Actually, she did want to smash something. She realized she was practically smothering in anger. It wasn’t fair. Every time she made a real commitment to someone, he left her. She hefted the plate and threw it at the fireplace. It smashed, and shards of china scattered on the hearth and braided rug.
“Feel better? Pat asked.
“No.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. This could get expensive, he thought. Megan looked mad enough to go through a service for forty. “Want another plate?”
What she wanted was another baby, Megan realized. She liked being a mother. She was just getting good at it. She didn’t want to go back to being a single person, rattling around in the big old farmhouse by herself.
She looked at Pat and thought a short sexfest might not be such a bad idea. She couldn’t have Tilly’s baby, but she was pretty sure she could have Pat’s. It’d be a terrific baby, too. Cute little nose, big brown eyes, perfect teeth. They should get married, of course, but there was no reason they couldn’t get started making a baby right away. Why waste valuable time? If she got pregnant now, she could have a baby by the end of the summer.
The trick was getting Pat to make a baby. He’d been very careful about that sort of thing. She might have to take matters into her own hands, she thought slyly.
Pat uneasily shifted his weight from foot to foot. Megan was looking at him as if he were lunch. No, sir, he thought, life with Megan Murphy was never dull. He didn’t have a clue what was going through her mind, but the look in her eyes raised all the little hairs on the back of his neck. This was a desperate woman. This was a woman on the edge.
“Maybe we should go out to dinner,” he suggested. If she was planning a double suicide, they’d be safer in a crowded place. She’d feel better after a good meal, and he’d have a chance to talk to her, reason with her.
Dinner?she thought. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. It would give her a chance to really get Pat in the mood. A romantic restaurant.The perfect place for a proposal. Once she got the proposal out of the way, it would be clear sailing to motherhood. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. This time it was going to work. She wasn’t going to get dumped on. She wasn’t going to get left at the altar. She was going to get pregnant.
“All right,” she said. “Dinner. That’s a great idea. Someplace dark and quiet.The darker the better.”
Pat swallowed and racked his brain for the noisiest best – lit place in Williamsburg.
“I’m going upstairs to freshen up,” Megan said. “Would you call my parents and tell them I’m going to be later than expected?”
“What are you going to do upstairs?”
“It’s of a personal nature.”
“You’re not too depressed, are you? I mean, you wouldn’t jump out a window or anything, would you?”
“Pat, if I jumped out a window, the best I could do would be to break my knees.”
“Not if you jumped head first.”
“Well, yes, but that would ruin my hair.”
That made him feel better. Worrying about your hair was a sign of good mental health. He’d read about it in a mental – health course.
Megan ran up the stairs and checked out the candles, making sure there were fresh tapers in all the holders. Then she turned down the bedcovers and closed the curtains. She didn’t want to waste any time once they got back from the restaurant. They’d have a memorable meal, a knock – your – socks – off proposal, then they’d rush back here and jump into bed.
She brushed her hair and applied fresh lipstick and a dusting of blusher. She felt much better, she thought, smoothing her sweater over her hips. She really had her life under control now. Good thing she was such a levelheaded person. Some women would have gone off the deep end over losing a baby, but not her. She was flexible. She could find creative solutions to problems like this.
Pat cleaned up the broken china and doused the fire while he waited for Megan. He looked at the empty crib and felt a surge of sorrow pass through his heart. It had been nice having a baby in the house. Someday he’d have children of his own. A whole pack of them, with dogs and cats and hamsters.
For now, he had to admit, the sadness of losing Timmy was being replaced with a sense of relief. Timmy belonged with Tilly and Lenny. And Patrick Hunter belonged with Megan Murphy, he thought wistfully. That was a tougher problem to solve. At least they no longer had the pressures of an instant family. There really was no reason they had to get married immediately.
He looked toward the stairs and wondered what Megan was doing. Probably in the bathroom, crying her eyes out. She’d seemed a trifle desperate for a few minutes, but he was sure she’d be fine. She wasn’t the sort to go to pieces and do something dumb… was she?
“Megan,” he called, “you okay?”
“I’m fine. Peachy – dandy. I’m almost done here. I’ll be right down.”
He zipped himself into his jacket and paced in front of the door. They needed to go someplace loud tonight, he decided. Someplace fun. He didn’t know any loud, fun places, so he called his answering service and asked for advice.
“Go to the Pit,” he was told. “Great chili dogs, and you can drink beer and play darts.”
The beer part sounded good, but he didn’t know if he wanted to put a sharp object in Megan’s hand. But then he told himself he was being stupid. Next he’d be looking for an Ethiopian restaurant; so she’d have to eat with her fingers.
Megan bounced down the stairs. “Here I am. Let’s get going. Let’s not waste a single minute. Gotta get going and eat, eat, eat.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Why are you so happy? Have you been drinking my aftershave?”
“I like being happy. You wouldn’t want me to be a party pooper, would you?”
He put his hand to her forehead. She didn’t feel feverish, but her eyes had a feverish glitter to them. “You’re sounding a little… um, crazy.”
She looked insulted. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes flooded with tears. “Boy, that’s the thanks I get for trying to be happy. Here I am trying to make the best of things, and you tell me I’m crazy.”
Oh, great, Dr. Hunter. Wonderful bedside manner, Pat chided himself. Now he’d made her cry.
“Don’t pay any attention to me,” he said. “This business with Timmy has me off balance.”
She gave him a hug. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”
“You do?”
“Trust me.”
He smiled lamely. He trusted her… but he still wasn’t going to let her handle any darts.
He escorted her to his car and watched her crawl across the front seat. He’d gotten his window to stay up, but he still hadn’t fixed the passenger door. He slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. He tried it again and was treated to a low whimper. He sighed. “It’s the battery. I need a new one.”
“You need a new car.”
“I could get one if I fired my receptionist. I can’t make payments on both a car and a receptionist.”
They crawled out of Pat’s car and into Megan’s. Pat tried it three times before it started, with a cough, and backfired. He slowly backed out of the driveway and rumbled down the street. “You need a new muffler,” he shouted over the noise.
“I could get one if I stopped eating,” she shouted back.
When Pat pulled up to a building lit by gaudy neon lights, her mouth dropped open. “This is dark and quiet?”
“I felt like beer and chili dogs. They make great chili dogs here.”
“Okay,” she said, “whatever turns you on.” She moved closer and slid her hand up his leg. “You are turned on, aren’t you?”
“Um, well, I wasn’t…”
She kissed him just below his ear and gently nipped at his neck. “I hope you’ll be turned on later… when we go home.” She whispered several things she wanted to do to him, and was pleased at the flush rising out of his shirt collar.