Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 13

An hour after the kids had left for school, Susan walked into the store, past Lanna, past the stacks of books and crafts, and into her office, where she promptly closed the door. Five minutes later, she emerged and motioned to Lanna at the cash register. “We’re going to have to close for a few minutes,” she said absently.

“Fine.” Nothing threw Lanna.

“I need you to drive me somewhere,” Susan said.

“Fine.” Lanna grabbed her coat. “Your car or mine?”

“Yours.”

Susan turned the Closed sign around, walked to the parking lot in silence and gave directions as Lanna started the engine. Lanna’s face carried a smug, relieved look, which no amount of careful lip-biting could hide.

“Look. I’m not ill,” Susan informed her irritably. “All I’m going to do is spend thirty dollars to find out that I’m not only not ill, but that I seem to be turning into some kind of hypochondriac.”

“You are as far from being a hypochondriac as anyone I’ve ever met in my life. Look, Susan, you haven’t missed a day of work in four years except for vacations. In my particular scheme of things, I call that kind of virtue an illness.”

“So cynical,” Susan said wryly.

“Realistic.”

“I just hope there’s a pillow under you when you really fall, because I have this terrible feeling you’re going to fall hard.”

“You came to work this morning looking green,” Lanna commented pleasantly, always eager to steer the subject away from herself.

And Susan felt green. She was damned tired of feeling green. Once the kids were off to school, she’d felt suddenly so dizzy she could barely stand, and being alone in the house had oddly frightened her. So had driving alone to work. She was worried about Griff, and Barbara had hurt her, and what she had finally told herself was that she needed to…cope better. That seemed to be all it amounted to. And how could anyone cope well when their stomach was turning somersaults on a regular basis?

“Did you tell your husband?” Lanna questioned as they pulled in to the parking lot of the doctor’s office.

Susan ignored her. Obviously, she wasn’t about to burden Griff with a bunch of hypochondriac nonsense. For that matter, she thoroughly resented wasting money on a physical examination. T-shirts for Tiger, jewelry for Barbara, popcorn for a year for the teenagers who devoured junk food at all hours of the day and night… “Just go back to work,” she told Lanna.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“You will not wait for me. You will return to the shop and reopen it. I’ll take a taxi back later.”

Lanna shifted too fast in response, chugging the car out of the parking lot like a bouncing Jeep. Susan would have smiled if she hadn’t been entering the doctor’s office. The place smelled of alcohol and disinfectant; the walls were white, with an occasional framed print that jarred with violent color. Susan remembered the magazines from the one time she had had bronchitis; undoubtedly, they still carried those latent germs.

The nurse ushered her into the examining room, all serenity and efficiency.

“I’m really perfectly all right,” Susan told her.

“I was just looking at your chart. It’s been ages since you’ve had a complete physical.”

“I don’t need a complete physical.” The nurse stuck a thermometer in her mouth, then took it out and examined it before resterilizing it. She took Susan’s blood pressure, and then made a sound in her throat that Susan couldn’t interpret. Such dramatics. One could be dying and this nurse would never say so.

“Please take off all your clothes now, Mrs. Anderson…”

Which was one of the reasons Susan hated to go to the doctor. Nudity and Griff went together. Nudity and cool examining rooms and strangers simply didn’t, and she had the terrible feeling she was going to feel the same way when she was ninety. And Dr. Grey was worse than a stranger. He had delivered her some twenty-eight years before, and had taken far too much for granted ever since.

“Hi, honey,” he began, and went downhill from there.

“I’m perfectly healthy,” she told him.

He nodded, all gray hair and endlessly patient smiles. “You sounded terrified on the phone. You say you’ve had a number of dizzy spells?”

“No one has dizzy spells nowadays. There is nothing wrong with me. I skipped breakfast one day. And lately maybe I’ve been a little tired…”

“Lie down, Susan.” His soft blue eyes peered at her over his spectacles, when the first part of the examination was over. “You can relax anytime.”

The last of the reasons why she hated doctors. Relax-the most popular of orders. She closed her eyes, waiting for pain that never happened, wishing that Griff were with her and at the same time extremely happy that he was not, and feeling miserably sick to her stomach. Dr. Grey redraped the sheet over her less than five minutes later, and his kindly eyes viewed her with a rueful expression.

“About seven months to go, sweetie. I hope to heaven your husband wants to be present for the delivery, because you’re going to make one hell of a patient.”

The drugstore was across the street. Vitamins for this, supplements for that. The dizziness and nausea…even Dr. Grey had nothing for that; evidently it just occasionally affected some pregnant women. It would undoubtedly pass in another couple of weeks.

Pregnant.

Griff’s baby.

“There wasn’t the least thing wrong with me,” she told Lanna later, and worked with a daunting speed until closing time. Like a buried burst of energy in her system, elation would suddenly surge forth out of nowhere. She kissed Mr. Riverton when he came in with the mail; she hugged Mrs. Bartholomew for doing a proper stitch on her crocheting. She ate a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and then forgot and later ate another peanut butter sandwich.

It was really a terrible shock, pregnancy. It shouldn’t have happened so soon, her mind warned her. If at all. Griff had his children; they had never really discussed having their own… Oh, they’d touched on the subject, but only casually. He loved kids and knew the maternal itch was catching up with her before they even married, but the subject had never been a source of worry. If the providence that had brought about their marriage wanted to bless them with children…

But not now.

She couldn’t even cope with three now, much less four. Yet that feeling of elation kept coming over her, like a miraculous secret that stole her heart away every time she thought about it.

“You’re all right?” Lanna questioned her once.

Susan looked up from the shelves, startled. “Of course I’m all right.”

“Susan,” Lanna said patiently, “you were humming ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ at the back of the store. Now that most of the customers are gone, if you want to go home…”

Barbara would be disgusted when she heard the news. Tiger would undoubtedly be interested on the same level he was for his hamsters. Tom…Tom might not mind.

And Griff? The one who really counted…

How stupid she was! The last thing on her mind these past two months had been her period, nor was she a calendar-follower, so perhaps she could forgive herself for not having paid attention there. But birth control… There’d been no need to consider that issue in years, certainly not on the night she met Griff. After that night, though, he had promptly brought up the subject, bluntly, Griff-style, fully prepared to take on the responsibility and totally comfortable discussing the options. She had delicately implied, Susan-style, that she preferred to take care of the problem herself.

Seeing as she was so responsible, there should have been no problem. What she hadn’t known was that it would be extremely difficult to prepare for a man who could ignite with desire while reading the Sunday paper and drinking his morning coffee. Particularly since he kindled the same firecracker impulses in her. Unfortunately, she could clearly remember the first night they’d christened the house. The very last thing on her mind…

Or were those all mere excuses? From the very beginning, she’d wanted his baby.

But not now. She just couldn’t handle any more children right now.

Susan wiped her hands on a dish towel, glanced absently around the kitchen to make sure that everything had been put away, and switched off the light over the kitchen table. Leaves were plastering themselves against the windows; it was dark outside, and a storm was howling through the night. In a rage to bring in winter, she thought idly, as she cupped her hands between her forehead and the window to look outside.

All the beautifully painted fall leaves were gone; the tempest was roaring, and the huge elm looked like a shiny black ghost in the rain. Susan unconsciously shivered, and just as unconsciously put a protective hand to her stomach. She stepped back from the cold draft and walked toward the bathroom to run a brush through her hair.

She was one of those weird creatures who loved winter, but not on a night like this. The baby troubled her, and the atmosphere of impending storm seemed to have intensified her concern. One moment she was elated and dying to tell Griff; the next moment she felt unsure and frankly pessimistic, both about Griff’s reaction to the news and about her own ability to cope with his kids, plus another child on the way.

The clear gray eyes that usually looked back at her from the mirror were distinctly cloudy tonight. Her hair refused to behave for the hairbrush, another minor annoyance. Griff liked it when her rag-doll mop decided of its own will to curl and wave; she didn’t, and never felt her best when her hair was unruly. But then, Susan, she chided herself, ever since you’ve been pregnant, you’ve been making mountains out of molehills. She turned away from the mirror after straightening the cherry-red sweater and patting it down over her jeans. She felt utterly despondent.

Nothing had gone right from the minute she’d walked in the door. The house had been silent, and she’d reveled in the serenity for a minute or so. It was a Friday night, and Tiger had been given permission to spend the evening with a new friend three doors down from them. Barbara had left to spend the night and the following day shopping with her mother and grandmother. There had been no blaring stereo and no endless chatter and no clutter to pick up. It had seemed like heaven. But for some insane reason, she missed all of the confusion, and paced restlessly until Griff and Tom came home.

Griff had burst into the house in a mood of high elation. His labor negotiations were finally done, after two long, grueling weeks. He felt a strong loyalty toward his workers and was determined to treat them fairly and even generously. The negotiations had gone well, but he was still hyper; the adrenaline hadn’t stopped pumping overtime yet. He and Tom had managed to clash on the issue of Tom’s seeing “that girl” again before either had even gotten around to changing their clothes.

Griff had won the argument because he was in that sort of mood-take charge and don’t back down-but the atmosphere at the dinner table had been far from trucelike, and Susan had felt her inner wires tighten to the breaking point. Now, as she walked through the silent kitchen and hall, pausing before entering the library, she could hear that Griff and Tom were at it again.

Griff had started a fire and closed the drapes against the gloom of the storm. He’d changed into jeans and a flannel shirt, but he was still projecting the aura of a businessman, command and authority radiating from his strong profile. A wave of love touched her, partly because he was a beautiful man, partly because she loved the way the firelight limned austerity on his features, partly because she knew and respected that dominating side of Griff so well…and because she knew there was another side to him that was not that way at all.

Tom was slouched among the big fat cushions of the couch. His long, jeaned legs were stretched out, his ankles crossed, his body as relaxed as his face was taut with impatience.

“Tom, I want you to go to college,” Griff said flatly, his voice low and careful, so careful that Susan knew he was wary of failing at communication with his son. “Your grades are outstanding, as we both know. It would be different if you were suited to some kind of trade. I’ve got no snob thing about college, but I think it would be the best choice for you. Your own abilities-”

“Dad,” Tom said wearily, “you want me to go into business with you. I’ve known that since I was knee high. What you really have in mind is that I get a degree in marketing, or accounting, or economics.”

“That’s your choice. You’ll pursue your own interests.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Tom leaned back, staring for a moment at the ceiling as Susan slipped into the room, curling up in a chair near Griff with her legs tucked under her. “But my interest is history, Dad, not business. I want to teach, not manage-anyone or anybody. What you do is fine, but it’s not for me. I’d have told you this a long time ago, but I knew you’d only get upset.”

“I’m not upset.” Griff, so clearly upset, leaned forward as he ran a hand through his hair distractedly.

This was the first time Tom had ever mentioned his interest in history, and Susan’s heart went out to Griff. Her husband worked because he loved to, and succeeded because he was that kind of man; yet Susan knew in her heart that part of that momentum was the thought of building a business he could pass on to his kids someday. And even Tom’s runaway episode hadn’t changed the dreams that Griff had for his older son. Griff recognized Tom’s quick brain and independent nature and ability to get along with people-barring, unfortunately, his own father.

“If you have some misconceptions about the kind of work I’ve done all these years,” Griff started slowly.

“No, Dad.”

“I’ve never taken a penny dishonestly. And if you think there’s no excitement in the business world, Tom, you’re mistaken. We face a different challenge every day. We’ve built an outstanding reputation over the years-”

“You have, Dad,” Tom added quietly. “Maybe Tiger will be interested in the business, or even Barbara, but not me.”

Griff fell silent. Susan could see the pulse working in his throat, the throb of his Adam’s apple that was so purely male. Tom was the classic younger version of his father, but with defiance taking the place of Griff’s strength, as it so often does in the young. His eyes unhappily trailed his father’s every movement, but his jaw remained rigid.

“Of all the subjects you’ve studied in high school,” Griff reasoned finally, “you’ve done best in math, drafting, science-”

“So I’m a whiz kid,” Tom replied, an attempt at humor that failed. He threw up his hands. “That stuff comes easy-I’m not saying it doesn’t. History never did, and I had the most terrible teachers…that’s the point. A good teacher…”

“You can pursue history as a pastime,” Griff growled.

Tom turned away. “Dad, I am not going to major in business.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell not going to major in history. Do you know what a history teacher earns in a year?”

But he would not reach Tom by talking about salaries. Susan knew that. Whatever career Tom ended up in, at this point in his life he was desperate to make a mark that said Tom-not-Griff. Griff was hurt and uncomprehending. Neither Anderson had the patience of a stone, and Susan stood up, afraid that their talk would deteriorate into harsh words from which neither one could back down.

“The point is that he will at least go to college. That’s good enough for now, isn’t it, Griff?” she said quietly.

Tom’s eyes darted in her direction, desperately grateful. Griff went totally still.

“Students have to take required courses during their freshman year,” Susan continued hesitantly. “A little bit of everything. There’ll be plenty of time for him to choose a major later on.”

“I’m not going to change my mind, though,” Tom said flatly.

No, darling? You changed your mind very quickly over Candice once you ran into certain realities, and you might just run into realities again with other decisions, but I’m certainly not going to press that. “I wasn’t suggesting you should change your mind,” Susan told him, with perfect honesty. “I was only suggesting that college is still the best of all possible places to test out your interests-and abilities.”

Tom hesitated. “As long as I can take history courses…”

Susan suddenly couldn’t look at Griff, because she couldn’t think of a single occasion when he would appreciate anyone speaking for him. “Your dad has no objection to your taking all the history courses you want,” she told Tom. “And if you end up really wanting to major in history, there’ll be no problem, Tom. But it won’t kill you to take a few business courses as well, just to acquire a practical education. Then maybe you can work with your dad in the summers to earn some extra money and to find out what the business world is like. In the long run, you can do whatever you want to, whatever makes you happy. Your dad and I both care deeply for your happiness.”

Tom went up to his room a short time after that, and Susan was left with a very silent Griff, crouched in front of the fire with his back turned to her.

“You’re angry with me for interfering,” she suggested quietly.

“No.”

But he didn’t turn to face her. “You are,” she insisted. “Griff…”

He turned then, rising from his crouched position. His body was as taut as a wire; his brooding eyes held hers. “Susan, from the first, Tom’s had a special feeling for you. I’m glad of that. You’ve been there when he needed you…and I’m not angry. I could see what you were trying to do-give him time, in the hope that he’ll come around if he’s allowed to do so without losing face. Dammit, I agree completely with you. All I really want is for him to be happy, though I admit I’d prefer for him to at least take a shot at the business before he just rejects it out of hand. But you even covered that base…”

He turned away again, opening the draperies to stare out the window into the stormy night. “The thing is, every time I try to have a conversation with him, I seem to fail abysmally. Everything you said was right, Susan…but I just never seem to bridge that communication gap with him myself. I was determined that tonight we’d get past those walls, maybe even get angry at each other, but all the same keep going until we got somewhere together…” He looked back at her, not insensitive to the distress in her eyes. “Honey, it’ll happen another time. I’m not blaming you. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go walk off some stress. The weather,” he added wryly, “is perfect for it.”

Susan sat absolutely still until she heard the front door close, her stricken eyes staring unseeing into the fire. She’d hurt him-inadvertently, but she’d hurt him. Not seeing that he desperately needed to thrash this problem out with Tom, she had jumped in to smooth the troubled waters on one of those occasions when she really didn’t belong, when no one belonged but Griff and his son.

He’d hurt her once with hastily spoken harsh words; she’d had no idea then how much more terrible it would be to know she had hurt him.

She was tired and overwrought and afraid that she was failing in this marriage, and she didn’t really feel well. She thought of the baby, and burst into tears.