just as soon as he could figure out a way to provide a home for her while he attended college on the scholarship he’d received.
Emily had vowed to wait for him no matter how long it took, but about a month later the shattering letter had come and…
“Yo in the house,” a voice called in the distance, jerking Mark back to the present. “I’m here as ordered to dig in the dirt.”
Emily’s eyes widened and she jumped to her feet. “Can’t. No digging in dirt today. Sorry, Grandma, I’ve got a killer headache so we’ll do this tomorrow. I’ll just go tell… Bye, Mark, enjoy your vacation and…”
The front door of the house opened and an adolescent boy came into the living room.
“Oh, dear heaven,” Emily whispered, “no.”
“Hi,” the boy said. “Didn’t you hear me holler? I came right over on my bike when I got home from swimming and saw your note, Mom. Hi, Great-Grandma. We’re going to dig the dirt, plant the plants, do it to it.” His attention was caught by a tall man across the room getting slowly to his feet. “Oh, hi. Sorry. Didn’t know there was company.” He looked questioningly at his mother.
“Yes, well,” Emily said, having difficulty breathing. “I…Mark Maxwell, I’d like you to meet…” She drew a shaky breath. “…my…my…son. Trevor. Trevor MacAllister. Trevor, say hello to Dr. Mark Maxwell. He’s an old school…chum of mine.”
“Cool,” Trevor said, nodding. “Hi.”
“You’re Emily’s…son?” Mark said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears as he stared at Trevor.
“Yep, that’s me. Her genius-level offspring. Do note that I’m taller than she is already. Cool, huh?”
“Very cool,” Mark said. “How…how old are you, Trevor?”
No! Don’t answer that, Emily thought, taking a step toward Trevor.
“Yes, the time has come for this,” Margaret whispered to no one.
“I’m twelve, almost thirteen,” Trevor said. “Closer to thirteen, so just go with that. I’m about to become a bona fide teenager.”
Who looked exactly as he had at that age, Mark thought, his mind racing. Tall, lanky, feet like gunboats, arms and legs seeming too big for his yet-to-fully-develop body, brown eyes, light-brown hair and a cowlick creating a curl on the crown of his head.
This was Emily’s son? Mark’s mind screamed. Oh, he didn’t doubt for a second that she had given birth to him but, by damn, this boy standing a room away from him was more than just Emily’s son.
There was no doubt in his mind. None.
He, Mark Maxwell, was Trevor’s father!
Two
Just after ten o’clock that night, Emily stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door and sighed as she stared at her reflection.
Blimpo, she thought dismally. The jeans and over-blouse she was wearing made her look like a Pillsbury Dough Girl, complete with pudgy cheeks.
Her hair was freshly shampooed and her light makeup was just enough to accentuate her signature MacAllister brown eyes, but nothing could erase the fact that she weighed twenty pounds more than she should.
She’d been so proud of herself, of the thirty pounds she’d lost during the past months, but tonight the twenty extra she still carried around made her thighs, stomach and bottom look like heavy sandbags and her face like a moon waiting for a cow to jump over it.
“Blak,” Emily said, then left the bedroom, smacking off the light as she went.
She wandered down the hall into the small living room, aware that the sound of Trevor’s stereo had stilled and there was no light shining from beneath his door as she glanced along the hallway.
And now Mark would knock on the door, she thought, sinking onto the sofa. It didn’t require magical powers or a crystal ball to know that he would appear on her doorstep as soon as he was assured that Trevor…that his son…was asleep for the night.
She’d seen the look on Mark’s face when he’d stared at Trevor that afternoon and saw the carbon copy of himself when he was young and skinny.
A shiver coursed through Emily. She wrapped her hands around her elbows as she moved to the edge of the sofa cushion and bent over slightly.
She felt so strange, she thought. It was as though she was standing outside herself watching a drama unfold scene by scene, not knowing what would happen next.
The beginning of the story had starred a pretty, slender young girl and a not-quite-having-it-together teenage boy. They had been deeply in love and had created a child together, a baby boy who the hero knew nothing about.
Fast forward to the present for act two. The hero was now a successful and highly respected doctor in the world of medical research, and the heroine was a fat, unattractive woman, who was struggling to hang onto a modicum of self-esteem she had fought desperately to obtain.
As for the deeply in love part?
A portion of her heart would always belong to the Mark Maxwell who had left Ventura to follow his dreams.
The Mark who had been so serious, so determined to achieve his career goals so he could provide for her in the manner he was convinced she needed because she had come from a fairly wealthy family.
The Mark who wouldn’t believe her when she said she didn’t need a fancy home and oodles of things, that she just wanted to be his wife, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer.
Oh, yes, Emily mused, she’d never really stopped loving that Mark Maxwell, not completely.
But Dr. Mark Maxwell, who was now on stage in act two? She didn’t even know how to talk to men like him…so handsome, well-built, confident and successful, able to have any woman who caught his fancy. A man who wouldn’t give a chubby woman like her a second look.
Deeply in love? Oh, ha. The Mark who was going to knock on her door at any second probably hated her with an intensity that was equal to the passion with which he had once loved her.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Emily jerked, tightening her hold on her arms.
“Mark read the script,” she said, hearing the edge of hysteria in her voice. “Now comes the big scene, the ugly words and accusations and…”
The knock was repeated.
Emily closed her eyes for a moment, took a steadying breath, then got to her feet and went to the door, speaking as she opened it.
“Hello, Mark,” she said, stepping back. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I’m sure you have,” he said gruffly, coming into the house, then turning to look at her as she closed the door behind him. “I waited across the street until what I hoped was Trevor’s bedroom light went out, then sat in my car another twenty minutes
