Osmosis

by Susan X Meagher

  “I’ll be waiting for you. Hurry up.” Jamie went into the bathroom and closed the door. Getting back into bed, Ryan mused, I miss Mia, but if she were back Jamie might be in detox by now.

  Part Ten

  “Hi, Conor,” Catherine said when she reached him on Wednesday morning. “Are we still on for Friday?”

  “My dance card is ready to be filled, Catherine. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I think you’ll like this crowd a little better than the last group. It’s a few decades younger than the symphony mavens.”

  “What’s this for again?” he asked, not really caring, but wanting to be prepared.

  “This is for a new scholarship fund at Stanford law,” she explained. “Jim usually handles these things, but I think it’s important to continue my separate support.”

  “I’ll spend a few minutes with Brendan,” Conor said, “and ask for some legal terms I can drop.”

  “You don’t need to do a thing,” she chided him. “After sailing through that opera benefit, you can face any crowd.”

  “Well, that has been the toughest so far,” he agreed with a chuckle. “But it was also my debut, so to speak. I think I’ve gotten better with each one, don’t you?”

  “I do indeed,” she said, smiling at his well-deserved pride.

  “So, I’ll come down as soon as I can get away from work, okay?”

  “That’s fine,” she agreed. “By any chance are you going to be home later today?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be home by 5:00 or so. Why?”

  “I’d like to drop off a little something for you.” Before he could ask what the gift was, she added, “See you later.”

  Jamie was reclining on a swath of grass, using the slight incline of the hill as a backrest, reading one of her textbooks. Her cell phone rang and she rolled onto her side to retrieve it from her pocket. “Hi, Dad,” she said when she’d checked the caller ID.

  “Hi, honey. I’m in town. How about dinner tonight?”

  “Tonight?” She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I can make it. Ryan’s got a double-header in Santa Clara, so she won’t be able to join us.”

  “But I’ll see her this weekend, right?”

  Pleased, Jamie said, “You sound like you’re looking forward to seeing her.”

  “I am.” He was quiet for a second. “Does that surprise you?”

  “Oh … I guess not. I’ve learned that you’re as full of surprises as she is. The only consistent person in our family is Poppa.”

  “He sure is. Sometimes annoyingly so.”

  “Annoying? Poppa?”

  “I’m teasing … mostly. You know how parents are. No matter how perfect they are, they can still get under your skin.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jamie said drolly.

  “Sarcasm is best used sparingly, honey. What time is good for you?”

  “Whatever you want, Dad. You’re the one on Eastern time.”

  “Let’s eat early then. How about 6:00?”

  “Great. Should I make reservations?”

  “No. Someone in my office can do it.”

  “Okay. Shall I meet you?”

  “No. I’ve got the Range Rover. I’ll pick you up around 5:45.”

  “Great. And Dad, I won’t be sarcastic tonight. I was just making a joke.”

  “Not a problem. I was, too. See you tonight, honey.”

  Conor was fresh from the shower when Catherine arrived. She carried so many bags that he had to back away from the door to allow her to squeeze through. “What in the heck?” He scratched at the back of his head, looking at her with a puzzled smile.

  “Okay, I got carried away. I don’t know why, but I like to shop for men’s clothes more than I like to shop for my own. You don’t mind indulging me a little, do you?”

  He was unable to say no to those guileless brown eyes, and found himself shaking his head. “Uhm … let me help you with this stuff.” He set things on the dining room table and began to unwrap his bounty. Eventually, two pairs of shoes—one black and one brown, a black, chalk-striped suit and one of a warm brown light-weight wool, three shirts and four ties were laid out neatly against the worn wood. “My Lord, Catherine! This is … this is … fantastic!”

  “Do you like it all? I know that you’re perfectly capable of picking out your own clothes, but I also know you don’t have much free time and I wanted you to have a few things to choose from for the event on Friday.”

  “It’s all great,” he said. “You have fantastic taste, Catherine, and you sure don’t skimp on quality. I just wish you hadn’t gone to so much expense. God, this must have cost—”

  “Please,” she said, shaking her head, “you know that doesn’t matter. I want you to feel comfortable going to these events with me, Conor, and having a selection of clothing to choose from will help.”

  “I do feel comfortable, Catherine. I really do. But you’re right. The same people were at both events we’ve been to, and I’ve just got two suits … plus a tux,” he added, grinning. “This is … well, this is just great. Thanks.” He beamed a warm grin at her, which she returned in kind.

  “You’re easier than your sister,” she said, laughing, but when the words hit her own ear she blushed deeply. “I am so sorry. That did not come out like I meant it.”

  “No problem,” he smiled, adding a wink. “Anyway, since Jamie’s got her locked up, it’s true.”

  She patted his arm, still laughing softly. “I’ll let you go before I say anything even more embarrassing.”

  Gazing at her, he impulsively asked, “What are you doing the rest of the evening?”

  “Nothing, to be honest. I thought I’d go home and read.”

  His eyes widened. “Read? What kinda fun is that? Let’s at least go get a little dinner together. What do you say?”

  “I suppose I do have to eat.” She smiled at how easily he could talk her into things. “Where would you like to go?”

  “I’ve seen how the upper crust lives. Wanna slum a little?”

  “Conor, just having you enter would class up the slummiest place.”

  He dressed up a little, and since Catherine had dressed down, they were just about evenly attired. He brushed some lint from his navy blue Dockers, then checked to see that his multi-color stripe, button-down shirt was tucked in properly. He ran a brush across his black loafers, then added a braided black leather belt. Satisfied with his look, he cast a glance back to his dresser, trying to decide if he should add some cologne. He rolled his eyes at his own indecision, then shook his head and went back into the living room, where Catherine was gazing raptly at the photographs that lined the bookcases.

  “Your mother looks so very much like Moira,” she said softly, as she heard his tread.

  “She does.” He snuck a peek over her shoulder. “That’s just how I remember her.” The woman in the photo was sitting in a rocking chair, holding a very tiny baby that Catherine assumed was Ryan. She was obviously cooing to her or perhaps singing, looking very peaceful and calm. The composition brought a smile to Catherine’s face, because of the demonically grinning child that had to be Conor, standing on the rungs of the rocker and holding onto the top rail of the chair, trying to give his mother and sister a rocking they would remember. “She was absolutely unflappable. And we could have flapped nearly any sane woman. Not her though,” he added, fondly gazing at her image.

  “Sounds a bit like Ryan,” Catherine smiled at him as she placed the photo back on the shelf.

  “Yeah, I guess it does,” he considered. “I’ve never thought of the similarities—probably because they look so different physically. Ryan’s an O’Flaherty, through and through.”

  “That’s not a bad thing to be.”

  Jamie dressed carefully, assuming that her father would be wearing at least a sports coat. She also acknowledged that her father’s higher profile attracted attention that would fall upon her, too. He was right on time, and she checked her lipstick before o
pening the door. “Hi!”

  His eyes sought out her left arm, and he felt up and down her splint, shaking his head. “Terrible,” he said. “Just terrible.”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad.” She reached out and hugged him with her good arm, holding on for almost a minute.

  “It’s so good to see you,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you.”

  Letting go, Jamie stood back and gave her father a long look. “I miss you too, Daddy. You look great, by the way.”

  “So do you. You look more like your mother all the time.”

  “I do? Since when? I’m like a female Jim Evans—minus the height.” She picked up her purse and coat and closed the door behind her.

  He guided her by the elbow, leading her to the car in the driveway. “I have a driver tonight. Do you mind?”

  “No … I guess not. Did you let your license lapse?”

  “I still have a license. Karl and I were going over a few things when I had to leave, so we continued our meeting on the drive.”

  “Is Karl going to join us for dinner?”

  Jim opened the back door of the car and kept his hand on Jamie’s arm to make sure she didn’t slip. “You’re not going to have dinner with us, are you, Karl?”

  “No, sir. I’m going to my mother’s house for dinner. No matter what you order, I bet I’ll have a better meal.”

  “Hi,” Jamie said, extending her hand between the seats. “I’m Jamie.”

  “Hi, Jamie. Karl Thomas.”

  “Where does your mother live?”

  “Oakland. Make sure you take your time over dinner. My mother makes a sweet-potato pie that I don’t wanna miss.”

  “It’s a deal.” She sat back and asked, “Where are we going, Dad?”

  “A new place Karl told me about. What’s the name, Karl?”

  “Bistro Jean? Bistro Jeanne? Something like that.”

  “Oh, that’s the new place that’s so popular,” Jamie said. “I’ve been wanting to go there, but it’s almost impossible to get Ryan to go out to dinner.”

  Jim’s eyes twinkled. “Are you sure you’re destined to be together? You’d eat out every night.”

  “Opposites attract. And I’m not sure destiny had anything to do with it; I just think I got lucky.”

  “All that matters is that you’re happy together.”

  Jamie looked at her father while he made a comment to Karl. He took her by surprise nearly every time they spoke. And hearing him express his wishes solely for her happiness was the best kind of surprise.

  Catherine sighed, pushing her plate far enough away so that she wasn’t tempted again. “If I eat another bite I’ll surely explode!”

  “You certainly seemed to enjoy it,” Conor chuckled, surprised and pleased by the appetite she’d displayed. She’d only had a tamale and some chips and guacamole, but that was near gluttony for Catherine.

  “I probably have Mexican food once a year, if that. I don’t know why I have it so infrequently, since I truly love it.”

  “I have it around seven times a week,” he laughed. “I’m the only Anglo on my crew, and I’m never in charge of ordering lunch. Luckily, I love Mexican food too.”

  “When we were dating, Jim used to take me to a place in Palo Alto that we both really liked. That was the last time I even had a favorite Mexican restaurant. I should investigate and find a place that I like.”

  “Why did you stop once you were married?”

  “Oh … lots of reasons,” she mused, as she picked up her water glass and drained it. “We had Marta then, and we ate most of our meals at home. She’s Spanish, and even though she could manage to prepare Mexican dishes, they aren’t her specialty.” Looking up and meeting his eyes she said, “Things just changed after we married; I’m not even sure why.”

  “It was never great for you, was it?” he asked, seeing the sadness in her eyes.

  Shaking her head briskly, she admitted, “No, it never was. We were too young, too immature. We were married at the end of July, and after a short trip to Rhode Island, Jim started his job. In no time, he was working sixty and seventy hour weeks, and I was at home alone, struggling to get used to the idea of having a child.”

  She looked tired and defeated, and he reached across the table and grasped her hand.

  “You deserve another chance, Catherine. I really hope you take it.”

  “Someone has to want to take a chance on me, Conor,” she reminded him with a wry smile. “I haven’t had much interest from people on this side of the Atlantic.”

  “You’re talking crazy again,” he chided gently, giving her small hand a squeeze.

  Jim and Jamie were led to a table immediately, gliding past a bar full of hungry-looking patrons. They ordered a cocktail and sat back in the comfy chairs to wait for them to be delivered. “Do you still want to know why I think you look like your mother?” Jim asked.

  “Oh. Sure. ’Cause I don’t see it.”

  “It’s not your features. Those are more like mine … but prettier, of course.”

  “Uh-huh.” She smiled at him, waiting.

  “It’s the way you carry yourself. Your … style. As you mature, you remind me more and more of her at your age. She … and you have a real presence. You’re much more mature and sophisticated than other girls your age.”

  “Thank you. That’s nice to hear. It’s always nice to be compared favorably to Mom.”

  “You have a lot more self-confidence than your mother had at your age.” He looked up and nodded at their server when their drinks were set down. “Sometimes you have too much for my comfort.” The beginnings of his smile were covered by his lifting his drink to his lips.

  “It’s too late to turn back now, Dad.”

  He shook his head quickly. “I don’t want you to change. Well … that’s not always true. But in my sane moments, I admire your spunk.”

  Brows knitting, she asked skeptically, “You do?”

  “Only in my sane moments. Those aren’t frequent.”

  She chuckled at his words and his self-effacing look. “I don’t think that’s true. Poppa says all parents and kids go through some tough times. I’ve made a lot of changes in the last year or two. I can’t expect you to welcome all of them.”

  “There you go with that maturity again.” He grinned at her, his eyes crinkling up just like hers did.

  “I have some less-than-sane moments, too. Even though I know you have a lot of adjusting to do, I’m not always patient with you. I expect too much sometimes, and I’m sorry for that, Dad.”

  He waved her off. “No need. I’ve done so much I’m ashamed of. I’m dozens of points behind you in the maturity tally.”

  Jamie sipped at her drink and tilted her head. “Has Poppa been talking to you?”

  “Good thing I’m not on the Intelligence Committee; I’m utterly transparent!”

  “Not really. You just seem … reflective. And I know Poppa visited you a few weeks ago. He had a great time, by the way. He went on and on about how impressed he was with you and what you’ve accomplished.”

  “I hope he thinks that. But I know I’ve disappointed him a lot through the years. He reminded me of that when we were together.”

  “He called you out?”

  Puzzled, Jim said, “He didn’t lecture me or anything. You know he’s not like that. But he told me that he didn’t think I’d done a very good job with the women in my life.”

  “Glad he didn’t lecture you,” she teased.

  Jim shrugged. “It’s not like I had a very good defense: a failed marriage, a tumultuous relationship with my only child, what will probably wind up being a meaningless relationship with Kayla. All in all …”

  “Meaningless? Are you and Kayla not getting along?”

  Their server returned and took their order, nodding politely when Jim told him they weren’t in a hurry. “I want to make sure Karl gets some pie,” he said. “It sounded good, didn’t it?”

  “Kayla?” Jamie reminded him.

/>   He sighed. “I thought we were getting serious, but she doesn’t seem to feel the same way. She thinks she’ll stay in Washington when I come back to California.”

  “Does she … want you to stay with her?”

  With a resigned smile, he shook his head. “She didn’t ask. She said she assumed I’d tire of her and move on, so she thought she’d do the same. She plans to find another job—with someone in Congress or a lobbying firm.”

  “Hmm … sounds like she’d thought this out from the beginning.”

  “I think she has. No, I’m sure she has. She was surprised that I wanted her to move in with me when I returned to California.”

  “Wow. Did you really want to make it permanent?”

  Jim dipped his head, looking chagrined. “I hadn’t thought it through. But it was stupid of me to think she’d want to stay with me. She’s a young woman who wants a career. Being with me makes her look like a user.”

  Nodding, Jamie took another sip of her drink. “It does. That’s what I assumed. But I liked her when I met her. She seems kinda good for you.”

  “I think she is, but I’m sure I’m not good for her. I may have already put a blot on her reputation that she can never erase.”

  A busboy delivered their salads and after a judicious grinding of fresh pepper, Jamie took a bite. “Delicious. Really well dressed.”

  “Mine’s good, too. Karl was right.”

  “So, is Kayla ready to move on now?”

  “She plans on staying until my term is over. But I assume she’ll start looking for a job during the summer recess.”

  “You seem pretty down about it, Dad.”

  “Your grandfather thinks I’m getting some return on my bad investments.”

  “Investments?”

  “I set things up this way. I dated young women in my firm and didn’t mind that people found out. I treated them well—made sure they weren’t harmed in terms of promotions and things like that—but I certainly never gave anyone the impression I was serious about having a relationship.” He stared at his salad for a moment. “Except your mother.”

  “And you lied to her again and again, didn’t you.” There was no malice in her voice, but the words themselves stung.