She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  Up until now, Zack and I have always worked things out. A little time would go by, and whatever disagreement we had would fade into the background. We’d reconnect and move on.

  But this situation is different. I feel it in my gut, in the place where hard truths live. We were already unraveling before we had that argument. Instead of reconnecting with me, Zack is connecting with his newly discovered daughter.

  His daughter, not our daughter. That little possessive adjective looms large. He’s forming a relationship with Lily, and that relationship has nothing to do with me.

  I couldn’t believe how hard and how fast he shot down my idea of us trying to get custody of her. I’d thought that was the answer—for me to embrace her, for us to become a family, for all of us to move to Seattle and leave these outsiders behind. I’m shocked by how badly I miscalculated his reaction. I’m starting to feel like I’m married to a stranger.

  I pick up an antique perfume atomizer from a mirrored boudoir tray and lift it to my nose, hoping to get a hint of what it used to hold. It smells vaguely sweet and distant. If I were naming it, I’d call it “Memories of My Marriage.”

  Well, I intend to revitalize our relationship. I’ve read that the easiest way to feel closer to your spouse is to share a great experience together. I need to give the whole seducing-my-husband concept another try tonight. That’s the real reason I flew home. There are some things you just have to handle in person.

  We need to reestablish our marital bond. I’m not liking how much time and emotional energy he’s spending with Quinn and Lily.

  Especially Quinn. She’s pretty, accomplished, and the guardian of his child, and . . .

  “May I help you?”

  An attractive blond woman in her late forties or early fifties steps from a back room. She’s wearing a cream-colored shift with a Ferragamo scarf and Tabitha Simmons sling-backs, and she looks as well put together as the store displays.

  I put the perfume bottle back on the tray. “Oh, I’m just looking.”

  “Of course. Take your time.”

  Maybe she’s the one who arranged all the merchandise. “It’s a beautiful shop,” I say.

  “Yes, isn’t it? The owner, Quinn Langston, is very talented.”

  So much for my hopes.

  “I’d love to meet her,” I say. “Is she here?”

  “Not at the moment. She left to pick up her godchild from preschool, but she should be back in a few minutes.”

  So maybe Lily will be with her? My heart pounds hard. I don’t know what Quinn has or hasn’t shared with her employees about Zack’s appearance in her life, so I don’t ask.

  “Are you wanting to schedule a consultation?” the woman asks. “She doesn’t have any openings right now, but I’m her assistant, and I’m available.” She gives a diffident smile.

  “Actually, I’d just like to browse.”

  “Of course. Make yourself at home.” She retreats to the back of the store.

  I amble through the displays until I hear a door open in the back. “Hello there, Lily,” the older woman says.

  “Hi, Miss Terri!” exclaims a high, childlike voice.

  Loud smooching sounds follow. I hear another woman talking with Terri, and then Quinn walks into the front room. I recognize her from her photos, but she’s taller and prettier in person. I feel a stab of jealousy. She’s wearing jeans, a black shirt, and a thin gray sweater. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and what looks like an antique turquoise necklace hangs around her throat.

  She gives me a friendly smile. “Hello. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I’m just enjoying your lovely store.”

  “Thank you. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

  I lift my shoulders. “I’m going to be moving soon, so I’m collecting ideas. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, no, that’s exactly what this place is all about.”

  “Is the bunny chair still here?” The child’s voice floats from the side room.

  “The what?” I recognize Terri’s voice.

  “You had a chair with bunnies on it the last time I was here.”

  “Oh, right—the Easter display. The chair’s still here, but I’m afraid the bunnies are all gone.”

  “Oh.”

  The little girl steps into my view. She’s wearing capris printed with lollipops, a T-shirt with a ruffled neckline, and a pink tutu. Her hair is light blond and wavy, pulled away from her face with an enormous pink bow. And her eyes . . . my breath hitches in my throat. Her eyes are exactly like Zack’s.

  “How ’bout the Sunshine King’s chair?”

  Quinn puts her hand on the child’s head. “Clever girl—you remembered that Louis the Fourteenth was called the Sun King.”

  She nods.

  “That chair sold,” Terri says.

  “Aww!” Lily exclaims.

  “But we have a new one that’s painted like the Cat in the Hat.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! I want to see!” She yo-yos up and down on her toes, then spots me and ducks behind Quinn. “Who’s that lady?” she whispers very loudly.

  “She’s a customer,” Quinn whispers back.

  “Oh. She’s really pretty.”

  Quinn looks at me and smiles, apparently knowing how the child’s voice carries. “She is, isn’t she?”

  “Thanks,” I say to Lily. “You’re very pretty, too.”

  Lily steps out from behind Quinn. “Thank you.” She smiles, and my heart swoons. She’s got Zack’s dimple!

  She tilts her head as she looks at me. “You kinda look like the mommy of one of my friends. Are you a mommy?”

  “I don’t have any children,” I say, “but I’d like to.”

  “Well, you’d better hurry up.”

  “Lily!” Quinn scolds. She gives me an apologetic smile.

  “My mommy says ladies shouldn’ wait too late to have chil’ren,” Lily says.

  “Oh,” I say, a little flabbergasted. Lily—or maybe her mother—seems eerily psychic.

  “My mommy died,” Lily announces.

  “Oh!” I know this, of course, but I’m jarred to hear her say it. “I’m—I’m very sorry.”

  Lily nods somberly. “She’s in heaven. An’ my grams is in the hospital, but she might not die because she got to have an op’ration. I was livin’ with her, but now I live with Auntie Quinn.”

  “Oh. Well. How . . . nice,” I say, at a loss for words.

  Quinn puts her hand on Lily’s head and gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sure that’s more information than you bargained for.”

  “Mommy says it’s always good to have lots of information,” Lily pipes up.

  “She sounds like a very smart lady,” I say.

  “She is.”

  “I can tell you take after her.” I smile at Lily, then turn to Quinn. “Well, I’d better be going. Thank you for letting me look around.”

  “Come back anytime.” Quinn walks me to the door and picks up a business card from a silver bowl. “If we can help with any of your design needs, let us know.”

  “I’m afraid I’m about to move out of state,” I say.

  “Not a problem. We do video phone consultations with long-distance clients all the time.”

  “Terrific.” I take the card. “Thanks.” I wave at Lily, who is climbing on a rocking horse at the side of the room. “Good-bye.”

  She waves back. “Bye.”

  The bell above the door tinkles as I hurry outside. About half a block away, I toss the card into a trash can, wishing I could rid my life of this whole complication as easily.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Quinn

  I GET GOOSE bumps when I first see the beautiful brunette in my store. She looks familiar, but I’m not entirely certain who she is until I
pull out my cell phone and re-google Zack’s wife.

  “Sure enough,” I murmur.

  “What’s going on?” Terri asks.

  I put my finger to my lips and eye Lily, who’s climbed off the rocking horse and is now playing tea party with a vintage Raggedy Ann doll. I hand Terri my phone. She studies the photo, but still looks confused.

  “Lily,” I call, “Terri and I need to look at the window display from the street. We’ll be right outside on the sidewalk. You can see us through the window, and we can see you.”

  We hustle out the front door.

  “That’s the woman who was just here, all right,” Terri says, pointing at the photo on my cell phone screen. “Who is she?”

  “Jessica Bradley. Zack’s wife.”

  “Oh!” Terri’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t she just say so?”

  “I imagine she wanted to quietly scope out the situation.”

  “Why?”

  I blow out a long breath. “I hope she’s just curious, but I’m afraid that Zack wants guardianship of Lily.”

  “Oh, no!” Terri’s brows pull together over worried eyes. “Quinn, you need to talk to your lawyer.”

  I nod, my stomach tight. “You’re right.”

  “Why on earth did Margaret stir all this up?”

  I lift my shoulders. “I think she was going to tell me yesterday, but she was too groggy.”

  “How’s she doing? You had a meeting with her doctor today, didn’t you?”

  I nod. As the legal guardian of her great-grandchild, I qualify as her next of kin. “I met with the hospitalist overseeing her care to discuss her treatment plan. Tomorrow or the next day, they hope to move her to a regular patient room on a floor where she’ll get more extensive physical and occupational therapy. She’ll be there a week or two, then she’ll go to an inpatient rehabilitation facility for a few weeks.”

  “Here in New Orleans?”

  “Yes. There’s no one in Alexandria to care for her. Her friends are all her age or older.”

  “So you’re Lily’s permanent guardian?”

  I nod. That’s the one good thing that’s come out of all this. “Seems like it. I need to talk to my attorney, but Margaret seems accepting of the fact that she won’t be able to care for Lily. My fear is that she’ll want to get Zack named guardian instead of me.”

  “She can’t do that, can she? She’s not even mentally stable.”

  “She’s less out of it than she was right after the surgery, but she’s not completely clearheaded. She had some heart damage and she’s intermittently on oxygen. The doctors aren’t sure if it’s fluctuating oxygen levels or if she has a little brain damage or if she’s just confused from the anesthesia and all the pain meds.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “And her birthday is Friday.”

  “She turns eighty?”

  I nod. “I want to hold a little party for her in the hospital. I thought I’d get a cake and invite the single parent group. And you, of course!”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely!”

  “I’m hoping it will perk her up.”

  “Count me in! You know I’ll do whatever I can to help out in any way.”

  “You’ve been an amazing help,” I say. “You’ve taken the burden of running the shop and the business off my shoulders and you’ve been a wonderful friend.”

  She shrugs. “I always dreamed of having a shop like this, so getting to run it is a dream come true.”

  My heart swells with fondness. “Thanks, Terri.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She looks at her watch. “You need to call your attorney before his office closes. I’ll go back inside and check on Lily.”

  “I don’t know how I’d manage without you.”

  “Well, hopefully you’ll won’t get a chance to find out.” She points to the phone in my hand. “Use that thing and call!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Zack

  Thursday, May 16

  I’VE ALMOST MADE it out of the bedroom without waking Jess, but then my keys jangle against the stainless steel tray on my bureau when I pick them up.

  “Are you going for a run?” Jess asks in a sleep-muzzy voice.

  “Sorry—I didn’t mean to wake you.” The keys rattle a little more as I put them in my pocket.

  “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  She reaches for her phone on the nightstand and brings it in front of her face. “It’s just five forty-five.” She raises up on an elbow and squints at me in the semidarkness. “And you’re already dressed for work?”

  “Yeah. I’m going by the hospital to talk to Margaret’s cardiologist. He makes rounds early.”

  She sits up, flips on the bedside lamp, and scowls. “Why would you do that?”

  Her tone needles me. “Quinn can’t do it because she has Lily, and children her age aren’t allowed in the post-ICU rooms. It’s a way I can help out.”

  She pushes her hair out of her face, settles back against the headboard, and folds her arms. “You’re more involved with Quinn than you are with me.”

  I draw a deep breath. Love is patient, love is kind, I remind myself. “Look—Lily and Quinn and Margaret are in a difficult situation right now. I can help out, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “But, Zack, going to the hospital at this hour and talking to her doctor—it’s too much. It’s overinvolvement. It’s—it’s inappropriate.”

  I feel my face turn to granite. My sister used to call me Stoneface Zackson, because my face gets kind of hard and unmoving when I’m upset. My voice gets hard, too. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “So you’re just going to ignore my feelings and do it anyway?”

  “I care what you think and feel, Jess, but I can’t let your insecurities run my life.”

  “My insecurities?” Her eyes go wide and hurt.

  I sigh. I know better than to speak so bluntly, but it’s hard to constantly tiptoe around her. “Sorry. I should have worded that more sensitively.” I grab my phone and my watch and start toward the door.

  “Wait—you’re right, Zack. I do feel insecure. Truth be told, I feel threatened as hell.”

  It’s a new move for her, admitting she’s vulnerable. I turn back and circle the bed to kiss her good-bye. “You have nothing to feel threatened about.”

  “I know I don’t. I’m being ridiculous.” She clasps her arms around my neck. “I enjoyed last night.”

  “I did, too.” We’d made love for the first time in a long, long time. Having dinner with friends had been good for us—we’d laughed and talked and had a few of drinks, and things had loosened up between us. And then, as soon as we stepped through the door of the condo, Jess had pressed herself against me and unfastened my belt.

  “I want you,” she’d whispered, her mouth against my lips, her fingers moving on to my zipper. “Right here. Right now.”

  We’d stripped off each other’s clothes in the living room, then I’d carried her to the bedroom. It wasn’t tender makeup sex; it was hard and fast and primal, more about physical release than emotional connection. When it was over, I’d held her close and listened to her talk about houses in Seattle. She always likes to talk after sex, but all I really wanted to do last night was sleep.

  “I’ll see you this evening,” I tell her now.

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” She playfully twirls my tie. “But instead of waiting all day, you could just take off that suit and come back to bed right now.”

  I grin and back away. “Sorry, but I can’t.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I’m sure you would, but I have to go.”

  She huffs out a displeased sig
h. “You don’t have to. You want to.”

  “Come on, Jess, It’s the right thing to do.”

  “And it’s not right to care about your wife’s feelings?”

  “Don’t turn this into something it’s not.” Damn it, I hate it when she tries to manipulate me. I head to the door. “Talk to you later.”

  I take the stairs down to the parking garage. It’s probably not fair to Jessica, but ever since the donor site debacle, I’ve found myself critical of her behavior. I keep thinking, Who is this? She wasn’t like this when I married her—was she?

  Maybe she was and I just couldn’t see it. We became involved just a few months after my father died, when I was in a pretty dark place. I’d lost my mother the year before, and when Dad passed so suddenly and unexpectedly, I’d felt completely unmoored. I missed having a sense of family.

  I met Jessica at the wedding of a law school classmate at the Columns Hotel on St. Charles Avenue. I was a groomsman, and she was a work friend of the bride. The couple had tried to set us up earlier, but I’d declined; I hated fix-ups.

  The bride’s sister sailed over to my table at the reception. “I was told that one of my duties as matron of honor was to introduce you to Jessica and make sure you danced with her.”

  “Okay,” I said. I followed her across the room, and she introduced me to a knockout brunette in a burgundy dress.

  Jessica bowled me over with her looks and her smarts. That dance had led to brunch the next day. She made it clear early on that she wanted marriage and children, and that she’d always dreamed of a summer wedding. Six months later, I proposed to her under the branches of a sprawling oak at New Orleans City Park during the annual Christmastime Celebration in the Oaks. Everyone said, “Wow, this is all happening really fast,” but I figured, what’s the point of waiting?

  She planned an elaborate wedding in Seattle for the following summer. As the event drew closer, dread loomed over me like a storm-threatening cloud. I didn’t want to admit it even to myself, but I was having second thoughts. I lost sleep, I lost weight, and I lost my ability to concentrate.