A Little Bit of Déjà Vu Read online

  “Very funny. This isn’t a laughing matter.” It was his worst nightmare.

  “Who’s laughing? How’d you like me to answer these stupid questions?”

  Jake’s eye twitched as he struggled to maintain his composure. “Okay, smart guy, you managed to score nearly two thousand on your SATs, and you have a three-point-nine GPA. So tell me this—has anything I’ve preached to you over the last eighteen years penetrated that high-performance brain of yours?”

  “My brain wasn’t exactly on duty at the time.”

  “That’s right, I forgot it’s June first. It must’ve gone south for a vacation in your Levi’s. You’re graduating in twelve days. Do you realize what you’ve done to your life? And Em’s?”

  The dark shadows under Alex’s eyes said he was well aware of what a baby would mean to their future. Jake knew firsthand how scared the kid must be.

  “I suppose this is why you look as if you haven’t slept in a week and why your calculus teacher told me you’ve been nodding off in class?”

  A guilty look flickered in Alex’s gaze as he turned his face away. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  And here Jake had been attributing his kid’s distraction in school to a severe case of senioritis.

  Alex leaned back in the booth, stretching his favorite Penn State T-shirt across his muscular chest. The kid only had nine of them. To look at him, no one would believe he’d weighed less than four pounds at birth. Jake swallowed hard. And now his son was about to become a father.

  Damn, he felt ancient.

  “You know, Dad, it’s easy for you to lecture me and your classes about abstinence when the only breasts you’ve touched in years were from KFC. I’m not a monk like you. I can’t kiss Emma and not get turned on.”

  Jake understood precisely how tough it was. His son could be his clone except for Alex’s lighter hair. Having a sweet young woman’s body pressed against him had brought Jake more heartache than he wanted to remember. “Believe me, Alex, I understand how hard it can get.”

  His son clapped his hand over his mouth and groaned. “That was bad.”

  Jake closed his eyes. “You’re right. It was.”

  Alex stacked a pile of sugar packets, making a pyramid. “Anyway, if you really know how hard it gets, you wouldn’t spend every Saturday night grading papers and workin’ on your dissertation.”

  His kid’s jaw would hit the floor if Jake told him about his afternoon quickies with one of the school’s guidance counselors. Alex had no concept of the intense sense of déjà vu their exchange gave Jake. It was like watching an instant replay of his own life. Except he’d taken the flip side of the conversation nineteen years ago. His urge to throttle his son made his father’s response back then seem quite calm and reasonable. Jake definitely owed his dad an apology.

  “My Saturday night dates with a red marking pen are not the issue here.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “When I gave you those condoms to share with the team, I meant for you to keep a few for your own use should the need arise.”

  “Oh, it rose all right.” His son smirked as he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling fan turning overhead. Its gentle breeze wasn’t enough to cool the heat creeping up Jake’s neck.

  His hand flexed under the table. This was exactly the kind of teenage bravado that drove normally rational parents into smacking their kids’ smug faces right into the next zip code.

  He’d read all the books on dealing with teens. In fact, he was even working on his doctoral dissertation on that subject. But knowing intellectually his kid’s stand-up comedy routine was simply a way to hide his anxiety did nothing to keep that superior you-don’t-know-squat attitude from undermining Jake’s reason.

  If anyone shouldered the blame for his son getting involved with Emma, he should. When she’d tiptoed into his classroom in September, he’d felt an instant affinity to the shy, timid girl. Her smile and petite figure reminded him so much of the woman he’d spent nearly two decades trying to forget—and forgive.

  He knew how difficult it was for teens to move, especially their senior year. Consequently, he’d bribed his son with a huge stack of pancakes and asked him to casually drop by Jake’s class, invite the lonely girl to lunch, and introduce her to his friends. Alex must have decided Emma didn’t eat puppy chow for breakfast as he’d feared after Jake told him she was smart and funny but just a little shy.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” Alex turned his palms up in a helpless gesture. “I used protection—every time. Aren’t you the one who lectures all the kids that condoms are only eighty-eight percent effective in practical use?”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear something sunk in. Too bad you didn’t remember my advice about using something else with them.”

  Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you treat the kids at school like this when they tell you they’ve screwed up?”

  “Those kids aren’t my son, damn it! They also aren’t fouling up a full ride to Penn State. My research is all about kids like you. Were you so intimidated by your success that you had to deliberately louse up your life?”

  His son glanced at all the heads turning toward them. “Shhh! Does the whole freakin’ world have to know my business?”

  Jake braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “If you didn’t want people to overhear us, why’d you bring me to a public place to deliver this happy news?”

  “Emma’s meeting us with her mother in a few minutes.”

  “Great. This just gets better and better.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck to ease his tension. So he was finally going to meet the elusive Widow Bradford. He could think of a lot more pleasant ways to get acquainted.

  The few times he’d telephoned her house looking for his son, who routinely forgot to charge his cell phone, Mrs. Bradford’s sultry voice had intrigued Jake in a way no woman’s had in years. So much so, he’d suggested having coffee together the first time he’d spoken to her.

  Unfortunately, the woman was still mourning her husband and had shut him down before he’d ever finished spitting out his clumsy invitation. On every occasion he’d talked to her, he’d hung up the phone swamped by profound disappointment and the strange feeling that, for some reason, she just didn’t like him. In fact, if they didn’t work in two different schools, he’d wonder if the woman might actually be avoiding him.

  But whether she’d purposely stayed out of his way or not, this was hardly the ideal situation to rectify any bad impressions he might have made on the phone.

  He arched one eyebrow at his son. “Should I assume Emma is having this same conversation with Mrs. Bradford as we speak?”

  “No. She wants you to help us tell her mom.” Alex scowled at Jake. “I don’t know why, but for some reason, my girlfriend thinks you’re patient and understanding.”

  Okay, so he deserved that. Some psychologist he was—losing his cool without listening first. When it came to crisis management in his own family, his ex-wife Roxanne could attest that he sucked at remaining dispassionate and open-minded. But seeing his sins revisited in his son’s life sent every paternal instinct bubbling to the surface.

  Dwelling on the kids’ mistake wouldn’t change their future. But how he handled it now could make all the difference.

  Jake drew in a cleansing breath. “Look, I’m sorry I yelled. Let’s start over—sane and sensible this time. Are you saying Emma hasn’t told her mom yet?”

  “No. She’s afraid her mother’s gonna have a meltdown. Mrs. Bradford only delivered the abstinence part of Teens and Sex 101 to Em.”

  In that case, Alex could consider his name crossed off the woman’s Christmas list. Jake knew this for a certainty because he’d had personal experience telling a girl’s mother he’d impregnated her daughter.

  He’d never told Alex how preventing teen pregnancies had become such a crusade for him. He’d attained dual-certification to teach family and consumer science classes in addition to psychology, hoping to spare his son an
d other kids this misfortune.

  After hanging up his cleats, he’d received dozens of job offers for assistant coach positions in the pros and as a sportscaster for numerous cable networks. He’d socked enough away during his football career to be more than just comfortable, so he’d chosen to teach, hoping to save his marriage and the futures of impressionable teens.

  Jake nodded a greeting to their waitress, Brandy Harris, as she rushed up wearing a mini skirt and a blouse that left nothing to a man’s imagination, drenched in enough perfume to obliterate the mouthwatering aromas wafting from the nearby tables. She was one of Jake’s students—not that a stranger would ever guess. She had the body of a porn-queen and dressed more like a streetwalker than a high school cheerleader. Not surprising after being raised by a single a mom who worked as an exotic dancer to support her family.

  Brandy had been shaking her pom-poms at his son for the last four years. So in reality, things could be worse. Alex could’ve knocked up the class tramp instead of shy, sweet Emma.

  The fatherless Pamela Anderson wannabe flashed her dazzling smile at Jake’s son and purred, “Hi, Alex,” before turning to Jake, her pen poised to jot down their order. “Hey, Coach, what can I get for you?”

  “Sorry, Brandy, we need a few minutes. We’re expecting two more.”

  “Sure. Take your time.” She sashayed away from the table and tossed Alex an enticing smile over her shoulder, leaving a cloud of her scent hovering around them. Alex ignored her, but as soon as she turned her blonde head, he joined every other heterosexual male under forty watching her wiggle her shapely ass back to the kitchen.

  Jake snorted inwardly. There wasn’t enough money in the world to tempt him to go back to being eighteen and having his hormones raging twenty-four/seven. One of the few benefits of growing older was his forty-two-year-old mind no longer lived in his shorts.

  His kid just couldn’t see that the Almighty had dealt him a royal flush. Besides being brilliant and having the entire female population of the high school panting over him, Alex’s grades and athletic ability had given him his choice of any university.

  Jake had teetered on a tightrope for years, both as a father and coach, trying to give his son just enough praise to encourage him without destroying Alex’s greatest strength—his humility. Unfortunately, now the kid believed he was the most highly recruited senior in the country simply because he was Rocket Manion’s progeny.

  Not only did his son have more natural talent than Jake ever thought of having on the football field, evidently, Alex was just as gifted as his old man at finding ways to screw up his life.

  ~~~

  The breaks squealed as Margie swung her light blue Camry into the nearest parking space in front of her condo. Emma would be furious with her for getting home so late.

  Regrettably, it couldn’t be helped. Discussing Simon’s reading problems with his mother ranked a lot higher on Margie’s to-do list than being introduced to Alex’s father. In fact, the only thing she dreaded more than seeing Jake again was getting reacquainted with him.

  She just wished Mrs. Newberry had made an appointment instead of cornering her in the supermarket. Margie really needed to be more assertive when parents waylaid her.

  Using her shoulder as a battering ram, she opened the stubborn front door and dumped her leather satchel on the entryway table before continuing into the kitchen with her groceries. “Emma,” she called down the hall, “I’m sorry I’m late, Sweetie. Come on, let’s go.”

  As she plopped the shopping bag on the center work island, she frowned at the absence of the stereo’s blare. Was her daughter even home?

  Emma had been nagging Margie for three days about finally meeting Jake. Since her daughter began dating Alex, Emma had spent even more time around his father and raved about Jake incessantly as if he were Albert Einstein, Jesse Owens, and Sigmund Freud rolled up in one. Margie knew differently.

  She’d hoped Alex and Emma would break up before this. No such luck. She’d run out of excuses to avoid Jake and had no choice now, unless she confessed to Emma why it was a problem for her. She was sick of living in fear of running into the jerk. She might as well endure the nightmare of seeing him again and be done with it.

  Margie transferred the perishables from the shopping bag into the refrigerator and sighed. She’d lost count of the number of teachers and parents she’d heard rhapsodize about Jake as if they thought he should be given a platinum halo for the way he went above and beyond the call of duty for his students.

  Even Simon had spent the entire school year extolling Rocket Manion’s NFL football career and talking about what an awesome coach all his friends said Jake was. The boy couldn’t wait to play on Jake’s team next year. Except Margie wasn’t sure she could, in good conscience, give a recommendation to promote Simon to the senior high school. She didn’t know what to do with him. The eighth grader still hadn’t progressed much further in his reading than when she’d started teaching him nine months ago. It wasn’t as if he were actually failing his classes now, but if he advanced to higher-level courses, he soon would be.

  While washing her hands, she noticed bits of egg in the sink and peered into the drain. The toast and omelet she’d fixed Emma for breakfast lay at the bottom of the disposal. She frowned and flipped the switch. “God, please don’t let her be turning anorexic.”

  Margie glanced at her watch and hurried down the hall to check Emma’s room. She’d planned to change into something that didn’t emphasize how much weight she’d gained in the last two decades. Regrettably, as late as it was, the cotton candy pink shell and white skirt she’d worn to school would have to do. At least it was her best color. She tapped on the bedroom door and pushed it open. “Em, are you in here?”

  Her daughter lay fast asleep on top of her white eyelet comforter, wearing the new sundress Margie had bought for her a few days ago. Sleeping had been her daughter’s preferred method of coping after Dan died. Was something new bothering her? This wasn’t the first time in the last few weeks she’d discovered Emma napping again.

  Margie sank onto the edge of the twin bed and felt her child’s head. Emma’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Don’t you feel well, Sweetie?”

  “Sure.” She yawned. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, really? I caught you throwing out your favorite dinner the other night, your breakfast is at the bottom of the disposal again, and now you’re conked out before you’ve even had supper.”

  “I’m just a little tired.” Emma stretched and sat up. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “You didn’t?” Margie wrinkled her brow. “That’s funny. I didn’t, either. Lately, have you noticed a strange scraping noise about midnight and again a little after five each morning?”

  “N-No.” Emma gnawed on her lip. “I just couldn’t sleep.” Her gaze darted around the room as if she feared some sort of goblin would jump out of her closet at any moment.

  What was her daughter’s problem? Margie was the one who had to face her past in just a few minutes. She drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves and patted her daughter’s leg. “Well, let’s go. You’ve been badgering me for days to meet this paragon, and we were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

  “Mom, Mr. Manion is just as nice as Alex.”

  On meeting Jake’s son the first time, she’d felt as if she’d had a visit from the Ghost of Past Mistakes. He looked just like Jake dipped in peroxide. But, in his defense, the boy fit every mother’s idea of the perfect date for her daughter. He got straight As while taking mostly AP courses and had impeccable manners. In fact, after getting to know Alex, she’d begun to wonder if maybe the glowing reports about Saint Jake might just be true.

  Nevertheless, Margie couldn’t warm up to the kid. All Alex had to do was smile, and she found herself fighting an unreasonable animosity. Naturally, she felt terrible about her prejudice. The boy hadn’t done a thing. It was his old man she wanted to kick.

  On the way out of
the bedroom, she inspected her make-up in Emma’s mirror and smoothed her highlighted, chin-length hair.

  “Would you relax, Mom? You look beautiful. If anyone should be nervo—” Emma bit her lower lip.

  “What’re you nervous about?”

  “Uhh....nothing really.” Emma dragged Margie out the door, her face as pale as if it were January instead of June. “I—uhh—I just want you to give Alex’s dad a chance. You act as if you’ve already decided not to like him.”

  Once they were in the car, Margie squeezed her daughter’s hand and smiled. “I don’t care what you say. I’m making you an appointment with Doc Foster. I can’t remember the last time you ate a decent meal. And I don’t like your color at all.”

  “I’m fine.” Emma’s eyes rolled. “I just haven’t been hungry. I think maybe I have a stomach bug or something.”

  As they pulled into the Redemption Diner’s parking lot fifteen minutes later, Margie checked her watch again. Did she dare hope he’d given up on them and left?

  “I really don’t see what the urgency is to meet this guy is all about. You’ve been dating Alex for over eight months. Now, all of a sudden, you can’t wait to introduce me to his father.”

  Emma huffed as she shoved the passenger door open. “I just thought the two of you should finally get to know each other. You’ve probably passed each other in your cars a gazillion times this year on the way to school. You act as if you think Mr. Manion’s got herpes or something.”

  No, something much worse. Sex appeal.

  Margie climbed out of the car and shot a sideways look at her daughter over the Camry’s roof. “I hope you and Alex aren’t doing anything weird like trying to set us up.”

  “Ewww.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “Now I really wanna puke. Why would I want you to date my boyfriend’s father? Besides,”—she shrugged—“don’t you still love Daddy?”

  Margie slid her arm around her daughter as they crossed the parking lot. “I’ll always love your dad, Em. He gave me you.”

  Now was not the time to mention, as soon as Emma moved out to transfer to a four-year school, Margie had every intention of pursuing a social life that included men. She had no desire to spend the rest of her life alone or to share her sexual peak with some battery-operated lover.