Balancing Act by Fern Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

would have breakfast ready for him when he awoke. Those were the best times, making love in the morning, going back to bed in the early evening with the gentle snow falling against the window.
    Rita frowned. Perhaps she had been too quick to refuse Camilla and Tom. She remembered how important those times alone with Brett had been and how they had restored their love for one another until again the pressures would build and they would run away together like naughty schoolchildren playing hookey. Her eyes swung to the computer and then to the phone.
    No. Not this time. And if she really took a good, honest look at it, those runaway weekends hadn’t been all that terrific. Had they freed her from the humdrum chores it took to keep a home? Hadn’t she just traded one kitchen for another? And before leaving, it was she who had stripped the beds, collected the towels and the laundry to take back to New Jersey. She still had the cooking, the shopping, the laundry, and the feeling that the time spent away from home was more for Brett than herself. It was because of his need to get away, the pressures of his job that had to be relieved. Her job had been the same regardless of where they went.
    Still . . . she looked at the phone again, already mentally dialing Camilla’s number. Determinedly she sat down at the computer and began working. This was her time now, and she was doing what she wanted. Wasn’t she?
    Rita was so deep into her novel she failed to eat lunch and kept working straight through the afternoon. Once she got up for a bottle of diet soda and a quick trip to the bathroom. She rubbed her aching shoulders as she stared out the front door. Again she stared down at the lake and the empty pier. There was no sign of life from the Johnson cottage. She didn’t really expect to see any signs at all. Last night was over and done with. It was the soft, dark night and the three beers that made Twigg take her in his arms. It didn’t mean anything. It was only women who conjured up feelings and emotions when there were none. She was forty-three and should know better.
    Thirty-two was so young to be a full professor. Thirty-two was young, period. Forty-three was middle age. Downhill on greased sneakers. Forty-three was the respite before the onset of menopause, a time for face-lifts and night creams, a time to sit back and take stock, a time to stare at the rocking chair and realize it was the enemy. A time to cover the gray hairs, time to buy a chin strap, time to lay aside old ghosts.
    She had literally been going down for the count until last evening. With a huge mouthful of air she had surfaced. It was a beautiful world out there, and she wanted to be part of it. And she would, in time. But time could be the biggest enemy of all. Time. Time. Time to call Rachel before she got back to work. She should call Ian but she had nothing to say. Let him call her.
    It was late afternoon when Rita pulled the phone toward her and dialed Rachel’s number. Rachel finally answered the phone. Rachel was a textile designer and worked at her apartment three days out of the week. “Mom, how’s it going? Almost finished?” She sounded interested, like she really cared. Rachel understood deadlines.
    “Fine, honey, almost done, another week and it will be ready. How are you?”
    “Just great, Mom. I met the sweetest guy. I’m going to Miami with him this weekend. He’s in advertising and already has an ulcer at twenty-nine. You’ll love him.”
    “Does that mean I finally get to meet one of your young men?” Rita asked caustically. Rachel talked a lot but usually didn’t do what she’d promised.
    “Depends on how it works out. He’s not Mr. Perfect. I may move in with him or vice versa to see how compatible we are. Again, I might not. I’ll let you know after the weekend. Anything exciting going on up there?”
    Rita listened and felt the vague stirrings of a headache. It was impossible to follow Rachel. This had to be her