Mixed-Up Matrimony. Diana Mars

      Three

      “I don’t believe it!”

      Tamara looked at the spot where her car had been. Carjacking? In South Bend? On the venerable Notre Dame campus?

      Tamara turned outraged eyes on Bronson and caught the smile he was trying to hide.

      “What’s so funny?” Tamara asked, even more furious. It was bad enough that Bronson had taken her parking space, but now he was laughing at her car’s disappearance!

      Speechless, Bronson pointed toward the street that bordered Alumni Field.

      Her maroon Continental looked like a wounded animal, suspended from the rear of a tow truck as it labored down Ivy Road.

      Burying her head in her hands, Tamara debated whether to laugh or cry.

      To say this was not her day would be a vast understatement.

      “Need a ride?” Bronson asked, lips twitching.

      Tamara gazed at him through narrowed eyes. He looked quite handsome framed against the Eck Pavilion’s geometric entrance. His hair, more brown than black in the pale sunshine, fell rakishly over his forehead, while his opalescent eyes regarded her with renewed interest.

      Was he watching to see if she’d crack?

      Squaring her shoulders, Tamara shored up her lagging spirits. Too much was at stake for her to come unglued over an inconvenience...even a major one like being left without transportation in Indiana, while she lived in Illinois.

      “Thank you, but I think Sabrina can give me one.”

      Bronson kept staring at her thoughtfully, and then finally seemed to come to a conclusion.

      “I owe you an apology.”

      “Oh?”

      “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” Bronson asked with amused resignation.

      “Any reason I should? I certainly have not had an easy time of anything today. Why should you?” But Tamara softened her words with a smile. She was curious to see what he had to say.

      “First of all, I’d like to apologize for taking your parking space. I would normally say that anyone who parks in a no-parking zone deserves anything she gets for taking the chance, but under the circumstances...”

      “You mean my being in the same desperate hurry that made you take my spot in the first place,” Tamara supplied sweetly.

      “Exactly.” Bronson grinned. “I was consumed with worry, and I can see you were, too.”

      “And?”

      “And I’d like to apologize for those cracks about your daughter. Up close, Sabrina looks nothing like a boy, but with that short hair, and stature—”

      “Sabrina might be five-two, but she’s due for a growth spurt soon. She just looks short next to that sequoia you call your son—” Tamara cut herself off when she realized Bronson had been teasing. “I’m sorry. I should not have called your son an orangutan.”

      “Apology accepted. Although I can see how you wouldn’t be kindly disposed toward Christopher at the moment.”

      Tamara did not deny Bronson’s statement. “I’m not too thrilled with either of the children right now.”

      “The children better not hear you call them that.”

      Automatically glancing at the entrance to the Eck Center to see if the kids were coming out, Tamara asked Bronson, “How did you find out about them?”

      “A frantic call from my cousin, who’s the head tennis coach at Deerbrook High.”

      “Brandy Cavanaugh is your cousin?” Tamara felt like adding that it was no wonder Christopher played number-one varsity singles, but knew the comment would be unfair. It wasn’t nepotism that had gotten him the top spot: the boy really was talented. Although with the kind of build he possessed, he could have his pick of any sport.

      Retraining her focus away from the inequities of gender-based athletic opportunities to the business at hand, Tamara asked Bronson, “How did Ms. Cavanaugh find out they were planning on eloping?”

      “They were supposed to hit with Dale, the junior varsity coach, before first period. Christopher was to have been in school in the morning for a pre-Calc test, and then drive down here for his session with the scout.”

      Tamara nodded. “Sabrina mentioned something about hitting with the top dog on the boys’ team before school because of the invitational coming up, which includes nationally ranked kids from out of state. She told me they were even coming from Kansas and Wisconsin. So when she left at five with an extra tennis bag, I thought nothing of it. She sometimes goes out with her friends on Fridays after classes or a home meet, and takes extra clothes with her.”

      “I guess they had it all planned. I certainly knew nothing about Sabrina. Did you know about my son?”

      Tamara’s smile was full of irony. “Did I look or sound like someone who knew what was going on? I know I’ve been putting in a lot of long hours at work, but I’ve always been able to trust Sabrina. She’s never lied to me before—not about anything important—and I certainly never opposed her dating, as long as she kept her grades up.”

      “Apparently Brandy had heard some rumors about my son and your daughter, but she’d discounted them because of the envy factor. Being a top varsity player brings a certain amount of pressure and exposure, and jealous comments are always flying around. She told me this morning that she had confronted Christopher a few weeks ago, and he’d given her the old bromide about their being just good friends.”

      “And Sabrina mentioned your son only in passing, and only in reference to how good a tennis player he was.”

      “Brandy asked around and finally cornered my son’s best friend, Jonathan, who finally admitted that our kids were really serious about each other, but since they anticipated opposition from us—”

      “And they were right!” Tamara interjected, her whole being a twisted mixture of shock, betrayal and pain.

      “—they thought it better to just shoot first, and ask questions later.”

      Tamara fought the traitorous tears that were threatening to roll down her cheeks. She strove for composure as Bronson’s sonorous voice washed over her, calming the waves of hurt and anger which this morning’s grim realities had stirred up in her.

      “She checked to see if their cars were still there, and when they weren’t, she called me. I left my foreman in charge, and I really pushed the pedal. I was lucky the ever-present State Patrol on I-90 didn’t get me.”

      Tamara’s gaze was grim. “Brina’s best friend stopped by early this morning. Even though Meghan and my daughter live only a couple of blocks away from school, they both like to drive there.”

      “Teenagers’ love affair with cars,” Bronson said, rotating his head and trying to rub some tension away from his neck with a hand, which, to his surprise, was shaking.

      Tamara smiled ruefully. “Despite their outspoken devotion to saving the environment, neither Brina nor Meghan will hear of conserving energy or cleaning up the air through carpooling.” Looking at her own hands, she noticed she had been wringing them so forcefully they were red and throbbing. Shaking her head, she said in a low, painful voice,