Right Next Door

Right Next Door Page 50

Carol shut her eyes tightly and took deep breaths to keep from weeping openly.

“She told me that when I met this other woman and decided to marry her, I shouldn’t feel guilty for having fallen in love again. She must’ve known that would be something powerful I’d be dealing with later. She squeezed my fingers—she was so weak, and yet, so strong. And wise, so very wise. Within a few hours she was gone from me forever.” He rubbed his eyes and hesitated before continuing. “I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think it would be possible to love anyone as much as I loved her.

“Then I met you, and before I knew it, I was falling in love all over again.” Once more he brought a weary hand to his face. His expression was blank, his eyes unrevealing. “And again I’m relinquishing the woman I love.” He paused. “I’ll give you the two weeks to make your decision, Carol. In fact, I’ll make it easy for you. I won’t call or contact you until the seventh—that’s exactly two weeks from the day we talked about it. You can tell me your decision then. All right?”

“All right,” she agreed, feeling numb.

Slowly he nodded, then stood and walked out of her house.

“The way I see it,” Peter said, holding a red Delicious apple in one hand and staring at his mother, “James’s dad can adopt me.”

Carol felt the fleeting pain that tore through her every time Peter not-so-casually mentioned Alex’s name. He seemed to plan these times with precision. Just when she least expected it. Just when she was sure she knew her own mind. Just when she was feeling overly confident. Then pow, right between the eyes, Peter would toss some remark carefully chosen for its effect. It was generally preceded by some bit of information about Alex or a comment about how wonderful life would be when they were one big, happy family.

“I’d have to marry Alex first, and I’m not sure that’s going to happen,” she said reproachfully. One challenging look defied him to contradict her.

“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? If you marry him, naturally.” Peter took a huge bite of the apple. Juice dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I haven’t heard from Dad’s family in years, and they wouldn’t even care if someone adopted me. That way we could all have the same last name. Peter Preston has a cool sound to it, don’t you think?”

“Peter,” she groaned, frustrated and angered by the way he turned a deaf ear to everything she said. “If this is another tactic to manipulate me into marrying Alex so you can go fishing, then I want you to know right now that I don’t appreciate it.”

She was under enough pressure—mainly from herself—and she didn’t need her son applying any more.

“But, Mom, think about how good our lives would be if you married Mr. Preston. He’s rich—”

“I’ve heard all of this conversation that I want to. Now sit down and eat your dinner.” She dished up the crispy fried pork chop and a serving of rice and broccoli, and set the plate on the table.

“You’re not eating?” Peter asked, looking mildly disappointed. “This is the third night you’ve skipped dinner this week.”

Carol’s appetite had been nil for the entire two weeks. “No time. I’ve got to get ready for class.”

“When will these sessions be over?”

“Two more weeks,” she said, walking into her bedroom. Two weeks seemed to be the magical time period of late. Alex had given her two weeks to decide if she’d accept his proposal. Two weeks that were up today. He’d granted her the breathing space she needed to come to a sensible decision. Only “sensible” was the last thing Carol felt. It shouldn’t be this difficult. She wondered why she had so many doubts if she loved Alex—which she did. But Carol knew the answer to that.

Alex’s marriage had been wonderful.

Hers had been a disaster.

He was hoping to repeat what he’d shared with Gloria.

She wanted to avoid the pain Bruce had brought into her life.

“Mom…phone.”

Carol froze. She’d been on tenterhooks waiting for Alex to contact her. All day she’d felt a growing sense of dread. She’d expected Alex to come strolling out from behind every closed door, to suddenly appear when she least expected him.

The last thing she’d figured he’d do was phone.

With one shoe on, she hobbled over to her nightstand and picked up the phone, wondering what she was going to say.

“Hello.”

“Carol, it’s your mother.”

“Hello, Ma, what can I do for you?” Relief must have been evident in her voice.

Angelina Pasquale said, “I was in church this morning, lighting a candle to St. Rita, when something happened to my heart.”

“Did you see your doctor?” Carol’s own heart abruptly switched gears. Her greatest fear was losing her mother to heart disease the way she’d lost her father.

“Why should I see a doctor?” her mother protested. “I was talking to God—in my heart—and God was telling me I should have a talk with my daughter Carol, who’s deciding if she’s going to marry this rich non-Italian or walk away from the best thing since the invention of padded insoles.”

“Mama, I’ve got a class—I don’t have time to talk.”

“You’ve seen Alex?”

“Not…yet.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

Her mother was being as difficult as Peter. Everyone wanted to make up her mind for her. Everyone knew what she should do. Everyone except Carol.

“You know he’s not Catholic, don’t you?” she told her mother, who had once considered that an all-important factor in choosing a husband. Religion and an equally vital question—whether her potential husband was allergic to tomatoes.

Her mother snickered. “I know he’s not Catholic! But don’t worry, I’ve got that all worked out with God.”

“Mama, I’m sorry, but I have to leave now or I’ll be late for my class.”

“So be late for once in your life. Who’s it gonna hurt? All day I waited, all day I said to myself, my bambina’s going to call and tell me she’s going to marry again. I want to do the cooking myself, you tell him that.”

“Mama, what are you talking about?”

“At the wedding. No caterers, understand? I got the menu all planned. We’ll serve—”

“Ma, please.”

It took Carol another five minutes to extricate herself from the conversation. Glancing at her watch, she groaned. Rushing from room to room, she grabbed her purse, her other shoe and her briefcase. She paused on her way out the door to kiss Peter on the cheek and remind him to do his homework. Then she jumped in the car, still wearing only one shoe.

Her breathing was labored by the time she raced through traffic and pulled into the parking lot at the community center where the birthing classes were held.

She’d piled everything she needed in her arms, including her umbrella, when she realized she’d left her lecture notes at the house.

“Damn,” she muttered. She took two steps before she remembered she was carrying her shoe.

“It might help if you put that on instead of holding it in your arms.”

Carol froze. She whirled around, angry and upset, directing all her emotion at Alex. “This is your fault,” she said, dropping her shoe to the ground and positioning it with her toe until she could slip her foot inside. “First, Peter’s on my case, and now my mother’s claiming she received a message directly from God and that He’s worked out a deal with her, since you’re not Catholic, and frankly, Alex—don’t you dare laugh.” She finished with a huge breath. “I swear, if you laugh I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last living male in the state of Oregon.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up both hands.

“I should hope so. You don’t know what I’ve been through this past week.”

“Your two weeks are up, Carol.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. I know.”

“You’ve decided?”

Her eyes shut, and she nodded slowly. “I have,” she whispered.

Thirteen

“Before you tell me what you’ve decided,” Alex said, moving toward Carol, his eyes a smoky gray, “let me hold you.”

“Hold me?” she echoed meekly. Alex looked one-hundred-percent male, and the lazy smile he wore was potent enough to tear through her defenses.

“I’m going to do much more than simply hold you, my love,” he whispered, inching his way toward her.

“Here? In a parking lot?”

Alex chuckled and slipped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer. Carol had no resistance left in her. She’d been so lonely, so lost, without him. So confused.

His mouth brushed hers. Much too briefly. Much too lightly.

Carol didn’t want him to be gentle. Not when she was this hungry for his touch. Her lips parted in a firm and wanting kiss. Alex sighed his pleasure and she clung to him, needing him.

When they drew apart, she rested her forehead against his. “Okay,” Alex said, his breath warm and heavy. “Tell me. I’m ready now.”

“Oh, Alex,” she murmured, and her throat constricted with ready tears. “I can’t decide. I’ve tried and tried and tried, and the only thing I really know is I need more time.”

“Time,” he repeated. Briefly he closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged with defeat. “You need more time. How much? A week? A month? Six months? Would a year fit into your schedule?” He broke away from her and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “If you haven’t made up your mind by now, my guess is you never will. I love you, Carol, but you’re driving me insane with this waiting.”

“Can’t you see things from my point of view?” she protested.

“No, I can’t,” he said. “I’m grateful for this time we’ve had, because it’s taught me something I hadn’t been willing to recognize before. I’m lonely. I want someone in my life—someone permanent. I want you as my wife. I need you as my wife. But if you don’t want what I’m offering, then I should cut my losses and look elsewhere.”

A strangled cry erupted from her lips. He was being so unfair, pressuring her like this. Everything had to be decided in his time frame, without any allowance for doubts or questions. Something broke in Carol. Control. It was all about control. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow another man to control her the way Bruce had.

“I think you’re right, Alex,” she finally said. “Find yourself someone else.”

The shock of her words hit him like a blow to the head. He actually flinched, but all the while his piercing eyes continued to hold hers. Carol saw the regret and the pain flash through his burning gaze. Then he buried his hands in his pockets, turned and marched away.

It was all Carol could do not to run after him, but she knew that if she did she’d be giving up her self-respect.