But she felt as if she was moving in a blind fog; her mind was awash with risky thoughts and confusion. She did not trust herself when it came to matters of the heart; she felt that in some respects she was still too raw, and perhaps too weak—and when she saw Grayson sitting on the edge of the guest bed, she felt a huge wave of guilt. The kid was still having such a difficult time coming to terms with his parents’ divorce—how could she ignore that? But then again, it had been so long since someone had cared for her that Rebecca was afraid to let go of it. She wanted to cling to Matt, to feel his need and his want for as long as she could.
Her maternal instincts took hold, and she kept moving, gathering Grayson’s things. When they returned to the living room, Matt had collected himself, and he picked the boy up when Grayson complained. Grayson put his arms around Matt’s neck, his head on his shoulder. Safe and sound—Grayson felt it, too.
They made their way down to her car, where Matt put Grayson into his booster seat, then got in the front passenger seat. As Rebecca started the Rover, he reached across the console, put his hand on her knee. “Maybe we should quit trying not to go there and at least check it out, huh? Maybe you and Grayson could come to dinner sometime next week.”
“Maybe,” Rebecca said, smiling softly, thinking that would be really nice, thinking that maybe she could even feel something again after being so numb for so long.
“So I’ll give you a call, okay?” he asked as she pulled away from the curb and headed for the campaign offices.
“Okay,” she said.
They came to a light; Rebecca slowed to a halt, debated telling Matt that she really wanted to try, but before she could, he said, “Before you drop me, off—that fund-raiser thing you are doing for Tom? Not a good idea. Just let it drop.”
Her warm, light feeling evaporated. “Let it drop?”
“It’s not a good idea. The party has all the big ticket events lined up.” He said it amicably, as if he were in charge. Rebecca looked at him, tried to fathom how he could go from such a passionate speech and dangerous kiss to telling her what to do again.
“Light’s green,” he said.
It was green all right, and she punched the gas pedal, bucked Matt and Grayson into their seats. “Tom wants this fund-raiser,” she reminded him.
“Right,” Matt said as he reached for the overhead hand grip. “But I’ve been talking to the party leadership, and they aren’t going to be able to squeeze it in. I mean, every moment of this election is wired.”
“I’ve already lined up the Three Nines Ranch—”
“I, ah . . . there’s the turn,” Matt said, motioning toward the offices.
Rebecca made a hard right.
“Look, you did a great job with the bingo thing,” he said, as if that was some anointment from the gods of social events. “And I’m sure you would with this deal, too, but that’s not what we want to do. If you want, I can hook you up so you can help out with some local events.”
Help out. Help out. Like she was some little assistant, pouring coffee and helping out.
“Hey . . . are you going to stop?” he asked carefully, and Rebecca realized she had just blown past his car. She hit the brakes.
“Mo-om!” Grayson complained from the back.
“Sorry, honey,” she muttered, threw the car into reverse, and punched it backward, braking to a stop behind Matt’s car.
He looked at her a little wide-eyed and a lot puzzled. “Are you all right?”
“Matt, please listen to me for once, will you? Tom asked me to put together a big gala fund-raiser, which I am happy to do. I think if you don’t want to do it, then you should speak directly with him.”
Matt nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll do just that.” He opened the car door, slid out, then shut the door and indicated Rebecca should roll the window down. He popped his head back in and looked at Grayson. “Later, kid.”
“Bye, Matt!” Grayson called.
He looked at Rebecca. “So about that dinner—”
“I’ll have to see about our schedules,” she said automatically.
“Oh,” he said, a frown darkening his face. “Your schedule. I see.”
No, he didn’t see at all, and that was the whole problem.
“Just one question—should I take it from your current demeanor, which seems to change almost as often as the clock by the way, that you are doing the fish thing again?”
“I really don’t know what you mean,” she said, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
“The fish thing—you know, Pisces. The thing where you bump up against the side of the fishbowl where I am, then swim like hell in the other direction.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Oh, yes you do, Rebecca—you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
She put the Rover in drive. “We’ll see you later,” she said as she pressed the gas.
She saw Matt rear back, then in the rearview mirror, saw him staring after her, and thought the fish analogy was about the stupidest thing she’d heard in a long while, and in fact, her alter ego urged her to say so. So Rebecca circled back around.
Matt was standing in the same spot she had left him. “Yes?” he drawled when she let the passenger window down.
“I am not doing a fish thing.”
“All right. Then what are you doing?”