She burped behind her hand before answering. “I’m an only child of Jewish parents. I had two choices: doctor or lawyer. Medical school would have taken longer, and then you have to deal with sick people,” she said, laughing as if that statement were incredibly clever and original. “Not that some of the people we have to talk to aren’t mentally off, but we don’t have to look under their clothes.” She gave a full-body shudder that made her breasts shimmy in a way that for the first time caused Nathan to wonder if she’d had a breast job.
Kirby looked at Nathan and nodded, his grin suggesting he’d come to the same conclusion.
Nathan stood up. Gwyneth was a colleague. A friend. She was also drunk and making a fool of herself. He held out his hand. “I think you’ve had enough, Gwyn. Let me make you a cup of coffee and call you a cab.”
“I could stay here,” she said.
“Kirby’s already claimed the sofa. Sorry.”
Kirby’s brow lifted in question—they hadn’t discussed his staying over—but he kept his mouth shut. A little over an hour later, she was gone and the brothers finally had a chance to talk.
“Sorry about that. I really didn’t see that coming.”
“You should have, brother. She’s got a hard-on for you.”
Nathan, who’d switched to coffee, too, set down his cup. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Didn’t say there was, but the chick, fine though she is on the outside, has the soul of a newcomer. You gotta be careful around them.”
“What’s a newcomer?”
“Someone who is in a corporal body for the first or second time. They haven’t learned a lot of the lessons the rest of us have, and they’re dangerous—to themselves and to others who want to help them but often wind up getting burned.”
Nathan chuckled. “Ah, yes, the West Coast woo-woo mentality. I’d almost forgotten about that.”
Kirby didn’t appear to take offense. He smiled and polished off the last of his beer. “Easy to do when you’re stuck on the east coast with a bunch of stiffs who are afraid to access their inner child.”
They laughed together in a companionable way that surprised Nathan and made him a little blue. He wasn’t sure why. “Enough about Gwyneth. I really want to hear what’s happening with you. What was your conference about today? Can you spend the night? I should have asked you before.”
Kirby looked at his watch. The band was made of some braided fiber. Hemp, Nathan assumed. His brother’s clothes were a mix of Banana Republic and Joe College. Clean, slightly rumpled and good quality. Kirby either shopped at high-end thrift stores or Joan was supplementing his clothing budget.
“Might be a good idea if I crash here. The last train leaves in about half an hour. I’ll just call my house and leave a message. My roommates don’t really care, but they might need to borrow the car in the morning.”
“You guys share a car?”
“One guy, one girl. They used to be an item. Now, they’re not, but we’re all still friends. Don’t ask me how.”
“You’re all old souls?”
Kirby laughed. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. Or we’re all so focused on our thesis projects we don’t have time for relationships.”
After his brother made the call and hung up the phone, Nathan asked, “What exactly is your thesis project?”
“My major is environmental studies with an emphasis on what effect climate change and man’s encroachment has had on vernal pond ecosystems. Historically, vernal ponds, which collect spring rains and runoff from foothill streams, have nurtured an amazing number of species and microspecies that play a major role in the health of the soil. Overgrazing, urban sprawl, more traffic and air pollution has changed these unique environments—for the worst. We’re losing species at a rate that would make Darwin roll over in his grave.”
“Microspecies?”
Kirby slumped down in the cushion. “Yeah, I know. Not exactly the most glamorous cause. Hard to get people excited about saving a bull-nosed spotted salamander.” He brightened slightly. “But we did have some luck getting the public behind the plight of the fairy shrimp when a new university was going to be built in the Valley.”
“Did you stop it?”
“No,” he admitted. “But we raised awareness. A little. It’s an ongoing battle. People want their conveniences. Longtime ranchers can make a fortune by selling to developers. Pollution and the extinction of fragile ecosystems take a back seat to progress every time.” He used his fingers to put quote marks around progress.
“You and Casey have a lot in common. She used to work with a consortium dedicated to saving open space.” He named the group. “Have you heard of them?”
“Who hasn’t? My thesis advisor used to teach with one of their board members. Somehow my name came up and he asked if Casey and I were related. Dr. H. said the consortium was sorry to lose her, but that she was planning on taking time off to have a baby. I was going to ask Mom about that but figured if you hadn’t announced anything maybe your plans had changed.”
Had their plans changed? Nathan wasn’t sure. He still wanted a child—at least, in theory. But if they couldn’t agree on whether or not to have a dog, what did that mean to their parenting agenda?
“Casey’s helping her dad at the moment, but once we get back on track, we’d like to start a family.”
“Cool. I like being an uncle.”
They talked family for a while, then both decided it was time to turn in. After Nathan located the extra sheets and blankets, he turned to leave. “Um, Nathan, one question. It’s none of my business, but how come there are so many boxes around?”
“This thing with Casey’s dad came on kind of fast. First, the land use issues, then Red’s health. He has prostate cancer. Although I’d never tell Casey this, I think Red is milking his illness to keep her around.”
“Very manipulative. Sounds like something Mother would do.”
Kirby said the last with a laugh, but there was an edge to the chuckle that told Nathan he was serious.
“Explain.”
“Naw. It’s late. She’s our mother. She does my laundry. Only a real jerk would complain about the little mind games she plays, right?”
“Why does Mom do your laundry?”
“Because she gets upset if I don’t bring a basket with me when I come to see her. She’d probably offer to do yours if you lived closer. And didn’t have a wife.” He shrugged. “One of the reasons I thought it would be good for her to move into one of those senior complexes is that it would give her more social outlets.” He spread a fat caterpillar of toothpaste on the spare toothbrush Nathan had found him. “Plus, they have to use communal washers and dryers, which might make her less inclined to obsess over my dirty clothes. But we’ll see. The woman is bound and determined to take care of some man. I think she sees that as her lot in life.”
His brother’s remark stayed in Nathan’s mind long after he turned off the light. His mother was a caregiver, but that devotion came with a price. For years, Nathan had paid his dues with money while his siblings shared the emotional burden.
He made a mental note to call his sister in the morning and tell her he appreciated everything she did for their mother.
Just as he was slipping off to sleep, the thought crossed his mind that Kirby’s understanding of environmental causes and issues might be something that could benefit Casey’s group. If there were vernal ponds filled with endangered species on the land that his firm’s clients were planning to build their hatcheries on, Casey might have sufficient grounds to demand that the planning department require a full environmental report.
He rolled over and punched his pillow. Dangerous thinking. That kind of information would require him to choose sides and he didn’t want to think about that. His goal was finally in reach. If he lost his job, he and Casey would have to start over somewhere else. That would mean moving again. Moves cost money. Having a baby cost money. He needed his job, and its health benefits.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CASEY HEFTED the strap of the soft-sided cooler over her shoulder and trudged out of the elevator to the door of their apartment. Their day on the Bay had been wonderful, exhilarating and more than anything, it had served as a reminder of what a special place San Francisco was. For the first time since their move, Casey was actually glad to be living here.
She dropped the cooler beside the door and rearranged the coats, sweaters and extra shoes she was carrying to find her key. It took two trips, but she finally hauled everything inside, beating Nathan, who was parking the car, by five minutes.
“Damn,” he said, rushing in as she put the last of the leftovers in the refrigerator. She’d been a bit shocked to find so many bottles of beer on the shelves last night when she’d returned home, but she’d figured Nathan had stocked up for their outing today. “I had to park eight blocks away. Maybe we should look into renting a garage.”
She ignored the suggestion. “Why is there so much beer? I only saw you and Eric drinking wine today.”
“Yeah, I know. I bought these for Kirby. I didn’t know what Eric drank, so I included a couple in the cooler. Do you want one? The pilsner is really good.”
“No, thanks. I’m still getting my land legs.”
She loved sailing and had really enjoyed being on the water today, but the first couple of hours had been challenging for her, stomach-wise. She blamed the smell of the diesel exhaust. In Boston, she’d only been out on sailboats.
Fortunately, Eric and Roz’s boat had a fly-bridge, or second story, that allowed her to escape to the fresh air once they’d exited the marina. The crisp ocean breeze had done wonders to clear her head and settle her stomach. By noon, she’d been able to sample every bit of Roz’s delicious picnic lunch.
“Plus, I swear I’m still full. Roz is an amazing cook.”
“I know. Eric says her dream is to open a deli once the kids are through college. He plans to work for her when he retires.”
“That’s what she told me. She said they were headed to Grass Valley tomorrow to look at some property. They can’t wait to leave the Bay area, even though they love it here. Funny, huh?”
Nathan shrugged. “The price of real estate drives your overhead up so high you have to kill yourself to make ends meet. That’s not Eric’s idea of retirement, but he said they both love the water too much to give it up entirely. He thinks they might wind up in Oregon or Washington.”
He’d picked up a little sun today, too, she noticed. His cheeks had a healthy glow and the wind had whipped his hair in a way that made him look like a pirate. She skated across the too-white tile in her stocking feet to hug him. “I had fun today. Thanks.”
He set his beer on the counter to put both arms around her. “It was my pleasure. You looked like that actress from Pirates of the Caribbean when you were up top today. The wind streaming through your hair.”
She’d had it pulled through the back of her cap most of the time, but when they’d stopped just below the Golden Gate Bridge, Casey had taken her hat off to wave to the tiny people who were calling and gesturing from high above them.
The water had been, in Eric’s words “unusually flat.” And except for a large regatta of sailboats, sporting colors as vivid and diverse as a spring flower garden, they’d only encountered a few other yachts and the usual “working” vessels, like the tour boats that took visitors to Alcatraz.
“Wasn’t it fun cruising past the wharf? I have to say, seeing the city from that angle made me want to get out and play tourist. I can’t believe we haven’t been to Pier 39 since our initial scouting trip.”
He nuzzled her neck in a way that was guaranteed to make her weak in the knees. “That’s because you’re never here, remember?”
A little dig. Certainly one he had a right to, but…she pushed the thought away and looped her arms around his neck. They had a lot to make up for and today had been a nice break. She planned to make the most of it.
“I’m thinking a quick shower to wash off the salt spray and residual seagull stuff. Wanna join me?”
He pulled back and gave her a dubious look. “We’re not in Boston anymore, Dorothy.”
Her mind flashed to the mini-coffin/tub and shower—again done in miniature black-and-white tiles and white grout—in their bathroom. “You’re right, Toto. Shower, then sex.”
“Speaking of dogs…”
She shushed him with her index finger across his lips. “We could, but then I’d have to kill you. Let’s play, instead.”
His smile wasn’t quite as carefree as it had been earlier, but he nodded in agreement and followed her into the bedroom. The sight of the many unpacked boxes made her feel guilty, so instead of turning on the overhead light, she walked to the bedside table and pulled the chain on the lamp. An amazing find they’d snagged at an antique store in Mystic, Connecticut.
Nathan sat down on the bed to remove his socks. Casey grabbed her silk, boy-cut Victoria’s Secret undies and a lacy tank that she never had the nerve to wear under her business suit. What if she got hit by a bus?
As she lathered and rinsed, her mind wandered back to the conversation she’d had with Roz. Although only ten or so years older than Casey, she possessed a wisdom that reminded Casey of Meg. Mostly, they’d talked about family, the weather and the differences between the east and west coasts.
Only once had they focused their discussion on business. Casey shivered recalling the piece of insider information Roz had deliberately dropped. “I like you, Casey, and I’m telling you this because sometimes a person has to choose people over profit. GroWell lost its soul years ago. Eric told me the company is using the parcel by your dad’s ranch as leverage to broker a better deal with another county.”
“They don’t plan on building here?”
“Only if the other county’s tax breaks fail to meet their expectations.”
Casey knew how damaging this revelation would be. No county would ever trust GroWell in negotiations again. But even if she could come up with documented proof, she couldn’t use the tantalizing tidbit. Someone would surmise that the information had been leaked by a person close to the case. Fingers would point. If not at Nathan, then at Eric, but either way Nathan’s credibility would come into question.
Nothing more was said because suddenly Roz jumped to her feet and pointed out a stately taupe-and-white Victorian perched atop a small island. Its dark red roof, ornate trim and widow’s walk caught one’s eye, even without the operative warning beacon in the attached tower. “That’s the East Brother Light Station. It’s a bed-and-breakfast accessible only by boat. Eric and I stayed there for our twelfth anniversary. It was so romantic,” she’d said. “You and Nathan should go there. Gourmet meals. No phones. The consummate getaway.”
Casey let out a wistful little sigh and ducked under the spray to rinse the conditioner out of her hair. She thought she heard the phone ringing but ignored it. If her father was calling to discuss her performance at the planning meeting, he could stuff it.
She’d blown it. She had no excuse. Nathan never would have done something that embarrassing.
Her favorite fluffy towel was peeking out of the laundry basket, so she grabbed a lavender one that might have been used for packing. It looked clean but smelled stale.
“Nathan,” she called, opening the door a crack. She liked to keep the steamy warmth around her as along as possible.
When he didn’t answer, she raised her voice. “Nathan?”
With a frown, she dried off quickly, moisturized and slipped on her pretty underthings. After a superficial tango with the blow-dryer, she opened the door to the bedroom. No Nathan.
The air temp was a little too chilly to be running around in skimpy undergarments, so she grabbed her chenille robe before going in search for him.
The size of the apartment and the strength of his voice didn’t make it much of a hu
nt. She found him sitting at the dinette, cell phone to ear. He glanced up when she walked in and his eyes widened in a totally male, yeah-baby—way. His lips went from pursed in thought to a tight, partly lascivious grin.
Only partly? Casey was disappointed. Had she lost her touch? Or…was something wrong?
“Your mom?” she mouthed.
He shook his head, returning his focus to the person on the other end of the line. After another minute of silence, he said, “Sounds like a real mess, but I’m not a plumber. Did you try the management people? As much as the firm pays for the suite, I’d think they could service it, weekend or not.”
Gwyneth. Of course. Probably feeling put out because she didn’t get invited along on the boat trip.
Feeling grouchy and not particularly charitable, Casey walked into the living room and turned on the television. She’d grab a little of her favorite news program while waiting for Nathan to talk Gwyneth off whatever make-believe ledge she was on. She turned up the volume, but a restlessness that probably stemmed from jealousy made her pick up a packing box.
The label read: Desk stuff.
Cool. Red’s home office was an organizational disaster. Supposedly he’d hired Sarah to help him stay atop his bills, but she’d mentioned that Red had refused to let her modernize his system. He’d convinced himself that using a computer accounting program would invite identity theft.
Tough, Casey thought. Next week, he was scheduled to begin treatment. The doctor said Red could expect to feel pretty crummy for three or four days. Casey, although no nurse, planned on being around to help as much as Red would let her. When he was resting, she would bring his books into the twenty-first century.
She used a fingernail to open the tape. As usual, the contents had shifted during the move and several items slid to the floor before she could stop them. A clear plastic container of paper clips hit the hardwood floor and exploded, sending paper clip shrapnel everywhere.
With a resigned sigh, she got on her hands and knees. With butt in the air, she stretched to reach a couple beyond her fingertips.
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