He tore his hand through his hair. He thought he’d been so careful not to scare her away. He’d held back telling her how he needed her, how much he cared, how much he wanted.
And blown it anyway.
To take his mind off his misery, he did what he always did: turned his obsessive attention to his work. The next job at the tech start-up in New Jersey was only weeks away, and he’d have to start researching the new company immediately. He never walked into a new place without having a clue about what was wrong with it, where they might need him, why they’d really hired him.
Sylvester Minguez had given him the address, a few names, the website and press releases, but that wasn’t nearly enough. Sixty-three employees, most hired within the past year as the economy picked up and another tech bubble began to swell from the panting breath of positive-thinking capitalists.
He’d have to fly back. He couldn’t do this from the wrong coast. There were three guys putting up most of the money. He’d sit down with them face-to-face somewhere, buy them food and drink, hear the pitch that had gotten them to pony up the cash. Zack wasn’t a tech guy, and he wouldn’t know if their product was flawed at an engineering level—but he knew people and process, and he’d find a way to improve whatever they were doing, give them a chance to survive.
It was just the kind of project he’d dreamed about for years, a chance to get into the new economy. No more garment companies or gum-ball machine manufacturers. High tech. The future.
He booked the first flight to New York for the next morning and then took out a fresh notebook to begin brainstorming ideas about questions to ask the venture capitalist guys.
His mind blanked.
He got up and made a fresh coffee, returned to his notebook. Still nothing.
He’d spent the day finishing up most of his report for Fite, so it wasn’t that job that was interfering with his concentration.
He put the pen against his lips and saw April’s face.
His stomach twisted. If he hadn’t invited her to New York, but instead casually mentioned how he planned on returning to San Francisco before the end of the year for his next assignment and wondered if she’d be interested in continuing what they’d started, then maybe he wouldn’t have found out how little she cared about him. He’d be sitting here now in blissful ignorance.
He shoved the pen into a box of other pens and selected a different one. He had to stop thinking about her or he’d never get anything done.
That was the moment Sarah decided to call. As the phone rang, he looked at her photo on its screen, determined not to answer. But before he knew it, he’d hit the button and was saying, “Hey.”
Sarah let out a breath. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”
“I almost didn’t.” But he figured he couldn’t feel any worse.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep last night. We have to clear this up. I was afraid you’d avoid me for months because you were afraid of talking to me.”
“OK. Shoot.” The image of a handgun appeared in his thoughts.
“Is something wrong? You sound terrible.”
“Didn’t sleep well either last night,” he said. On impulse, he added, “April and I…” He stopped, not sure how to describe what had happened. “I’m flying to New York tomorrow.”
She let out a long breath. “You broke up?”
He put down the pen he was still holding. “I think so. Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Really?” he asked.
Neither spoke for a moment. Then Sarah said, “I thought I was angry at you last night,” she began, “but I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’m not angry.”
“You were angry?”
“I was disappointed you thought it would change anything. Like you were freeing us from some unpleasant obligation.”
His mood lifted a millimeter from the bottom of the pit. He hadn’t really wanted to lose them. Sarah was like the sister he’d never had. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“You don’t have to get rid of us when you find somebody else to love. We can share.”
“I thought you should know that I knew the truth.”
Sarah made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “The truth is she loved you. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself she didn’t because you have to live without her, I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten married as soon as you did, but you loved her, and she did love you, and I’m just so glad she knew”—her voice faltered, and she paused a moment before she went on—“she knew love like that before she… died.”
Neither one of them could speak for a long moment. Pressure building behind his eyes, Zack finally said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He let out a long breath. “Well. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it does.”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Because you’ve broken up with her?”
He put his hand over his eyes. It killed him to hear her say it. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with April.” Her tone softened. “But it will someday with somebody, and every one of us who loved Meg will love who you love, and you sure as hell better invite us to the wedding.”
“There isn’t going to be—”
“Someday. Somebody,” she said. “We’ll be there. Understand?”
What did it matter what he said? It wasn’t going to happen. There hadn’t been time.
“I understand,” he said.
Chapter 30
THE NEXT MORNING, APRIL CALLED in sick at work—Rita had already heard from Liam that their mother was in the hospital, and didn’t hold it against her—and returned to the hospital with a bag of quinoa pomegranate scones from her mom’s favorite bakery. She’d stayed late the night before, waiting to see the surgery had gone well before she went home to doze fitfully for a few hours.
Her mother was asleep when she arrived, in spite of the nurses chatting at the foot of her bed, her roommate’s TV the other side of the curtain, and the bright sun coming in the windows.
April stood at the foot of the hospital bed with its industrial steel bars and buttons and twisted the hem of her poncho into a knot. The sight of her mom lying there with tubes coming out of her, looking two decades older than she had last week, made her stomach hurt.
Maybe she needed an appendectomy herself.
At that moment, her mother opened her eyes. Her tired face lit up with a smile. “Honey. How long have you been standing there?”
“Just got here.” She walked over and hugged her over the steel bars and the plastic tubes. Then she lifted the pastry bag up to eye level. “Hippie scones.”
Her mother’s smile widened but her eyes darted to the door. “I’m not sure I’m allowed. They’re very strict, you know.”
“Oh, come on.”
“They’re good even when they’re stale. Leave them. I’ll eat them when I can.” Her mother reached out to a bouquet of lilies on the nightstand. “Are these from you, too?”
“Nope. Probably Mark.” April found the card. “Yep. Mark and Rose, wishing you a speedy recovery.”
Her mother’s mouth dropped open. “But they just got back from their honeymoon.”
“That was weeks ago.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered them.”
“You had surgery,” April said.
“Just a little tummy ache.”
“They had to remove an organ.”
“Not like I ever used it.”
April grinned. She didn’t seem sick at all. “When do you get to go home?”
“Soon. They seem to think I’m old. It might take a little longer.”
April leaned over and inhaled the sweet smell of the lilies. Not her favorite scent, but her mother loved them. “They don’t know you the way we do.”
“Thank you for staying with me so late last night. I’m glad you finally convinced Liam to go
home, though,” her mother said. “Silly boy. He’s got enough to worry about. What about the baby?”
“They put her up for adoption,” April said.
“Don’t tease.”
“Nobody wanted her, though. Too high-maintenance. People like girls to be quiet.”
“Not everyone.” Then her mother lowered her voice. “Although I think my doctor could learn how to whisper. You’d think she was auditioning for Broadway.”
“She seems to have fixed you up pretty good,” April said.
“I’m fine. I took a promenade with the nurse all the way down to the elevator.” An impish smile curved her lips. “A very nice-looking man from Kansas City.”
“Get his number?” April asked.
Her mother frowned. “Are you having a rough patch with Zack?”
“I didn’t mean for me. You said he was cute, so I thought you were interested.” Her mother had had many men interested in her over the years, but she’d never reciprocated.
“He’s too young for me,” her mother said seriously. “So you are having a rough patch?”
“Nope.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
April couldn’t help herself. “What do you mean? You said I should dump him to save his tender feelings.”
Her mother put a hand over her mouth, dragging the IV tubes over her chest as her arm moved. “Did I say that?”
“And no, we’re not having a rough patch,” April continued, “we’re having a death spiral off a cliff.”
Her mother didn’t say anything, but her eyes were sad.
April suddenly regretted saying anything. It wasn’t the time to rant on her shoulder. “It’s okay.” She forced a smile. “Maybe I’ll run into that nurse of yours. Sounds like he’s on the night shift. That’s good for romance, am I right?”
“He’s not as handsome as Zack,” her mother said. “What happened?”
April stroked the hair off of her mother’s forehead. “I’ll spare you the gory details. As soon as you bail yourself out of this joint, we’re going back to the salon. These layers need some work.”
“You hated the cut you got last time.”
“But I got to have it with you.”
Her mother cupped her cheek. “What happened, honey?”
“He’s moving back to New York.”
“And?” her mother asked.
“And? What do you mean? He’s leaving, end of story.”
Her mother’s face fell. Sinking back against her flat pillow, she turned her gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t believe it.”
April felt a stab of annoyance. Wasn’t this what her mother wanted? “At least this way I can’t hurt him, right? That should be some consolation to you.”
Her mother’s gaze drilled into her. “Are you sure? He’s really leaving?”
Nodding, April twirled one of the lilies in the vase. “These are beautiful. I wonder where Mark ordered them. Of course, it was probably Rose. She has style, that girl. Can’t believe she married Mark, of all people.”
Her mother clasped her arm. “I only said what I said to get you thinking. Knock some sense into you. You’ve always lived in the present, which is so wonderful about you, but sometimes you’re so happy floating down the river in your raft, you don’t see the waterfall. Until it’s too late. You know?”
“Raft?”
Her mother put her hand on her throat. “I’m so thirsty. There should be a cup of water over there somewhere.”
April found it and helped her take a sip. “You were playing me?”
“I was afraid he wouldn’t know how much you cared about him. You’ve got such a way of hiding your feelings. Your father was the same way.”
“Dad?” That had to be a joke. “I’m nothing like him.”
Her mother gave her a small smile. “You’re more like him than either of your brothers. All that passion, the temper.” She squeezed April’s arm. “So much love, but it’s hidden under all the other drama.”
“I asked him to stay. He left anyway.”
“That’s it? You asked him to stay and he ran out of the room screaming? Nothing else was said?”
April almost smiled in spite of herself. “There was something in there about me moving to New York with him.”
“But he didn’t want you to?”
“No! How could I do that? Leave you and Mark and Liam and Merry?” April asked. “It was his idea, of course. I thought it was a cop-out.”
Something amused twinkled in her mother’s tired eyes. “I see.”
“What do you think you see?”
“Listen, sweetheart, I’m really tired. I think I’d like to sleep a little more.” Her mother handed her the empty cup. “Before you go home, do you think you could pick me up a pair of earplugs and an eye mask? If I don’t get a few hours of decent sleep, I’ll never recover. Could you do that?”
“Sure,” April said, suspicious. Her mother had another crazy idea in her head, one that seemed to make her happy, even if she was wrong and there was nothing to be happy about.
But April could hardly keep squabbling with her when she was laid out in a hospital bed. “I’ll run to the store right now. If you think of anything else you want, send me a text.” She made sure her mother’s phone was in reach, next to the water.
“That’s my girl,” her mother said, closing her eyes.
* * *
With their mother in the hospital and a cluster of already scheduled design meetings, Liam rescheduled the meeting with Rita for the following Friday, more than a week away. Yet another confirmation of April’s low status; they couldn’t even make time out of their busy schedules to get rid of her.
Pending her status, Rita had suggested she take time off and not even come into the office until the meeting. “It’ll give everyone a chance to cool down,” she’d said.
“Or light the candles for my going away party,” April had replied.
Rita hadn’t laughed. “I’m going to give you plenty of time to give your side of the story. You want to prepare a few notes for the meeting. Show everyone you take it seriously.”
April had hung up, wondering what she’d ever done to suggest she didn’t take her job at Fite seriously. She’d once worked an entire week in an insurance company wearing mismatched plastic flip-flops while she played games on her phone eight hours a day—that was not taking a job seriously. But Fite? She’d actually printed out samples of the work she’d done there for her portfolio. She’d sketched out draft concepts while she was home, off the clock—when nobody had asked her to. She’d indulged in that holy American value of showing initiative. Fat lot of good it did her.
But Fite was just a job, like any other job. Just work. She had years of practice shoving career issues out of her mind. She’d find another way to pay the bills.
Brushing Zack out of her mind, however, wasn’t so easy. She kept imagining him falling off the bed, laughing; the way he’d call her at Fite to warn her Teegan was on the way downstairs; the intensity in his eyes when he listened, really listened to her talk; the sensual curve of his lips before he kissed her. Without Fite or babysitting, she was stuck at home, wandering around the empty house in a daze, with only Stool and three worried Chihuahuas for company, unable to stop the thoughts about what might’ve been.
They would’ve been happy together. If he’d given them time, given her a chance.
If he’d loved her.
Enough. She decided to take over Liam’s old room. The dude was married and owned his own whole damn house next door, so why would he care? Mom was tied down to a hospital bed with IV shackles, so she couldn’t stop her from shoving Liam’s furniture into Mark’s old bedroom—seriously, their mother was managing a museum—and moving her easel and art supplies into it. By the time she returned from the hospital, which could be as early the next morning, the studio would be set up. Mom would probably be too weak from the surgery to put up much of a fight.
April had never pretended to be a selfless marty
r. If the world didn’t like it, the world could get the hell out of her way.
Out of consideration for her mother, however, she also cleaned the bathroom and fixed the leak in the kitchen sink. And took the dogs in for their flea and tick meds, and paid the cable bill.
When her work was done, she and the four dogs relaxed on the floor of her new studio eating microwaved chicken nuggets in the fading light of the setting sun. Nicely diffused light, she noted—it would be perfect for painting. When she lost the job at Fite, she’d have plenty of time to paint.
She peeled the greasy breading off a nugget and fed the chicken to Stool. She didn’t like the idea of getting fired. She’d tried to convince herself she didn’t care, but she did.
She cared, and more every second.
Zack was gone, or soon gone, and she’d need to find a way to recover from the hole in her chest. Her new studio was nice, but it wasn’t hers. It would help her develop the freelance business she’d begun to imagine, but she’d still be living with her mother. And being kicked out of Fite now would be like starting a career with a black mark on her record when she deserved fifteen gold stars, happy faces, and a glittered Way To Go! sticker.
No. She couldn’t let Teegan win her campaign of evil.
If there was going to be a Trial of April, she’d have to prepare, like Rita said. And boy, was she going to prepare.
What was that line about bringing a gun to a knife fight?
She was going to bring a freaking nuke.
* * *
“Zack?” the man asked.
Zack looked up from the grape he’d speared in his salad. He and the three venture capitalists sat outside at a bistro table wedged off a side street in midtown Manhattan. “Yes, Tom?”
The tall, balding guy next to him raised an eyebrow. “I’m Tom. That’s Tim.”
Zack should’ve been mortified. He never got names wrong. But if two men named Tim and Tom are going to go into business together, they should use their last names. “Sorry.” He shoved his fork into his mouth. To him, the grape might as well have been a cow’s eyeball. He rolled it around in his mouth and swallowed it without chewing.
“Are you all right?” the third man asked. His name, no kidding, was Tony. That second syllable made all the difference, and Zack hadn’t forgotten it once.
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 27
