Deanna Talcott - Marrying For A Mom

Logan was the only man in the room, and he appeared impervious to be outnumbered by the opposite sex; his attention, too, was directed solely to the activity on the floor.

“Excuse me,” Whitney whispered, apologizing to the master knitter as she carefully stepped over a bag of turquoise yarn. She slipped into the chair next to Logan.

His head turned, his eyes rounding into irresistible crescents as he smiled. “Hello,” he mouthed. “Glad you could make it.”

The chairs were so close that Whitney inadvertently leaned against him as she sat, her shoulder brushing his. The flesh beneath his dress shirt was hard, warm…and definitely bothersome to her senses. Whitney tried to look unaffected. “I hope Miss Timlin doesn’t yell at me for making a disturbance,” she whispered, as the aura of his aftershave enveloped them.

“I’ll protect you if she does,” he whispered, sliding an arm to the back of her chair in order to give her more room.

Whitney’s smile was taut, self-conscious. Everyone around them had peeled their eyes off the dance floor, to notice that Logan Monroe had welcomed this newcomer.

Whump, whump. “At the bar, ladies!” Miss Timlin directed, wielding her staff like a shepherdess. “Now, please.”

A dozen ballerinas scampered to claim their place at the mirrored wall. Logan nudged Whitney. “That’s Amanda,” he said. “Second from the left.”

The child, with round blue eyes and fat cheeks, exuded a Shirley Templesque sparkle. She didn’t walk; she pranced. A riot of strawberry-blond curls, bound with a diaphanous pink-and-white scrunchie, and pulled to a curious angle at the top of her head, swung against her nape. She paused long enough to look over her shoulder at her father, then offered up an outrageous wink and an infectious smile.

A chuckle of appreciation rumbled through Logan’s chest. Women on either side of them snickered. “She has my comedic sense of timing,” he whispered.

“She’s darling.”

“She’s a ham. A darling ham. I know it. And I love it.”

Whitney drew a deep, amused breath, and settled back against Logan’s arm, to bask in the enthusiasm of a gregarious six-year-old. Another mind-bending matter also weighed heavily on her mind: What brand of cologne did Logan wear?

The lesson ended much too quickly. When it was over, Amanda went flying into Logan’s arms.

“Daddy! Did you see it? My plié?”

“I did.”

“Much better, don’t you think?”

“Without a doubt.” He cocked his head, to study her floppy ponytail, then awkwardly tried to pat it back into place. “We still didn’t get this hair thing right,” he muttered.

Amanda didn’t seem to care about that, but her expressive mouth drooped. “I wish Mommy would have been here to see it.”

“What?”

“My plié.”

“Oh.” An uncomfortable moment of silence passed, then Logan pulled her into his arms. “I think, Amanda, that she knows,” he said gently. “Mommy loved you so much that she’s never really far from you.” His forefinger tapped her chest. “She’s right here, you know…in your heart.”

Amanda nodded bravely, but her eyes were solemn, sad. Whitney’s heart wrenched.

“Miss Timlin said I might be a swan in the recital,” Amanda announced.

“Really?” Logan pulled back, feigning intrigue.

“If I have another good lesson,” she said, dipping her chin as she scooched, uninvited, onto his lap. “That’s what she said. The swans get to wear feathers in their hair, you know.”

“Ah. Well, either way, feathers or no feathers, I’m proud of you.” He gave Amanda a quick, congratulatory hug. “Amanda, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Amanda leaned forward. Her gaze, neither friendly nor hostile, unabashedly met Whitney’s. “Must be you,” she concluded. “You’re the only new person here.”

“Hi,” Whitney said, extending her hand. “I’m Whitney Bloom.”

Amanda briefly regarded her, then politely dragged her fingers against Whitney’s palm. The greeting was a curious mixture of an infant’s patty-cake and an adolescent’s high-five. “Like the flower?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” Whitney stopped, perplexed.

“You know. It’s a saying. Daddy always says we should bloom where we’re planted.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” Whitney lifted her eyes, to exchange an amused look with Logan. To her delight, he winked.

“He says it means we have to do our best, no matter where we are or what happens to us.”

“I see. Good advice.”

“You’re lucky to have a name like that,” Amanda went on. “Sometime I’m going to get a name I can keep, that’s what the social worker says. Of course, I wish I had a name like Daddy’s.”

Both Logan and Whitney blanched at Amanda’s unwitting reference to the muddled adoption.

“Do you have a little girl?” Amanda asked unexpectedly.

The question startled Whitney, and she pulled back, half-afraid of disappointing the child. “No,” she said slowly.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to have one?”

“Amanda,” Logan reproved. “That’s kind of a personal question, even for a chatterbox like you. We don’t ask—”

“No, that’s okay,” Whitney said quickly. “I don’t mind. Really.” She paused, wondering how much she could safely reveal. “Someday I’d love to have a little girl. More than anything. But I’m not married and, actually, I’d like to have a daddy for my little girl. I’d want to make sure she was safe, and happy, and loved by her mom and dad.”

“You don’t have a husband?”

An ominous feeling swept over Whitney, making her feel as if she was stepping into something as dangerous as quicksand. “No, not anymore.”

Amanda sat back, and thoughtfully regarded Whitney. “My daddy doesn’t have my mommy anymore, either.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to hear it.”

“She went to heaven,” Amanda matter-of-factly explained. “Where did your husband go?”

Whitney did a stutter-step over her answer. She certainly couldn’t explain to a six-year-old what had led to the breakup of her marriage. For, after Logan caught Kevin skimming money from the petty cash, and threatened to press charges, it had been the last straw for Whitney and her marriage had immediately crumbled. There had never been a blacker, more degrading moment in her life. She suddenly realized how she supported him while he wandered from one job to another, how she’d suffered through his rude behavior and insolence. It had come as an epiphany to her, to realize she had married Kevin for the wrong reasons—and Logan, whether he knew it or not, had had a hand in her decision to move on with her life.

Logan, seeing Whitney’s distress, flushed uncomfortably, then leaned over and sternly whispered in his daughter’s ear.

Suddenly a wry response struck Whitney, and she impulsively offered it up. “My husband,” she announced glibly, “went to California. With a cardboard suitcase, and a beat-up Chevrolet. And, let me tell you, he was a funny sight, going down the highway.”

Logan clamped his lips over an irrepressible smile, his eyes shuttering closed. Amanda’s lips wiggled, even as she looked genuinely confused.

When it hit Whitney, she was appalled at the jingle she’d just concocted. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t explain that very well. And I didn’t mean—” lowering her voice, she caught Logan’s eye “—to make it sound like…”

“It’s okay,” he mouthed over Amanda’s head. Then, he chuckled. “Whitney and I went to school together, Amanda, and for as long as I’ve known her, she has always put an interesting spin on life.”

Nagging embarrassment colored her cheeks, but Whitney took the plunge, determined to be honest with Amanda—and with Logan. “Amanda,” she said seriously, “my ex-husband wasn’t very happy—and he wanted things I didn’t want. So, how it ended up was that he left—and I stayed. We got a divorce because we couldn’t be happy together and agree on how to live our life.”

“Is he ever coming back?”

Whitney shook her head, afraid to look at Logan, afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. “No. Never.”

Amanda’s gaze never wavered. “Then you’re all alone, too. Like us.”

The candid observation knocked the wind out of Whitney. She steeled herself to show no emotion. “Single, and independent,” she confided, leaning closer to Amanda. “It’s not a bad thing for a woman to be. Honest.”

Amanda studied her, quizzically. Then she reached over and carefully touched the gold charm, the teddy bear that Whitney always wore. “I like that,” she said shyly.

“You do?” Whitney’s smile reached her eyes. “You know there’s a story behind that little bear.”

“There is?” Amanda’s eyes widened hopefully.

“Mmm-hmm. When I was a little girl, not much bigger than you, we had to move. We were kind of in a hurry, so my mom thought she’d leave some of our stuff and go back and get it later. But there was this mix-up, and everything got lost. All my books, my dolls, all my favorite things. They were all gone. Not one thing was left.”

Amanda’s face fell. “You must have felt awful,” she said soberly, dropping the charm, to awkwardly pat the back of Whitney’s hand.

“For a while I did. But then my gram, who had some old scraps of fabric, helped me make a rag doll. It turned out so wonderful that we started thinking we could make a teddy bear.” For emphasis, Whitney rolled her eyes. “Well, we had the craziest looking teddy bear you ever did see. My gram said it looked like something the cat dragged in.”

Amanda laughed, imagining.

“So my gram went out and bought me a brand-new teddy bear, and I thought it was the best present ever.” Whitney glanced up at Logan, but his eyes were brooding, dark. “I…” Whitney hesitated, “I have a little store not far from here, and everything in it has teddy bears on it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Amanda sat back, in the circle of Logan’s arms, considering. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Is that where you got the coloring books and stuff?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, at Whitney’s shop.”

“Maybe sometime, Amanda, you’d like to visit me there, and see all the teddy bear things.”

“Can we, Daddy? Do you think we can go?”

“What I think, gumdrop,” Logan said, carefully avoiding an answer, “is that you’ve pestered Whitney long enough. Come on. You ready for our weekly pilgrimage?”

“Can Whitney come? Please? This could be the day for the Lollapalooza.”

Logan pulled back, baffled. This was a first. Since Jill’s death, Amanda had been reluctant to invite people into her life. She didn’t warm up to people anymore, not as quickly as she used to. But, with Whitney, he saw vestiges of the old Amanda coming back.

“That’s a great idea, to invite Whitney,” he agreed. “Well?” he slid Whitney a sideways glance, and didn’t bother to explain. Everyone in Melville knew the Lollapalooza was the Ice Crème Shoppe’s 27 scoop, thirteen topping treat. “What do you say? Can you join us?”

“Oh…no, I’d feel like I was intruding…” If Whitney could have kicked herself all the way home, she would have. She’d automatically offered up the no, and passed up another rare opportunity to be with Logan.

“Whitney. C’mon. Join us,” he insisted. “The Lollapalooza may be a little too much, but maybe another time…for a special occasion…” He lifted one shoulder higher than the other, letting the suggestion hang.