She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  An older attorney at the firm took me for a drink three weeks before the ceremony. “You look like hell, son. What’s wrong?”

  I spilled my worries about my upcoming marriage. “I don’t know if she’s the right woman, or if she just came along at the right time.”

  “There’s not a lot of difference,” he said. “You could build a good marriage with any number of women. It’s a matter of making a commitment and sticking to it.”

  The words sounded practical.

  “You made a commitment to marry her when you proposed, so you’re in pretty deep already,” he added.

  “Yeah.” I’ve always been big believer in honoring commitments—my dad was a stickler about keeping your word—which was why I was so freaked out to be having second thoughts. “But what if proposing was a mistake?” I asked. “I’m not sure I feel as strongly about her as I should.”

  “It’s normal to have doubts before making a major life step.” He swirled his tumbler of scotch.“The question is, are you unsure enough to break her heart, embarrass her and her family, and cost her parents all the wedding expenses that can’t be recouped?”

  In the end, I wasn’t sure I was that unsure. I couldn’t even articulate my reasons for having cold feet, so I kept my mouth shut, chalked it up to pre-wedding jitters, and married Jessica as planned.

  As far as I’m concerned, marriage is for life; I said those words at the altar, so I intend to stick by them. I need to have more compassion, I think now as I cross through the parking garage. Jessica’s been through a lot; she sees her infertility as a personal failure, and the miscarriage and unsuccessful treatments have really taken a toll on her. They’ve taken a toll on me, too, but mostly they’ve taken a toll on our marriage.

  Going through a hard time can put lot of pressure on a relationship. Sometimes it pushes a couple together; I think about my parents, working so hard to reimagine and rebuild my father’s business when the big-box store moved next door. Other times it pulls them apart; I think about my buddy Austin, whose marriage broke up after he lost his job and he couldn’t find a comparable one.

  I feel for Jess, I really do. I know that suddenly having Lily in my life is tough on her, but she’s the one who couldn’t leave well enough alone, who insisted on finding out if I had a child. Despite my empathy for her, I can’t seem to let go of the fact that this is all her doing.

  That’s one of my character flaws; I have trouble letting things go. I need to work on that, I think as I climb into my car and start the engine. Love is an action word; it’s something you do, not just something you feel. I need to try harder, to put in more effort, to be more understanding.

  The sun is rising over the bend in the levee as I pull out from the parking garage, and I squint in the glare. I always heard that marriage is a lot of work, but my parents never seemed to struggle at it.

  Another, more unsettling thought hits me as I look both ways before turning onto Tchoupitoulas: at some point, isn’t marriage supposed to be a two-way street?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Quinn

  “THANK YOU FOR working me into your schedule, especially on such short notice,” I say to my attorney as his assistant escorts me into his office at ten Thursday morning.

  The nameplate on his desk says, Martin Stephen Schiller, Esq., but everyone calls him Marty. He has a slight paunch, a nearly bald hairline, and bushy gray eyebrows that look like caterpillars, but the brown eyes under them are warm and intelligent, and he has a fatherly way about him that puts me at ease. He has photos of his wife and two grown daughters on his desk. Every time I come to his office, I wonder if they realize how lucky they are to have such a great guy as their dad.

  I first met Marty, as I met practically everyone else I now know in New Orleans, through Brooke. He handled her will and other legal affairs. When I first became interested in moving to Louisiana, she referred me to him, and he helped me set up my business.

  Margaret and I went to his office together shortly after Brooke’s death, and he gently guided us through her will. Brooke had considerable assets from her late parents’ estate and life insurance benefits, and she carried a large life insurance policy herself. She left Lily well provided for. Among other arrangements, she set up a trust to pay Lily’s guardian a generous monthly stipend for her care.

  Marty rises from behind his desk and walks around in front of it as his assistant leaves the office and closes the door. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Quinn.” He shakes my hand in both of his and we exchange pleasantries. “I was so sorry to hear about Margaret’s health problems,” he says. “How’s she doing?”

  I’d explained the situation to his receptionist when I made the appointment. “She’s better, but she’s in for a long rehabilitation, and she’s had some permanent damage to her heart. The doctor calls this a ‘life-changing event.’”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Marty says. “I assume that means it’s a life-changing event for you and Lily, as well.”

  I nod. “It looks like it. I have a few questions about Brooke’s will.”

  “Of course, of course.” He gestures for me to sit down across from his desk in a navy armchair printed with tiny fleurs-de-lis, and he seats himself next to me in an identical one, eschewing his desk chair. “This seems to be a day for that.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “What?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say anything if it were the other way around, but you’re my client.” He puts his left ankle over his right knee, revealing navy-and-white-polka-dot socks. “An intern from another law firm came by asking for a copy of Brooke’s will this morning.”

  Goose bumps rise on my arms. “What law firm?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know.

  “Schoen, Roberts, Moreau, and Associates. I was in court when he dropped by, so he talked to my assistant. He said a member of his firm had asked him to get a copy of the will from the courthouse. It isn’t yet on file there—I’m afraid my office is a little behind on paperwork. My assistant knew it would soon be public record, though, so she gave him a copy.”

  I suddenly feel ill. I move my hands from my lap to my stomach.

  “Are you all right?” he asks. “You look upset.”

  I draw a deep breath and tell him about Zack entering the picture.

  “I see.” His forehead creases like corrugated cardboard. He steeples his fingers together.

  “There’s more.” I clasp, then unclasp my hands in my lap. “I’m pregnant.”

  His eyes go wide. “Well, congratulations.”

  “Thank you. The baby . . .” My mouth is suddenly dry. “The baby—well, I wanted to use a donor, like Brooke, and Brooke had some extra, um . . .” I hate to use the word sperm; I don’t know why I’m so prissy about it. “Donor material frozen at the cryobank.” I draw a deep breath. “So the fact is, I’m pregnant with Lily’s half sibling. It—it’s also Zack’s child. Zack Bradley—that’s the name of the father. He’s an attorney with the law firm you mentioned. So I want to make sure . . .” I stop and swallow. “I’m afraid, especially after what you just told me about someone from his firm getting a copy of Brooke’s will, that Zack might try to get custody of Lily.” My heart patters hard. “And—and of my baby, once he finds out about it.”

  “Oh, my. Yes, I can see how that’s concerning.”

  “I brought a copy of the donor contract he signed. The cryobank said that the same terms would apply to me as applied to Brooke if I were inseminated at a physician’s office. I was, of course.” I reach into my leather tote by the chair, pull out a file folder, and hand it to him. “I also brought a copy of my medical records.”

  He takes the papers from me and looks at them. “This is the same donor agreement that’s in Brooke’s files, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “I looked at that again when I pulled out her will.” He leans back and t
aps his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Has Mr. Bradley said anything about wanting guardianship?”

  “No, but why else would he want a copy of the will? I happen to know that he and his wife are having fertility issues, and I don’t want him to think he can swoop in and grab up a ready-made family. And Margaret—well, I don’t know her reasoning in contacting him right after Brooke’s death. She may want him to have custody.” I tell him about her odd comments about the importance of family and her desire for me to tell Lily that Zack is her father.

  “I see. I see.” He frowns and sits forward. “Well, I’ll have to research this, but my understanding is that donor contracts are almost always upheld, although, of course, he can challenge it. If he decides to mount a legal challenge, your biggest problem will be that he’s an attorney.”

  My brow knits. “But he specializes in corporate mergers.”

  “Yes, but regardless of his specialty, he can stretch things out and file suit after suit until you’re financially exhausted.”

  My stomach knots. “I don’t think he’s that type, but . . .”

  “I hope you’re right. Custody situations tend to bring out the worst in people.”

  My spirits start to sink.

  “He may not want guardianship at all; he might just want to see what the arrangements are for the child’s care and to make sure that the mother’s wishes are being followed. Or perhaps he’s looking for some kind of visitation.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “Anyone can sue anybody for anything. It doesn’t mean he’ll get it. But considering that he’s an attorney—and it looks like a good one; he’s with a very well-respected firm—my advice would be to work out some kind of friendly arrangement, if that’s what he’s after.” His gaze is direct and somber. “The donor contract should be binding, but you don’t want to get into a legal showdown. And the children might resent it if down the road they learn you kept them from knowing their father.”

  That’s what Sarah had said. I fight back a rising wave of despair. “So what’s my status right now? Am I the legal guardian of Lily, or can Margaret overrule me?”

  “According to the terms of the will, you are now Lily’s guardian, because Margaret is incapacitated.” He pulls a notebook from his jacket pocket and jots something down. “I’ll handle the paperwork to get the trust payments for Lily’s care sent to you.”

  “Is there any way Margaret can cause problems if she recovers enough to think she can care for Lily?”

  He taps his fingers together. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue. There’s a note in Brooke’s papers that she wanted you named primary guardian when Margaret turned eighty, and that ought to hold up in court. If you can get a statement from her doctor that her health is precarious and that, in his opinion, she’s permanently unfit to care for a young child, well, that would be helpful, too.”

  I’m pretty certain the hospitalist I met with will write a statement to that effect. “All right.”

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “I’m going to need to update my own will.”

  “Oh, yes! Yes, you certainly will. I’ll send you home with some papers. You can email them to me, then we’ll set up an appointment for you to come back when you’re ready.” He stands, signaling the meeting is over. “Try not to worry, Quinn. Hopefully Mr. Bradley is just trying to ensure that Lily’s interests are protected.”

  “I hope that’s all it is,” I say, but not worrying is easier said than done.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jessica

  IT FEELS WEIRD to be at home during a workday, but since I skipped the meetings in California because I said I had a family emergency, it would be even weirder to go into my office at the New Orleans hotel. I decide to get a head start on packing up the condo for the move.

  I’m sorting through some items in the back of the clothes closet when my phone dings, indicating I’ve received a text. I pick it up and see that it’s from Brett: Hey, how are things in the Big Easy?

  My mood immediately lightens. Great, I text. How are things there?

  Good. Is now an ok time to call?

  Sure.

  A few seconds later, my phone rings. “Hi, Brett,” I say. My voice sounds slightly breathless.

  “Hi. Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

  “Not really. I’m home playing hooky.” I walk into the living room and plop down on the sofa. “How was Petey’s softball game?”

  “Great! He hit two base runs and caught an outfield fly ball. I’m especially proud of that catch. Kids his age hardly ever do that.”

  “He must have gotten his father’s athletic prowess.”

  “His father has prowess, huh? That sounds kinda sexy.”

  “Well, it kinda is.” I feel my face heat. OMG, am I flirting? “But that wasn’t the point I was trying to make; I was saying your son is a chip off the old block.”

  He laughs. “I knew what you meant. I was just joking around.”

  “I figured.”

  “I, uh, I probably shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes I don’t think things through before I say them. I didn’t mean to be sexist or offensive or—or make you uncomfortable.”

  “You weren’t. And you didn’t.”

  “Good.”

  I smile at how relieved he sounds. He’s a lot more sensitive than I figured an ex-jock would be.

  “Listen, I’m calling because I’ve drawn up some graphics showing how we could remodel that last house. They’re preliminary, of course—just a starting point. But it’ll give you some idea of the possibilities for that place, as well as the cost estimates.”

  “This really is like Property Brothers.”

  “I don’t have a twin, but I do the best I can.”

  I laugh. “You’re as good as two people.”

  “Do you want me to text or email them?”

  “Email, please.”

  “Will do. I didn’t put the timeline on there, but the whole project would probably take about eight weeks.”

  “That’s not bad.” I turn and pace back to the kitchen. “Especially if we can lease the condo you showed me for the eight weeks.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll look forward to seeing the graphics. And I’ll be back out there next week.”

  “Good.” His voice is warm. “How is everything else going?”

  “With Zack? It’s kind of a mixed bag.” I stare out the window. “He seemed less than thrilled at my unexpected return, but I interrupted his workday and he’s under a lot of pressure. We had a great evening, though. But then, this morning, he left before six to go to the hospital.” Before I know it, I’ve told him practically everything—including how Zack didn’t seem interested in getting full guardianship, how I went by Quinn’s store undercover, and how seeing Quinn and Lily had affected me.

  “Lily looks so much like Zack that it shocked me. It was like a punch in the gut or an out-of-body experience or being punched in the gut while having an out-of-body experience. But that’s a non sequitur, because if I were out of my body, I’d have no gut to punch.”

  “Yes, that’s a consideration.” I could hear a smile in his voice. “I get what you mean, though.” There’s silence over the phone, but it isn’t uncomfortable. “I think you were wise to go home and be with your husband.”

  “I do, too, but it feels like he’s not really here with me.”

  “Hoo boy.” He sighs. “I know that feeling.”

  “Any suggestions about what to do?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask.” His voice has a rueful tone. “Your situation is different from mine, though. Off the top of my head, I’d say you need to hang in there and get to know the key players.”

  “That’s what I think, too.”

  “But, Jes
s—you have to be up front about it. You can’t give your husband any more reasons not to trust you.”

  I feel a little stab of guilt about going by Quinn’s shop the way I did. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  We share another second of silence. “Well, I’d better let you go.” He sounds a little reluctant to hang up, and I’m not eager to get off the line, either. But it’s time.

  “Okay. I’ll look forward to seeing the house plans.”

  “Good. I’m eager to know what you and your husband think. And, Jess?”

  “Yes?”

  “You can text or call me anytime.” He pauses a moment. “About anything.”

  I feel a rush of gratitude. “Okay,” I say. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  A lot more than it probably should, I think as I hang up my phone. I can talk to him more easily than I can talk with anyone else in my life right now, even my sister. Certainly more easily than I can talk with Zack. I have a clean slate with Brett. He seems to accept and like me just as I am.

  He seems to feel about me, I realize, the way I always wanted to feel about myself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Quinn

  “YOU DON’T NEED to undress for your ultrasound,” the nurse says, after she takes my blood pressure and temperature in the small examination room. Sarah is with me. “You’ll just need to lie back on the exam table and loosen your pants. Is your bladder full?”

  “Yes,” I say. I’d been given instructions to arrive that way, and as usual, I’d overdone it. I feel in danger of peeing my pants.

  “Good. That should help us see the baby.” The nurse, a petite woman with shoulder-length dark hair, smiles. “Normally Dr. Mercer would use the transvaginal ultrasound this early, but that machine is out of our office this week. This new abdominal one is really sensitive, though, so hopefully we’ll still get a relatively clear image. If not, you can come back next week.”