Although I only worked for Harris Financial five months, the lobby feels like home, with its off-white walls, glossy floor, and bold splashes of abstract artwork. I don’t notice anyone familiar, but most people are tuned in to their phones as they whiz in and out of the front doors.
I get a nod from the receptionist—she always used to eye me warily—and make my way to the elevators. I’m dreaming of the day when I’ll be surprising Michael with our baby in tow when the elevator whisks open on the top floor. Stepping out, I reknot the sash around my waist and try to walk as quietly as I can. Each step in these heels is an announcement, the clack-clack-clacking rebounding off the walls. As I pass a balding young man clutching a stack of folders, I smile in acknowledgment, and am completely ignored. Suddenly I remember why Michael was always the highlight of this place for me. He truly saw the value in me, even when I doubted myself. And now he has to realize that he needs to place that same value on our relationship and our family.
Turning right, I pass a maze of cubicles, a small galley kitchen, and then, after another right turn, I see my old desk, positioned in front of Michael’s closed office door. I have a dark thrill at the thought that he hasn’t found a new personal secretary yet. He swears no one can replace me.
I secretly hope the position stays open indefinitely.
“What are you doing here?” someone calls.
Spinning, I repress a gasp. “Travis.”
His hair is greased and swept to the side, in that cool and casual way he seems to have nailed down. He’s wearing a tight-fitting black dress shirt that completely covers his tats, along with black slacks and blue Converse sneakers.
“I wanted to talk to Michael,” I answer.
“Simple phone call wouldn’t cut it?” His tone is teasing.
“Not today.”
“Couldn’t you talk to him after work?”
“I could, yes.”
I leave it at that because he doesn’t understand. How could he? He’s not the one being watched in Ravenwood every second of every day. He’s not the one being held under the microscope by Dean and Samara. I can’t talk to Michael the same way when they’re there, hanging on our every word.
And there are things I really need to discuss with him.
He hasn’t made a single effort to address my concerns about the second master and nursery. Not even a mention of it.
He’s not taking me seriously. He doesn’t know how much it’s bothering me. At home, he’s been able to blow me off, and I’ve been too timid to push the issue, too conscious of prying eyes and ears. But here, at work, he means business. And today, I do too.
“You might be waiting here awhile.” Travis leans back against my old desk, toys with the paper clip holder. “You just missed him.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Afraid not.” He eyes me curiously. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, though. Do you know if the detectives are any closer to—you know…”
“No, I don’t think so. Or, at least, they’re not telling us that they are. They ask the strangest things. Sometimes I think they’re asking over and over again to make sure the story doesn’t change, or we don’t accidentally reveal some new piece of information. It’s as if they’ve already made up their minds that Michael’s guilty.”
“How awful,” Travis says, though his tone doesn’t match his words. He sounds almost…relieved.
“I wish they’d leave us alone so we can go back to focusing on our family.” When my own words echo and come back to me, I gasp, covering my heart with my hand. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I should be more sensitive about Joanna.”
“It’s not rude, it’s honest.” He twists a paper clip until it breaks in his fingers, and then tosses it on the desk. “And you don’t need the added stress. You shouldn’t have worked here as long as you did. Joanna never held a real job, so I don’t see why you’d have to either.”
“I think I’d like to volunteer somewhere eventually,” I say, recalling the conversation with Rachael my first day at Ravenwood. “I’ll look into it after our baby’s born.”
“Joanna volunteered at a healthcare foundation—I’m sure you know that already—but it was basic charity work. Nothing too demanding. Everything was on her terms, but that’s no surprise. Listen, I was heading to lunch.” He pushes off the desk and walks so close beside me that he touches my shoulder. “Why don’t you join me?”
“I—I don’t know.” Going to lunch with one of Michael’s employees doesn’t seem like a good idea. “I should probably stay and wait for Michael to come back.”
“He won’t be back for at least an hour. Probably longer.”
“Really?”
Travis shrugs. “He’s been disappearing a lot lately. I think he walks through Presidio park after lunch to clear his head.”
“Oh.” I can’t help but feel completely deflated. I’d so carefully planned what I needed to say. “That’s too bad.”
“Why don’t you text him? Tell him you stopped by and that you’ll be back later, so he won’t disappear again. And in the meantime, we’ll go somewhere nice—my treat—and then you can meet up with him when we’re finished.” He shoots me a friendly smile. “Come on. You’ve got to be hungry.”
“A little,” I admit.
“Then text him while I grab my wallet.” He moves toward the glass-walled offices on the opposite side of the cubicles. “And then we’ll head out.”
I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not a good idea, is it? To be going out with someone who works for Michael. But it’s really just an innocent lunch with one of his colleagues—who is also our neighbor—so why do I feel guilty? I’m warring with myself as I fish my phone out of my bag.
Hey honey. I type fast. Stopped by the office to talk to you about something. Kind of important. Ran into Travis instead. Going to lunch. Will be back to see you within the hr.
I hesitate, taking a deep breath before I hit SEND.
Travis and I walk to a Greek restaurant on Jackson Street, not far from Michael’s building. I always wanted to try the place when I worked in the city. People rave about the octopus salad, but I could never justify spending upward of thirty dollars on a single meal. Not with what I was earning, anyway.
On the way there, I shoot Michael another text letting him know where we’re headed, and steal a glance at Travis out of the corner of my eye. I should’ve declined the lunch invitation; I don’t want to do anything that could anger Michael, especially when I feel like I’m already walking on eggshells. But I can’t help myself. Even though I shouldn’t be, I’m intrigued by Travis. He’s one of the only people I know who knew Michael when he was with Joanna.
After we enter the restaurant, the host escorts us to a table near the windows and reaches for my shoulder. “Can I take your coat, miss?”
“Sure.” I slip out of it, then smooth down my dress. It’s a new one, one I bought hoping to please Michael.
“Your waitress will be with you momentarily.”
The restaurant is super elegant and cozy with white linen-covered tables, chandeliers, and the robust smell of something rich and buttery wafting through the air. It’s lunchtime and it’s busy, with only a few tables open, and the clinking sound of forks on plates mixes with chattering voices. Dean would probably blow a gasket if he knew I was dining somewhere like this, rather than eating his food, and that thought thrills me more than I can express.
“This is Joanna’s favorite restaurant,” Travis says, reaching for the wine list. “Have you ever eaten here?”
Joanna’s favorite restaurant. Did Michael bring her here for special occasions? Did they sit at a candlelit table in the shadows and talk quietly together? Or perhaps share a drink after work at the bar, leaning close and whispering in each other’s ears?
“
No, never,” I tell Travis, opening the menu and skimming the prices. There’s nothing under forty dollars unless I want to pick an appetizer for my main meal. “But everything looks delicious.”
After the waitress approaches and introduces herself, Travis orders a wine I couldn’t pronounce if I tried, a baked feta appetizer, and a halibut steak. When she turns to me, I draw a blank, hitting some kind of mental wall. It’s something that’s been happening a lot lately. I’m misplacing things. Forgetting things. I’m fidgety and nervous, and it’s driving me crazy.
“Colleen?” Travis asks, with the waitress looking on. “Did you need more time?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m bouncing between the octopus salad and the moussaka.” I hope I pronounced that correctly, though I’m sure I didn’t. I’m so out of my element. “Do you have a recommendation?”
“She’ll have the salad,” Travis answers with authority. And then he winks at me, smiling, and I smile back. “It’s Joanna’s favorite.”
Swallowing hard, I smile politely at the waitress, who takes my menu and disappears behind a faux brick wall.
I don’t know what’s throwing me off more: the fact that I’d almost ordered Joanna’s favorite dish without knowing it, or that Travis keeps bringing her up as if she’s still alive. Does he do this when he’s with Michael? Or with Rachael? How does she tolerate her husband constantly bringing up another woman?
“Did Joanna come here a lot?” I ask, sipping my water.
“Almost every day for lunch.”
“Wow,” I say, recalling the prices on the menu. “Michael must’ve spent a fortune here over the years.”
“She never came with Michael.”
Travis takes a long, slow drink of wine. Who would Joanna have come here with, then? I don’t know how to respond—if I should probe deeper, or drop it completely. I suppose I didn’t expect him to be so…honest.
For the next thirty minutes, we make small talk over the mouthwatering appetizer and avoid the topic of Joanna completely. Travis is surprisingly attentive, inquiring about my pregnancy and actively listening, which I find rare for a man these days. By the time the meal arrives, he’s three glasses down, his smile is widening, and he’s digging into his meal without hesitation.
“How is it?” he asks, stabbing his fork in the air toward my salad. “Amazing, right?”
I nod, my mouth exploding with flavor. “Truly is.”
“Want to try mine?”
I shake my head to refuse, but he’s already loading a fork and lifting it my way. Leaning over the table, he commands, “Here. Give it a try.”
Warning bells go off in the back of my brain. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be here, dining in Joanna’s favorite place with Michael’s best friend, letting him feed me off his fork. This is wrong.
“Come on,” he says, his eyes glinting with kindness. “One taste won’t kill you.”
On a wild stupid-stupid-stupid impulse, I open my mouth and close my lips around his fork. The taste of broccoli, Kalamata olives, lemon, and spices hits me first, followed by the juicy halibut.
A moan slips out of me. His eyes widen as he quickly pulls back his fork. My body tingles from heat. Or maybe that’s shame.
“Thank you,” I manage, cheeks burning.
“Best you’ve ever had?”
“Mm-hmm.” My eyes meet his, and I have to look away. “So, how did you and Rachael meet?”
“Mutual friends.” He goes back to his plate, pushing chunks of halibut around the china before shoving them in his mouth. “We were in our early twenties and didn’t know what the hell we were going to do with the rest of our lives. But we knew we wanted to do it together.”
“That’s sweet.”
“No, it’s dumb.” After finishing another glass of wine, he goes on. “We were broke with no plans to get us out of debt. This was before I met Michael and Joanna of course, before Harris Financial really took off. Rachael was in school to become a marriage and family therapist, but that didn’t pan out. Student loans piled up, and she only did it for a year or so before she bailed, leaving her unemployed and bored out of her mind.”
“Why?” I ask, completely riveted by their history. “I mean, why’d she quit? It seems like the perfect career choice for someone so—”
“Nosy?” he finishes with a laugh. “Don’t worry, you won’t offend me. I know my wife’s flaws better than most.”
“I was going to say curious, but, yes.”
And then we’re both laughing, and I’m picturing Rachael in her jogging gear, trotting over to the reporters on the day Joanna’s body was dragged out of the mud.
“I think she initially chose that path because she wanted to help people who were having problems in their marriages,” he tells me, the laughter in his dark eyes dying down. “But after a while, the thrill was gone, and she realized she wasn’t really making a difference.”
“I wish I had those skills,” I confess, leaning back and resting my hand on the curve of my stomach. “To learn someone’s most intimate problems and insecurities, then help them turn their life around. It must be so rewarding. I wonder if Rachael misses it?”
“Nah,” he says, waving his knife around, “don’t go feeling sorry for her. She’s the top agent in her company, and she still gets to poke her nose into our neighbors’ lives. Only downside is she’s not getting paid for it anymore.”
I chuckle at that too, and my guard begins to drop. There’s an honesty simmering beneath the surface of Travis’s intricately tattooed skin. It’s startling and…raw. I get the feeling I could ask him anything and he’d answer truthfully, unflinchingly. It makes me want to press him about Joanna.
“Wait until you see Rachael work the room at the company anniversary party,” he goes on, pushing his plate aside and refolding the napkin in his lap. “She can get anyone to talk about anything, and she loves it. By the end of the night, she’s peeled back everyone’s layers.”
“Count me in,” I say. Hopefully by then, Michael and I will have put the matter of the nursery behind us. “When is it?”
“This Saturday.”
My smile drops. Michael hasn’t mentioned it. Not once. “As in, two days from now?”
“He probably forgot to tell you,” Travis blurts, as if he’s read my mind. “He’s juggling a million things right now. With everything going on, you can’t really fault him.”
“He owns the company,” I say. “He didn’t forget.”
“Well, it’s possible. It’s not like he planned it himself.”
“Then who did? It wasn’t me. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
He shoves a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “Joanna took care of everything last spring. It’s done.”
Of course she took care of everything. In her perfect way. Perfect Joanna, who could plan the party of the century. Flawless Joanna, with the enviable home and adorable nursery.
“Travis,” I say, feeling like this is my only chance to ask what’s really been bothering me, “what do you think happened to—”
Something flutters inside me, startling me. “Oh my God.” A smile tickles my lips. “I think I just felt—I think that was—I think the baby just moved.”
“Really?” Travis grins. “Is this the first time?”
I nod, tears welling in my eyes, as something stirs inside me again. It’s the tiniest movement, a butterfly’s wings beating against the walls of my stomach. A slight rolling sensation that happens again…and then again. It almost feels like indigestion, but I know it’s not. There—I feel it again.
“Our baby’s moving.”
“Can I feel?” Before I can respond, Travis gets up and comes around the table to rest his hand on my stomach. His touch is featherlight, and strangely comforting. “I don’t fee
l anything yet.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to.” Giggling, I glance up, meeting his eyes. “This is—it’s, God, I’m so happy! I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, wondering what it would feel like. I was starting to fear that maybe something was wrong, but it’s not.” I caress my stomach over and over again, my fingers bumping into his as tears blur my eyes. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Of course it is.” Travis rubs my shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” I ramble, not thinking clearly, or maybe not thinking at all, “because of what happened to Joanna, the way Michael has been so detached from the pregnancy, the detectives snooping around for God knows what, and—everything. All of it. Because every time I think something beautiful is finally going to happen in my life, it turns rotten.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Oh, but I do.” Tears stream down my cheeks as something inside me breaks free—a dam to hold back the emotions I’d guarded for so long. “My parents died when I was fifteen. I moved around to three different foster homes before I finally found one where the family truly loved me. At least, that’s what I thought until I overheard my ‘mother’ on the phone telling someone she was looking for a way to get rid of me.”
“That’s awful.” Squeezing me against him, Travis pulls me close. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Through college, I clung to boyfriends who treated me like trash. But this time—this time, with Michael and our baby—everything’s going to be perfect. It really is.”
“Of course it is.” He glides his hand over the curve of my stomach with a delicate touch. “And you deserve everything that’s coming your way, Colleen.”
Hope and love swell within me, drying my tears. It’s so silly of me to be so weepy. I burrow my head into his chest as sheer happiness consumes me. Travis stiffens. I glance up.
“What a surprise,” he says, his voice taking a strangely formal tone. “Join us for lunch?”
I go cold as Michael approaches the table and eyes the arm Travis has draped over my shoulder. And the one stroking my stomach. “Michael…”
In Her Shadow Page 21
