“Well, my mother had one job,” she said, noticing a smudge of mascara on the corner of the handkerchief. “She was a political science professor at Yale. And in those days, tenure didn’t come easily to women and babies were considered a liability to your career. There was no nursing lounge in the ladies’ room back then. I imagine she wasn’t too thrilled when she got pregnant at forty-four.”
“Did she tell you that?”
Jessica stared straight ahead. She hated telling this story. “I never knew her. She died in childbirth, having me.”
She didn’t want to see the pity. The sadness. But she looked at him anyway.
No pity darkened his eyes. “And your father?”
“My father was over fifty when I was born. He’s into his eighties now, but still doddering around New Haven, pestering the students and faculty at Yale. We were close, I guess, but the only time he’s shown any real pleasure in me is when I emulate my mother—a workaholic.” Jessica sighed and smiled through clenched teeth. “Doesn’t take Freud to figure it out, Deke.”
“The influence of a father has to be managed,” he said. “I learned that in my twenties.”
She nodded. Easier said than done, she wanted to add. “As for babies and biological clocks—” She paused and tucked the folded handkerchief in her handbag. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
He looked at her questioningly and she smiled before answering, “I might be too ‘naïve and relentless’ to be a very good mother.”
His arm came over her shoulders, heavy and comforting. “But that’s exactly why you’d be a great mother.”
She let his arm warm her and accepted the truce he was silently offering. “I’m sorry about today. No more interviews. I promise.”
He stood and tucked his hands into his jacket pocket. “So, now what? Your meeting’s cancelled.”
“My flight doesn’t leave until four.”
“Till then?”
She lifted the cell phone. “Damage control from afar.”
“Keep the phone on and come with me. I have a wonderful way to drown your sorrows.”
A decidedly unprofessional image flashed in her mind. “Is that so?”
Chapter Twelve
After they left the Plaza with their bags and waited for a cab on Fifth Avenue, Jessica inhaled the smoky, sweet aroma of chestnuts grilling on a street vendor’s cart next to them. Amidst the throngs of shoppers striding at a classic New York pace, something soft and cold touched Jessica’s cheek.
She threw her head back and looked into the sky, letting the tickle of snow dampen her face and eyes. “Finally! Oh, thank you, God!”
He lifted his hand to the snowflake that lay on her cheek. His touch was a surprise, warm and gentle. His fingers brushed her skin, leaving a burning trail of sensation in their wake.
“You’re a snow angel.”
“I like winter,” she said, softly exhaling and holding his gaze. Deke and snow. Hot and cold.
He finally turned to hail a cab, breaking the spell.
When she heard him tell the cabbie Grand Central Station, she peered at him suspiciously, since he still hadn’t said where they were going. “We’re taking a train?”
“We are.”
“And you’re sure you want company on your mysterious mission?”
He grinned and patted her briefcase. “Consider it research.”
They entered Grand Central with the rest of the commuting mob and took the escalator down to the train level. He moved with familiarity and ease, his hand resting on her back to guide her. Her feet felt light, her head a little dizzy. How had he managed to transform such a rotten day into something magical?
While he bought train tickets, she checked in with Stuart at Kennedy and the NASA account team in D.C. to hear how they were handling the situation without her.
They’d issued a statement and started fielding calls about the cosmonaut as well as more interview requests for Deke. That surprised her a little, but she told them to put all of those requests on hold and promised to handle them as soon as she got back. No more interviews. She’d figure out some way to get publicity without taking his time. But she didn’t tell that to Stuart; nor did she mention that she was off on some secret appointment with Deke.
When they boarded the line that ended in Peekskill, she suspected where that secret appointment might be. “Are we, by any chance, headed to see your parents?”
“Yes, and to lunch, prepared by the best cook I know—my dad.
Of course. He’d told her he wanted to see his parents. “Oh.”
He smiled at the mixture of fear and surprise in her voice. “Did you think I’d come all the way to New York and not see them? They’re expecting me.”
“But are they expecting me?” A tiny wave of panic threatened.
“Hand me that cell phone of yours and I’ll tell them. Won’t matter. He always cooks more than enough.” He took the phone and started dialing.
“Your dad is the cook in the family?”
“Mmm-hmm. Mom can’t boil water. Dad did all the cooking my whole— Hey, it’s me.” He directed his words into the phone. “Yeah. That was a bit of a surprise. … No, we’ll tell you about it when we get there. … I’ve got someone with me. … The PR genius behind all this.” He laughed a little. “Okay, see you in an hour or so. Bye.”
She looked up at him. “Genius? Was that sarcasm?”
He handed her the phone with a wink. “Spin control, Jess. You know all about that.”
Tiny flutters took her heart on a thrill ride. She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the mildly acrid, metallic odor that permeated the train and the gentle rhythm of the heavy iron wheels as she fell under the spell of Deke Stockard, who not only forgave her for the mistake but seemed bent on making her feel better.
In fact, they never even discussed the morning’s debacle, and for the time being, that suited her fine. All through the colorful and storied sections of Harlem, Deke pointed out landmarks and highlighted the forty-five-minute trip with New York history before she got him talking about his family.
“My dad was an IBM lifer but managed to spend his whole career in White Plains, a nearly impossible feat with that company,” Deke told her.
“You said your mother’s a columnist. What does she write?”
“It’s called the ‘Women’s Corner’ and she started writing it for the local White Plains paper when I was a baby. Sort of an information resource for IBM spouses—all wives, in those days—and she still writes it today. Obviously, it’s changed, but the column’s always been kind of a witty and insightful commentary on things women worry about.” He grinned at her. “Like raising high-risk sons.”
She laughed softly. “I bet you were a handful.”
He leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling the nape of her neck. “I still am.”
The screech of the train brakes brought the conversation to an end, but not the pounding of Jessica’s pulse. Within a few minutes, they were in a cab driving down an oak-lined street with stone houses and circular drives.
He hadn’t even finished paying the cab fare when the front door of the two-story brick colonial flew open and a woman gingerly stepped onto the front porch, the accumulating snow keeping her from running to her son.
“Deke!” The joy at the sight of him lit her lovely face and nearly took Jessica’s breath away.
Trim and fit in a creamy sweater and matching wool pants, Valerie Stockard looked very much like an elegant executive wife. When her son reached her, she threw her arms around his powerful body and buried her face in his chest.
“Oh, my darling! I’m so glad to see you! You were wonderful this morning. I was dying of pride!” Pulling back to look at his face, she lovingly touched his cheek.
“Hi, Mom.” He showed no embarrassment at his mother’s display but turned to introduce Jessica. Only then did he let his mother go. As the two women shook hands, Deke added, “Jess is the one who dreamed up this
whole thing. Dad can let her have the hard time instead of me.”
Valerie’s smile was wide and warm through to her pale blue eyes. “Jessica, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve had so many questions about this special project. How nice to have the opportunity to talk to you in person.”
Tentatively, Jessica let Deke usher them all into the front door that Valerie had left wide open. “I’ll be happy to give you my side of it, Mrs. Stockard. But it might be a slightly different version than your son’s.”
“Please call me Val. Don’t worry. I’ve been discerning fact from fiction for many years with Deke.” They entered the house to the comfort of a classic center hall, a fire burning in the living room and a giant Christmas tree laden with ornaments right next to it.
An imposing man with a shock of silvery hair and keen brown eyes strode through another doorway toward them. Except for the color of the eyes, she was looking at Deke in thirty years.
“You must be Jack Stockard.” She spoke without thinking, admiring the resemblance. Jack welcomed her with friendliness that matched his wife’s and then turned to hug Deke.
“Deacon, my boy. Good to see you.” Deacon? How could she not know that was his name?
The older Stockard pounded his son’s back with affection and pulled back to gaze at him with the same love his mother had shown, then turned to Jessica. “So you’re the brains behind all this PR malarkey? Well, I gotta tell you, that last stunt was brilliant.”
What was he talking about? The Today show interview? Was he being sarcastic?
“Oh, yes!” Valerie Stockard piped in. “Mark Dobson was simply fawning over you, Deke. And kissing the baby! It was adorable. Goodness, did you think of that to save the day, Jessica?”
Her sharp intake of breath was her only response and her mouth stayed open, causing Deke’s sheepish grin to widen.
“I think Jessica was in with the producer during that part of the show,” he said quietly.
“You… kissed… a baby?”
“Why, yes, I did. He was a cute little guy.”
“Did… did you go to the outside set, Deke?” And save the whole morning with one unselfish act? A piece of her melted as he nodded.
“Let’s relax in here for a few minutes.” Valerie moved them all into the kitchen, apparently unaware of the drama unfolding between her son and their guest. “If you missed it, we have it on tape, Jessica.”
Deke allowed Jessica to go into the kitchen before him, and she did so slowly, keeping her gaze on him over her shoulder.
“I’d love to see the tape later,” she said, unable to hide her glimmer of admiration.
The aroma of an Italian kitchen, pungent with basil and tomato, surrounded her just like the warmth of the Wedgwood blue and yellow kitchen. Deke followed his dad directly to the six-burner stove and put his arm on the older man’s shoulder.
“You love that iron skillet, don’t you? I knew you’d use it. I couldn’t live without mine.”
Were they discussing a pan? Jessica looked to Valerie for some logical explanation as her hostess finished setting the cozy table in the eat-in kitchen. Valerie smiled knowingly.
“Cooking and flying. The rest of the world could come to a standstill and these two would still discuss cooking and flying.” She shook her head and gazed at the two men she so obviously loved. “I don’t mind. We eat well!”
Jessica picked up the napkins on the counter and began setting them in place. “Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you, dear. How long have you lived in Florida?”
“Oh, I don’t live there,” Jessica explained. “I live in Boston. I’m just on a temporary assignment.”
“Oh.” Valerie looked vaguely disappointed. “How long will you be at the Cape?”
“The assignment ends in February, when Endeavour is launched.”
“Jessica’s a dyed-in-the-wool New Englander, Mom,” Deke said as he approached the table. “Can’t find a redeeming feature about the Cape, or Florida, for that matter.”
She shook her head to defend herself. “It’s not what I’m used to. It’s so warm all the time.”
“You should take her sailing, Deke,” his mother said. “She’d love the water.”
“Speaking of weather, Deke, ” Jack chimed in, “I’d check the airport in this storm. You can expect delays.”
Deke agreed, leaving Jessica alone with his parents as he went to call the airline. Jack immediately drew her in with a description of the feast that simmered on the stove.
“How did you learn to cook so well?” Jessica asked, accepting a cup of hot tea from Valerie, letting the relaxing comfort of their kitchen and family spread through her like the warm liquid.
“My mother was full Italian, Anna Maria Cipriani,” Jack explained. “She moved here and married my father, a stiff and structured German named Claus Stockard, and the result is a very passionate engineer. Me.” She could see the influence of the dark and romantic Italian blood in his handsome face as he spoke. “But she never lost her love of cooking and passed it on to me. And I, hopefully, have done the same with Deke.”
She tried to imagine her own father cooking and simply couldn’t. They’d had a lady who cleaned and left a warm meal for most nights. But Daddy rarely made it home and most often, as she got older, she ate alone while she did her homework. Jessica watched Jack Stockard skillfully handle his beloved skillet.
The house where she grew up in New Haven seemed so far from the tranquility of the Stockards’ suburban refuge. She imagined Deke coming home from school, sharing his successes with interested and loving parents, teasing his little sister and planning his career as a Navy pilot.
“I thought the PR idea was brilliant.” Valerie interrupted Jessica’s musings. “Giving NASA a face and a personality. And such a good choice!”
Jack groaned from the stove. “He should be flying, not pacifying anchorwomen on the morning talk shows.”
Valerie rolled her eyes, and before Jessica could defend her plan, Deke came in. He grabbed one of the maple chairs, turned it around and sat backward like he probably had in this kitchen a thousand times. “We’re not going at four, that’s for sure.”
“Really? Is everything delayed?” Just what she needed—to be gone even longer during a client crisis.
“Our flight is scheduled to take off at eight tonight, but I wouldn’t hold out hope for that.” He reached out and put a hand on her arm. “There’s nothing you can do about it. Relax.” Then he grinned at his mother. “What propaganda are you feeding this poor girl, Mom?”
“Propaganda is her business, Deke.” Jack added from the stove. Definitely not a fan of the campaign, Jessica decided as she sipped her tea.
Valerie patted her husband on the back. “Just hush up and admire her work. It got him home, didn’t it?”
In a few minutes, Jack presented his culinary masterpiece. With the extra time, they lingered over the feast, unable to avoid discussing the topic of the Today show interview.
“How serious is the situation?” Jack asked Deke.
“Serious. The guy’s going to die if we don’t get Endeavour up there.”
Jessica toyed with a mushroom on her plate, avoiding eye contact with Deke.
“What about the Soyuz?” Jack asked. “The Russians still run that, don’t they? For emergencies?”
Deke shook his head. “Putting a man with a blood clot in that soup can and dropping him to earth would probably kill him. The X-38, the return vehicle, is on hold… for budget reasons. Endeavour is his only safe ride home under these conditions.”
“Are there problems with this launch?” Jack asked.
“Might be. A hydrogen leak is nothing to play with. If we don’t find it…” His lips formed a thin grimace. “We’re still doing inspections.”
This time she couldn’t help looking at him. She held his gaze and hoped he could read the promise in her eyes. No more interviews.
After lunch, Jessica helped Valerie clear the table wh
ile Deke and Jack went to bring in some wood for the fire.
“So, have you been spending a lot of time with Deke?” Valerie’s question didn’t sound completely casual.
Jessica took the dripping platter Valerie handed her and felt a flush warm her face.
“PR is not his favorite assignment, as you probably know. I’ve managed to get him to do a few interviews and a photo shoot.” She wiped the platter with a dishtowel and decided to nip Valerie’s curiosity in the bud. “This is really the most time I’ve ever spent with him.”
Valerie finished the last pot and ran the faucet to clean the sink, then suddenly snapped down the chrome lever and looked at Jessica. “Do you think there are real safety issues with the shuttles? Is it something I should worry about?”
Jessica had forgotten this was Deke’s mother. Who could be more pained by the idea of him exploding into space than this dear woman who brought him into the world and nurtured him into manhood? How self-centered to think she was poking around his private life.
“Only if you’re Micah Petrenko’s mother,” Jessica said softly and honestly. “I know NASA does everything imaginable to ensure safety.”
Jessica followed Valerie’s gaze to the snow-covered lawn beyond her kitchen window. Jack and Deke walked side by side with armloads of wood, leaving a trail of footprints behind them in the newly fallen snow. Valerie turned and smiled.
“I wish he were a pediatrician like his sister.”
No. No pediatrician. Jack Stockard had raised his son to be a risk-taker. And try as Deke might to ‘manage the influence’ of his father, Jack had succeeded.
Chapter Thirteen
All flights were delayed until the next morning, and as much as that irked Deke, the blizzard had its positive side. It gave him the chance to be alone with Jess, to observe her outside of work. He’d never seen her so relaxed. She’d charmed them all, chatting with his dad and reading his mom’s old articles. He couldn’t ignore the impact she had on him. As the day darkened into a snowy night, he couldn’t help but hope his parents still went to bed very early.