by Helena Maeve
“They’re getting along like a house on fire, aren’t they? I’m glad.” I split the bacon evenly between the three plates, having offered to cook breakfast to make up for inconveniencing Dustin and Penny last night. I was still a long way from making up the debt owed, but it was a start.
Dustin snorted under his breath. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is.”
“Too nice or just nice enough?” I shot him a glare and he put up his hands in mock surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for being curious.”
I didn’t. I was too busy feeling grateful that he didn’t hold my prior behavior against me. “Dustin, can I ask you something?” He nodded, the picture of openness and free disclosure. “About the wedding… Were you guys angry with me? I know I wasn’t the most supportive friend when Penny told me you got engaged…” It wouldn’t change anything, but I wanted to know. I’d had enough of secrets.
Dustin frowned. “The wedding?”
“I wasn’t invited.” Put like that, it sounded like such a petty thing to worry about, especially now.
“Oh, right.” Dustin seemed a shade embarrassed. “We had to make some hard calls as far as the guest list went, so we only ended up inviting family. I have twenty-five cousins just on my mother’s side,” he added, wincing. I knew full well that Penny also came from an equally large family. She had four siblings, three of them already married with children. Dustin bit his lip. “It was a money thing.”
I remembered Penny telling me about the honeymoon. They had stayed a handful of nights at the Clift rather than go anywhere exotic. I thought she’d mentioned it to confer that she and Dustin had a great sex life.
It hadn’t occurred to me that she might have been implying that they didn’t have the cash to invest in anything more grandiose. I had been so consumed with my own financial difficulties that I had convinced myself that everyone around me was swimming in cash. The reality was that I had no more idea what kind of struggles kept Penny up at night than I’d had of the reasons for my employers’ marital upheavals.
“Penny agonized about how to tell you,” Dustin murmured.
“She thought I was going to judge her?”
Dustin shrugged. “You’re Miriam Chase.”
“The unemployed nanny?” I ventured. There were no accolades beside my name, no PhD. And I certainly wasn’t a Rockefeller.
But Dustin was shaking his head at me, a small smile tugging at his lips. “The girl who’s afraid of nothing. You have no idea how much your opinion matters to Penny. Shit, even I find myself wondering what you’d think of my cello playing sometimes.”
“Seriously?”
To my surprise, Dustin nodded. “Only when I have an off day, though. The rest of the time, I know you’d agree that I’m totally awesome.” He grinned and took up the bowl of cereal and a little jug of soy milk.
I followed him into the breakfast nook with plates in hand and was amazed when I didn’t drop anything. It felt like someone had just pulled the rug from under my feet. I was free falling—in a good way, for once.
I felt Elliot’s hand on my knee under the table and smiled. I’m good. I was better than that. Stunned silly, but also flattered. Had I been peering in one of those funny, shape-distorting circus mirrors my whole life?
“So I was thinking,” Penny started, rousing me from my reverie. “We should go to the park today. It’s going to be crazy hot again. We can find a nice spot of shade and gorge ourselves on ice cream…”
We’d done it often enough when we were in college. Wasting time had seemed so easy then, so free of consequence. Sometimes I missed those carefree days, but not today. I shook my head. “I have to go by the house to get my things.” Whatever Mrs. Hamilton hadn’t burned in ritual cleansing, at least.
Penny bit her lip. “Are you sure you want to go back there alone?”
“She’s not going alone,” said Elliot and offered me a wan smile. “I’ll drive you.”
The back of his bike wasn’t very spacious. We wouldn’t be able to carry much more than my laptop, maybe a handful of clothes. It wasn’t the most practical thing and yet I found myself nodding along. “I’d like that, thanks.” If nothing else, the moral support would be welcome.
Penny hugged me tightly before we left. She even made me promise to call if things went badly. I couldn’t envision a scenario in which the next hour would be anything short of awful, but I held up my pinkie anyway. Penny laughed even as she laced our fingers together.
It felt good to straddle Elliot’s bike and put my arms around him as we moved through the morning traffic.
At every stop light, he would take one hand off the handlebars and stroke my knuckles. I thought it might be premeditated at first, but he did it so often I realized that he just couldn’t help himself. I didn’t mind. The caress brought me comfort, too.
As we turned left on Clay Street, my courage deserted me.
I wanted to ask Elliot to keep driving past the Hamiltons’ town house until we hit the Golden Gate. We could go to his dilapidated house and make love on the floor again. Sausalito was only a stone’s throw away. I bit back the cowardly impulse. I had to do this—better now than in two weeks’ time when Mrs. Hamilton would surely have disposed of my things.
Elliot pulled up to the curb, blocking the garage door. I noticed that Mr. Hamilton’s blue BMW was gone. The Audi was parked on the sloped driveway, though, so Mrs. Hamilton must’ve been in.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered and slid off the helmet. I scrubbed a hand through my hair in a vague attempt at combing it into some semblance of order. I was sure it didn’t help much.
I hadn’t given much thought to how this confrontation was likely to play out, but I was still surprised that I could do the whole walking calmly up to the open door and rapping my knuckles on the tinted glass as if I was just another visitor. This had been my home for six months, but coming back now I felt like a stranger.
Only the touch of Elliot’s fingertips against my wrist helped steady me.
“Hello?” I called. The door was open, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. “Mrs. Hamilton?”
“In here!” she yelled from the back of the house. “I’ll be right there—oh, it’s you.” She craned her neck around the staircase and I caught a flash of pink pearls under a perfectly pinned chignon.
It took me a moment to notice that she was walking backwards toward us, her Pilates-toned arms hefting the dining room table. Paolo came into view then, holding the other end.
“Well, come in,” Mrs. Hamilton snapped before I could think of anything to say. “We have eight hours to dress this house and the caterers have completely dropped the ball. I’m going to need you to run to the store, Miriam.”
“Okay…” I walked into the house on knees as soft as rubber. It was all very surreal. Did she expect me to work for her after she’d fired me? I slotted my hand into Elliot’s, who gripped it tightly when he noticed me seeking his support. “I just came to get my stuff.”
Paolo dropped the table, huffing. “Oh, I think I hear the phone ringing—” He beat a comically swift retreat. I tried not to resent him for it.
Mrs. Hamilton pursed her thin lips. “Really, now. You’d think he’s allergic to scandal.” She turned to me with eyebrows arched. “I see you’ve brought reinforcements. That’s clever. Hello, Elliot.”
“Bridge—”
She didn’t let him finish. I never expected her to. “You’ll be interested to know my husband has elected to go to Naachtun after all. He will be away for three months, after which time I will have packed most of his things and sent them on to his next address. The paperwork should be done by then, too.”
“I don’t understand,” I started.
“Divorce,” Elliot muttered under his breath, but that couldn’t be right.
Mrs. Hamilton snorted. “Don’t spit it out like that, Elliot dear. She’ll think you object.” Her smile seemed to soften a little as she met my gaze. “Mind you, if
I hear he’s been spotted somewhere in San José while he’s supposed to be in Guatemala, I won’t be surprised at all. We didn’t spend much time discussing his destination, only the need for him to leave ipso-presto. It was a rather unpleasant row. Had you stuck around,” she told me haughtily, “you might have witnessed the whole affair. But you’ve always been an impulsive sort, haven’t you, Miriam?”
Me? “You threw me out,” I recalled, aghast. “You told me to get out—”
“No, I was talking to my husband. It seems he let his wandering hands wander where they shouldn’t. Again. I may not be very modern, but even I don’t tolerate that kind of behavior.” She gave me a second to digest the news. Just a second, but it was enough. “Now, if that’s all,” Mrs. Hamilton said, “I have furniture to move. Do you intend to stay and help or would you rather I write you a check?”
I hesitated. It seemed incredible to think that the power to choose rested with me. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to laugh and say Gotcha. But that wasn’t Mrs. Hamilton’s style. Whatever her flaws, she never behaved with anything less than the utmost dignity.
Despite myself, I glanced to Elliot for support. He shrugged. This wasn’t his call to make, but if he raised no objections and I couldn’t puzzle out the trap, then maybe there simply wasn’t one. What a novel idea—people behaving decently.
“Where do you want the table?” I asked and started rolling up my sleeves.
Chapter Twelve
Between the four of us, we managed to get the house ship-shape and ready for the party. Paolo took care of the hors d’oeuvres while Mrs. Hamilton kept lists and made the rounds to make sure that the neighbors wouldn’t be put off by the loud noise. Elliot and I were dispatched to the grocery store to fetch wine, champagne and orange juice. I offered to take the kids, but Mrs. Hamilton decided against it.
“They’ll get in your way. Besides,” she said, “Riley is teaching her sister how to put on makeup.”
Riley barely knew how to put on makeup herself and I had a feeling I should worry about the result, but the temptation to spend just a few minutes longer alone with Elliot was too much to resist.
“So, um, did I just break up a marriage?” I wondered aloud as we pushed the cart through the store aisles. “I mean, they were fine before I kneed him in the—”
“I’m fairly sure they weren’t fine,” Elliot assured me. I wanted to believe him. I told myself behavior like Mr. Hamilton’s didn’t spring up overnight, but a part of me still found the whole thing deeply unsettling. Yesterday, I’d been convinced that my job was forfeit because my employer couldn’t keep his fucking hands to himself. Now I was buying drinks for his wife’s party.
Surreal didn’t begin to cover it.
Elliot helped me get the bags into the back of the Audi and kissed my cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“The fact that you’re still worried about them when they’re the ones who fucked up.”
I grinned. “I’m pretty messed up, huh?”
Elliot agreed, canting his head into a decisive nod. “Come on. I know absolutely nothing about party planning, but I have a feeling I’m about to learn from the master…”
He wasn’t wrong. There were few things Mrs. Hamilton seemed to do more often than seating charts and dinner menus. What I usually didn’t get to see was how she brought them together because most events took place in hotels and restaurants, venues where the kids wouldn’t interfere with the proceedings and where I wasn’t invited.
Tonight would be different. It amazed me to see Mrs. Hamilton in action, transforming the downstairs portion of her house into a venue fit for almost a hundred guests. She arranged tables, produced chairs seemingly out of thin air—even had me clearing up the divan and a couple of coffee tables so they could be used as extra seating.
She was Mary Poppins—if Mary Poppins had worn Chanel and Tahitian pearl necklaces.
I must have gone up and down the stairs some fifty times before Mrs. Hamilton was satisfied that we had enough room to accommodate everyone. Elliot was in no better shape. Sweat ringed his shirtsleeves and collar, and he seemed exhausted.
“Go home and grab a shower,” said Mrs. Hamilton imperiously. “And don’t forget to bring Terry when you come back. I know she’s staying at your hotel.”
“Not in my room,” Elliot countered, slanting a none too subtle glance my way. At this rate, we weren’t going to fool anyone into thinking we’d just had an innocent run-in this morning.
Mrs. Hamilton rolled her eyes at him and scoffed. “Obviously, but do make sure she doesn’t choose to hide herself away like a hermit. It took ages to convince Jana to attend and I’m not having this…petty… whatever it is that’s going on between them.”
I offered to walk Elliot out, snagging a quick break by the same token. “I had no idea she was so invested in Terry’s love life,” I mused, finding it hard to keep a disapproving edge out of my voice. Grateful as I felt for not being fired, I still had a knee-jerk reaction to the meddlesome rich.
Perhaps unfairly, I worried that I was next on her list of people to fix up.
“I think she feels responsible,” Elliot mused, glancing up at the house as he straddled his bike. His gaze softened when our eyes met. “I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll be here, toiling away.” I smiled wryly. This was the outcome I couldn’t have let myself hope for—I had my job back, Mrs. Hamilton had given me the benefit of the doubt, and come Monday morning, I would be driving the kids to school, as usual.
I should’ve been happy and yet as I watched Elliot drive away on his motorcycle, my insides churned painfully. He was still leaving tonight. Nothing we’d said to each other last night had changed that.
Paolo took one look at me as I joined him in the kitchen, shook his head, and pushed a plate of slightly overcooked hors d’oeuvres my way. “Mrs. Hamilton won’t want to serve those,” he said as he expertly sliced salmon into translucent, thin wedges.
It was all the dinner I would have time for, so I helped myself without shame and waited for Paolo to tell me I was making a big mistake. “Well?” I pressed when nothing came. “You’re just going to feed me?”
“You’re a grown woman. You know what you’re doing.”
Don’t be so sure about that.
“Yeah, I’m the poster child for good decisions… Okay, about Mr. Hamilton…”
If the Hamiltons had one fan in this world, it was Paolo. He had been with them far longer than I had and he was devoted to upholding the illusion of their happy nuclear family—an illusion that I had shattered spectacularly by the force of my kick, leading not just to separation, but also to divorce. “I hope you didn’t think I went looking for trouble.”
Paolo fixed me with a glare. “I don’t believe a woman hits a man because she enjoys his advances.”
“Do you have any idea what Mrs. Hamilton told the children?” Zara had been waiting for her juice when I ran out. I didn’t know what Riley and her brother had made of the shouting. Did they know?
“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”
I hadn’t been upstairs since I’d returned to the house. As guilty as I felt about breaking up a marriage—a strange thing, considering I had no love for Mr. Hamilton after what he’d tried to do to me—it was nothing compared to how terrible I felt for leaving the children behind. I bit my lip. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
Paolo hummed in agreement. “It is your job.”
“Missed you, too,” I shot back.
“Go away,” he retorted. “Bad enough I have to work on a Saturday…”
The rest of his complaint faded to silence as I climbed the stairs. I could hear giggling in the family bathroom and steeled myself for what I would find within. It surprised me to discover that my palms were strangely damp as I approached. You’d think I had never had to corral rowdy children before.
“You’re back,” Phoenix said from his bedroom door, stopping me short.
&nbs
p; My heart had jumped into my throat at the sound of his voice, but I swallowed past that uncomfortable lump and said, “I am. Your mom told you I’d left?”
Phoenix regarded me coolly. “She said Dad made you leave.”
Point one for Mrs. Hamilton. “Something like that… You have any idea if it’s safe to go in there?” I asked, jerking my head toward the bathroom door. “I heard something about makeup.”
I knew Phoenix well enough to guess that he disliked the subject. He wrinkled his nose. “Mom let Riley use her lipstick and stuff.”
“Ah. Well, here goes nothing. If I don’t return, you can totally have my dessert from now on.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Phoenix roll his brown eyes at me, but he stayed on the landing as I knocked and stepped into the bathroom. “Hey, I heard something about makeovers—”
“Miri!”
Of all the things I’d expected when Elliot dropped me off at the house this morning, it wasn’t to have Zara squeal my name and launch herself at my knees like we hadn’t seen each other in months.
Tears sprang to my eyes until I barely even noticed the vast array of eye and lip liner pencils strewn around the double sinks.
I picked Zara up with trembling hands. “Hey, sweetie… Wow, aren’t you pretty all dolled up like that? Riley’s been hard at work getting you ready for the party, huh?”
“This is a day look,” Zara told me with a haughty thrust of her chin. She must’ve had ten kinds of lipstick on, to say nothing of the mascara that had somehow gotten into her eyebrows, but I didn’t notice. I was still bowled over by the sound of her voice.
“Is it?” I glanced over to Riley, who was hovering a safe distance away, her arms folded across her chest. “Well, I think it’s very nice. But you haven’t tried makeup on for real until you get to try washing it off.” I winked at Riley. “Having fun?”
She shrugged, trying to play it off. She was at an age when playing with her four-year-old sister was supposed to lose her cool points. “It’s okay. Those brushes are kind of itchy.” Her lips twisted down at the corners. “Dad left. He took the car.”
