by Summer Devon
“Oh Rachel, honey, I’m so sorry. I wish you had a—”
“Janey.” Not only adult, but patient, thoughtful adult. “We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about that.” She pointed to the pregnancy test.
“Ew, yuck,” she added, with an abrupt dip back to teenager. “I can’t believe you two did that.”
And then less than a second she was back to extremely adult. “What were you thinking? I mean, you don’t even know each other that well, do you? You’d just met. That’s the kind of doot-brained thing Penny would do.”
Even Toph didn’t try to come up with an answer for her.
After that, Janey remained silent, but she understood she truly was trapped. Like a rat. Rachel would never forgive her and perhaps little Toph, Jr. wouldn’t either if she didn’t marry Toph, Sr.
Toph and Rachel ate brownies, and for some reason attempted to make small talk about other things, any other thing but the baby. Janey merely stared at the plate of brownies, too unsettled even for chocolate.
Toph hung around a while, perhaps hoping she would ask him to stay longer.
“I have to talk to Rachel,” she said at last. “Alone.”
But it turned out she couldn’t think of a thing to say to the beaming, babbling girl. Good thing, since she wouldn’t have gotten a word in edgewise. Once Toph left, Rachel let loose.
“It’ll be great,” Rachel said. “You should have a real wedding you know. I’ll help plan it. Lots of food and lots of great stuff like prizes. My friend Katie? Her mom had organized games before. What sort of theme do you think? I bet your friend Margaret would love to help you. She knows everyone here in town. And where will we live after you’re married?”
Married? She could not bend her mind around the word. She needed time to get used to the idea. After all, it had been less than twenty-four hours. They’d have to wait until she grew accustomed to the plan. Perhaps they could wait until Toph Jr. was a bit older to get married. Say, twenty or so.
Rachel talked and Janey smiled and occasionally nodded at her, wishing her niece’s energy would wind down. At last Rachel remembered a test she had to study for.
Janey waited until the door to Rachel’s room had closed before she called Mickey on his cell phone. In the days since she’d met him, she’d started calling Mickey about everything.
“O’Connor here.” He bellowed into the phone as if offended by whomever dared call him. He had caller ID of course, but usually refused to check it.
“And Janey here. Do I really have no insurance?”
“Yup.”
“Which yup is that? Yup I don’t or yup I do?”
Mickey spelled it out. “You. Have. No. Health. Insurance.”
She frowned, trying to remember the checkout process at the hospital. Nothing about a payment plan. No threats to repossess her body if she didn’t pay in time. Just Mickey and some sheets of paper to sign. “Why didn’t you tell me? How come I was allowed to leave the hospital without donating a kidney?”
He clicked his tongue impatiently. “I told you I took care of it. You didn’t seem interested in the details at the time. Look, do you need anything else cause I gotta go an—”
“You took care of it, Mickey?”
“Yeah, so, not really. I’m not as sweet on you as that. I’m just the detail man.”
“Mr. Dunham.”
“You guessed it. Himself.”
She groaned so loud that Mickey complained. “My ear. Whaddaya trying to do? Make me go deaf?”
“How much?”
He told her.
Tears formed in Janey’s eyes. She owed Toph Dunham twenty-five thousand dollars.
“Carmody? You still there?”
“Oh, blast it all, what am I going to do?”
“Hell. I don’t know. Forget about it. Dunham probably has.”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars? He’s forgotten about twenty-five thousand dollars?”
“You don’t stop that squealing, girl, I’m gonna hang up. ’Sides, we’re working on getting the police to cough up your expenses. And some pain and suffering dough as well. I’m just about sure they will too. Anything to get me off their butts.” He spoke with more than a touch of pride.
“Mickey, tell me what you know about Toph. Everything. And please don’t get all prickly. I need to know about him.”
Mickey’s voice was suddenly guarded. “Why?”
“Personal reasons.”
A long pause, and she could hear Mickey grumble under his breath. For once he didn’t sound sarcastic as he answered. “Dunham’s a good man, Carmody. I’m not dishing dirt on him. Not even for you and Rachel.” His voice dropped back to its customary grumble as he added, “Hell, got nothing really worthwhile to dish. He’s a boring bastard.”
“No, you don’t understand. He wants to marry me.”
His whoop of laughter made her wince. “He works fast doesn’t he? Always has.”
“Tell me about Toph. Tell me how you met.”
“Aw hell. You gonna be part of the family, I’ll take an hour and meet you somewheres.”
“I haven’t said yes, dang it.”
“I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate. Know a weirdass little place called The Pickled Chug?”
“Yeah, I know it becau—”
“Dump our girl Rachel at a friend’s house. I’ll meet you there in an hour.” He hung up.
Oh well. She wanted see Lindy anyway.
As she drove to the city, she considered everyone’s confidence she’d accept Toph’s proposal. Just because the man was rich, kind, intelligent, stunningly handsome, fabulous in bed, and she carried his child did not mean she wanted to marry him, dammit.
And she did not like this “part of the family” thing Mickey and Bea mentioned. What was Toph anyway, some kind of cult leader? A tribal chief? The godfather?
She had her own extended family in a way. She’d show Mickey she had a crew too. She was glad she met him outside the door, by the Chug’s awning. That way they could walk in together and she could introduce him to Lindy.
“Sweetie!” Lindy yelled. And she flung her arms around Mickey.
Everything about Lindy screamed drama. Her opera diva’s voluptuous figure, her black hair with its dramatic grey streaks. She once told Janey she might as well give in to her natural bend, which was why she usually wore bright eyeshadow that evoked sixties mod. Today she’d painted her eyelids a bright purple that reached almost to her eyebrows.
“I’m so glad to see you, love!” she said to Janey, adding, “I’d hug you but I’m afraid I’d hurt your poor shoulder.”
Janey gritted her teeth. “How do you know Mickey?”
“God, hon. Who doesn’t know Mickey?” Lindy led them to Janey’s favorite table, the one with a giraffe motif and the spotty couch that was fun to lounge on.
They ate delicious, vaguely Mexican food. The menu changed every few days depending on what ingredients were available. Janey suspected Lindy had gotten a deal on cilantro, chipotles, limes, avocados and tomatoes that morning.
“Go ahead,” she said to Mickey. “Tell me about Toph.”
For once Mickey didn’t dodge or grumble but launched right in. “I met Toph about eleven years ago when I was doing yard work. I was seventeen, and had dropped out of high school and, uh, had gotten into some trouble. Let’s just say I was on probation. He and Bea were still married back then and living near Greenwich. Anyway. I was on this landscaping crew. We were there to do mowing, for crissakes, and Bea wanted us to do something about repairing this wall. A big pain-in-the-ass old stone wall. And I was arguing with her saying it wasn’t our job. She’s arguing right back. She can be mighty bitchy when she wants to be. Entitled rich girl.”
Mickey smiled appreciatively. Clearly he admired that kind of attitude. “So Toph wanders by and starts to listen. He sits down on the wall. The one we’re arguing about. And damned if about ten minutes into it he didn’t interrupt the fight to invite me to lunch. S
ays he thought I had ‘an interesting way of presenting myself and my points’.”
“Didn’t Bea object?”
“Yeah, maybe. I can’t remember if she was at lunch. I didn’t care because by the end of lunch, Toph told me if I finished high school or got a GED, he’d help me with college. I never in a million years thought I wanted to go to college.” Micky snorted and shook his head. “The way the guy talked, he had me wrapped up in ideas that never entered my head. Hell, I had no plans other than not repairing that mother-effing wall of theirs. I thought, why not. Has to be better than mowing rich assholes’ lawns. I’ll give it a try. And here I am.”
“He paid your bills?”
“We had a semester-by-semester deal. Contracts and shit. I eventually paid ’em back. Most of them, anyway. He got some kind of business after all. Not like any other I ever heard of. But he even occasionally makes money at it. The man’s a limited liability corporation.”
He speared a piece of Mexican-style broccoli. “Anyway, Toph offered to help with the school bills. And then he paid for law school.”
“So he just gave you money?”
“Yeah. And he takes care of other problems, nibbles at your doubts. He gets you to do the work you want to do or are supposed to do. He does the rest.”
She made a face.
Mickey made a face right back at her. “What the hell’s wrong with that? He takes care of me. And the others, but we do our part.”
She couldn’t answer for a moment. “Sounds like he’s a daddy. I don’t want to be a child. I have stood on my own two feet for years and like it that way.”
Mickey swallowed his mouthful of lamb before answering. “Nope. Nobody can turn you into a child unless you do it to yourself, Carmody.”
She suspected he was right, but that didn’t make her feel any better. “Anyway, he doesn’t love me.”
“Then why does he want to…sheyit.” He stared at her for a long minute. Then he put down his fork and elegantly patted his lips with a napkin. “Something tells me I didn’t hear every detail of what happened while you two were kidnapped. Are you pregnant?”
She nodded.
“Dunham’s or Blair’s?”
Janey resisted the urge to throw her tortilla at him. It was a fair question, after all.
“Toph’s.”
He stared at her, a wicked grin on his face. “Come on, Carmody. I’m buying lunch. I punted an important meeting to see you. Spill some details. How did you two manage it?”
Blushing, she told him an abridged version of the bathtub experience. He gave a hoot of laughter so loud everyone in the restaurant ogled them.
Mickey gulped down his glass of Evian water then frowned at her. “So you’re knocked up by a guy you say doesn’t love you. What the hell difference does that make? Do you love him?”
The question hit her in the solar plexus. Was she infatuated with the man? Could that be a problem?
Mickey stood and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table. He reached out and ruffled her hair as if she were a golden retriever. “Gotta go. Don’t seem to me you got a lot of options, Carmody. And before you ask, nope, I ain’t gonna marry you. Sorry. So you gotta take him. You’re probably the type that thinks being a parent means you come in second? Baby’s gotta be first?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I think,” she said at last. “What about you? What do you think?”
“Same load of crap. That’s why I’ll never have babies. I like being number one.”
After Mickey stalked out, Lindy came over to the table to visit. She picked up the hundred dollar bill and waved it before tucking it into her wide apron that had “Da Boss” printed in gold letters across the front.
“See why I remember him? The guy loves to spend money. Plus he’s majorly cute when he’s not being indignant. Sometimes even then.”
She plunked herself down on Mickey’s chair and picked up one of the chips he hadn’t eaten and dipped it into the hot black bean dip.
She smiled as she crunched. “I did a good job on the chips today. And it’s a great dip, isn’t it?”
“My recipe?”
Lindy beamed. “Of course. Including the touch of chocolate.”
Janey sat back and stroked the fake fur of the couch. She watched her friend work her way through the chips and then the rest of her tortilla.
“Lind, I know you don’t do catering or weddings, but will you make an exception in my case?”
Her friend’s eyes grew huge.
“You’re getting married? God. Who to? I didn’t even know you were dating.” She put a hand over her mouth. “Not to Mickey.”
“No. A guy named Christopher.”
Lindy squealed and jumped up. “The multimillionaire gorgeous guy. The one on TV. The one you were kidnapped with! Of course! How perfect.”
Her happy squeals at last made the patron at the next table look up from his plate of enchiladas and scowl.
Lindy climbed onto a rickety chair and, clutching the back of it, announced that due to management’s favorite chef’s glad tidings of her upcoming nuptials, everyone in the restaurant was to be treated to one drink by the house. She suggested that they pick today’s special, a watermelon margarita.
Lindy brought Janey a glass of champagne, which she pretended to sip. She didn’t think she could handle her friend’s joy about the other happy little event.
After Lindy went bustling back to the kitchen, Janey leaned back on the couch and stared up at the abstract mobile slowly spinning over the table. Okay, now she’d committed herself to a wedding supper. She supposed she ought to finally tell the groom the marriage would take place.
Chapter Fifteen
When Janey took walks in West Farmbrook—on the edge of the road, since few streets were graced with sidewalks—she enjoyed scrutinizing the houses, picking out which ones she’d accept as a gift from a fairy godmother.
She’d say no thanks to more than half of them. But despite the fact she didn’t adore a bunch of the big houses, none of them truly offended her.
That was before she’d gone to Toph’s quiet cul-de-sac and seen his house.
She hated it. Squat but huge, ostentatious and just plain awkward, Toph’s house was dreadful. It didn’t even deserve to be called ugly. How could a structure so pretentious be so boring? Obviously money was no object to the builders—they might at least have constructed something with a little personality.
Redeeming features, she reminded herself. Look for them. Say something nice.
“I love the way the slate is laid out in this walkway,” she said at last. She scanned the facade of the house again, hunting for something, anything, positive to say.
“I like the roof shingles. They’re a good color.”
Toph’s amused voice broke through her frantic thoughts. “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. I don’t much like it. But I wanted to be near Cynthia, I wanted a pool and I wanted a couple of extra rooms. This was the only thing on the market available that week.”
Figures he’d want the deal over and done in a week. Maybe Toph suffered from some form of attention deficit disorder. How long before he got bored with her? Maybe it would be before they got married.
He turned off the house’s alarm and they entered the huge front hall. At least the place let in some decent sunlight, unlike her apartment.
The phone in the foyer blinked that it had eighty-five messages. “Damn, I forgot to switch it to Nina,” Toph grumbled.
“Nina?”
“My assistant. I hate the phone and she can answer most of the questions anyway.”
The messages mostly began with “You don’t know me, Mr. Dunham, but I got your name from…”
“Time to change my home number again,” he said as he hit delete over and over. “It’s unlisted, but I get careless with it.”
“But what about the people who have hunted down your number and worked up the nerve to call you?” Janey felt indignant on their behalf.
H
e shrugged. “They’ll call again. Or they’ll call the number of the office. I don’t want people to use my home number for business.”
“They’re all business?”
“Yup. Most of them anyway. And most of them are completely lunatic.”
“Where’s your personal life?”
He shrugged again. She wished she hadn’t asked.
The house’s decor was as warm and welcoming as a dentist office’s sterile, anonymous waiting room. A dentist who’d had too many years exposure to the squeal of the drill and wanted to take it out on his patients.
“Who did your, ah, interior decorating?”
“Jeno. She’s actually a designer who specializes in offices. I figured I’d see if she was any good and let her do the foyer.”
“I suppose she’s okay if you want to live in a waiting room.”
“I don’t think so. I felt bad because I ended up not backing her business. So I paid her to do the whole house since I don’t particularly care. She did everything except Cynthia’s room.”
Cynthia’s room was the only one in the house she liked. Though perhaps “like” was the wrong word. Appreciated, because it was the only room with any sense of personality or life.
Obviously Cynthia was given free rein and lots of paint. A huge red slogan “GIRLZ RULE” had been painted across one wall. Strange mashed potatoes drifted on the ceiling across a blue plate. Oh. Clouds in a sky.
In the middle of the mishmash of posters and stuffed animals was an enormous round bed.
“Interesting choice for a bed,” Janey squeaked. “Austin Powers influence?”
“I didn’t like the thing, but she said it made her feel like a slice of pizza. I don’t think she’s seen the Austin Powers movies. Bea is a pretty strict mother.”
“You’re the indulgent one?”
“You bet.”
“Parents without custody. Sheesh. A round bed.”
“I moved to West Farmbrook so we could manage joint custody. And for your information, Cynthia’s got a water bed at Bea’s house.”
Jeno the designer must have been eight feet tall because in the kitchen, the cabinets and counters were all too tall and wide. Janey spotted a gorgeous industrial-strength mixer and rushed to examine it. Even though she was almost five foot four, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the appliance at the back of the counter. Toph leaned against the kitchen island, a smile on his face, and watched her explore.
