by Helena Maeve
“You know what your dad’s like,” I hedged. “He travels so much. If you want, though, we can talk about it. You and me.” I cocked my head, hoping that Riley would understand and forgive me for being so evasive. “What do you say?”
I didn’t want to lie to the kids about Mr. Hamilton, but it wasn’t my place to shock them with news of their parents’ divorce. I would have to find a way to straddle the limit between sincerity and age-appropriate conversations.
Riley worked a black-painted nail into the porcelain edge of the sink. “Mom says we can stay up late tonight. Because of the party.”
“Then we’ll talk after.”
“You promise?”
I nodded and crossed my heart for good measure. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have, but I owed it to Riley to be her friend right now. She was about to be catapulted into the world of grown-up relationships and their myriad failures. The least she’d need was a friend.
“Come on, now. Let’s get rid of the day look and see what we can do to make ourselves pretty for tonight, yeah? Phoenix, you’re on watch duty. Riley, grab a clean wash cloth.” We were going to be at it a while.
* * * *
I hadn’t realized how many people seventy-five guests actually meant until I saw them all crammed into the house, their chorusing voices responsible for the kind of background noise that made it impossible for me to hear myself think. Mrs. Hamilton had me on waitressing duty as soon as I had finished getting the kids dressed and ready to be shown off.
To my surprise and rather than let them fend for themselves—which in such a crowd could well have meant trouble—Mrs. Hamilton took charge of the children herself. She introduced Riley to a composer whose name I thought I recognized from a couple of movies that had recently come out and she bounced Zara on her hip while Phoenix found out all he could possibly want to know about cookery school from a Michelin star chef.
They made the perfect family, minus Mr. Hamilton, who was nowhere to be seen. I heard his name mentioned a couple of times, mostly by guests who hadn’t been brought up to speed on recent gossip, but interest in the topic soon dwindled. No one seemed to know what had really happened the day Mr. Hamilton left for Guatemala—or if he’d left the country at all—and I was in no rush to set the record straight.
I saw Jana as I was making the rounds with a tray of Paolo’s finest bacon-wrapped salmon with basil and garlic stuffing. She recognized me immediately, though we had only met once. “Miriam, how are you?” Her pale, blonde face seemed completely devoid of makeup. I’d envied girls like her as a teenager, partly because I wore my ethnicity on my sleeve and partly because they never seemed to get pulled over.
I didn’t envy Jana, though. Her smile was too sincere to leave much room for resentment.
“Busy night,” I said. “You know what it’s like.” She nodded sympathetically and I thought of Mrs. Hamilton’s insistence that Elliot bring Terry along to the party. I glanced around but couldn’t see her anywhere.
“Is everything okay?” Jana asked.
“Yeah… No, totally.” I sighed. Even I didn’t believe myself. “I heard Theresa might be here tonight. I know it’s none of my business,” I added quickly, “but if it were me, I’d like to know.”
Fair warning seemed like the least I could do to spare her further pain if her relationship had ended unpleasantly.
Jana’s eyes widened. “Oh! Right. I didn’t know… Thanks, Miriam. I appreciate it.” A blush gained her cheeks and spilled down her cleavage in rosy blotches.
“You can slip out through the kitchen door, if you need to. There’s a path that goes right around the house,” I said, smiling wryly. It was the one I’d used to escape Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton when I’d been sure that my livelihood was in danger. “Always good to have a way out, right?”
Jana nodded and helped herself to a few appetizers. I couldn’t help but notice that her hands were shaking.
After the waitressing came the raffle and I had to weave my way between guests dressed in Prada and Dior with two buckets—one to collect donations and another to offer guests a ticket for the upcoming charity auction. My face was beginning to ache from smiling so damn hard and I was going to need a bathroom break soon.
My attention was on the clock’s slow-moving hands when I felt a hand light gently on my shoulder. I flinched so badly I nearly sent tickets and cash tumbling to the floor as I reeled around.
It was only Elliot, holding up his hands in surrender.
I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t dare make a move with so many people around us. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I said instead, “Mr. McFarland.”
Something akin to hurt flashed in his eyes. “Didn’t mean to, I just—”
“Is she here?” I hissed under my breath.
Elliot frowned, ducking his head in the most conspicuous way possible. “Who?” At least one thing was certain—Elliot was no spy.
“Terry. I just saw Jana and—”
“Yeah, I think they’ve found each other.”
I followed his gaze to where I’d left Jana. She was no longer by herself, though. Terry was saying something to her, lips moving fast and her hands tugging through her blonde hair.
A couple of guests nearby threw them curious glances, but Terry didn’t seem to notice or care. I figured she was apologizing for whatever she’d done. I kept waiting to see Jana walk away from her, my own heart pounding restlessly, but though she remained quiet and demure while Theresa spoke, in the end she looked up, nodded and slid her hand around Terry’s waist.
The last thing I saw before I glanced away was the two of them sharing a soft, chaste kiss. “I guess they made up,” Elliot mused.
“Do you know why they broke up?”
He arched his eyebrows, surprised. “Bridget didn’t tell you?”
“Why should she? It’s none of my business.” And Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t the most candid woman I’d ever met.
Elliot’s expression told me he held a different opinion. “From what Terry told me, she backed the wrong horse. Seems Jana had an experience similar to yours—same guy—and when she told Terry…”
“Terry didn’t believe her,” I surmised. “Well, shit.”
“All’s well that ends well, though, right?” Elliot offered me a tight smile. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”
The wisdom of stepping outside when I was meant to be working was such that guilt festered in my gut as I led the way out of the kitchen door and into the yard.
Every party I’d gone to growing up had taken place in someone’s backyard, with meat sizzling on the grill and children whacking piñatas with sticks. Not so on Nob Hill. Mrs. Hamilton’s friends were all about canapés and champagne flutes. They wouldn’t be caught dead eating burgers, even if the meat was organic.
“Think we’ve maybe got five or ten minutes before someone notices that glasses aren’t being refilled, so—”
Elliot slid his arms around my waist and backed me into the wall, cutting me short. Our lips met sloppily, with no finesse, in a kiss that resolutely took my breath away.
“I’ve wanted to do that since this morning,” he murmured as he pulled away and I could feel his breath against my kiss-swollen lips.
“What took you so long?” Rather than let him answer, I fisted my hands in his shirt and pulled him down to me. The kissing thing was easy. It didn’t involve us saying anything dangerous like I’m going to miss you or, worse still, don’t go. I knew the moment was coming when he would have to take his leave, fly across the country. Forget all about me.
I couldn’t stop him. I told myself I didn’t want to.
Laughter echoed from above and I pressed my fingers against Elliot’s mouth, clamping my own shut. Mrs. Hamilton’s guests had opened a window just above us. I could only hope that they were too self-involved to look down.
“Come on,” I mouthed at Elliot. He followed me out of the yard and around the house to the deserted street beyond. We were too exposed
to make out like teenagers, but as at least we could talk with some measure of privacy.
I saw Elliot’s bike on the other side of the street, waiting to take him away. “What will you do with it?”
“I still have the house in Sausalito,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “It’ll be safe in the garage until I get back.”
“And when will that be?” I asked before I could stop myself. Had I been in his shoes, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to commit to a date either, but I wasn’t in his shoes and the thought of him leaving had me tied up in knots. We were standing at a crossroads and the way forward, for him, was to walk away from me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just… I had a good time with you,” I said.
“Me too,” he breathed. But when he made to take me in his arms again, I held up a hand, stopping him short.
“I think it might be best if we don’t, you know, make it worse. I’m going to have a hard enough time without doing something stupid, like begging you to take me with you.” My shattered pride couldn’t take it.
“Why don’t you?”
“Beg?”
Elliot shook his head. “No, I mean… Come with me to Nantucket. We’ll buy a ticket at the airport, I can spring you for cash—you’d love the house, I know you would. It’s got a great view of the sea from the bedroom. And it doesn’t have to be for a long time. Just… As long as you want.”
He was spinning a bewilderingly attractive fiction, but then that was his trade. I could see myself saying yes and leaving without notice, without apology. By tomorrow morning, I could be in bed with him, his warm body writhing beneath mine. It was so tempting.
I wanted to say yes so badly that it physically hurt to shake my head and tell him, “My life is here.”
I had a job. Not the best job in the world—certainly not the best paid—but still. It was something I had chosen. Riley, Phoenix and Zara needed me. Mrs. Hamilton needed me. And maybe, on some level, I needed them, too. I had spent so much time comparing myself to Penny and measuring my choices against the barometer of her achievements that I’d forgotten that the only reason I was still working as a nanny was because I enjoyed it.
“I like what I do,” I heard myself tell Elliot. “I like this…fucked-up family with its rigid rules and secrets and old-fashioned moral standards. God, I even like waking up at six in the morning so I have to get everyone ready for school… I know that sounds like I’m settling, but—”
“It doesn’t,” Elliot interjected.
“I remember what you said last night. And I’m not going to forget it, but, Elliot, we’re too different. You’ve got your books and your fans, and I’m…not going to fit into that.” Partly because I wasn’t willing to give up what I’d worked to achieve and partly because I didn’t think it was fair to pin my hopes and my happiness on Elliot. He was just a man.
I’d never seen him more crestfallen.
“So you’re ending it. You won’t try.”
“Try what? You’re leaving. I need to get back to work…”
“Not if you don’t want me to. I’ll camp out on this goddamn street if that’s the only way you’ll give us a chance. I was under the impression that you felt something for me, too. If I’m wrong…” He took a big, gulping breath, hands flexing into fists at his sides. “Then just tell me now. I’ll leave you alone. Tell me you were in it for the sex and I won’t bother you again.”
“I was in it for the sex.” The words rolled off my tongue like marbles. I watched his face fall. His shoulders sagged as though with the force of a physical blow. “At first,” I mumbled. “At first, I was…just trying to get back at you.”
“Because I didn’t call.”
“Yeah. Kind of bruised my ego there for a while.” I hated admitting as much. It made me sound pathetic and weak, the kind of girl who gets hung up on a guy who’s made her no promises. “I wanted you to see how far I’d come since that night. I know it’s petty.” I felt ashamed to bring it up now.
Elliot raked a hand through his hair. I wanted to tell him to quit pulling at the curly strands, that he would grow bald if he kept it up, but I forced myself into silence.
“What do you think would’ve happened if I’d called?”
I shrugged. I’d often thought about it and I had scenarios enough to fill a Bible, but none were particularly realistic.
“Maybe we would’ve met a few more times. Word would’ve gotten around that you were sleeping with a professor… And however happy we were together, you would’ve wound up hating me.”
“You don’t know that.”
Elliot shook his head at my obstinacy. “I’ve been married before. Also to a younger woman—and no, she wasn’t a student. I didn’t want to be the man who corrupted you. The things I was asking you to do… They weren’t stuff you wanted, were they?”
Back then, he might’ve been right. I only gave BDSM serious thought after I slept with Elliot and discovered that whole other side of me.
“You left to protect me,” I surmised. The thought galled me. I wanted to shout that I didn’t need anyone making my choices for me, let alone a man who barely knew me. Instead, I smiled at Elliot and squared my shoulders. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know,” Elliot said. “But I’m not going to make that mistake twice. I’m not walking away this time. So if you want to end it, you’ll have to do the honors. Go on,” he challenged, “tell me we’re done.”
I held his gaze. “You’re an idiot.”
“That’s not the magic word.”
“Fuck you.”
Elliot shook his head, gaze flinty. “Still wrong.”
I couldn’t have anticipated how much it would hurt to walk away from him. My legs seemed to move of their own accord. It was just as well, because the sting of tears in my eyes made it hard to see where I was going.
For a while there, I hoped that Elliot would chase me and make me see sense. He didn’t. The last I saw of him were the tail lights of his motorcycle, the purring of its engine lost to the hubbub of voices resonating from inside the house.
* * * *
Warm, soapy suds drenched my numb fingers as I scrubbed and scrubbed at the lipstick stains decorating the glasses. The kitchen island was still teeming with porcelain spoons and crystal flutes, though I’d been on dishwashing duty for almost half an hour. Paolo had left about an hour earlier, exhausted and eager to go home to his wife. I had nowhere to go and sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. I feared dreaming about Elliot.
Every time I let my thoughts run away from me, I revisited our goodbyes. I could’ve kissed him one last time. Instead, I had squandered the moment on righteousness. I told myself it was a necessary evil. I told myself the hurt would fade.
“The kids are asleep already?” I didn’t hear Mrs. Hamilton until she was in the kitchen, wreathed in moonlight and a pale white pashmina that had probably cost her as much as I made in one month.
“They were tired,” I said, nodding. “Thought I’d get this done before I clocked out for the night…”
Mrs. Hamilton pursed her lips. “I don’t pay you for overtime.”
“I know.” She didn’t pay me to move furniture, either, but I’d done it at her request because I couldn’t fathom refusing. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hamilton drawled. “You’re very helpful.”
I was too tired to rise to the bait, so I let the comment slide and turned back to the dishes that needed scrubbing. I changed the subject. “I heard Zara talking today.” Mrs. Hamilton had been right all along—Zara was just biding her time until she had something worthwhile to say. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.
“So? She was already talking yesterday. I found her sobbing your name after you’d left.”
“I’m sorry.” What else was I supposed to say? If your husband hadn’t tried to grab my ass, I wouldn’t have left in the first place? I’d never meant to hurt anyone, but all my good intentions weren’t worth shit these days. “Ril
ey doesn’t know about the divorce yet, does she?” I slanted a furtive glance at Mrs. Hamilton, trying to gage her reaction as I added, “You should tell her. She’s old enough to understand…”
“What should I tell her? That her father’s a pervert?”
The sharp, discordant edge of Mrs. Hamilton’s mirthless chuckle had me dropping a plate into the sink. Bile rose to my mouth. I didn’t want to think about Mr. Hamilton’s hands on me. I tried to remind myself that he’d fathered three amazing kids and that I loved them so much more than I hated him.
It was hard to do with Mrs. Hamilton taking a seat at the kitchen table. “You know, you’re not the first. Six months after we were married, he had a fling with one of my bridesmaids. I’d only just found I was pregnant with our first child.”
“Riley?” I glanced over to see Mrs. Hamilton silhouetted in the moonlight. The math didn’t add up. Paolo and Elliot had both told me that the Hamiltons had been married some twenty years. Riley was only thirteen.
Mrs. Hamilton ignored the question as she toyed with the fringed end of her pashmina. “After that came the co-workers, the waitresses… The strippers. And when he got bored of trying to hide them from me, however ineptly, he started working his way through our friends.” Her lips curled up in distaste. “Our staff.”
“You’re saying it like I was willing,” I shot back.
“Jana Pearson wasn’t willing either, my dear. Do you think that kept Patrick from trying to change her mind?” Mrs. Hamilton pursed her lips. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have a friend accuse your husband of trying to rape her? Terry did her best to calm the mood, but she backed the wrong horse.”
I wanted to feel bad for Mrs. Hamilton. I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t responsible for their falling out. Her husband had planted the seed of discord, the blame rested on his shoulders. My forked tongue had a mind of its own.
