by Robin Wells
I hang up and wander back into the house. Brett looks at me. “Bad news?”
“Yeah, sort of.” I muster a smile. “It’s that obvious?”
“I make a living reading clients’ facial expressions and body language, because they’re often too polite to say what they really think. So either you just had an upsetting phone call or you hate the house.”
“It’s not the house.”
“Well, then, let’s get out of here and go for a drink. I don’t want the bad mojo to bleed onto the place, because I think you could really like it.”
“I could use a drink.” My parents are having my brother and pregnant sister-in-law over for dinner this evening, and I’m not looking forward to it.
We settle at a bar named the Tiki. Through a large tinted plate-glass window, I watch waves bob on the Puget Sound, one after another, white-capped and foamy. I know that the water’s cold, despite the bar’s tropical decor. I feel cold, too, despite the unusually warm weather. I order a glass of wine. “This is one of the perks of not trying to get pregnant,” I say. “I can drink.”
“Sue Anne hated everything about being pregnant. She complained the whole time.”
“Really? And here I’d give anything to have a baby.”
“My mom said she felt the same way.”
I look at him, not getting it.
“My mom couldn’t have children,” he explains. “My brother and I are adopted.”
This shocks me. “But you look so much like her!”
“Everyone says that. Know what I think?”
“What?”
“People see what they expect to see.” He gives a slight grin. “I think that’s one of the great unspoken truths of life.”
“Maybe so. Did you ever look for your birth mother?”
“No. There was a nanosecond when I was fifteen and rebellious, and I told my parents I wanted to find her and go live with her. My dad said, ‘Okay. I’ll help.’” Brett smiles. “That was the end of it. I never had any real desire to follow through. No one could have made me feel more loved than my folks did.”
The waitress brings our drinks. Brett hoists his beer. “Here’s to finding you a home in Seattle.”
I clink my wineglass to his stein. “To a home in Seattle.”
We both take a drink, and he studies me over the edge of his mug. “I know it’s none of my business, and if you don’t want to, I totally get it. But if you want to talk about that phone call, well, I’m a good listener.”
I sip my wine for a moment. “I screwed something up.”
“Hey, that’s called being human.”
“No, I mean I really screwed up. I did something seriously wrong—a breach-of-trust kind of thing with Zack.”
His expression stays the same, but his neck kind of stiffens. “Another guy?”
“No, not that. But I went behind Zack’s back to find out some personal stuff from his past, and, well, now it’s backfiring.”
He leans forward. “I gotta say, you’ve got me intrigued.”
Before I know it, I’m spilling out the whole story.
“Wow,” Brett says.
I take a sip of wine. “I told you I screwed up.”
“It’s not irreversible. I mean, no one’s dead. But I do have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you really think you’d feel better once you found out he had a child?”
Both Zack and my sister had asked the same question. Apparently it’s something I should have considered more carefully. I blow out a long breath. “It’s hard to imagine now, but yeah—I guess I did. I thought knowing would be better than wondering. It’s part of my personality, you know? I don’t like uncertainty. Maybe that’s why I’m into numbers and accounting. I like to know what I’m dealing with.”
“What kind of reaction did you think Zack would have?”
“Well, that’s the thing: I wasn’t going to tell him because he didn’t seem to want to know. But then, when I found out a child was looking for him, I knew I needed to tell him. But I thought I’d wait until I got pregnant before I broke the news.”
“Wait.” He furrows his brow. “I thought you couldn’t get pregnant.”
“I can’t—not with my eggs. But finding out Zack already has a child made me decide to use an egg donor. He’d encouraged me to use a donor after the first two IVF transfers failed, but I refused, because I wanted the baby to be genetically my own.”
The waitress sets down a fresh glass of wine. I take a big swallow. “Anyway, when the cryobank alerted him that someone tried to change the email address on his account, he knew it had to be me. I didn’t intend to tell him anything yet, but I felt so guilty it just kind of spilled out.”
“Wow.” Brett takes a drink, the whole time eyeing me over the rim.
I sigh. “I told you I screwed up.”
“Yeah, but you came clean with him. That shows an honorable intention.”
“Zack doesn’t see it that way. I thought he’d be glad I’d finally decided to use an egg donor, but he doesn’t even care about that. All he cares about is this donor child.” I give him a rundown of my latest phone conversation with Zack, and pull up a photo of Lily on my phone. “He’s completely head over heels.”
“Holy moly,” Brett says. “She’s adorable.”
“Yeah. I opened a real Pandora’s box.”
“I guess you have.”
My eyes fill with tears.
“But, hey—if you two love each other, you can work this out.” He lifts his beer. “And maybe it’ll all turn out for the best.”
I take a long gulp. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it.” He leans forward. “You said the child’s mother died, that the great-grandmother is elderly and in the hospital, and that there’s no other family. That means your husband is the only blood relative. Maybe you two can get custody of the little girl.”
I shake my head. “The child’s godmother is designated as guardian in the mother’s will if the great-grandmother can’t take care of her. She has a really close relationship with the child.” I outline the therapist’s plan for Zack to be a distant family friend.
“Yes, but you said your husband’s an attorney. I’m sure there’re ways to override the will. Usually a natural parent is favored by the courts. Maybe your husband could be named guardian, and the child can come out here to live with you.”
The idea doesn’t appeal to me at first. I want a baby, one that grows under my own heart. My hesitation must have shown on my face.
“I’m thinking like a father here,” he says. “Three is still really young. Lily’s unlikely to remember much, if anything, of her life before you. She needs a mother and a father. You and your husband could be that for her.”
The concept starts to gain some luster. I don’t really think it would work, but maybe making the offer—letting Zack know I’m willing to take in his child—would go a long way toward healing our marriage.
Brett’s gaze is warm. “I can tell you from my own experience, both as a father and as an adopted child—what matters to a kid is the day-in, day-out love and attention. My parents and I were a lot closer than most of my friends who lived with their biological moms and dads. There’s more than one way to build a family.”
We finish our drinks, and he drives me to my parents’ home. The more I think about what he said, the more appealing the concept grows. I pause after he pulls into the drive and puts the vehicle in park. “Thanks for the house tours—and the drinks, and the advice.”
He smiles at me. “No problem.”
“What are you doing this evening?”
“Little league practice. Want to come?”
“Sounds like fun.” I smile, my hand on the door handle. “I wish I could, but Mom’s planning a family dinner.”
�
��Maybe another time.”
“I’d like that.” I open the door, but stay seated. “I’ll think about the houses we’ve seen. That last one might be a possibility, but I can’t really picture the renovations you suggested.”
“I’ll work up some graphics and send them to you.”
“That would be great.” I smile. “Hey—I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”
“Back at you.” He has no way of knowing that’s what Zack and I say to each other in response to I love you. My face heats all the same.
“So you’re flying to Portland tomorrow?” he says.
“I’m supposed to. But right now, I’m thinking I might cancel the rest of my business trip and go back to New Orleans.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I think you should meet this little girl, her guardian, and her great-grandmother.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
He nods. “Keep me posted.”
“I will.”
He smiles and I linger in the car, just smiling back. I hate to leave. There’s something effervescent and kind of exciting between us.
“Well, I’d better go,” I say.
“Take care.” He pats my shoulder as I climb out.
My shoulder tingles as I hoist my purse on it. I’m still smiling as I let myself into the house through the kitchen door, just as I did when I was a teenager and someone dropped me off.
There’s a major difference, though: when I was a teenager, I never dared to dream I’d actually be driven home by Brett Ross.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Zack
Wednesday, May 15
I’M IN MY office, working on one of the biggest mergers of my career. It involves hundreds of health care facilities in two dozen states, and it has about a million moving parts. I need to make sure that we’re meeting the legal requirements of every state and city, not to mention that the selling party is meeting all the standards set by the purchasing party.
I’m behind schedule, so I’ve turned off my phone, skipped lunch, and asked my assistant not to disturb me unless it’s an emergency. My office has a glass wall, and I’ve put my laptop on the credenza behind my desk so I’m facing away from the entrance and am less likely to be distracted.
I hear the door to my office open and the click of heels on the floor. I figure it’s Maggie, the paralegal, bringing me the additional research I requested.
“Just leave the papers on my desk,” I say without turning around. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, but I didn’t bring any papers.”
It’s not Maggie’s voice—it’s my wife’s. I jerk up my head and swivel around in my chair. “Jess! What happened to all your meetings on the West Coast?”
“I missed you,” she says.
I know that’s not enough of a reason for her to cancel a series of meetings, but I decide to go along for the moment. She’s wearing a tailored navy dress and her hair is down. She looks polished and professional and gorgeous, and most importantly, she’s smiling.
I stand up and she crosses over to me, stepping behind my chair. Her perfume, Beautiful, wafts around me. I kiss her, and she gives me a hug. Through the door, my assistant, Gwen, is watching, her expression anxious. I’m sure she’s wondering if she did the right thing, letting Jess interrupt me.
I give Gwen a thumbs-up. Her face creases into a relieved smile and she turns back to her computer.
“How did you get past Guard Gwen?” I ask.
Jessica glances at the woman with closely cropped gray hair who runs the office at optimum efficiency. “I told her I wanted to surprise you. She’s really a romantic at heart.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow.
Jessica laughs. “Okay, okay. I told her I’m hoping to drag you to lunch. She said you’ve been eating at your desk or skipping lunch entirely.”
“That’s more like the Gwen I know.” She’s a pro at guarding me from unwelcome clients and other distractions, but she’s all about three squares a day. I glance back at my computer. “Sorry, Jessica, but I’m really behind with this project.”
“Hey, I got up at three this morning and flew cross-country to see you,” she replies.
“Yeah, but . . .”
“You took off Monday afternoon to go to the zoo,” she reminds me. “Surely you can spare the time for a quick bite with your wife.”
I don’t like the reprimand in her voice about taking some time off Monday, but it’s not worth arguing about. “Okay, okay. But it’ll have to be quick.”
“No problem. I understand deadlines and work pressures.”
“I know you do.” That’s one thing we have in common. At the moment, I’m feeling kind of hard-pressed to think of anything else. I grab my phone off my desk and my jacket off the back of the chair. “Let’s go.”
We head to the Store on Gravier Street—a deceptively plain-looking little diner that serves fabulous New Orleans food. I order the shrimp ’n slaw po’boy, and she orders the house salad with blackened shrimp.
“Why did you really bail on your meetings?” I ask, after we’ve settled at a table by the window.
She unfolds a napkin. “I hated the way we left things. I feel awful about what I did, and I want to make it up to you.”
I squeeze a lemon wedge into my iced tea, putting my hand over it to contain the spray of juice. I want to say something like, You can’t put toothpaste back in the tube, but opt to keep my mouth shut.
“You sounded so excited on the phone when you talked about Lily.”
“Yeah, well, she’s really something.” I can’t help but smile at the thought of her.
“So maybe you can forgive me a little?”
“I do.” I say. What I don’t say is, But I’m not sure I entirely trust you. “She’s a terrific kid.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
I kind of freeze. Jess said this on the phone yesterday, but I can’t help remembering all the times she launched into a crying jag at the possibility of me having a child. “Don’t you think that’ll be hard on you?”
“No, no—I’ll be fine. I’ve done a lot of soul searching over the last few days, and I’ve really had a change of perspective.”
She would have needed to have a complete change of personality. My expression must give away my thoughts, because she leans over the table.
“I mean it,” she says. “I used to think it would be the worst thing in the world if another woman had your child when I can’t give you one, but now, well . . .” She takes a sip of iced tea. When she puts down the glass, I notice her hand quivers a little. “Our argument made me realize that the worst thing in the world would be losing you.”
It’s the sort of comment that should move me, but it doesn’t. I wonder if she’s trying to play me somehow, and then I’m ashamed of the thought. She’s your wife, I think. Just tell her what she wants to hear. “You don’t have to worry about that. We’re married, for better or for worse.”
“I hope it’s for better.” Her smile seems a little forced. “Oh, I have some family news! My brother’s wife is pregnant. We had a family dinner last night to celebrate.”
“Oh, yeah?” She’s always been distraught whenever anyone close to her becomes pregnant. It’s like they stuck a knife in a bleeding wound, she once told me. As if they’re saying, “Na na na na boo boo, I can do what you can’t do.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” I say.
“It was when I first heard about it, but then Brett—he’s my Realtor—said pregnancy isn’t a competitive sport. And you know what? He’s right. He also pointed out that my brother’s baby has absolutely nothing to do with me, aside from being my new little niece or nephew. So I changed the way I think about it, and I’m happy for them.”
I don’t believe it; it’s too pat a
nd simplistic. I suspect my wife is feeding me a line of bull. This disturbs me a lot; whether she actually is or whether I just think she is, it doesn’t speak well for the state of our marriage. “I wish I’d thought of that ‘competitive sport’ comment a couple of years ago and saved us both a world of pain,” I say drily.
She gives a little laugh. “Yeah. I think my hormones must finally be balancing out or something.”
“Well, great. That’s great.” I’m still not buying it. This is a pretty drastic transformation in three days’ time.
“Have you told Lily yet that you’re her father?” she asks.
“No.”
“Don’t you think you ought to?”
I’m more than a little confused by this. “I would have thought that’s the last thing you’d want.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I imagine you’re going to want to continue seeing her, so it seems like a natural next step.”
Who are you, and what have you done with my wife? “Legally, I’m a donor, not a father,” I say. “Besides, this is a bad time to pile on any more family confusion. And there’s another issue at stake here: I want to honor the wishes of her late mother. Brooke intended to adhere to the terms of the donor contract, which means Lily’s not supposed to find out the identity of her father until she’s eighteen.”
“Who said that? Quinn or Margaret?”
“Well, Quinn.”
“But Margaret’s still the legal guardian, right?”
I don’t like the tone of these questions. “I haven’t seen the will, but from what I understand, Quinn is primary guardian if Margaret is incapacitated. And Margaret is definitely incapacitated.”
“Don’t you think you ought to look at the will?”
I’ve thought of this, but I’m startled that Jess is bringing it up. “Why?”
She lifts her shoulders. “Just to know what it says about guardianship. You’re the child’s father, after all.”
“Legally, I’m the anonymous donor. Where are you going with this?”
Jessica folds her hands on the table. “You’re the next of kin. Maybe you could get guardianship, then I could adopt her and we could raise her in Seattle.”
