Ride the Rainbow Home (10 page)

"Saturday too?"

She smiled. "Saturday too. Shall we go to the canyon again?"

"I have a buying trip on the reservation. I'll be gone for the weekend. Come with me?"

Meg paused. Was he really asking her to share his all-important, mildly secretive work? "Yes," she said slowly, "I'd like that too."

"Good." He had that look in his eyes again, like he'd love to devour her.

Meg leaned toward him, her lips slightly parted, and waited.

Jim touched her cheek, and then swallowed hard, as if making a difficult decision. "Good night, Meggie," he said, and strode down the walk.

Chapter Five

Meg awoke Monday with sweet old love songs dancing through her head. She bounded out of bed, had her shower, started the laundry, made a coffee cake and cooked breakfast before Frank and Sally stumbled out, bleary-eyed. She fed them both, and then made herself scarce while they said good-bye. It was mid-morning before she had a chance to speak to Sally.

"I know I'm invaluable," Meg began, "but do you think you could get along without me Wednesday evening?"

"You think you're joking," Sally began, "but you are invaluable. Still, if you have a hot date, by all means, go!"

"Do you feel the same about Friday? Jim's making a buying trip this weekend. He asked me along."

Sally's eyes grew wide. "He's inviting you to go away with him for the weekend?"

Meg felt her face warming. "It isn't like that exactly "

But Sally was bubbling. "This is even better than I'd hoped! When I talked you into coming back to town, I was hoping to get you and Jim together."

"You were hoping? Sally, you arranged this?"

“Of course not. I just got you here. Nature took care of the rest. Go, girl! Have a great time."

"Thanks. I'll tell Jim when he calls." Meg hesitated, thinking of what she'd seen the day before. "Sally, have you ever been out to the pig farm?"

Sally's answer was casual. "Dozens of times, especially back in high school."

Meg winced. "Did you realize I'd never been to the farm until yesterday?"

Sally looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I knew it. I just wasn't sure you knew it."

"And all that time I thought we were so close." Meg sighed. "I guess I wasn't much of a friend, was I?"

Sally patted Meg's shoulder. "Sure you were. But Jim did do most of the giving—for both of us."

"It was just . . . well, you know. People were calling me Piggy and he was getting teased about raising pigs, and I just—“ She felt the tears coming. “All those years, and he accepted me completely, even when I was looking down my nose at the pig farm, just like everybody else."

"He loved you, Meg. I suspect he still does."

“Loved?”

“That’s what I said.” Sally went to care for a crying infant.

Meg worked through the morning pondering that thought. She knew what Sally meant when she said "love." Was it possible Jim meant more? Was he looking at their past, or toward some uncertain future? And what future could they have if she was in Walnut Creek and he was here? She tried imagining herself as the next Kate McAllister, keeping life organized as she brought up the next generation of McAllisters and pigs. No, that kind of cozy domesticity could never be hers. She was a workshop presenter, a management training guru. She threw her frustration into rubbing the fingerprints off the sliding glass door.

She'd been expecting Jim's call for hours and by late afternoon she was jumping every time the house phone or her cell phone rang, but it wasn't until she had tucked Tommy into bed that she finally heard his voice.

"Hello, Meggie."

"Hello yourself," she purred.

"Have you and Sally worked things out for this weekend?"

"It was easy. I only had to twist her arm a little."

"Great. I'm looking forward to it." Then he casually asked, "Say, what's your address in Walnut Creek? I have an appointment in the East Bay tomorrow and I thought I might drive by."

Meg practically floated as she repeated her address, hardly daring to hope what Jim was thinking. He was working in California, wasn't he? He worked there often. Was it possible they wouldn't be two states apart after all? Later she drifted off to sleep in Isabel's bed, her mind full of pictures of Jim in her cozy condo. She let hope override the inner sense that there was something incongruous about the images.

* * * *

"Mommy!"

Meg awakened groggily, remembered where she was, and stumbled down the hallway toward the sound. It was Tommy's voice she'd heard, but by the time she and Sally bumped into each other at the doorway, both Tommy and Isabel were in tears.

"What's wrong, baby?" Sally cooed, stroking Tommy's forehead. "Oh, Lord! He's burning up!"

Meg felt a sick knot forming in her middle. "How can I help?"

"There's non-aspirin in the medicine cabinet," Sally said, pulling the child into her lap. "Would you bring me two?"

"On my way." She started down the hall.

"And a cool, damp washcloth!" Sally called after her.

Fear propelled Meg into the bathroom where the sudden light stung her eyes. In a state of near panic, she rummaged through the medicine cabinet, found the children’s acetaminophen, prepared the washcloth, and rushed back. "Here are the pills," she said.

"Thanks, Meg. Come on now, honey. Chew these for Mama." Sally slipped first one tablet, then the other past Tommy's clenched teeth. "The washcloth?" she asked.

Meg gave it to her and she folded it, placing it against Tommy's fevered forehead, all the while rocking and humming tunelessly. Meg dropped to the side of the bed and sat by helplessly. How many things could go wrong with a baby Tommy's age? How did Sally know what to do? What if she was wrong? Babies still died of a fever sometimes; Meg had heard of it. What would they do if Tommy—? But she wouldn't—couldn't—allow herself to consider that possibility. Choosing not to think at all, she watched and wrung her hands.

But Sally seemed to know exactly what to do. Tommy slowly fell into a fitful sleep, then bit by bit relaxed. Soon he was snoring peacefully on his mother's breast, his brow cooler. Sally stopped rocking and lifted the cloth away. "Help me get him back into bed," she said.

Meg smoothed back the covers while Sally placed the sleeping baby on the mattress, then tucked Tommy in. "Is he going to be all right?" she asked as they tiptoed into the hall.

"I think so," Sally whispered. "His fever went down quickly."

"Do you know what's wrong?" Meg paced nervously. "Maybe you should take him to a doctor, but they won't be open this time of night, will they? Maybe the hospital—"

"Meg, you're babbling," Sally interrupted, her voice patient. "We don't need a doctor, and certainly not a hospital. And who can ever be sure what's wrong, anyway? These little ones can run a fever over anything, or nothing at all. It's probably just some little bug he picked up in the church nursery while his dad and I went to mass."

Meg let her breath out slowly, finally allowing herself to relax. "You're a pillar, Sal. How do you stay so calm?"

Sally smiled wearily. "I wasn't calm the first half dozen times I went through this," she said, "but after a while you kind of get used to the idea that they aren't really as fragile as they look. Besides, you can usually tell when something is serious and when it's not."

"Correction,
you
can tell. I wouldn't have the faintest idea."

"You'd catch on soon." Sally yawned. "Well, we'd better get some sleep while we can. No telling when the next alarm will go off."

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Around two-thirty."

Meg moaned. "No wonder motherhood ages a woman."

"Speak for yourself, single lady." Sally wobbled down the hall.

Meg fell into bed exhausted, but unable to sleep. Until Sally dragged her back to Rainbow Rock, she'd never imagined having little ones of her own. In fact, she had sworn she'd never subject children to the kind of childhood she'd had—the serial marriages, the frequent uprooting, the instability. It wasn't until she'd seen Tommy tossing in fever that she realized she had begun to cherish the dream that someday she might have her own little Tommy. Tonight was forcing her to think again. The panic that had formed such a knot in her belly was a clue as to how unready she was to accept that kind of responsibility. Any thought of her having children was surely just a dream, maybe an impossible one. Better to smother it in her pillow while it was still young and new and didn't yet have the power to break her heart.

* * * *

Tommy awoke early Tuesday, his fever up but not as dramatically as it had been during the night. He rested fitfully when medicated, but found comfort nowhere but in his mother's arms. Sally complied, giving Tommy all the mother-care he asked for, and Meg had her hands full keeping up with the rest of the household, even caring for the newborns except when Sally needed to nurse one or the other.

Tommy remained ill all day Tuesday and went to bed with a fever Tuesday night. Meg was beginning to wonder whether she could leave Sally alone with the children on Wednesday evening, even for a dinner out with Jim. When he called that evening, she told him about Tommy's fever. "He's been so sick. I really couldn't leave Sally alone here with an ill child and three others to care for."

"I understand," Jim said. "Maybe I can bring dinner there?"

Meg brightened. "That would be nice. Why don't you call tomorrow and I'll let you know how things are going?"

"Sounds good," Jim answered. "I drove by your condo today," he added, his voice casual. "It's number 1778, right? The one with the frilly curtains in the window and the hanging flowerpots?"

"Yes," she said, glowing with pride. "What did you think?"

"It's very nice," Jim said, but his expression flattened Meg's hopes. "You have a nice view from the top of the hill."

"There are lots of nice views in the East Bay." She wondered if she sounded as disappointed as she felt.

"Well, I'll call when I get home tomorrow."

"Okay. Talk to you then."

"Good night, Meggie."

Meg hung up the phone feeling more alone and empty than she had since she'd come back to Rainbow Rock. Could she blame Jim if he wasn't crazy about her condo? Now that she thought about it, she couldn't really picture him there. He belonged to mountains, canyons and sky, rock and earth and water. He'd be utterly out of his element stuck in rows of little boxes, identifiable only by their numbers and the color of the flowers out front. "Oh, Jim," she whispered aloud, and sat by the phone as tears edged down her cheeks.

* * * *

Tommy's fever was down when he awoke on Wednesday and except for a couple of ugly mosquito bites that had festered, Sally thought, because of the fever, he seemed pretty much like his old self by lunch.

"That settles that," Sally said as she put him down for a nap. "When Jim calls tonight, feel free to go and enjoy. And Meg, I couldn't have gotten along without you these last couple of days. You've been a lifesaver."

"I don't know how you made it even with my help," Meg answered. "It amazes me how much a mother has to know."

"One of the nice things is the on-the-job training. But you'll figure that out when your time comes."

"I don't know." Meg sank down beside her friend on the couch. "Maybe my time will never come—not for children, anyway. I’m not sure I’m even up to attempting marriage, given the way my mother botched it. Repeatedly."

"Surely you're not serious." Sally couldn't have been more wide-eyed if Meg had just announced she was a space alien. "I know a career has always been important to you, but I know you'll want a family someday."

Meg bit her lip. "Sometimes I wonder if I was born with all the hormones other women have. I've never really wanted kids." She saw the shock on Sally's face and hurried on. "My mother wasn't much of a family person and there weren't any other children around. The only kids I ever saw were the few I baby-sat, and most of them were hellions. Until I came here, I'd never been around a baby younger than five." Meg sighed. "I guess my background was a lot different than yours."

"You've got that right," Sally answered. "I was the oldest of six and had lots of practice with babies even before Isabel was born. But that doesn't mean you can't learn, you know. Someday you'll marry and your husband will want children; then you'll change your mind."

"I guess that's another bridge I'll have to cross when I get to it."

They worked through the afternoon. By the time the chicken was frying for dinner, Jim still hadn't called. Meg was beginning to wonder what had happened to him when the doorbell rang. "Hi," she said, warming at the sight of him.

"Hi, yourself. Give me a hand with this stuff, will you?"

That was when Meg noticed he had come bearing food in take-out boxes. "Sure," she said. "Let me hold the door for you."