Marrying For A Mom

“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 Cr`eme 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.

“You’re goading me into playing hooky,” Whitney chided. “I have rent to pay and shelves to stock.”

“And you work too hard. You’re too dedicated.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost closing time anyway. A four o’clock sundae is the perfect way to end the day and spoil your supper.”

Whitney considered supper. It would be another single serving size eaten in front of the TV.

“My treat,” Logan persuaded as Amanda slipped off his lap.

“They have Chocoholics Anonymous,” Amanda said, balancing on one foot as she wiggled the other bare one into a sandal. “When I don’t get that, I get Mississippi Sludge.”

Whitney raised an eyebrow, and squelched a smile over Amanda’s Mithithippi Thludge lisp. “Mmm. Sounds yummy.”

“Daddy says I’m a chocolate freak.”

“A trait I share,” Whitney admitted. “I never ever pass up chocolate.”

Logan offered Amanda an oversize shirt to slip over her tights and leotards. The shirt, though clean, looked like it had spent the last few weeks forgotten in the bottom of the dryer. “I take it that’s a yes,” Logan said, as he helped Amanda turn the sleeve right side out.

“Okay. I can’t refuse. Besides, the day’s shot anyway.”

Logan’s expression grew pensive, thoughtful. Then he looked at her, and winked. “Somehow, I get the impression it’s just beginning.”

The Ice Cr`eme Shoppe was rocking. A group of teenagers were celebrating a sixteenth birthday and the jukebox was cranked up full-blast. Amanda, who knew two of the teens as baby-sitters, didn’t miss a trick. She was elbow to elbow with them, oohing and aahing as the guest of honor opened her presents.

Seeing she was occupied, Whitney extracted the flyers on the teddy bears and offered them to Logan. They were in a circular back booth, isolated and protected from the noisy crowd. “Here. Look at these. See what you think.”

He studied the hot pink flyers, then stopped at the full page advertisement she’d torn from a collector’s catalog.

Fascinated by Logan’s intensity, Whitney couldn’t imagine ever tiring of his focus, his concentration. He’d always been like that. In high school chemistry, Logan could crack jokes one minute, then buckle down and become absorbed in the most complicated lab experiment the next. That part of him had always intrigued her.

“Whitney. I don’t think…this is quite what…They aren’t right.” He shook his head. “How close are they?”

“Not very.”

A sinking feeling washed over Whitney. She’d spent three grueling days hunting for this teddy bear, and she knew, from what Logan said, time was short. “Logan,” she said carefully, “this could take a while.”

He folded up the papers and reluctantly handed them back to her. “I never imagined the world had gone teddy bear crazy. I thought I’d just get another one…for old time’s sake—or a fresh start. For her, you know.” He shrugged, trying to make it look like it didn’t matter. His gaze narrowed, the blue color almost disappearing as he looked over to Amanda, who, at the player piano, sang along with the crowd.

Whitney watched Amanda from the corner of her eye. “Logan, why don’t you bring her over to my shop and let her look at the teddy bears? Maybe she’ll find something she likes. We could do it later tonight, or…” She let the words trail off, lifting her shoulders.

Logan tapped his thumb against the table’s edge, momentarily debating. “I can’t tonight. I’ve got a seven o’clock appointment for a closing.”

Whitney chose to ignore his abrupt tone. “Maybe another time?”

A shadow crossed his handsome features. “Maybe.”

Whitney knew it would never happen. Not knowing what to say, she feigned interest in all the activity around her, swiping at the perspiration on her water glass.

Logan sighed. “You have to understand, Whit, that I’m being selfish about this. I don’t want her to just pick out another toy…it means more to me than that.”

“I understand.”

The strains of “Happy Birthday to you,” faded, then someone tacked on a falsetto version of “and we do…ooo mean you.”

“This is stupid. How the hell can you replace something like that?”

Logan’s angry words sent chills through Whitney; she knew he wasn’t talking about the teddy bear; he was talking about Amanda. When she was six, Whitney would have crawled over hot coals and bargained with the devil to have a daddy like that.

“You can’t, Logan,” she said softly. “You can’t replace this wonderful, precious child you’ve raised. But…if it helps…I’ll find you the bear. I promise.”

“Thanks. I…” Logan’s attention remained on the partygoers clustered around the piano. Then, with a burst of energy that startled Whitney, he swiveled on the bench beside her, and tossed an arm around her shoulders.

Whitney went weak, feeling too much of him: the warmth, the bone and sinew. She shivered, her mind fast-forwarding to recount how many times he’d thrown an arm around her in high school. Three? Four? She’d cherished every moment of his attention, and every time he made her feel special, she had fallen a little bit more in love with him.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate all you’re doing,” he said, leaning closer and making the words go fuzzy against her ear. “I do.”

Whitney’s eyes involuntarily closed, and she savored the inexplicable whisper of sexual attraction. “You baffle me,” she said without thinking.