that Walker couldn't help but hear. Neither could he
help but wonder what had happened to cause her to call off her wedding. If
plans had gone according to schedule, she'd now be a wife and possibly even a
mother. Inexplicably, he found the thought disturbing. Especially the part
about her being some man's—Ken Larey's—wife.
"Do
you remember when Adam was born?" Lindsey asked, thankfully breaking into
Walker's unsettling thoughts.
He
grinned. "Yeah. He was two and half weeks late. Phyllis was so
uncomfortable that she was about to jump out of her skin."
"Night
or day?" At Walker's inquiring look, Lindsey clarified. "Was he born
at night or during the day?"
Walker
grinned again. Was this becoming a habit? he wondered. If so, he could grow
accustomed to it. "Babies are never born during the day. They always come
at night. Usually after midnight."
"I
take it Adam was born after midnight."
"Three-oh-six."
Walker took a swallow of his drink, then said, "And I never slept through
the night again. At least not for a long while. There were diapers and feedings
and colic and nightmares and, then, just when I thought I had him out of my
hair, he got his driver's license, and I stayed up half the night listening for
the car."
I stayed up half
the night. Not we stayed up half the night. Only in the last few months,
as she'd matured into a full-fledged adult, had Lindsey realized how difficult
it must have been for Walker to raise his child alone. The fine job he'd done
gave her a deeper appreciation of the man. It was just one more reason for her
to love him.
"Do,
uh, do you ever wish you could start over?" Lindsey asked as she stroked
the cool tulip-shaped wineglass. "I mean, do you ever wish you could have
another child?"
"Good
heavens, no!" Though he'd been undeniably emphatic, he realized that the
days of raising his son, the early days which he'd shared with his wife, were
probably the most enriching of his life. In those days, he hadn't felt empty.
In those days, he hadn't felt as if he were simply going through the motions of
living.
His
answer wasn't what Lindsey had wanted to hear, though it was pretty much what
she'd expected. Every woman knew, though, that a man could be made to change
his mind.
"I'm
too old to start over," she heard Walker say.
"You're
not too old."
"Besides,
all the women my age have already raised all of the babies they want."
Lindsey
smiled and said, as casually as though they were discussing the weather,
"What you need is a younger woman."
Walker
laughed, but the laugh was forced. He kept seeing the image of Dean and a
flame-haired young woman—a woman young enough to be his daughter. "Yeah,
well, I'm the last thing a young woman wants or needs."
"I
don't know. Could be you're selling yourself short."
The
sincere look she gave him made his heart skip a beat. It also made him change
the subject.
"So,
tell me about your job in London."
The
topic led quite naturally to her fill-in job at Gal-Tex and, even though they'd
vowed not to discuss work, they found themselves doing so.
"Does
that prospectus have to be ready Monday?" Lindsey asked. "I could do
it this weekend."
"Uh-uh.
It won't be needed until the end of next week. Besides, you don't need to spend
your weekend working."
"You
don't spend yours working?"
"That's
different."
"How?"
"I
own the company... at least half of it." Uncomfortable with the direction
of the conversation—he might have to confront the loneliness that forced him to
work late and weekend hours—he said, "I thought we agreed not to discuss
work."
"Fine.
Let's dance."
Her
request, so blandly, so bluntly given, caught Walker totally off guard. His
startled look said so.
Lindsey
laughed and leaned forward, as if speaking of a conspiracy. "I don't know
how to tell you this, but women have been liberated. They can now ask men to
dance."
"I
have heard of women's liberation, smart aleck. And I have no problem with women
asking me to dance."
"Then
what do
help but wonder what had happened to cause her to call off her wedding. If
plans had gone according to schedule, she'd now be a wife and possibly even a
mother. Inexplicably, he found the thought disturbing. Especially the part
about her being some man's—Ken Larey's—wife.
"Do
you remember when Adam was born?" Lindsey asked, thankfully breaking into
Walker's unsettling thoughts.
He
grinned. "Yeah. He was two and half weeks late. Phyllis was so
uncomfortable that she was about to jump out of her skin."
"Night
or day?" At Walker's inquiring look, Lindsey clarified. "Was he born
at night or during the day?"
Walker
grinned again. Was this becoming a habit? he wondered. If so, he could grow
accustomed to it. "Babies are never born during the day. They always come
at night. Usually after midnight."
"I
take it Adam was born after midnight."
"Three-oh-six."
Walker took a swallow of his drink, then said, "And I never slept through
the night again. At least not for a long while. There were diapers and feedings
and colic and nightmares and, then, just when I thought I had him out of my
hair, he got his driver's license, and I stayed up half the night listening for
the car."
I stayed up half
the night. Not we stayed up half the night. Only in the last few months,
as she'd matured into a full-fledged adult, had Lindsey realized how difficult
it must have been for Walker to raise his child alone. The fine job he'd done
gave her a deeper appreciation of the man. It was just one more reason for her
to love him.
"Do,
uh, do you ever wish you could start over?" Lindsey asked as she stroked
the cool tulip-shaped wineglass. "I mean, do you ever wish you could have
another child?"
"Good
heavens, no!" Though he'd been undeniably emphatic, he realized that the
days of raising his son, the early days which he'd shared with his wife, were
probably the most enriching of his life. In those days, he hadn't felt empty.
In those days, he hadn't felt as if he were simply going through the motions of
living.
His
answer wasn't what Lindsey had wanted to hear, though it was pretty much what
she'd expected. Every woman knew, though, that a man could be made to change
his mind.
"I'm
too old to start over," she heard Walker say.
"You're
not too old."
"Besides,
all the women my age have already raised all of the babies they want."
Lindsey
smiled and said, as casually as though they were discussing the weather,
"What you need is a younger woman."
Walker
laughed, but the laugh was forced. He kept seeing the image of Dean and a
flame-haired young woman—a woman young enough to be his daughter. "Yeah,
well, I'm the last thing a young woman wants or needs."
"I
don't know. Could be you're selling yourself short."
The
sincere look she gave him made his heart skip a beat. It also made him change
the subject.
"So,
tell me about your job in London."
The
topic led quite naturally to her fill-in job at Gal-Tex and, even though they'd
vowed not to discuss work, they found themselves doing so.
"Does
that prospectus have to be ready Monday?" Lindsey asked. "I could do
it this weekend."
"Uh-uh.
It won't be needed until the end of next week. Besides, you don't need to spend
your weekend working."
"You
don't spend yours working?"
"That's
different."
"How?"
"I
own the company... at least half of it." Uncomfortable with the direction
of the conversation—he might have to confront the loneliness that forced him to
work late and weekend hours—he said, "I thought we agreed not to discuss
work."
"Fine.
Let's dance."
Her
request, so blandly, so bluntly given, caught Walker totally off guard. His
startled look said so.
Lindsey
laughed and leaned forward, as if speaking of a conspiracy. "I don't know
how to tell you this, but women have been liberated. They can now ask men to
dance."
"I
have heard of women's liberation, smart aleck. And I have no problem with women
asking me to dance."
"Then
what do
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