Janet Evanovich - Thanksgiving

“Meggy,” Dave called from the back seat, “are you really pregnant?”

“No.”

“Why did Pat say you were pregnant?”

She sniffled. “He has a weird sense of humor.”

“I think he’s in love with you.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Dave sighed. “I know. I loved you, but I couldn’t marry you.”

“You never loved me, Dave. You loved my mother and father. You loved my car. You loved being in love but you never loved me. You didn’t even know who I was. You loved some fantasy person called pudding pie. That’s why you couldn’t marry me.”

Dave was silent for a moment. “You’re pretty smart, Meggy,” he finally said.

Yeah, she thought. But if she was so smart, why was she so stupid? In a half hour she’d have Dave tucked away on her couch, and she’d be alone in her room, crying her eyes out. She’d lost her whole instant family. No more pretend baby. No more pretend husband.

She knew from past experiences that her best defense against pain was anger. If she stayed angry, she could use that energy to survive. After a time, the pain would diffuse and the anger could be discarded. That was how it had been with Steve and Dave. That was how it would be with Pat.

Pat opened his eyes and sighed. No Megan Murphy in his bed. No Timmy downstairs waiting for breakfast. No reason to wake up. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. Ridiculous, he thought. It’s a beautiful day, Hunter. Look at that blue sky. Look at that sunshine.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wriggling his bare toes in the carpet. Things could be a lot worse, you know, an inner voice said. You could be poor Dave and have a dart hole in your backside. Hah! Pat answered his inner voice. Poor Dave is stretched out on Megan’s couch. You don’t see poor Dave waking up in an empty, lonely house, do you?

Several hours later, Pat was still sulking as he led his family down Duke of Gloucester Street. They’d visited the cooper, the boot maker, the milliner, and the silversmith, but there was no sign of Megan. Pat had a miserable feeling that she was at home with Dave. So what if she was at home with Dave? Her parents were there, right? What could happen with her parents there? Besides, Dave wasn’t exactly in shape to be romantic. He might even have an infection by now. Probably he could use an antibiotic. Better go check it out, Pat decided. After all, it was his fault, and he wouldn’t want complications to set in.

“I have a medical emergency to attend to,” he told his family. “I’ll only be gone a short time. You can have lunch while I’m off doctoring.”

He pointed them in the direction of Christiana Campbell’s Tavern and ran down the path leading to Nicholson Street. He slid behind the wheel of his car, held his breath, and turned the key. Yes! The battery had been baking in the sun and was feeling cooperative.

He slowly chugged out of the historic district and stopped for a red light while he rehearsed his opening line. Hello, Megan, just thought I’d stop by to see how Dave’s duff is doing. Then what? Blank space. He didn’t know then what.

He gripped the wheel more tightly. He’d explain to her about marriage and about being a new doctor. They couldn’t live on his salary. What about her salary?the inner voice suggested. If you combined your incomes and only had one house payment?

He shook his head. It wouldn’t work. He was too busy. She’d feel ignored and resentful of his patients. Baloney, the voice said, she’s just as busy as you. She’d match you pot for patient. But there are other good reasons, Pat argued.

He inhaled sharply as the truth suddenly flashed into his mind. There were no good reasons. He simply wasn’t ready to get married. Could that be true?

He pulled to the shoulder of the two – lane country road. He was no better than Dave! He had a rampant case of yellow belly. His hormones were hot, but his feet were cold. Now what? Now that he knew the awful truth about himself, what was he supposed to do? He made a U – turn and headed back to town. He had to think.

Megan heard the tiny bell ringing and stopped in mid – stride. She gritted her teeth, counted to ten, and took a deep breath. “Yes, Dave?”

“Would it be too much trouble to make me a cup of hot chocolate?” he called from his prone position on the couch. “I don’t want to bother you. If you’re busy you don’t have to make it.”

“No trouble,” Megan said, banging a pot onto the stove. It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and already he’d rung that damn bell seven thousand times. If he rang just once more, she’d cut off his hand, she thought with grim cheer.

“Sure is nice of you to take care of me when I’m crippled like this,” he went on. “Too bad your folks had to leave this morning. It was just like old times, having us all together.”

Just like old times, she thought with irritation. Her mother had waited on him hand and foot the day before, feeding his sacred body a week’s worth of groceries in a matter of hours, and her father had spent the entire day debating the value of the football draft. Now she was left alone with dying Dave, making her own feeble attempt to keep him comfortable and amused.

How long did it take for a dart hole to heal, anyway? The man had spent all day Saturday flat on his stomach. Now it was Sunday, and he was moaning more loudly than ever. This was all Patrick Hunter’s fault.

She sloshed some milk into the pot and drummed her fingers on the counter while she waited for it to heat. Patrick Hunter was a no – good rat. First he’d conned her into baby – sitting for Timmy Coogan, and now he’d forced her into baby – sitting for disabled Dave. Patrick Hunter had made her fall in love with him, had lured her into his bed, and then had wimped out. “Men!”

She stormed into the living room and slammed the mug of hot chocolate onto the coffee table. “Anything else?”

“I am a little hungry…”

“Hungry?” she screamed. “There’s nothing left. You’ve eaten it all. All the cereal, all the eggs, all the bread.” She heard the crunch of gravel in her driveway and saw Pat’s car pass by the window.

She flung the door open at the first knock and scowled at Pat. “What do you want?”

Use the honest approach, he decided. First things first. “I want to know if Dave’s here.”

“Yes. Dave is here. So what?”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like it? Here’s a news flash. I don’t like it, either, but I can’t get him off my stupid couch. The man is in pain. He can’t walk. He can’t sit. He can’t get dressed.”

Pat stepped into the house. “He can’t get dressed? Are you telling me you’ve got a naked man on your couch?”

“He’s not naked. He’s under a blanket, and he’s a total pain in the backside, if you’ll excuse the expression. I had to play nursey to that bovine boor all day yesterday and half of today, and I’ve had it up to my earlobes. This is your fault. You did this. You fix it. I want him out! Do something!”

Pat grinned. “Leave it to me. I’ll have him fixed up in no time.”

“Meggy?” Dave called. “Who is it? It’s not that lunatic doctor, is it?”

“Yup,” Pat said, walking into the living room. “It’s the lunatic doctor. You’re a lucky guy. Not many doctors make house calls these days.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Too bad. I brought my little black bag with me, and I’m prepared to relieve your pain. But hey, if you like pain, that’s okay with me.”

Dave looked interested. “I hate pain.”

Pat lifted a corner of the blanket. “Let me just take a peek at this nasty old wound. Hmmm. Not bad. Looks like it’s healing okay.”

He took a disposable syringe and a small vial from his bag. “This is the magic elixir that’s going to get you on your feet. This stuff will get you on the yellow brick road to home.”

“What is it, an antibiotic?”

“Novocain.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dave stood at the front door with his suitcase in one hand and an inflated rubber doughnut under his arm. “You think it’s safe to drive?”

“Absolutely,” Pat said.

Megan waved as Dave drove away. “How long will that Novocain last?” she asked Pat.

“About an hour.” Pat smiled. “A little pain builds character. Besides, he’s got the doughnut, and the wound didn’t look serious. He’ll be fine.”

If a little pain built character, she should be a wonderful person, Megan thought. Too bad you couldn’t take Novocain for a broken heart. She’d been so busy caring for Dave that she hadn’t thought much about Pat. Seeing him in her living room, though, had brought all the sadness back.

She’d really wanted to marry him. Underneath all the craziness about making babies and pretending to be Mrs. Hunter was a genuine desire to spend the rest of her life with him. If her love hadn’t been so deep and so intense, she could have ambled along, being friends and occasionally lovers. But she couldn’t amble with Pat. There would always be the ache of wanting more, and there would always be the bitter knowledge that more wasn’t going to happen.

Suddenly, she couldn’t bear to look at him. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to hear others talk about him. She’d moved to Williamsburg to escape the memories of Dave, and now she was going to run away from everything associated with Pat. She’d pack up her kiln and go somewhere. Anywhere.

“I have a lot of things to do,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Thank you for taking care of Dave. Good – bye.”

“Good – bye?”