"I'm sorry dad," Marcy said. "I didn’t know. Maybe there was a log under the water. I'm doing my best…"
"Well I guess your best is not good enough is it?" he growled. "You can't do anything right sometimes can you? Not even fishing. Even at school you only get a C average."
"That's not true. I got an A in …"
"In art," he finished sarcastically. "How is that going to help you in life? Can't you understand? I only want what's best for you. If only you had stuck to gymnastics you may have had a chance at the Olympics. You were a natural. I never thought I'd raise a quitter."
"Joe, she didn’t do it on purpose," Marcy's mother, Ruth intervened. "She just lost interest," Ruth said patiently, "and you're losing your temper over nothing."
"Nothing? Nothing! These hooks cost money you know!"
Everyone went quiet. Marcy's mom just raised her eyebrows and shrugged at her daughter in a "don’t mind him, he's in a bad mood" look. Mom was always on her side. Marcy could not imagine living a single a day without her mother. Marcy knew that dad was just getting frustrated by the lack of fish, and resolved to lay extra low and try not to annoy him.
The boat rocked suddenly as her dad got a tug on his line. "I got a bite! Ruth, get the net. Now watch me land this beauty."
"What is it? Can you see it?" Marcy asked, peering over into the water.
If dad landed a decent sized bass, or even a catfish, his mood would improve. If he caught a nice tasty rainbow trout for dinner he would be in a good mood for days. That possibility seemed too good to be true, because they hadn't caught a trout for ages.
"Here it comes," her dad said. "Oh crap, it's too darn small. Look at this," he snapped out in disgust, unhooking the small fish and throwing it back into the water. "This spot is no good." At that Joe Paget restarted the small outboard motor, turned the boat around and went further along the lake.
While fishing at the new place, Marcy managed to foul her line again, this time very deep in the water. How did this keep happening to her? She surreptitiously tugged and tugged but the stupid line just couldn’t be freed. Frightened that she would upset her father more, she silently motioned to her mother. Sympathizing with her, finger to lips, mom gave a hand signal and attempted to unfoul the line while not attracting attention.
"Who's rocking the boat?" Joe growled.
"I'm sorry dad," Marcy said, desperately anxious and not wanting to displease him.
"Not again!"
"It's not her fault, Joe," her mom quickly put in.
"Not her fault?" he growled. "I came out here to catch fish. Marcy comes out to catch weeds and logs." As he pulled his knife and reached over to cut the line, Marcy and her father both noticed that the water had begun to thrash. "Oh my God Marcy! It's a fish! Look at the size of it! Don’t let it get away! Quick! Pull it in!"
"You do it dad," she said, attempting to hand rod over. The responsibility of landing this fish was too great. What if she failed? Her dad would be even more upset with her.
"No! No! We might lose it!" he gasped the order. "Keep reeling it in. Don’t let up the tension, there's a good girl. Quick, Ruth, get the net. Look at that! It’s a rainbow trout!"
"Oh," Marcy said, awed over the brilliance of the colorful fish as she pulled it to the surface and close to the dingy. "It's so beautiful."
"By, God," Joe said. "It's the biggest one I've ever seen."
Marcy began to falter, struggling with the thrashing efforts of the creature and pitting her slight strength against that of the fish. Anxious she said, "I don’t know if I can hold it dad…"
"Yes you can. We're almost there. I can get the net under it now. Good Lord, it's too big for the net!" Joe pulled the fish out and threw it in the boat. "A trout by God! A ginormous rainbow trout!" He whooped and laughed out loud. "Guess what we're going to have for dinner?"
Joe hugged his daughter hard while the beautiful trout flailed vigorously in the bottom of the boat. Her mother sat nearby, grinning at her, her face bright with joy.
I caught a great big rainbow trout. Dad is pleased with me, she mused. Marcy's whole body tingled and her jaw was sore from smiling. She had never felt so incredibly happy.
"Just wait till the guys in the anglers club see this whopper!" her dad said.
Dad was proud of her. It was then that her tangled emotions became too much for her young heart to bear. "I did it," Marcy said in a hitching breath. Joyful tears began to run down her cheeks.
"You sure did," her father said, patting her on the back in a show of affection that he almost never gave. "That's my baby girl! You are the best, do you know that? See? I told you that you could do it." He started up the boat and they began making their way back to the jetty.
Marcy's heart was so full that her chest ached with the pleasure of it. Both dad and mom were smiling at her.
"C'mon," her dad said. "Let's go get this big fellow weighed."
~~~
The sound of the car engine switching off jerked her awake. Mike Thompson was looking at her, his face filled with concern as she opened her eyes.
"You were so sound asleep," he said in a quiet voice. "I didn’t want to wake you, but then you started twitching. Were you having a bad dream?"
Marcy sat up and gave him a half smile. The memory of that happy day was bright and fresh in her mind. Both of her parents had been very much alive, and better yet, for once in her life her father had been proud of her.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "It was a really, really good one."
Mike took only a second to process this remark. Marcy saw the exact moment when understanding lit his eyes.
"Oh," he said solemnly, shaking his head with a soft, sympathetic smile. "I know exactly what you're talking about. The good dreams hurt most of all."
Marcy maintained her outward composure, but inside was the thrill and shock of astonishment. How did he know? She hadn't needed to explain. Mike Thompson "got" her, he honestly did. That knowledge warmed something deep inside.
Sharing such an intimate, human moment with another person was such a rarity. Marcy decided that she had better guard her heart. She still hadn't a clue as to what love was, but that didn’t matter.
Marcy knew that she could easily fall in love with a man like him.
12. Games
The familiar warmth of dry Nevada air pressed down upon Marcy. Mike came around and courteously held the car door for her, even though she had already opened it. She was peering out at the sign that said, "The Putt Park."
Mike had apparently decided to completely ignore the poignant understanding they had shared about her happy dream. That was okay with Marcy, but now there were two sensitive subjects that they had run into already.
The day was going to become difficult if things went on like that.
As she got out of the car a flock of Brewer's Blackbirds was disturbed by her proximity. Chirping with indignation, they flew off from where they had been resting upon a nearby leafless tree. The tree's naked branches quivered with their departure.
"Sorry for falling asleep," she said. "You should have woken me."
He laughed and showed her the bag he had in his hand. "I tried to. Good Lord, woman. I drove through a Subway, ordered food, paid for it, and you didn’t even twitch. I hope you like turkey. Man, you must be exhausted."
"I could hardly sleep last night because I was pretty excited about this new job," she said candidly.
He handed her the bag of food and took his jacket off, throwing it in the back seat of his car. "Well, I haven't worked it out yet," he said with raised eyebrows. "Should I be insulted that I'm so boring that you just went straight to sleep the moment you and I were alone?" His lips curled in a teasing smirk. "Or should I be flattered that you are comfortable enough to sleep with me?"
Marcy giggled. "I am so not going to answer that."
He shot her a smart-ass smile. Placing his hand on her lower back, he guided her toward the entrance to the golf course. There he was, touching
her again. Why did he have to do that? And why did she let him?
To her surprise, the warm feel of his firm male fingers caused an unfamiliar physical flutter in her belly. She liked Mike. He was someone that she could be herself with, but was he flirting with her? His touch felt incredible. His hand generated heat and the enticing sensation of… what? Crap! It was the distinct buzz of sexual attraction.
Damn it all, am I getting turned on by him?
Frowning, Marcy stopped walking instantly.
"What?" Mike said, dropping his hand and turning toward her.
"I don’t know if André said anything to you, but just so you know, I don’t date. Ever."
"Was I asking you out?" he said with an entirely too innocent poker-face.
"No, but I just wanted to say that. Just so we're clear."
They went into the mini golf club which was fairly quiet, it being the middle of a school day. Mike bought the tickets. Dating or not, this was his idea so she didn’t offer to help pay. Besides, André was probably covering any costs and her employer had a car worth $2,500,000. He could afford it.
They ate while looking out over the course. Mike bought drinks and treats. Neither said much, yet their silence was companionable. Marcy felt at ease with him. What was that about? Afterwards she thanked him for lunch.
With a serious air, Mike unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. Marcy couldn't help but be admiring of his muscular arms. She had to wonder, what did he do to remain so fit? And what would it feel like to be held safe and warm in those arms? Marcy checked herself, forcing that unexpected idea away. She never noticed men usually.
Why did she feel so comfortable with Mike? She needed to protect herself better, because with her track record she couldn't trust him.
Mike Thompson had done a background check and knew everything about her. But what did she know about him? He could have a wife and twenty mistresses that he was keeping happy.
As sweet as the man seemed, she wasn't stupid enough to fall for the whole love thing again. Not to mention enduring the frustration, guilt, shame and disappointment of the sexual act. Marcy had never experienced the magical delight of orgasm. Was it a myth? Who knew?
Besides, she had a daughter now. She didn’t want to risk the possibility of another irresponsible, soul-draining, self-absorbed man in her life. A man who no doubt would break both of their hearts.
When all was ready, they began their game of mini-golf.
For such a normally quiet person, Marcy knew that she was shockingly competitive. She was aware that she had surprised him when she demanded an extra stroke at each hole because, "I haven't played here before and you have." The match was closely fought, and once she even accused him of cheating.
In the height of competitive emotion, Marcy's index finger stabbed repeatedly into his pectoral muscles as she said, "You moved that ball and I saw it! Cheater! Cheaters never prosper; didn't anyone ever tell you that?"
Damn he smelled good. She took a deep breath, wanting to inhale that intriguing scent of musk and man. Scowling, she studied his chest, surprised that she had touched him. Marcy was normally reserved and self-contained. She avoided the intimacy of touching others.
"By the way, your pecs are hard as a brick wall," she added as an afterthought.
Mike didn't crack a smile as he stood over her all big and male and tough guy. "Do you want to keep that finger?" he mildly asked her in his feigned English accent.
Marcy cracked up. In this one afternoon spent with Mike she couldn’t remember laughing so much in her life. Somehow she found herself telling him about her daughter, Katie, and what a great kid she was. He talked about his nieces and nephews, and his three siblings – two of them happily married, one after an unpleasant divorce.
They played two games, winning one each. The third game Marcy won causing her to whoop and jump and laugh with pleasure. When she saw the odd little smile that played on Mike's face she said, "What?"
"Nothing."
"You let me win, didn’t you?"
"Maybe," he said, causing her to giggle again. He shouldn’t have let her win. The fact he did, ought to have upset her, but it didn't.
"Hey, weren't you supposed to be asking me questions or something? I thought you were going to tell me about Mr. Chevalier's business."
Mike wore a chagrined expression. "I was going to," he admitted. "The plan was to chat while playing a leisurely game of mini-golf. But I had no idea that you were such a fierce opponent. You like to win don't you?"
"Yep."
"Could you see us having a serious discussion during this innocent game of mini golf?"
Marcy grinned. "Nope."
When they got back to the club, Marcy retrieved her bag from a locker and was disturbed to see a number of messages left on her cell phone. She returned a call immediately, and spoke to the school nurse. Katie had broken her arm and had been taken to the nearest hospital. She quickly wrote down the address and hung up.
Mike, standing beside her, wore a concerned expression on his face. "I heard," he said. "Let's go," Taking her elbow he propelled her forward before she had a chance to even open her mouth.
Mike was in her personal space, touching her again, only this time Marcy didn't notice.
13. Katie
What a fucking asshole, Mike thought, his anger simmering.
In the car while driving on the way to the hospital, Marcy phoned her ex. Listening had been revealing and helped to fill in an unknown area of Marcy's life.
First, she had trouble getting Katie's father on the phone. When Marcy hadn't answered her cell phone because she was playing golf, Katie's school had attempted to contact her father – also without result, it seemed. Calls to his direct line went to voice mail. Calls through his office were blocked.
"You tell him from me," Marcy finally snapped at the man's receptionist, "that if he doesn't answer this phone right now his ex-wife is going to come right over there and make a scene. A really big and unpleasant scene."
These magic words apparently worked because shortly after, Mike heard a one sided conversation as Marcy spoke to her ex. She told him about Katie's accident, and that their little girl had broken her arm. Right now Marcy was on the way to the hospital to see her.
"I am not calling you to ask for money," Marcy said calmly, yet her brow had darkened with suppressed anger. "I am calling to inform you and to ask you to please come and visit her. I know that she'll be asking for you." Marcy took a deep breath and rolled her eyes.
"Trent, she is your child, too," she said, her voice becoming heated.
The conversation moved on like this for a bit with Marcy cajoling and entreating and the ex putting her off and obviously giving her some excuse, telling her that he was too busy or something to see his daughter.
Mike was beginning to burn inside with a now urgent desire to drive over and beat the shit out of the stupid prick.
"Fine," Marcy finally shouted, her temper breaking. "You obviously have a lot on your plate. Go enjoy that important V.I.P. charity dinner and create your links to possible future clients - I don’t give a damn! You are a total shit and you don’t deserve to have a daughter anyway!" Marcy slammed her cell off almost panting with rage.
After that there was only the soft purr of his BMW for a few long minutes, and the sound of Marcy's angry breathing, which she was beginning to get under control.
Mike hated feeling powerless. But what could he do? What could he say? He couldn't imagine any words that would console her. He had expected tears, but instead Marcy just remained stiff and white lipped. Mike thought that he might have almost preferred tears.
Marcy finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"For losing my temper, for swearing and screaming."
"No problem. The guy sounds like a real dick. You want me to go and knock some sense into him?"
Marcy swallowed, and gave him a tight smile. "Thanks. That's a very attractive offer. Right now
I could almost take you up on it. I just know that Katie will ask if her father is coming to visit her now that she has hurt herself. That is a given. And what will I say? Probably 'daddy is busy.' It's what I always say."
Mike stopped at a stop light, and slanted Marcy a look. Her hands were tightly gripped in her lap, and she had gone very pale. Concerned, he shifted restlessly in his seat.
Marcy sighed. "Trent said he would call her tomorrow, but he will probably 'forget' just as he always does."
"Has he always been like this with Katie?"
Marcy shrugged. "It's probably my fault…"
"What?" Mike interrupted her before she could continue. "No way!" he said, slamming his open palm onto the steering wheel and making a loud bang. "You are not one of those women, who blame themselves for everything, are you? I don't believe it. Tell me that is not who you are."
The light changed and Mike viciously stepped on the gas. He was surprised how angry he was. He really liked this woman. It was going to piss him off if he found that she was a doormat for her shithead ex. Why did some women do that? Make excuses for assholes? And worse take responsibility for things that were not their fault?
When Mike turned his head to look at her, his stress levels instantly lowered. Amusement glittered in Marcy pretty brown eyes. She was smiling at him. A flood of relief soothed through him.
Marcy understood his anger.
The feisty woman had threatened her ex that she would make a public scene. She had also forced the jerk to talk to her. Marcy was no doormat, and she wasn't a victim.
"It is my fault, in a way," she began to explain. "Trent wanted to put off having children until we were more financially stable. After we had been married a few years I went ahead and stopped birth control anyway without telling him. I thought Trent would be happy that I was pregnant. But you know what? I'm beginning to realize that even though he said he wanted children 'someday' he never actually intended to have them. The longer I was married to that man, the more I think that I never really knew my husband at all."
The words she said repeated in Mike's mind. Trent wanted to put off having children until we were more financially stable.