Right Next Door
Page 46

Carol didn’t need to hear stories from her childhood to recognize the truth.
“So what did you say to him?”
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“This man brings color to your cheeks and a smile to your eyes and you said nothing?”
“I…need time to think,” Carol cried. “This is an important decision…. I’ve got more than myself and my own life to consider. Alex has a son and I have a son…. It isn’t as simple as it sounds.”
Her mother shook her head. Her rocker was going ninety miles an hour, and Carol was positive the older woman’s thoughts were churning at equal speed.
“Don’t be angry with me, Mama,” she whispered. “I’m so frightened.”
Angelina stopped abruptly and set her knitting aside. She reached for Carol’s hands, holding them gently. A soft smile lit her eyes. “You’ll make the right decision.”
“How can you be so sure? I’ve been wrong about so many things—I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. I don’t trust my own judgment anymore.”
“Follow your heart,” Angelina urged. “It won’t lead you wrong.”
But it would. She’d followed her heart when she married Bruce, convinced their love would see them through every difficulty. The marriage had been a disaster from the honeymoon on, growing more painful and more difficult with each passing day. The horror of those years with Bruce had shredded her heart and drained away all her self-confidence. She’d offered her husband everything she had to give, relinquished her pride and self-respect—and to what end? Bruce hadn’t appreciated her sacrifices. He hadn’t cherished her love, but turned it into something cheap and expendable.
“Whatever you decide will be right,” her mother said once again. “I know it will be.”
Carol closed her eyes to mull over her mother’s confidence in her, which she was sure was completely unfounded. Angelina seemed to trust Carol’s judgment more than Carol did herself.
A few minutes later, her mother started to sing softly, and her sweet, melodious voice harmonized with the clicking of the needles.
The next thing Carol knew, it was early afternoon and she could smell chicken soup simmering in the kitchen.
Angelina had left a brief note for her that was filled with warmth and encouragement. Feeling much better, Carol helped herself to a bowl of the broth and noodles and leisurely enjoyed her first nourishment of the day.
By the time Peter slammed into the house several hours later, she was almost back to normal.
“Mom,” he said rushing into the room. His face was flushed and his eyes bright. It looked as though he’d run all the way home. His chest was heaving as he dropped his books on the table, then tried to catch his breath, arms waving excitedly.
“What is it?” Carol asked, amused by the sight her son made.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded, kissing both her cheeks the way her mother did whenever she was exceptionally pleased. “This is great, Mom, really great! Now we can go fishing and camping and hiking all the time.”
“Say anything about what?” she asked in bewilderment. “And what’s this about fishing?”
“Marrying Mr. Preston.”
Carol was half out of her seat before she even realized she’d moved. “Who told you…who so much as mentioned it was a possibility?”
“A possibility?” Peter repeated. “I thought it was a done deal. At least that’s what James said.”
“James told you?”
Peter gave her a perplexed look. “Who else? He told me about it first thing when I got to school this morning.” He studied her, his expression cautious. “Hey, Mom, don’t look so upset—I’m sorry if you were keeping it a secret. Don’t worry, James and I think it’s a great idea. I’ve always wanted a brother, and having one who’s my best friend is even better.”
Carol was so outraged she could barely talk. “H-he had no business saying a word!” she stammered.
“Who? James?”
“Not James. Alex.” If he thought he’d use the boys to influence her decision, he had another think coming.
Carol marched into her bedroom, throwing on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. Then she hurried into the living room without bothering to run a brush through her tousled hair.
“Where are you going?” Peter demanded. He’d ladeled himself a bowl of soup and was following her around the house like a puppy while she searched for her purse and car keys.
“Out,” Carol stormed.
“Looking like that?” He sounded aghast.
Carol whirled around, hands on her hips, and glared at him.
Peter raised one hand. “Sorry. Only please don’t let Mr. Preston see you, all right?”
“Why not?”
Peter raised his shoulder in a shrug. “If he gets a look at you, he might withdraw his proposal. Honestly, Mom, this is the best thing that’s happened to us in years. Don’t go ruining it.”
Eleven
James answered the door, and a smile automatically came to his lips when he saw it was Carol. Then his eyes narrowed as though he wasn’t sure it was her, after all. Carol realized he was probably taken aback by her appearance. Normally she was well-dressed and well-groomed, but what Alex had done—had tried to do—demanded swift and decisive action. She didn’t feel it was necessary to wear makeup for this confrontation.
“Where is he?” Carol asked through gritted teeth.
“Who? Dad?” James frowned. “He’s watching the news.” The teenager pointed toward the family room, which was adjacent to the kitchen.
Without waiting for James to escort her inside, Carol burst past him, intent on giving Alex a piece of her mind. She was furious. More than furious. If he’d honestly believed that involving the boys would affect her decision, then he knew absolutely nothing about her. In fact, he knew so little, they had no business even considering marriage.
She refused to be pressured, tricked, cajoled or anything else, and before this day was over Alex would recognize that very clearly indeed.
“Carol?” Alex met her halfway into the kitchen. His eyes softened perceptibly as he reached for her.
Carol stopped just short of his embrace. “How dare you,” she snapped.
“How dare I?” Alex repeated. His eyes widened with surprise, but he remained infuriatingly calm. “Would you elaborate, please, because I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, yes, you do.”
“Dad?” James ventured into the kitchen, giving Carol a wide berth. “Something must really be wrong,” the boy said, and then his voice dropped to a whisper as he pointed to Carol’s feet. “Mrs. Sommars is wearing two different shoes.”
Carol’s gaze shot downward, and she mentally groaned. But if either of the Preston men thought they’d throw her off her guard by pointing out that she’d worn a blue tennis shoe on her right foot and a hot-pink slipper on her left, then she had news for them both.
“I have the feeling Mrs. Sommars was in a hurry to talk to me,” Alex explained. The smile that quivered at the corners of his mouth did little to quell her brewing temper.
James nodded. “Do you want me to get lost for a few minutes?”
“That might be a good plan,” Alex replied.
James exchanged a knowing look with his father before discreetly vacating the room. As soon as Carol heard James’s bedroom door close, she put her hands on her hips, determined to confront Alex.
“How dare you bring the boys into this,” she flared.
“Into what?” Alex walked over to the coffeepot and got two mugs. He held one up to her, but she refused the offer with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, Carol, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jabbing her index finger at him, she took several steps toward him. “Don’t give me that, Alex Preston. You know very well what I mean. We agreed to wait, and you saw an advantage and without any compunction, you took it! Did you really think dragging Peter and James into this would help? How could you be so foolish?” Her voice shook, but her eyes were as steady as she could make them.
“I didn’t mention the possibility of our getting married to James, and I certainly didn’t say anything to Peter.” He leaned against the kitchen counter and returned her disbelieving glare with maddening composure.
Angrily Carol threw back her head. “I don’t believe you.”
His eyes hardened but he didn’t argue with her. “Ask James then. If he heard that I’d proposed to you, the information didn’t come from me.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” she cried, not nearly as confident as she’d been earlier. The aggression had gone out of her voice, and she lowered her hands to her sides, less certain with each minute. The ground that supported her outrage started to shift and crumble.
“I told you I wouldn’t bring the boys into this,” he reminded her smoothly. “And I didn’t.” He looked over his shoulder and shouted for James, who opened his bedroom door immediately. Carol didn’t doubt for an instant that he’d had his ear pressed to it the entire time they’d been talking.
With his hands in his jean pockets, James strolled casually into the room. “Yes, Dad?”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“About what?” James wore a look of complete innocence.
“Apparently you said something to Peter about the relationship between Mrs. Sommars and me. I want to know what it was and where you found out about it.” Alex hadn’t so much as raised his voice, but Carol recognized that he expected the truth and wouldn’t let up until he got it.
“Oh…that,” James muttered. “I sort of overheard you saying something to Uncle Barn.”
“Uncle Barn?” Carol asked.
“A good friend of mine. He’s the one I was telling you about who kept Jim while I was out of town.”
“Call me James,” his son reminded him.
Alex lifted both hands. “Sorry.”
“Anyway,” James went on to say, “you were on the phone last night talking to him about the basketball game tonight, and I heard you say that you’d asked Carol—Mrs. Sommars. I’m not stupid, Dad. I knew you were talking about the two of you getting married, and I thought that Peter and I had a right to know. You should’ve said something to us first, don’t you think?”
“For starters, this whole marriage business is up in the air—when and if anything’s decided, you two boys will be the first to find out.”
“What do you mean, the wedding’s up in the air?” This piece of information obviously took James by surprise. “Why? What’s the holdup? Peter and I think it’s a great idea. We’d like it if you two got married. It’d be nice to have a woman around the house. For one thing, your cooking could use some help. But if you married Mrs. Sommars—”