And he found Sam waiting for him in the kitchen. He had wanted a Coke and couldn't find one. “Where were you, Dad?”

“I was in the garage, looking for a wrench.”

“What for?” Oh God, leave me alone, I don't know … it had been so simple while they were away, and now this was so crazy.

He poured Sam a Coke, and went back to the pool, where Megan was slowly easing herself into the water in a minuscule red bikini. Her cascade of dark hair was piled high on her head, and Mel was watching her with a look of female appraisal.

The two women never spoke, and Oliver felt like a large puppy dog, circling the pool, watching them both, keeping an eye on Sam, and feeling incredibly nervous.

“I like your bathing suit,” Megan said to Mel. It was pink and ruffled and comparatively pure compared to her own, which was barely more than two tiny patches on her breasts, and a loincloth with a thong. But she wore it well. She had an incredible body.

“I got it in France.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“All right.” She didn't want to talk about the accident anymore, and she didn't think Megan knew. Her father had said she was a casual friend he hadn't seen in a while. “We've only been home for two days.” Megan swam past her with long, smooth strokes, and a few minutes later, Mel left her raft, to make a spectacular dive. It was as though there was a competition between the two, and the tension around the pool was dense all afternoon, particularly between the two women.

They had hot dogs for lunch, and Megan began talking about spending time in England as a child. But it was obvious Mel wasn't impressed. And Megan made no particular effort with her or Sam. It made Oliver uncomfortable watching all of them, and he was almost relieved when they dropped her off at her place, that evening, in town. Her eyes blew him a kiss, and she disappeared with a wave, as Mel visibly relaxed in the car, and Sam snorted.

“She's nice, isn't she?” Ollie said, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. Mel turned on him like a snake, with a look of fury.

“She looks like a whore.”

“Melissa!”

“Did you see that bathing suit?”

“Yeah.” Sam grinned, and then looked chastened as his sister shot him a quelling look in the backseat.

“She's a very nice girl,” Oliver defended as they drove home.

“I don't think she likes kids very much,” Sam offered.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “She didn't say very much. But she sure looks good, doesn't she, Dad?”

“She's smart too. She's an editor with a publishing house.”

“So what? All she cares about is flaunting her body around.” Mel had sensed her sexuality, and had hated it, unlike her male relatives, whose eyes had been glued to her all afternoon.

Oliver let the subject rest, and that night after Sam was in bed, Mel came out of her room with a frown. “I guess you can give her these.” She handed him the blouse and bra she'd found in her room two days before. “They're hers, aren't they, Dad?”

“What makes you say that?” He felt as though he'd been caught in the act, as though he'd defiled their home, which he had. But he had a right to do what he wanted to, didn't he? After all, he was a grown man. “I told you, they're Daph's.”

“No, they're not. Daphne's got much bigger boobs. These are Megan's.” She spoke accusingly and he could feel himself blush as he looked at his daughter.

“Look, Mel, there are some things that grown-ups do, that just don't involve kids, and are better left alone.”

“She's a tramp.” Mel's eyes blazed at him, but now he was angry.

“Don't say that! You don't even know the girl.”

“No, and I don't want to. And she doesn't give a damn about us. She just has her tongue hanging out over you, like a dog or something. I can't stand her.” The rivalry of two women fighting over him seemed strange as he listened to her. And he couldn't help wondering why she hated Megan. Except that he had to admit, Megan had made no special effort to win them over. She had talked mostly to him, and only occasionally to his children. It hadn't really turned out the way he had wanted.

“She's just a friend, that's all. It's no big deal, Mel. Relax.”

“You mean that?” She looked relieved.

“What?”

“You're not in love with her?”

“I don't know. I like her.”

“Well, she doesn't like you as much. She likes herself more.” He wondered if Mel was right, and if she was being jealous or perceptive.

“Don't worry about it.” But then as she left the room, he found himself thinking again about his father. Was he being a jealous child, like Mel, or was he right to object to his marrying Margaret Porter? And what right did he have to interfere? Was he going to keep him company at night and on weekends? Was he going to be there for him, bringing him his heart pills? Oliver wanted his own life, and his father had a right to the same, however much it made Oliver lonely for his mother.

Ollie decided to call him that night, and when he did, Margaret answered. It made him jump for a minute, and then he relaxed and asked to speak to his father.

“Hi, Dad … I just wanted to tell you that …” He didn't know how to say it. “I love you very much, that's all. You do what's right for you, and forget about the rest. You're old enough to know what you want by now, and what you need. And if she makes you happy,” tears stung his eyes as he said the words, “go for it! You have my blessing!”

There was a little sob at the other end, and then George Watson cleared his throat and thanked him. “She's a fine woman, Son … not your mother, by any means,” as he said it, he hoped Margaret couldn't hear him, but he owed Oliver that much. Phyllis had been his mother, after all, “but she's a good soul, and I love her.”

“Good luck to you both.”

“Will you come to our wedding?”

“Damn right I will.”

“September fourteenth. Now don't forget it.” Oliver laughed. His father sounded young again, and he was happy for him. What the hell, he had a right to it. More power to him if he could find a woman he loved and be happy with her.

He called Megan after he hung up, feeling better again, but she was out, and he felt his heart give a little tug as he left his name on the machine, and then lay on the empty bed she had left him. He wondered if it had all been a crazy dream, and if Mel was right. But Megan had never pretended to be anything other than she was. She was out to have a good time, and not hurt anyone. She didn't want anything more than that … she didn't want ties … or husbands … or homes … or children … and as he lay there thinking about her, he wondered if his summer romance was over. It had been fun, but it wasn't going to be easy now. And Megan wasn't going to hang around, waiting for him. And the kids sure as hell hadn't taken to her. Sometimes, life just wasn't easy.





Chapter 18


The Labor Day weekend was a nice homecoming for all of them. They had a barbecue near the pool, as they always did, and the children invited friends, and his father came over with Margaret. They brought cookies and treats, and homemade bread, and they brought the dog, and this time Oliver congratulated them both, and let his father announce it to the children. They were a little startled at first, but they took their cue from their dad, and if he thought it was all right, then they guessed it was too. Even Daphne came. And she had agreed to spend the weekend. Only Megan had declined. She had gone to East Hampton instead, which bothered Ollie, but he couldn't convince her to come. She just said it wasn't her scene, kids and dogs and barbecues, and she didn't want to intrude on them. But the truth was that it bored her. He hadn't seen her all week, and he was going crazy without her, but she was working late and so was he. The kids were home, and he was waiting for them to settle down again, which she seemed to think wasn't important.

Benjamin and Sandra came to the barbecue, though, and this time the girl looked truly pathetic. Her face was bloated to twice its size, she could barely walk, she was so large, and it was hard to believe she had ever been pretty. Benjamin looked thin and pale, in comparison, and he was feeling the load of his two jobs, and Sandra did nothing but complain, and sometimes he thought he would go crazy. His father handed him a beer, after Mel took Sandra into the house to lie down for a while, and Oliver looked at Benjamin carefully, wondering when he was going to admit he couldn't hack it anymore, or if he was going to let it kill him.

“How's it going, Son?”

“Okay, I guess. I'm going to have to get another job pretty soon. They're closing the gas station down, and letting me go in a few weeks. And the restaurant doesn't pay enough. But I've got some pretty good leads, and after the baby's born, Sandra says she'll go back to work pretty quickly.” He tried to sound hopeful, but it was obvious to his father that he was getting seriously discouraged, and who wouldn't have? At the age of eighteen, to be expecting a child, supporting a seventeen-year-old pseudo wife, and working two jobs, was hardly anyone's idea of a happy life, least of all his father's.

“Are you going to let me help you out before it kills us both, or are you going to be stubborn?” The boy smiled, looking older and wiser than he had before. He had learned a lot in the last few months, but none of it easy or fun, and seeing him like this was a weight on his father's heart.

“We'll see, Dad. The baby I'll be here in three weeks, and after that, things'U be okay.”

“Having a baby around isn't easy.”

“Yeah, I know. We've been taking a class at the Y about how to take care of it, and Lamaze and all that stuff. I want to be there at the delivery, to help Sandra.” He was going all the way with what he'd taken on, and Oliver had to admire him, if nothing else, but he was desperately worried about him.