inching along the bare floor, her naked body inclined as far forward as she dared. When she got as far as she needed to look and make sure, she stopped and held her breath.
She could just see it around the edge of the door frame now, the tip of one wooden arc rising and falling, the toe of a shoe dark against the light field of new beige carpet.
She started inching back, her breath stopped in her chest, her arms crossed instinctively over her breasts.
The telephone in the kitchen! Or no, just get out; don't risk it. The elevator. Ring for the elevator! But she was naked.
She wanted to turn and run, scream, do something fast. She kept moving backward, the tiniest, quietest steps . . .
The voice stopped her. It was a man shouting.
"Is someone there? Pegs, kitten, is that you?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
She sat huddled on the living room couch, clutching her robe around her while Val poured her a second bourbon and continued his explanation. She barely listened. She was glad he was here, but it didn't matter why. Still, he kept listing the reasons—how much he wanted to see their new place, how he'd been so uneasy about the way she and Hal had treated each other in Pensacola. Was something wrong in their marriage? Didn't they both understand what a treasure they had in Sam and how it'd be a damn shame if anything came along to bust things up?
He was worried. He wanted to do what he could. Would money help? Was that the trouble? Maybe they were overextended. He didn't have much, but whatever he had was theirs—and of course, he could always borrow more.
She did her best to reassure him, and she tried to change the subject.
"But how did you get in, Pops? You scared me half to death."
"The super."
"He just let you in? I mean, how could he be sure you were my father?"
"Do I look like a criminal? Besides, he put a good one to me."
Peggy looked up from her drink. "He what?"
"Man said, 'If you're Mrs. Cooper's father, then describe the machine you invented that your grandson's always talking about.' Looks like old Sam's pretty impressed with that contraption." He grinned, reached out his hand and lifted her chin. "Listen, kitten, I just want you to know there's nothing in my power I won't do if you need me."
She'd been holding it in. But the look on his face, the one eye masked by the oval of black, cracked what strength she had left. She let it out, crying as if she'd been practicing for this moment all her life. He petted her and tried to quiet her, but she threw herself back down on the couch and wept until the ache in her chest made her stop.
"How about another hooker of bourbon?"
She shook her head. She felt hollowed out, too weak to speak.
"You want to tell me what's eating you, Pegs?"
Again she shook her head.
"I'm an okay listener, kitten. I've seen some things in my time. I doubt there's anything you could tell me that I haven't seen or heard before."
"No," she said, sitting up, rubbing at her face with the heels of her hands. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," he said. "That's what I'm here for."
"I can't," she said as if she was strangling.
He nodded and touched the top of her head. "Okay if I hang around for a few days?"
She knew if she tried to speak just yet, she'd collapse into tears again. So she hugged him to give him his answer, and then she took his hand and showed him to the room she knew would never be redone as a nursery for a little Abigail or Amanda. Creating a new life wasn't anything Peggy was thinking about anymore.
What she was thinking about was how to save the life of the child she had.
***
It was still drizzling when they left the apartment and went together to get Sam. She wanted it to be a happy time for Val and a happy time for Sam, but every step closer to the school was like a fist closing tighter on her heart.
When they stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for the doors to swing open and the boys to start coming out, Peggy studied the faces of the other mothers who
She could just see it around the edge of the door frame now, the tip of one wooden arc rising and falling, the toe of a shoe dark against the light field of new beige carpet.
She started inching back, her breath stopped in her chest, her arms crossed instinctively over her breasts.
The telephone in the kitchen! Or no, just get out; don't risk it. The elevator. Ring for the elevator! But she was naked.
She wanted to turn and run, scream, do something fast. She kept moving backward, the tiniest, quietest steps . . .
The voice stopped her. It was a man shouting.
"Is someone there? Pegs, kitten, is that you?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
She sat huddled on the living room couch, clutching her robe around her while Val poured her a second bourbon and continued his explanation. She barely listened. She was glad he was here, but it didn't matter why. Still, he kept listing the reasons—how much he wanted to see their new place, how he'd been so uneasy about the way she and Hal had treated each other in Pensacola. Was something wrong in their marriage? Didn't they both understand what a treasure they had in Sam and how it'd be a damn shame if anything came along to bust things up?
He was worried. He wanted to do what he could. Would money help? Was that the trouble? Maybe they were overextended. He didn't have much, but whatever he had was theirs—and of course, he could always borrow more.
She did her best to reassure him, and she tried to change the subject.
"But how did you get in, Pops? You scared me half to death."
"The super."
"He just let you in? I mean, how could he be sure you were my father?"
"Do I look like a criminal? Besides, he put a good one to me."
Peggy looked up from her drink. "He what?"
"Man said, 'If you're Mrs. Cooper's father, then describe the machine you invented that your grandson's always talking about.' Looks like old Sam's pretty impressed with that contraption." He grinned, reached out his hand and lifted her chin. "Listen, kitten, I just want you to know there's nothing in my power I won't do if you need me."
She'd been holding it in. But the look on his face, the one eye masked by the oval of black, cracked what strength she had left. She let it out, crying as if she'd been practicing for this moment all her life. He petted her and tried to quiet her, but she threw herself back down on the couch and wept until the ache in her chest made her stop.
"How about another hooker of bourbon?"
She shook her head. She felt hollowed out, too weak to speak.
"You want to tell me what's eating you, Pegs?"
Again she shook her head.
"I'm an okay listener, kitten. I've seen some things in my time. I doubt there's anything you could tell me that I haven't seen or heard before."
"No," she said, sitting up, rubbing at her face with the heels of her hands. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me," he said. "That's what I'm here for."
"I can't," she said as if she was strangling.
He nodded and touched the top of her head. "Okay if I hang around for a few days?"
She knew if she tried to speak just yet, she'd collapse into tears again. So she hugged him to give him his answer, and then she took his hand and showed him to the room she knew would never be redone as a nursery for a little Abigail or Amanda. Creating a new life wasn't anything Peggy was thinking about anymore.
What she was thinking about was how to save the life of the child she had.
***
It was still drizzling when they left the apartment and went together to get Sam. She wanted it to be a happy time for Val and a happy time for Sam, but every step closer to the school was like a fist closing tighter on her heart.
When they stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for the doors to swing open and the boys to start coming out, Peggy studied the faces of the other mothers who
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