The Way They Were

by Mary Campisi

  “But,” he stared at Rourke as though he couldn’t assimilate his words. “How could that be possible?”

  Rourke lifted a brow.

  “No, that’s not what I meant to say.” He dabbed his forehead with increased effort. “But how can that be?”

  Rourke had toyed with the poor man long enough. Miles was a man of contracts and litigation and codicils. Emotion was like an algebraic equation written in Hindu. “Kate and I knew one another when we were teenagers.” Now for the blast. “Her mother was driving the car that hit my mother.”

  “Good God.”

  “Exactly. Diana flew to Montpelier, scooped me up and dumped me at Princeton before I realized what was happening. At the time, I hardly knew my aunt, but she was so efficient and so damned authoritative, I never thought to question her.”

  “That’s Diana,” Miles said. “I’m sure she abhorred the publicity.”

  “That’s the thing, there wasn’t any.”

  “Ah. She must have called in quite a few favors to keep that quiet. I was working here at the time and never heard a word. I never knew she had a nephew until you showed up for work.”

  “That was a long time ago. The old bird’s softened a bit, wouldn’t you say?”

  Miles lifted a brow. “I’m afraid I must abstain from answering on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”

  “Okay, okay, I got it. But she’s on the verge of softening.”

  “Any century now.”

  Rourke saw the soft side of his aunt, not often and not for long stretches, but it was there, no matter how much she tried to hide it.

  “So you broke off with Mrs. Maden and never knew she was pregnant?”

  “More or less.” No sense telling him she’d found his replacement mere weeks later.

  “And you never knew?”

  Rourke shook his head. “Not until recently, no.” He thought of the journal tucked safely in his briefcase next to the file on Kate. How ironically appropriate.

  “Good Lord, this is a shock.”

  “Now do you understand?”

  “Yes, now it all makes sense. But half, Rourke? Do you know how much money that is?” Rourke didn’t bother to answer. “Of course, you do, that’s not what I meant. But isn’t there another relative, perhaps a distant cousin?”

  “This is my daughter we’re talking about, Miles.”

  “What does Diana have to say about this?”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  Miles cleared his throat. Twice. “I wouldn’t want to be you when she finds out.”

  “I’ll handle Diana.”

  Miles converted to lawyer mode. “How do you know she’s really your child? Hearsay? The woman told you?”

  “I know.” Even if Kate hadn’t admitted it in the journal, Julia had his eyes, and his chin, and his fingers…the more he looked, the more he found himself in his daughter.

  Miles let out a resigned sigh. “What about the woman?”

  “What about her?”

  “Are you going to inform her of the trust?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Is there nothing I can do to dissuade you?”

  “No.”

  Miles sat up straighter and began making notes. “I’ll have the papers drawn up. Will there be anything else?”

  “One more thing. Set up a trust for the other half of my estate.”

  Miles paused and asked in a tight voice. “I’ll need the recipient’s name.”

  “Relax. This one’s more flexible. I’ll know in the next eight months or so.” He thought of Janice and her claims. And then he thought of Julia and her vehement statement that Janice would never have a child. “I’ll know by then if I need this trust or not.”

  Ten minutes later, Miles left Rourke’s office with notes and a promise to have papers ready in twenty-four hours. The man would have to learn that everything wasn’t about legalities and the bottom line. Sometimes there were far more important things, like people.

  He rang Maxine and she entered carrying a pad of paper and a pen. “Yes, sir?”

  “Miles just left,” he said, waiting to see if she’d offer any comment. He’d seen the two of them talking at the coffee station and from the look on Miles’s face, there was more brewing than Seattle’s Best.

  “Yes, sir, he did just leave.” She kept her tone even but he swore her cheeks turned a few shades brighter.

  “Did he have anything to say?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Take a seat, Maxine.” She’d been in Montpelier, she’d met Kate, she’d spent time with Julia. “Miles isn’t very happy with me right now.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that, Mr. Flannigan.”

  “That’s why I’m telling you. You see, I asked him to set up a trust for Julia, and he doesn’t think I should do that.” She looked down at her pad and said nothing. “I told him Julia’s my daughter and I’m going to do right by her. She’ll visit me during breaks and in the summer, and I’ll be heading to Montpelier whenever I can get away to attend school events and whatnot.”

  Maxine nodded. “I’m sure she’d like that, sir.”

  He toyed with his pen. “I think so, but I’m not sure about her mother.” There it was, his real purpose for calling Maxine in. He slid a glance her way. “What do you think?”

  She busied herself with her pad and pen though he’d not asked her to write anything. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “But what do you think, Maxine? That’s all I’m asking. Just your thoughts.”

  “Well, sir, it could create a bit of a stir, I imagine.”

  “How so?” Maxine knew more than she was letting on.

  She fiddled with her glasses and avoided his gaze. “Julia’s mother might not be so welcoming.”

  “Has she said anything to you?”

  “No, sir, not directly.”

  “Have you spoken with her recently?” He felt like a prosecutor trying to force out a confession.

  “Not directly, no sir.”

  Maxine was a damn good protector. “I could use your help here, Maxine.”

  She dragged her gaze to his and said in a quiet voice filled with conviction, “She loves you, sir. She’s always loved you. But you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a predicament here and perhaps you should sort it out before you go involving Mrs. Maden.”

  She was talking about Janice. “You know?”

  Maxine nodded her curly head. “There’s only one thing that changes a man’s mind about a woman he doesn’t particularly care for.”

  “You’re a smart woman, Maxine.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “So, do you see a way out of this or should I just load a gun and shoot myself?”

  “I’m not sure that’s necessary, Mr. Flannigan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are some women who would say anything to achieve their goal.”

  He spread his hands on the desk and leaned closer. “You mean lie?”

  “I prefer to think of it as fabrication.”

  Rourke rubbed his jaw and considered her words. “We’re on the same page here. I’ve been trying to trip her up which is why I’ve been spending so much time with her, but so far, nothing. I have a private investigator checking into things. I’ll know in a few weeks.”

  “That’s very wise, sir.”

  He was already past Janice and thinking of Kate again. “Why won’t she return my calls?”

  “Perhaps she’s afraid of getting hurt again.”

  Afraid, it always boiled down to that. Anger seeped through his veins and into his words. “She’s afraid of life, that’s her problem.”

  Maxine paled. “Some people have a difficult time, sir.”

  It didn’t take an Einstein to see she was referring to herself. He wondered what she’d do if he told her he knew she had a thing for Miles and he’d lay money Miles had a thing for her, too. “Life passes by those who refuse to get on the train.”

  “Yes, sir
.”

  He flipped open a notebook and scanned the lines. “I’ve called her seven times a day for the past eleven days and she refused my calls. I’ve e-mailed her twenty times with no response, and sent seven letters. Do you think she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

  “It would appear so, sir, but in time, I’m certain she’ll come around, especially if things don’t work out with Ms. Prentiss.”

  “Things are not going to work out with Janice because even if on the two-tenths of a percent chance she is pregnant, I’m not marrying her. Men support children all the time and don’t marry the mothers.”

  “Very true, sir.”

  He sighed. “I suppose you know she refused my ring.”

  “Mrs. Maden, sir? Yes, I had heard.”

  ***

  September 25, 2009

  The days roll into one another, week stumbles over week and suddenly I realize it is almost October.

  We were almost perfect, you and I. And now, all that remains is the torment of what could have been. I can’t talk to you, think of you, be with you, and yet you have invaded every pore of my body and I can’t get rid of you.

  I hope it’s the same for you. I hope you bleed when you think of me. If you think of me. I don’t blame her for loving you or for carrying your child. I don’t even blame you for your part in that. I blame you for giving me hope, for touching me again and making me think we had a chance, after all this time, after all the waiting.

  And then, just like that, it’s gone.

  Chapter 30

  “If you care anything about her, if you ever cared, leave her alone.”—Angie Sorrento

  To file:

  Client: Rourke Flannigan

  Subject: Kate E. Redmond

  Date: September 26, 2009

  Ms. Redmond left her house at 8:45 a.m. and drove to Dream Houses by Kate where she remained for 1.25 hours after which time she drove home. No sign of Ms. Redmond again until Tuesday, September 25, when she left her house at 11:35 a.m., picked up her mail and drove to work. Party remained for 3.5 hours and left. Returned home. No stops. Wednesday, September 26th—not sighted. End of report.

  Rourke shoved the report into his briefcase and picked up the phone. Something was wrong. “Dream Houses by Kate, may I help you?”

  “Angie, it’s Rourke. Don’t hang up.”

  There was a long pause and then, “What do you want?”

  “Is she all right?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You’ve got to help me.”

  “So you can tear her apart again? No thanks. I’m a better friend than that.”

  “I need to see her.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I just want to talk to her.”

  “Right. She hasn’t eaten in three days, she hasn’t slept in four, and she looks worse than she did after she buried Clay. You’re not getting near her again.”

  “Angie, please.”

  “Stay away, Rourke Flannigan. I wish you’d never come back into her life. If you care anything about her, if you ever cared, leave her alone.”

  ***

  “Hello, Abbie.” Janice swung in on a cloud of perfume that snuffed out half the oxygen in the room. “Where’s your uncle?”

  Abbie thought about ignoring her but Janice would tell Rourke because that’s just how she was and then he’d give her the lecture on respecting other people. Yada, yada. It was so not worth it. Abbie pointed a finger at Rourke’s study and said, “He’s on the phone.”

  “Oh.” Janice glanced toward the closed door. “I’ll just sneak in and tell him I’m here.”

  Abbie would bet a hundred bucks Rourke wanted to see her about as much as a vegetarian wanted a strip steak. So, let her find out for herself. “Sure. Whatever.”

  Janice laid her jacket and purse on the chair and said, “I think we’re going out for Japanese later. Care to join us?”

  Right. “No thanks. I’ve got a lot of reading to do.”

  Janice floated over and glanced at the title of Abbie’s book. “Of Mice and Men,” she murmured. “I remember reading that. Excellent. But why did poor Lenny have to die?”

  Abbie slammed the book shut. “Thanks for ruining the story.”

  “Oh.” Janice threw her a swift smile. “Sorry.”

  That smile wasn’t even a tenth apologetic. The witch ruined the story just to show Abbie who had the power.

  Janice flounced her hair over her shoulder and headed down the hall with a casual, “If you change your mind, you’re welcome to come with us.”

  Abbie swore under her breath and glared at Janice’s skinny legs. In the last few weeks, Janice had been slinking around more than usual, acting like she belonged here. It was pure sickening. There had to be a reason and Abbie was determined to figure it out. She waited until Janice disappeared down the hall and then jumped off the chair and grabbed Janice’s purse. Truth and lies hid in the lining of a purse. Maybe she’d find a bit of both inside this Coach. She unlatched the satchel and dug a hand inside. Lip gloss, lip plumper, lip liner. What a piece of work. She unzipped the side compartment and pulled out a square, flat box with writing on it. “Shit,” she mumbled, staring at the label. “Shit, shit, shit.” She threw the purse on the chair, mindless of the lip accessories scattering to the carpet, and ran toward the study.

  ***

  Rourke had never experienced a migraine in his life but the spot above his right eyebrow pierced his brain with enough pain to make him wince.

  “I don’t think I like this sudden self-righteous persona who’s taken over your body.” Janice threw him a seductive smile and fingered her cleavage. “Where’s the old Rourke Flannigan, the one who didn’t let time or circumstance alter his libido?” Her voice dipped in throaty coquetry, “I want that man back. Bad.”

  The pounding in his head slammed him again. “I’m really busy right now, Janice.” He shuffled a few papers on his desk and slid the red journal into his top drawer. That’s what he’d been busy with, reading it over and over until every word rested in his memory.

  “You’re just cranky.” She slid out of the chair and slithered around to his side of the desk. “I know what you need.” She cupped his crotch and started stroking.

  “Stop!” Rourke yanked her hand away and flew out of the chair. “What the hell are you doing? Abbie’s in the next room.”

  “That’s never stopped you before.”

  He shrugged and moved to the window. The sky sprawled the horizon in crisp, vibrant hues, a perfect imposter to Kate’s eyes.

  “I know why you’re doing this.”

  He could feel her behind him but he didn’t turn. “Enlighten me.”

  There was the slightest whimper in her words as she said, “You’ll just try to deny it, but I’m no fool.”

  She was right. His behavior had nothing to do with Abbie and everything to do with—

  “It’s because I’m pregnant, isn’t it?”

  He swung around. “What?”

  “I know.” She clutched her concaved belly and bit her lower lip. “Some men are like that. Once a woman is pregnant or has a child, he won’t touch her. It’s the Madonna complex.”

  “Janice—”

  “No. Don’t pretend.”

  Her red-tipped fingers massaged her belly and Rourke had an absurd picture of Janice trying to change a diaper with three-inch nails. In a Chanel dress. And Ferragamo pumps.

  “I love you, Rourke.” She clutched his arm and peered into his face. “We could be a family. We could be happy. You, me, our baby.”

  A swirl of nausea clenched his gut. The sweat started next, prickling over his forehead, his neck, his back, followed by the pounding over his right eyebrow, so intense he had to squeeze his eyes shut.

  “Rourke? What’s the matter? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  He shook his head and ran past her to the bathroom where he proceeded to puke up his turkey Reuben and half his stomach. So much for carving out a family with Jan
ice. Did she really think her possible pregnancy—he wasn’t buying it until Graves submitted his report—would make him want to marry her?

  “Rourke, are you all right?” Her throaty voice slipped under the door and clung to him.

  “I’m fine. I think it’s the flu.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe I should leave.” Her voice dimmed and he pictured her tiptoeing from the door. “You know, because of my condition and all. I wouldn’t want to get sick unnecessarily.” Humor seeped through her next words. “I’ve been sick enough already.”

  Rourke splashed water on his face and rinsed out his mouth. “Sure. Good idea.”

  “Okay, then I’ll call you later.”

  He gripped the sink and sucked in a breath. “Fine.” Go, just go.

  “Can I have Greta pick up anything? Or call something in? Chicken soup? Ginger Ale?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  He leaned against the wall and waited for her to leave. Soon, he’d have to deal with this situation, but not today. He closed his eyes and willed his head and stomach to settle down.

  “Where’s my uncle?” Abbie’s words banged on his temples and slid to his gut.