.
"The same. Happy most of the time, at least on the surface. God knows what's going on in their heads."
"Still not talking?"
"Not to me."
"What are you supposed to do about it?"
"Be patient, wait until they feel comfortable enough to talk to me. By that time I'll probably be too old to hear them. Sometimes I just want to shake them until the words come out or they yell at me to stop. But I don't."
"Of course you don't. You love those kids." Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What do the doctors say?"
"The doctors say that while the girls are happy to live with me, they don't want to talk to me. They don't trust me for some reason -- which maybe some day they'll be able to tell me."
"Mama can't get anything out of them?" Tony asked.
"No. But Sophia has been distracted since Angela died."
"Angela was everything to her, the only daughter. She was one of a kind," Tony said.
Michael stared at him for a long moment.
"What did I say?" Tony asked.
"You're not going to believe this."
"What?"
"I saw a woman who looks just like Angela at the school where I took the girls this morning."
"No way."
"The girls even called her Mama. They threw themselves at her."
"What? She has dark hair?"
"And big brown eyes, and an oval face, and a soft, warm mouth, and ..." Michael's voice drifted off as he realized just how much Joanna had affected him.
"Michael?" Tony snapped his fingers. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"This woman -- she really got to you, didn't she?"
"You'd have to see her to believe it."
"So when can I see her?"
"I pick up the kids at three."
Tony checked his watch. "I'll be back."
"We waited so long for you to come back," Rose said as Joanna sat down with the twins at the art table. "Where were you?"
Joanna sighed, looking from Lily to Rose. She had tried to convince them for the past six hours that she was not their long-lost mother, but to no avail. It didn't matter that everyone called her Joanna. They seemed to think she was playing a game with them.
Wishing she had majored in child psychology instead of history, Joanna opened her purse and took out her wallet. "I want to show you a picture."
She handed Rose a photo taken of her family a year and a half earlier at Christmas, before her father had gotten sick. "That's my mother, her name is Caroline; and the man is my father. His name was Edward. He died a couple of months ago." Her voice softened, "I still miss him a lot. Just like you miss your mother. It's hard to say good-bye, isn't it?"
Rose and Lily stared at the photo, then at her.
"Where are Grandma Sophia and Grandpa Vincent?" Lily asked in confusion.
Joanna tried again. "I'm not your mother, Lily. These are my parents."
"We did something bad, didn't we, Mama?" Rose's chocolate brown eyes filled with tears. "I remember when you said we were driving you crazy, that you had to go away. You made us promise -- "
"Rose, she wants to be sure we didn't break our promise," Lily interrupted.
Rose looked relieved. "Oh. It's okay. Mama, I haven't told Daddy anything. I told you I could keep a secret."
Secret? What secret? Joanna tucked her hair behind her ear as she realized the children still believed she was their mother. "Come on, girls. Look at the photo. Do I really look like your mother? Are our clothes the same? Our hair? Our teeth?"
Lily tilted her head as she stared into Joanna's face, then back at the photo. "Your hair is longer and curlier now."
She let out a breath of relief. They were finally making progress. "What else?" She turned to Rose. "Can you see the difference, honey? Can you understand that I'm Joanna, that I'm not your mother?"
"If you want us to call you Joanna, it's okay," Rose replied. "It's a pretty name."
"We like it," Lily added.
"I give up," Joanna said with a helpless laugh.
"Are you mad at us?" Rose asked. "Please don't be mad."
Rose threw her arms around Joanna, burying her face in the curve of Joanna's neck. Her hair brushed against Joanna's skin, bringing with it the sweet scent of flowers. Joanna couldn't help but hug Rose back. The child felt so right in her arms, a perfect fit. Lily stepped up next to them, running her hand down the side of Joanna's hair, twirling her fingers in the long strands.
"I like your hair longer," Lily whispered. "I think Daddy likes it, too."
Joanna's heart caught at the simple word, at the reminder of their father, Michael Ashton. She'd been thinking about him all morning, and it had to stop. She hadn't spent this much time thinking about David, and they'd gone out for six months. But she could still see Michael in her mind, wrestling with the girls, his tie crooked, his hair ruffled, his eyes shocked at the sight of her.
"Mama -- I mean Joanna," Lily said, "do you want us to clean up now?"
Joanna looked at the clock, suddenly realizing the bell had rung.
"Good idea." She stood up and helped the other children in her class prepare for departure. Her first day of teaching had gone well. Aside from putting several children to sleep during her recitation of Emily Dickinson, she'd done okay. And she had been surprised at how much she'd enjoyed it. She'd always felt awkward with the college kids, never feeling all that secure or confident in herself.
Here she was definitely in charge, and the kids were so loving, she couldn't help but connect with them. They hugged her before recess. They showed her their pictures and shared their excitement. They fought over who would get to sit in her lap during story time.
She had never felt so loved, and even though she'd spent more time tying shoelaces than teaching numbers, she felt good about the day.
The twins helped her put the chairs on the tables as various children were picked up by their parents. Michael Ashton was the last to arrive, and he had another man with him.
"Uncle Tony!" the girls said in unison, running over to the other man.
Uncle Tony had a shadowy beard, windblown hair, and a smile guaranteed to charm. Despite Tony's obvious good looks, Joanna still felt drawn to Michael. Maybe it was Michael's eyes, so blue, so light in contrast to his dark hair. Maybe it was his broad chest, his confident stance. Maybe she had been alone too long.
"Hi midgets," Tony said, receiving a smacking kiss from each of the girls. "I brought you candy."
Joanna smiled at the girls' pleasure. She turned to Michael to tell him about their day. Once again the intensity of his gaze caught her off guard. He seemed as shocked to see her now as he had been that morning.
"Mr. Ashton," she said slowly.
"Yes?" He sounded distracted.
"Are you all right?"
"No. No, I don't think so. All morning I told myself it was my imagination." He turned to his friend. "Tony, I want you to meet Miss -- "
"Joanna," she said.
Tony stepped forward. His smile faded as he looked at her. Joanna put a hand to her temple, pressing hard against her threatening headache. She didn't think she could stand much more emotion. She'd used up all her energy and patience with the children.
"Wow." Tony took in a deep breath. "You weren't kidding, Michael. She looks just like Angie."
Joanna abruptly turned around. She was beginning to feel like a bug under a microscope. She walked over to her desk and began organizing her papers.
After a moment Michael joined her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
"Well, you did," she said shortly, unwilling to admit that her discomfort had more to do with attraction than dislike.
"Joanna." Michael's voice came out low and husky, making her name sound like a caress.