When I quiz him, he always denies having a special woman in his life. He’s such a nice solid guy. I’ve no doubt he’s good husband material.”
“I’m not looking for a husband,” Holly volunteered frankly. “But I enjoy male company, and he’s awfully likable and cute.”
Ann lightly slapped her forehead. “A brain cell just kicked in! Heather. That was Graham’s woman friend’s name. Heather. Holly. Same first initial,” she remarked.
Holly wasn’t acquainted with anyone named Heather.
The two women bade one another good-night. On the way home Holly mulled over the background on Graham’s past love life that Ann had divulged. Maybe he was still carrying a torch for this old girlfriend Heather who bore some outward resemblance to Holly. Maybe he was reminded of Heather everytime he ran into Holly and experienced nostalgia or pain.
It would explain why he kept his distance from Holly when he plainly was drawn to her.
One way or another, Holly intended to solve the mystery. Darn, she wished tomorrow were a weekday instead of Saturday. She guessed she would have to wait until Monday to drop in on Graham at his office and make her announcement. “You lucky man, you won me!”
By then he might have heard through the grapevine. Holly liked the idea of breaking the news personally. It was rather late in the evening for someone—including her—to phone him tonight. She was probably safe. What the heck, Holly thought, I’ll call him tomorrow morning at home and ask him to meet me for coffee.
Graham’s home number was conveniently listed in the phone directory.
Holly waited until nine-thirty to call, figuring that was a decent time to bother him on a Saturday. If she waited too late, she increased her chances of not catching him at home before he went out to run errands or whatever.
He picked up on the second ring and said hello in a tone that was almost a shout. Holly could hear some kind of loud background noise. A TV playing?
“Hi, Graham. This is Holly Beaumont. I have some news I’d like to tell you in person. How about meeting me for coffee at the Breakfast Joint?”
“I wish,” he said with an emotion that seemed to be bitterness.
Were those the voices of children shrieking and wailing?
“Graham, what’s all that racket?”
“What? I can’t hear you, Holly.”
“I said what’s all that racket?” she shouted. “Can’t you turn the TV lower?”
“Hold on. I’ll have to do it manually.”
“Don’t you have a remote?”
“God knows where it is, or whether it’s still functioning. Hold on,” he said again.
About ten seconds later some of the noise subsided, but not the shrieking and wailing. That noise obviously wasn’t coming from the TV.
“Okay. That’s a little better,” he said. “Look, Holly, I’m sorry, but I’m tied up here. Justin, don’t hit your sister. Jennifer, stop kicking Justin.” His pleas, obviously not intended for her ears, held desperation.
“Whose children are those?” Holly asked, having deduced that he was addressing a couple of kids.
“Mine.” The bitterness again.
“Yours? I didn’t know you were a father.”
“Neither did I until yesterday.”
“How old are they?” Holly was as fascinated as she was astonished.
“Three and a half. They’re twins—a girl and a boy.”
“Is their mother there, too?” She hadn’t heard a woman speaking.
“No, she’s deceased. I learned that yesterday, too, from the great-aunt who delivered the children.”
“‘Delivered’ them? You mean she just brought them and left them?”
“You got it.”
“Graham, this is the most bizarre story I’ve ever heard!” Holly exclaimed.
“Tell me about it. Sorry to be abrupt, but I’d better hang up before these two hurt each other.” He said a terse goodbye and cut the connection.
“Poor guy!” she sympathized out loud. “What a predicament!” Holly sat there a few moments, flooded with sympathy and trying to imagine what it would feel like to be in his shoes. One minute a single man with only himself to worry about and the next minute a daddy with twins.
Graham had come across as desperate and downright depressed, understandably. His life had been thrown into a turmoil and he didn’t seem to be coping very well. It would be criminal of Holly to go about her business today and not play Good Samaritan, especially since she’d had quite a bit of experience dealing with children during her teenage years. Baby-sitting had been her main source of extra spending money.
I’ll go over to Graham’s place and help him out for a few hours, Holly decided.
Generosity was her main motivation, but she was also dying of curiosity to meet his offspring!
The decision made, Holly briefly considered calling Graham back and alerting him that he should expect her. Then she scratched that plan and decided simply to appear at his door. Fortunately, she’d been inquisitive enough to note his address when she was stuffing raffle ticket stubs into envelopes for the drawing.
The drive from her house in the village of Madisonville to Graham’s condo near the lake in Mandeville took Holly between fifteen and twenty minutes. At ten o’clock she was ringing his doorbell.
Graham jerked the door open in midact of shoving his free hand through dark brown hair that already was rumpled. He wore a T-shirt tucked into his unbelted jeans, and athletic shoes. Despite the dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept well, despite his harried expression, Holly found him as ruggedly good-looking as ever.
“Holly,” he said blankly. His gaze took in her jeans and T-shirt and athletic shoes. Holly’s body hummed pleasurably in response to his inspection, the way it always did when she was around him.
“Hi. I came to give you some moral support,” she announced cheerfully. “On the phone you sounded pretty rattled.”
“This is hell.” He rubbed his forehead roughly with his palm. “Sheer hell.”
“The TV’s been turned up loud again,” Holly observed. She could hear the soundtrack of a cartoon show blaring inside the condo.
“They insist on playing it loud enough to burst their eardrums. When I turn it down, they turn it back up again.”
“Did you try taking away the remote?”
“Yes. I tried that,” he confirmed wearily. “But they scream and yell like a couple of banshees when they don’t get their way. I’m afraid the neighbors will call the police. So I gave the remote back to them to shut them up.
“God, you should see the inside of my condo. It looks like vandals have struck. I was cleaning up the kitchen when you rang the doorbell. Cereal and milk all over the place. Broken dishes. These two kids are monsters disguised as children, Holly. Monsters.”
“Can I come in? I’ll give you a hand with the kitchen.”
He hesitated before saying, “Sure. But enter at your own risk.”
Even in a state of emergency he had his qualms about admitting her into his condo. Holly ignored her little stab of hurt for the time being. She smiled and stepped inside the foyer, commenting, “Three-and-a-half-year-olds can’t be that dangerous.”
The trained decorator in her automatically noticed and approved the décor of his condo. Mexican tile floor in the foyer gave way to oatmeal-colored