Darling obstacles by Barbara Boswell, Copyright Paperback Collection (Library of Congress) DLC Page A
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Legs long and well shaped, the thighs still firm and rounded, calves and ankles slim.
For just a moment Maggie allowed herself to remember the feel of Greg's experienced hands on her body and every nerve began to tingle. She pulled on her panties and bra with an exclamation of self-disgust. Those were the thoughts of the hot, sex-starved widow, which, as she had heatedly assured Greg, she most definitely was not! She was a respectable, solicitously maternal mother of three. Her eyes fell upon a framed photograph of Kristin, Kevin, and Kari taken some four years ago. They were so little then, and how they had needed her! She thought b&ck to the day when she had been given the terrible, tragic news of Johnnys death. Kari had been one week old, Kevin three years, and Kristin six. Numb and heartbroken, she had nevertheless carried on for her children's sake. She had lived for them and given them every bit of love, energy, and affection that she possessed. And for years it had been enough.
But the children were older now, were becoming involved in school activities and friends and interests outside their home. They didn't need their mother as much. Maggie foresaw the day when they would leave home and she would be alone, and her pain at the thought frightened her. Above all, she didn't want to be the kind of martyr-mother who clung to her children, refusing to let them go because they were the sole reason for her otherwise empty existence. It was a terrible burden to place on a child and a totally unfair one. Maggie wanted her children to feel free to grow up and become independent.
She pushed her disturbing thoughts aside. The
day her children left home was a long way off. It was foolish to brood about it now. She enjoyed her life, just as it was, and damn Greg Wilder for making her feel anything but content with her lot.
She pulled on a green and white striped blouse, a pair of blue jeans, sport socks, and sneakers, her usual Saturday uniform. Then she brushed her hair until it shone and curved around her neck in a saucy pageboy. Frowning at her reflection, she deliberately pulled the hair up into a less flattering ponytail, carefully avoiding considering her motives in doing so< After applying her makeup—for Kevin's sake, Maggie assured herself (her son wouldn't want his mother to appear at his soccer game looking as washed out as a ghost)—she headed downstairs.
Greg was in the living room with the children, holding Wendy on his lap. "It's time to get dressed and leave for the soccer game," Maggie announced to the children.
"Do I have to go?" Max whined. "I want to stay here and watch cartoons."
"I'll stay with him, Mommy," Kari volunteered. Her motives, Maggie knew, were more governed by her own desire to stay home and watch the cartoons than by any altruistic wish to take care of Max. "I'm afraid you're a little young to baby-sit anybody, Kari," she said with a smile. She glanced over at Wendy sitting impassively on her father's lap. "Your daddy brought your clothes, Wendy. You and Kari go on up to her room and change."
Compliant as always, Wendy hopped off Greg's knee, gathered her small pile of clothes, and trotted out of the room after Kari. Kevin jumped to his feet, switched off the television set, and challenged Joshua to a race upstairs. The two boys tore through the small house and the walls seemed to shake with the noise. Max glanced at Maggie and his father, calmly walked to the TV, and turned on the set. He then seated himself cross-legged directly in front of it. Greg
and Maggie exchanged glances, suddenly allies in the face of Max's declaration of war.
Greg stood up. "Max, no more TV." His voice was forcedly pleasant. "It's time to get dressed and go to the soccer game."
Max didn't move. "I don't wanna go. I wanna stay here."
"Well, you can't. You're going." Greg strode to the television and turned it off. Max slipped past him and turned it on. Greg turned it off. Max turned it back on. And then
For just a moment Maggie allowed herself to remember the feel of Greg's experienced hands on her body and every nerve began to tingle. She pulled on her panties and bra with an exclamation of self-disgust. Those were the thoughts of the hot, sex-starved widow, which, as she had heatedly assured Greg, she most definitely was not! She was a respectable, solicitously maternal mother of three. Her eyes fell upon a framed photograph of Kristin, Kevin, and Kari taken some four years ago. They were so little then, and how they had needed her! She thought b&ck to the day when she had been given the terrible, tragic news of Johnnys death. Kari had been one week old, Kevin three years, and Kristin six. Numb and heartbroken, she had nevertheless carried on for her children's sake. She had lived for them and given them every bit of love, energy, and affection that she possessed. And for years it had been enough.
But the children were older now, were becoming involved in school activities and friends and interests outside their home. They didn't need their mother as much. Maggie foresaw the day when they would leave home and she would be alone, and her pain at the thought frightened her. Above all, she didn't want to be the kind of martyr-mother who clung to her children, refusing to let them go because they were the sole reason for her otherwise empty existence. It was a terrible burden to place on a child and a totally unfair one. Maggie wanted her children to feel free to grow up and become independent.
She pushed her disturbing thoughts aside. The
day her children left home was a long way off. It was foolish to brood about it now. She enjoyed her life, just as it was, and damn Greg Wilder for making her feel anything but content with her lot.
She pulled on a green and white striped blouse, a pair of blue jeans, sport socks, and sneakers, her usual Saturday uniform. Then she brushed her hair until it shone and curved around her neck in a saucy pageboy. Frowning at her reflection, she deliberately pulled the hair up into a less flattering ponytail, carefully avoiding considering her motives in doing so< After applying her makeup—for Kevin's sake, Maggie assured herself (her son wouldn't want his mother to appear at his soccer game looking as washed out as a ghost)—she headed downstairs.
Greg was in the living room with the children, holding Wendy on his lap. "It's time to get dressed and leave for the soccer game," Maggie announced to the children.
"Do I have to go?" Max whined. "I want to stay here and watch cartoons."
"I'll stay with him, Mommy," Kari volunteered. Her motives, Maggie knew, were more governed by her own desire to stay home and watch the cartoons than by any altruistic wish to take care of Max. "I'm afraid you're a little young to baby-sit anybody, Kari," she said with a smile. She glanced over at Wendy sitting impassively on her father's lap. "Your daddy brought your clothes, Wendy. You and Kari go on up to her room and change."
Compliant as always, Wendy hopped off Greg's knee, gathered her small pile of clothes, and trotted out of the room after Kari. Kevin jumped to his feet, switched off the television set, and challenged Joshua to a race upstairs. The two boys tore through the small house and the walls seemed to shake with the noise. Max glanced at Maggie and his father, calmly walked to the TV, and turned on the set. He then seated himself cross-legged directly in front of it. Greg
and Maggie exchanged glances, suddenly allies in the face of Max's declaration of war.
Greg stood up. "Max, no more TV." His voice was forcedly pleasant. "It's time to get dressed and go to the soccer game."
Max didn't move. "I don't wanna go. I wanna stay here."
"Well, you can't. You're going." Greg strode to the television and turned it off. Max slipped past him and turned it on. Greg turned it off. Max turned it back on. And then
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