by Jill Shalvis
“It helps if you pick up a few things every time you’re out,” Cora said. “Then your list of must-haves after the baby comes won’t be so overwhelming.”
Yes, but every time she’d left her desk over the past month, she’d come back to an anonymous present for the baby. Sometimes it was wrapped, sometimes not, sometimes it was diapers, sometimes it was clothing or a piece of equipment, such as a car seat.
She’d tried to figure out who the gifter was, but she was starting to suspect it was everyone. Just the thought had gotten her through some dark nights.
On the drive to the doctor’s office, she clutched the bag like it was a pot of gold. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Oh, honey, you’re so welcome. Shopping for babies is a true joy.”
“I meant thank you for everything,” she said.
“You’re welcome for everything.”
River shook her head. “I don’t think you get it. What you all mean to me. Until you took me in, I didn’t even have a bed. Mostly I was trying not to think about the future because . . . well, to be honest, I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at being a mom.”
Cora gave her a soft smile. “You had a wonderful mom. She taught you how to depend on yourself and be a good person. You’re going to be a great mom.”
River nodded, but she wasn’t sure she believed, even though a small part of her wanted to.
Dr. Rodriguez was a tiny little dynamo with dark skin, dark eyes, and a happy smile for River. “How we doing?”
“Fine.”
“Let’s see.” The doctor checked River’s stats. “You have some signs of hypertension.”
River froze. “What’s that?”
“High blood pressure. But no worries. Rest and relaxation and good nutrition should get you through. But I’m serious about the rest part. It needs to include lots of off-your-feet time.”
“But I have a job,” River said.
“Do you stand for this job?”
“No.”
“Then you should be okay if you cut back to a few hours a day, tops.”
River stared at her in horror. “I can’t make a living on a few hours a day.”
“Yes, but it won’t be for long,” Dr. Rodriguez announced happily.
“But I’m just over seven months. I still have two months to go.”
“One,” Dr. Rodriguez said.
River stared at her.
Dr. Rodriguez’s smile faded. “We talked about your due date last time, didn’t we? It’s why your appointments will now be weekly.”
River shook her head. “I was so nervous last time that all I heard was everything looked good.” River put her hands on her hot cheeks as a hot flash overcame her. “Oh my God.”
“Okay, just take some deep breaths,” Dr. Rodriguez said, coming close, stroking her back. “Listen to me,” she said softly. “Lots of moms have a panic attack this close to giving birth. It’s totally understandable.”
Oh, was it? Gee, how comforting . . .
“Would you like me to bring Cora in?”
“No,” River gasped.
“Are you sure, sweetheart? A woman in your condition really needs her support team to rally around her.”
“No, you don’t understand—I’m trying to learn to be on my own.”
“Now’s not exactly the best time for that. Who’s your birth coach?”
“I think Cora is.”
“Then we should fill her in, don’t you think?”
River hesitated and then nodded. “Okay.”
When Cora was brought into the room, River had to admit, she felt relief.
“Update,” Dr. Rodriguez told Cora, chipper again. “Baby’s all good, but coming sooner than expected. Mama here needs some rest and relaxation and must stay strong with her nutrition. If she keeps her blood pressure down, all those nasty, annoying symptoms of breathlessness and shakiness will go away. She’s young, she’ll bounce right back with help from her team.”
And that was that. Cora was her team.
They then went to the prenatal class, where River learned how to breathe through pain, which to be honest, she was pretty skeptical about.
She went to bed that night after having knocked on Lanie’s door.
Lanie hadn’t answered.
Telling herself she deserved no less, River had let herself have one last cry. “Our very last pity party,” she told the baby, alone in the dark.
THE NEXT DAY, Lanie got up and headed to work with more than a little trepidation. Everyone now knew her torrid secret—that she hadn’t been enough for her husband; he’d had to get himself some other wives.
The night before Mark had tried to comfort her, but she’d made it clear that the only comforting would be done naked and would not involve any more words on the matter.
He’d complied. Her body felt very comforted this morning.
Her mind, not so much.
She found Alyssa in the employee room shoving down a doughnut. “Started to go to the gym,” she said. “You know, to work off some of the baby fat. Only I couldn’t find my membership card and a new one was ten bucks. And since a doughnut and coffee was only three bucks, guess who saved seven bucks this morning?”
“I like the way you think,” Lanie said.
They toasted with their coffee cups and then came an awkward silence.
“So . . . how are you doing?” Alyssa asked.
“You know damn well how I’m doing. I’m tired, grumpy, and need ice cream, preferably delivered by puppies.”
Alyssa squeezed her hand in sympathy and took a call.
Lanie was grateful to have gotten out of the conversation she didn’t want to have. Because she actually didn’t know how she felt. She knew she needed to process on her own time schedule, although she was a slow processor. But she could feel things boiling just beneath her surface. Way too many things . . .
Mia walked in yawning and headed directly toward the coffeepot.
“Where’s everyone?” Lanie asked.
“If by everyone you mean River, she’s out in the field today. Come to me, my precious,” she said to her cup of coffee.
Lanie’s biggest hope for the day had been to avoid River and her relief was instant, like a huge weight lifted off her chest. “The field?” she asked.
Mia shrugged. “She’s working from the big house today, doing some online research for Mom. I think it was more for you than anything else. It’ll be easier for you to avoid her and pretend you’re not mad when we all know you are.”
Lanie froze for a beat. “I’m not—”
“Oh, please.” Mia met Lanie’s gaze, her own surprisingly kind. “Listen, you’ve got a right to be, at the very least, bitchy as hell. And I’ve been there.”
“Really?” Lanie asked. “You’ve been married to a man you thought you knew only to have him die and then find out he collected wives like some men collect change in their pockets?”
“Well, maybe not exactly that,” Mia said. “But the important thing here is to remember to practice self-care in times of stress. Take a walk, paint a picture, murder someone, burn the body, and clean up the crime scene.”
Lanie laughed. She hadn’t thought she’d had a laugh in her, but she’d been wrong. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“I’m going out with some friends tonight,” Mia said. “And I know Mark’s working. Come join us.”
“Can’t,” Lanie said, more than a little bummed that Mark wouldn’t be able to further distract her with more orgasms later. But it was just as well because she knew he expected her to talk eventually. He was just waiting her out. But he didn’t know the lengths she was prepared to go in order to never talk about it. “I have too much stuff to do.”
And that night she got to the “stuff,” which involved spending hours taking Buzzfeed quizzes to see what kind of pizza she was and which Harry Potter character she resembled.
And so went the next week, during which she managed to continue to avoid River so ea
sily that she knew River was avoiding her too.
Chapter 21
“What state do you live in?”
Constant anxiety.
By the end of the week, Lanie still hadn’t made peace with what had happened. Cora—or maybe just fate—had been kind enough to keep River in the front building and out of the offices.
Lanie was grateful for the time to think. Or not think, as the case might be. She dug into work as an excuse to busy herself and to not have to see or talk to anyone—though they’d tried.
All of them.
The only one who’d gotten through had been Mark, and that was only because he had the key to her cottage and knew how to get past her defenses by not using words.
Nope. He used his body instead.
And he’d used it well. The things he’d done to her in the deep dark of night were the only highlights in an otherwise spectacularly shitty week. Granted, it was probably only a matter of time before he tried to get her to talk, but for now he let her be.
And for that alone, she fell for him just a little bit harder.
Then one afternoon Alyssa texted her with an “employee-room emergency.” Lanie raced over there to find no Alyssa in sight.
Just River, looking very young, very pregnant, and very nervous.
Lanie froze in the doorway. “Where’s Alyssa? She texted me.”
“I asked her to,” River said.
Lanie turned to the door to go.
“Lanie, please. I want to apologize. I want to talk to you and explain—”
Lanie sighed and faced her. “You’ve already apologized and there’s nothing to talk about.”
River’s expression was one of devastation and Lanie hardened herself to it. It’s like the glass partition at the zoo between the dangerous animals and the patrons, she told herself. You’re looking at this situation from behind a huge window. Nothing can get to you. You’re safe.
And best yet, not even emotions could get through the glass. It was how her mom and dad had dealt with her. They did what they’d had to in order to be parents, but there’d been no emotion, no feeling.
The glass was a good thing.
“If there’s nothing to talk about,” River said, “then we can get past this, right? We can go back to being friends?”
That was just it. Lanie had believed them to be friends, but it’d been a ruse from the get-go. She turned to pour herself a cup of coffee and saw that Alyssa and Cora had come into the room, so she managed a smile. “Sure,” she said through her imaginary glass wall. “Of course.”
Cora looked relieved. Alyssa seemed to buy it as well.
But River’s eyes said she knew the truth. That Lanie was being nice only to keep the peace.
“Thanks,” River said quietly. “I’d like that.”
Lanie nodded.
River, clearly trying to hide her disappointment behind her smile, walked out.
Cora gave Lanie a quick squeeze, a gentle sweet hug before reaching for an empty mug. “So how are you doing? You’re hanging in there?”
Her boss had been gently probing all week. Lanie had been avoiding her the best she could because she really did care about Cora. She cared about Sierra and Sam. She cared about Mia and Alyssa. She cared about all of them.
Including Mark.
Especially Mark.
Nothing had changed about any of that, but caring about these people gave them great power over her. They could manipulate her. They could hurt her.
Cora—who had a way with timing, or hell, maybe she could read minds—grabbed an apple from a basket on the counter. “I’m going into a bunch of meetings,” she said, “one of which is in regards to the bottling business.” She looked at Lanie expectantly. She’d said she wouldn’t push Lanie about extending her contract. This was Cora, not pushing.
But Lanie couldn’t hold off this discussion any longer. Her decision was made. Maybe there’d been a few weeks where she’d actually considered staying, but she knew she couldn’t now. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to take the extension,” she said, managing to meet her unwavering gaze. “I’m grateful for the generous offer, but I’m going to leave at the end of my contract.”
Cora’s phone rang, which she ignored. “I promised you that I’d accept whatever decision you made. But I just want to make sure this wasn’t a hasty decision made in a moment of high emotion. In other words, don’t make it personal.”
Hell, yes, Lanie had made this decision emotionally. And it was personal. And here was the other thing—the deep, dark, humiliating, terrible thing she’d finally figured out. Lanie wasn’t just upset at River. She was upset at the Capriottis. They’d brought her into the fold, shown her love and easy affection. They’d made her one of them.
And then they’d done the same for River.
The irony here was that Lanie hadn’t even wanted them to love her in the first place, so why she was so inexplicably, ridiculously . . . jealous, she couldn’t even say.
But the truth was, she wanted the Capriottis to feel the same anger and hatred and resentment that Lanie herself had felt about what had happened to her. And she wanted them to feel it against River.
Instead it’d brought the pregnant woman even tighter into the fold. And Lanie couldn’t seem to get out of her own way about that. It made her feel like an awful person, but no matter how unreasonable, the feelings were real and wouldn’t go away.
“You know, Lanie,” Alyssa said quietly, “if you ever want to talk about it—”
“I don’t.”
Alyssa looked at her for a beat. “What happened wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?”
Lanie had taken on a lot of guilt about a lot of things, but that Kyle had turned out to be addicted to women wasn’t one of them. “I know.”
“Good. Because River doesn’t blame you.”
Lanie stilled. “What?”
“River doesn’t blame you for being the other woman, for being the woman who made her marriage illegitimate, for being the one to get his entire life-insurance policy payout, leaving her with absolutely nothing.”
Lanie blinked slowly, willing her brain to catch up with the ball of emotions bouncing inside her. “That’s nice of her,” she managed. She gestured to the door. “I’ve got a busy day ahead, so . . .” She then walked out it, shutting it behind her.
She got all the way to her car before she realized she’d been followed. “Still not talking about it,” she said, turning to face Mark, assuming Cora had just told him she wasn’t going to stay.
He stepped in closer and cupped her jaw, the rough pad of his thumb swiping away a tear she hadn’t meant to shed. “Hey. Hey, come here,” he murmured, pulling her in. “I know it’s been a rough week—”
“I’m not that pathetic that I need you to ‘there, there’ me again. And I know you’ve just talked to your mom, and man, she works fast, but—”
“Actually,” he said, “I haven’t seen her today.”
Okay, so he didn’t know. Yet.
“And I think you’re a lot of things like impressive and hot, but pathetic isn’t one of them.”
He was very close, his scent intoxicating, the intensity of his stare dizzying. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’ve handled a really shitty situation with serious class and grace. What can I do to help?”
“I’m fine.” She was fumbling through her purse for her damn sunglasses, which she could never seem to find when she needed them—
Mark pulled them off the top of her head and held them out to her.
Shit. She snatched them from his fingers. “Thanks. Gotta go.”
“I used to wonder what your wall was about,” he said quietly, stopping her in her tracks. “All I knew was that it was thick and well built.”
She met his gaze. “You really want to go there? Because I’m not the only one with walls, you know.”
“My walls are to protect my daughters. Your walls are to protect yourself, your heart. Not a healthy way to l
ive.”
“You don’t know, you don’t understand.”
“I’d like to.”
“No.” She gave him a push away even though he wasn’t touching her. Just his close proximity, with that easy, confident stance and those broad shoulders that could handle the weight of her world made her want to move in close way too much. “Look,” she said. “We share orgasms when it suits us, but we’re not sharing emotions, remember? You decreed that.” And then, without waiting for his response, she slid into her car and sped off, literally leaving him in her dust.
Five minutes later she was on the highway, roof window open, windows down and inhaling the ocean air in big gulps, trying to figure out where her important place to be was.
Fifteen minutes later, she turned into a narrow, windy driveway on a hill a quarter mile from Morro Bay, because apparently her place to be was her family home. She parked and sat there, pissed off at the world.
Her mom opened the front door and from twenty feet, they studied each other, each giving nothing away. After about fifteen seconds of the stare down, her mom nudged her chin in the barest of movements.
The only invite Lanie was going to get.
Proving it, her mom vanished inside, but Lanie took heart—and also a good amount of annoyance—in the fact that she’d at least left the door open.
She found her mom in the big, huge country kitchen, which had been updated and renovated to the latest and greatest. Her mom, tall, elegant, and coolly beautiful, resembling a model playing a real person—a person who juiced most of her meals—actually baked like a boss.
The evidence was all along the counters in the form of cookies, cakes, and pies, and Lanie’s mouth immediately watered. Nothing helped stroke-level stress like a sugar overload. “Looks like a heart attack walking in here.” The first words they’d spoken face-to-face in years.
Her mom shrugged. “Bake sale for the adult literacy program tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Lanie said. “Because heaven forbid we not have our causes. Never mind the children as long as the world thinks you’re a giving, loving philanthropist.”
Her mom sighed. “Still with the dramatics. You’re hardly a child, Lanie.”
“I was.”
