Rolling in Clover

by Dawn, Penny

  "Do you really think you might love me?"

  His smile illuminated the room. “I know I do."

  * * * *

  Lauren held her hand as Kimberley spoke into the phone. “Brennan, how was your flight?"

  "Flight was fine. Week was a little hellish. I stopped off for a round with the Oakbrook team. I'll be home after the game. Looking good for me, Kimmy. Seventy-five if Garciaparra gets on base again, one way or another."

  "You have to come home."

  "I said I'd be home soon."

  "Now.” Although she tried desperately to contain it, a sob escaped her.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I ... Bren, I lost the baby."

  "How? How did this happen?"

  "Brennan, I don't know."

  "What happened? Was it the exercise? The eating? Or was it something to do with ... what happened before we met?"

  "Just come home, okay?"

  "I'll be on my way soon."

  "I'm sorry, Bren."

  "So am I."

  * * * *

  "Where are my babies?” Luke patted Derby on the head and made his way into his sister's kitchen.

  Julie rubbed her pregnant belly. “With Bobby in the back yard. Are you hungry?"

  "No, but I'll eat.” He pecked his sister on the cheek.

  "It's nothing fancy. Tuna noodle casserole."

  Derby followed him to the table, where Luke sat, yawning. “Thanks for filling in at the last minute."

  "I don't know how Diane does it. They're a lot of work. And ... Luke, Derby's not looking so good."

  "He's hanging in there."

  "And you?"

  "Me, too."

  "Why haven't you been wearing your wedding ring?"

  "We had it out last night. There's not much left of us.” He looked up at his sister, rubbing a thumb over an eye, smiling. “You sure make me look like a failure, you know that? You've got it all together here."

  "We have problems, just like anyone.” She turned back toward the kitchen. “You try, you work on it. You forgive."

  "I've forgiven all I can.” Derby collapsed on Luke's feet beneath the table, settling in for an evening nap. “I wonder if this is how Dad felt."

  "Don't even start, Luke."

  "No, really. Maybe he gave up, just like I did."

  * * * *

  Kimberley glanced at the clock—after ten o'clock and still no word from her husband. She opened her wedding album, lamenting what she and Brennan could have been. Not that she blamed the disintegration of their marriage solely on him. She'd done plenty to help its erosion. All the looking away, all the enabling ... Luke.

  The phone rang. She answered before checking the Caller ID, prepared to hear Brennan's slurring voice on the line, asking if she minded him having another drink before he headed home.

  "Kimberley Roderick?"

  "Yes."

  "This is Officer Teague with the Cook County Police Department."

  She slumped into the sofa, gripping the photo album for support. “Yes?"

  "Are you Brennan Roderick's lawyer?"

  "I guess so. Also his wife."

  She listened to the officer's commentary and thanked him when he had no further information. She hung up the phone and dropped her head into her hands. For three minutes, she whimpered, not knowing what else to do, but when she peeled her hands from her face, the first thing she saw was Brennan's drunken, smiling face staring up at her from the pages of her wedding album.

  Family-shmamily. And he'd asked the officer to call his lawyer. Not his wife, but his lawyer.

  Consumed by anger, she ripped expensive photographs from the leather-bound book and shoved them, bent and crinkled, into the fireplace. The next item tossed in to burn was a case of monogrammed poker chips. She opened drawers, found decks of cards and betting slips from Arlington Race Track. She stuffed it all into the box.

  She charged to the corner of the room, cracked open the doors of the walk-up bar, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Through her tears, she spied a second bottle behind the first, and then a third.

  She hurled the bottles into the fireplace—crash, crash, crash!—and watched the liquid soak through the mementos of her wedding day, and through the reminders if her husband's addictions. Shoulders shaking, her breath caught in her throat. She slid a long, blue-tipped match from the weathered tin on the limestone hearth, flared the match, and watched the fire fill the box instantly, catching on the whiskey-doused photographs.

  CHAPTER 15

  Her knuckles whitened with her tight grip on her cell phone, her heart racing. Officially, she'd gone out of her mind. But who better to confirm her insanity than—

  "Jason?"

  "Yes."

  The delightful squeals of happy children sounded in the background. She smiled, despite the churn of jealousy in her stomach. “Hi, it's me. Kimberley."

  Only dead air and static answered her. Just when she expected to hear the click of a terminated phone call, he said, “Kimberley Quinn Callahan?"

  "Yeah, remember me?"

  "I think so. Hi."

  "Is this a good time?"

  "After all these years, I'd say it's about time. How are you?"

  "All right. And you?"

  "You're a hard person to find, you know. You aren't listed anywhere, even under your new name."

  He'd tried to find her? Whoa.

  "It's good to hear from you,” he said.

  "I know this is short notice.” She opened The Fabulous Gourmet and fingered the worn letter tucked into the hollandaise page. “Can you meet me for lunch?"

  "Today?"

  "I know it's short notice, but I'd really like—"

  "Absolutely. Let me check with my wife, but—"

  "—to talk to you."

  "When and where?"

  She smiled. “I'll make it very convenient for you."

  * * * *

  A few minutes before noon, Kimberley approached Dot's Diner with hesitation, but she quickened her steps when she saw Jason refusing the Fish Bowl, an infant carrier swinging in a strong hand.

  The years had certainly been kind. His eyes—deep forest green—had mellowed with age, tiny fine lines at the corners. A silvery gray dusted his blonde hair at his temples. But his hard body advertised Friday night softball games, mornings at the gym ... and, more than likely, frisky evenings in bed.

  "Hey, Kim.” He embraced her with one arm. An awkward semi-hug.

  "Thanks for meeting me,” she whispered.

  "Good to see you."

  "You look great.” She slid into the booth, nodding toward the infant carrier he'd placed on the opposite bench. “So who's your friend there?"

  "This is my youngest, Clara."

  She peered at the tiny, sleeping baby. “She's precious. How old is she?"

  "Six weeks yesterday."

  "Congratulations."

  "Thanks."

  A waitress dropped a couple of menus on the table.

  "What do you think?” Jason glanced at her over his menu. “No, let me guess. Some sort of calorie-saving salad with a chocolate malt on the side."

  "I'm still predictable after all these years."

  "Not predictable. You're still you, and I'm glad to see that marriage hasn't changed you."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "How's Brennan?"

  "I'm surprised you remembered his name."

  "Hard to forget that one."

  "How's Linda?"

  "Good. Thanks for asking.” During a lull in the conversation, he fiddled with his baby's hat, finally removing it from her beautiful, round head.

  "So how many children do you have? I heard them on the phone."

  His eyes sparkled, and he reached for his wallet. “Three. You?"

  "Just one. A girl."

  He deposited pictures of two small girls before her. “Christina just turned four, and Caitlyn's two."

  "They're beautiful. You've been busy."

  "And
they'll keep me busy for a long time coming. Do you have pictures?"

  "Yeah.” She reached into her purse, set Allison's tap shoes on the table with a clink, clink, and produced a billfold of pictures. “I have her photographed at least once a month."

  "How do you make time for that, what with your career and all?"

  "I'm ... I'm retired, Jason. I have been since I had her."

  "Oh.” After a moment, the disappointment in his eyes waned. “Good for you."

  "She's worth it."

  "She's a pretty little girl.” He flipped through the pictures. “What's her name?"

  "Allison Colleen."

  He pointed to the tap shoes. “A River-dancer."

  "Yes,” she said with a chuckle. “She dances."

  "So does Chrissy."

  "Maybe we can get the girls together. Do this again some time."

  "I'll run it by Linda, but why not?” He shrugged. “It was never my idea to quit you cold turkey."

  Whoa, again. She traced the rim of her water glass. “Look, I know you're being polite, but let's call the balk, all right? You left me."

  "Yeah.” He looked away. “But we left each other all the time."

  "Well the last exit was yours, through and through."

  "You know why."

  "Actually, I don't. I thought I knew, but then, the letter arrived. On the night before my wedding."

  "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have—"

  "No, it's fine. But you asked me to wait. Why, when you're the one who walked away?"

  "I was angry, Kim, but that didn't mean I wanted you to marry someone else."

  Her mouth fell open.

  "A few months couldn't erase all those years. I guess I always assumed we'd ... you know, get over it, and get back on track. Naïve, I know, but—"

  "Jason, I'm sorry for what I did. And I know it would've meant much more had I said it a decade ago, but—"

  "You had every right to do what you did."

  "I know things happened quickly between Brennan and me, but believe me, Jason, I think about you—I think about us—all the time. About that crazy decision."

  He shifted in his seat, his fingers fumbling with the canopy on the infant seat. “You shouldn't."

  "Don't you wonder What if?"

  "What is it,” he asked with a smile, “with women and What if? The most strong-willed women in the world"—he pointed across the table—"Case in point ... question their decisions."

  "It was a hard decision to make."

  "You made it look easy."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, but it was the most difficult decision I'd ever made."

  He cleared his throat. “In this game of What if, do you ever wish you'd decided differently? Do you ever wish we'd had the baby?"

  "That all depends on what might've happened later. Children need two parents."

  "Didn't I tell you we'd work it out?"

  "Well, yes, but—"

  "We would've worked it out."

  "In that case, do you ever wish you'd told me how you felt about it?"

  "Yeah, I do. I look at her"—he nodded toward Clara—"and I think number four. Regardless of whether you wanted me, I wanted you to want that baby."

  They stared soberly across the table at one another, while the waitress delivered their soup. Once alone again, Kimberley cleared her throat. “I wish I hadn't been so selfish, but I was young, so clueless. I didn't know what I had, how lucky I was to have it, but I know now."

  "Don't we all?"

  She blinked away the tears creeping into her eyes. “I just had a miscarriage."

  "Kim, I'm sorry."

  "I'm all right.” She reached for a package of soda crackers. “Brennan and I have a lot to work through. Maybe it was just the wrong time."

  "Does he know we're having lunch?"

  "I'm going to tell him, but I haven't talked to him since yesterday. We're kind of ... well ... separated at the moment."

  "Separated? What happened?"

  And then she told him everything. About the money, the gambling. About Brennan's drinking and his most recent tirade behind the wheel of a car. About envying Lauren. About Allison's wardrobe rampages and the challenges of raising a child on her own. About the baby she lost. And she told him about...

  "Luke.” He repeated the name, as if committing it to memory.

  "I don't know how it happened."

  Jason directed his full attention to the navy bean soup before him.

  "I know I can't live like this. I know something has to change."

  He nodded but remained silent.

  "Jason, say something."

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "Tell me you're disappointed, tell me you dodged a lethal bullet, tell me you're ashamed of me."

  "I'm not, I didn't, and I never could be. You did what you had to do. In that clinic years ago, and now, with this other guy."

  "You don't condone what I did. Don't pretend to."

  He reached across the table and gave her hand a brief squeeze. “You'll work it out. One way or another."

  * * * *

  "Did you call my lawyer?"

  There's that word again. Lawyer.

  Brennan's dirty hands hung out between the bars of the holding cell, his left hand twitching with the shakes. His wedding ring reflected the fluorescent light above him. “Well, if you called her, why isn't she here? This is ridiculous. I donated five times my bail to this organization last fall."

  "I'm here,” Kimberley said, quickening her pace toward the cell.

  "You took your own, sweet time calling her, didn't you, Officer?"

  "No.” She approached the cage, which reeked of stale alcohol, and stopped just out of Brennan's reach. “They called last night."

  "Coco Bop.” He softened. “Kimmy, I'm sorry I didn't—"

  "Shut up, Brennan."

  He clamped his mouth shut and raked his crystal blue gaze over her.

  "I needed you. While I was busy cleaning a dead fetus from my womb, you were at a bar, waiting for Garciaparra's next at-bat and your seventy-five dollars."

  He grinned. “I got it, didn't I?"

  "Let's get through the business part of this first, shall we?"

  "Get me out of here, and we'll talk about it."

  "One thing at a time.” She turned to the officer on deck. “My client and I need to confer. Can we have a private room?"

  The officer approached the cell, keyed in a pass code, and opened the door. “Right this way."

  They followed him to a tiny concrete cell, and once alone, Brennan cleared his throat. “What do we have to discuss here that we can't talk about at home?"

  She pursed her lips and raised her brows, reading him like a witness. If she neglected to speak, he would fill the silence.

  "Jesus, what's wrong with me?” He pulled out a rusty folding chair. “How are you?"

  She sat and opened her leather portfolio. “How am I indeed?"

  "Did the doctor say when we could try again?"

  "Why would you ask? It's not the right time, remember? Anyway, I have some thinking to do. I've just come from lunch with Jason—"

  "Jason? Jason Devon?"

  "He's doing well, said to say hello."

  Brennan shook his head. “Have you heard? How's the guy who hit me? They won't tell me."

  "First of all, it wasn't a guy. Secondly, are you sure she hit you?"

  "That's the way I remember it."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I was fine to drive, Kimmy."

  "They've got a point-one-six that says otherwise."