When You Knew

by Jamie Beck

  That right there had become his favorite part of living in this fancy home, where he’d initially felt out of place. Gentry’s love for Colt, which she unreservedly showered upon him, filled Ian with the tiniest yearning for something he couldn’t even name. An odd ache he’d never had before.

  He’d been an only child in a home that focused on others’ needs over his. He never questioned his parents’ love for him, but watching Gentry and Colt inspired a renewed kind of hope or wish for his future . . . for a family . . . for something more than the satisfaction he got from saving a life or lessening someone’s suffering. The exact hope that had caused his final argument with his dad.

  A week ago he couldn’t wait to return to Haiti. Each day since then, his discomfort with the condo’s swanky fixtures and zip code receded in direct proportion with his increased interest in the two Cabots rolling around on the floor.

  He admitted none of this to Gentry as he slipped into the kitchen to make the much-needed coffee. Ian reminded himself of his limited role in their lives, and of Smith’s claim on both of them.

  From the other room, he heard Colt’s fussing increase.

  “Give me strength,” Gentry called out. When Ian returned to the living room with his steaming cup of joe, she was rocking Colt. “Six weeks. That’s how long Sara’s precious books said colic would last. Well, six weeks came and went three weeks ago. If I had bought those books, I’d demand a refund. It’s maddening, getting just little stretches of peace. I pray someday we’ll go a whole day with minimal crying.” She made a funny face. “Him and me.”

  “At least you can laugh about it.”

  “What choice is there? Pretty soon he’ll be rolling, then crawling, then walking . . .” She rested her cheek against his head. “He won’t understand that I’m tired or frustrated or scared. I don’t want Colt to remember me as anything other than happy to be his mom. I also want him to be proud of who he is, faults and all.”

  Her gaze landed on the blue jay perched on the deck railing. Ian detected a tone he hadn’t heard before, too. A mixture of regret and resolve. Her unguarded statement focused his own lens and helped him see her more clearly. In truth, what she wanted most of all was to give Colt a kind of security she’d never felt.

  “That’s exactly why you’re a great mom.” He knew she didn’t quite believe that yet, but he’d keep reminding her.

  She snapped her attention back to him. “Keep saying stuff like that and you’ll find yourself locked up here forever,” she teased. While he drank his coffee, she laid Colt on the floor and stretched his arms out, trying to distract him. “Actually, I had a thought. If my parents are free to babysit and you aren’t busy tonight, come with me to A CertainTea. I’ll introduce you to my sister, Colby.”

  “Meet your sister?” He choked on his coffee and pinched his nose to make sure that none dripped down his face.

  “Chill. This isn’t a date date. Colby runs the Maverick Foundation and might be able to help fund your plans. There’s no plot to trap you, I promise.” Then she playfully twisted her spine to reveal her crossed fingers. “Seriously, though. It’s a great restaurant. You’ve helped me so much this week. Let me try to help you. When you do leave, I’ll make a personal donation to your cause, but Colby might be able to be a long-term partner.”

  “That’s very generous.” He scratched the back of his head.

  “I can’t promise anything, but who knows?” Gentry shifted Colt to her lap, with his back against her belly, and jiggled him. Nothing she tried stopped his tears. She closed her eyes, uttering to herself, “Oh, Boo. Please, please . . . You might meet your daddy soon. If you can’t stop crying, you’ll scare him away.”

  Ian must’ve huffed or made some other unintentional sound that drew her attention.

  “Got something to say, McJ?”

  He shook his head and raised his empty mug. “Time for a refill.”

  He retreated to the kitchen to regroup. Before pouring himself a second cup, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the refrigerator. He should study the Maverick Foundation’s website and plan a list of questions, not worry about whether or not Smith would crash into this household and destroy the beautiful world Gentry hoped to create for her son.

  By seven o’clock, Ian found himself seated in the most elegant restaurant he’d ever visited. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d stepped onto a movie set.

  Long-range views of the lake eclipsed the ones from Gentry’s home, which were partly obscured by the forest. From their table by the floor-to-ceiling open glass doors, he could see some of the waterfront homes and the blue-and-white sails on two Sunfish racing across the lake’s choppy surface.

  Soft peach light spilled into the restaurant, along with the sweet scent of evening primrose and lilies from the flower beds surrounding the adjacent patio. The celebratory sound of tinkling glasses and silverware should’ve fostered a festive or romantic mood. If he were a normal man, it would have done both.

  Instead of enjoying the setting, he thought of his father and Archer, and what they would think of seeing him idly sitting here.

  The Cabots, and everything they owned, embodied the privilege of wealth. Google searches had taught Ian that Jed Cabot was self-made. His older kids hadn’t known extreme wealth until their teens. No doubt they earnestly worked hard and brushed up against obstacles from time to time, but they all now enjoyed a life free of worrying about money or security or hunger or anything serious, as far as he could tell.

  Ian glanced around the dining room, watching others laughing and leaving fifty- and sixty-dollar meals partly uneaten. Those “scraps” could feed many starving homeless people right here in Oregon, let alone around the world.

  “You seem unhappy. What gives?” Gentry sipped her blueberry martini, her long red locks spilling over the straps of the gold dress that looked more like a slip than an outfit.

  “Nothing.” He scanned the menu again to divert his attention from her figure. Wild Scottish Langoustine, Gulf Shrimp with Fiddlehead Ferns, and an Almond Grilled Wagyu dish for one hundred dollars. Nothing particularly recognizable or affordable.

  “If you can’t decide, the whole Poached Lobster Tail with Grilled Romaine and Citrus is fabulous.” She smiled, oblivious to the fact that the price tag for that dish would feed a Haitian family for weeks. “God, it feels so good to be dressed up. It’s my first night out without Colt since his birth.”

  He set down the menu, self-conscious about his casual cotton shirt. It had a collar, at least, but most of the other men wore jackets. He swiped at the perspiration along his hairline.

  Gentry’s bracelets jangled as they slid down her arm. She put her menu aside and leaned forward. “I wish you’d say what’s on your mind. When people keep their thoughts to themselves, I assume the worst.”

  He fiddled with his fork, avoiding her gaze. Pride had never stopped him before, but he could barely swallow tonight. “I can’t afford to eat here.”

  “It’s my treat, Ian.” She waved her hand as if wiping that concern off the table ended the discussion.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  She set her elbows on the table, forearms crossed in front of her body. “You know, all week I’ve envied your great posture, but now I’m thinking maybe there’s a giant stick up your—”

  “Hey!”

  Gentry laughed. “I’m paying for dinner as a thank-you for the extra hours you put in while I played catch-up at work.”

  He suspected she’d invent reasons until he gave in, so he stopped arguing. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yet still, you look tense and unhappy.”

  “It’s hard to watch all these people leave their meals unfinished as if there aren’t people all over Portland who’re hungry.” He expected her to slap him with another McJ remark, which he probably deserved.

  Instead, Gentry surveyed the room, her gaze following the waiters and busboys clearing tables and pouring refills. />
  Sighing, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap. “It must be impossible to enjoy normal life if you can’t stop making comparisons.”

  “This is hardly the normal life.” He gestured around the space with one hand. “This is exceptional wealth.”

  “You say that like wealth is bad.”

  “It’s not bad, per se.” He’d talked himself into a corner. Another reason to hasten back to his own friends, who shared his experiences and sensibilities. “Waste is bad. A lack of gratitude is annoying.”

  “Why is that all you see? I see a restaurant that employs more than two dozen people, giving them all livelihoods. Not to mention the many patrons who contribute to the foundation, which donates to places like the Angel House.” As she spoke, her spine became more erect. “Cabot Tea employs hundreds of people in multiple states, supporting all those families. And even frivolous little old me . . . every time I spend my money to buy an outfit or pedicure, that’s keeping someone else employed. If people like me—like those in this room—stop enjoying some of the privilege of their wealth, then the economy shifts and others suffer, right?”

  He’d pissed her off. He should’ve known not to let her goad him into talking. “I didn’t mean to offend you. You asked me to be honest.”

  “I did and I’m not mad. I don’t even deny that I, and others, can sometimes be wasteful and unappreciative. Everyone can. You want to talk about that, or how fortunate people could become more aware, compassionate, and helpful, I’m all ears as long as you don’t act like all wealthy people are selfish jerks.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “And here’s something else to think about. Denying yourself the comforts of home by living in places like Haiti might let you pretend that you don’t have it better than others, but you’ll always have it better because you’re free to come home, where clean water and food and health care aren’t scarce.” She sat back. “It’s good to appreciate what you have and to be generous and giving, Ian, but you shouldn’t treat good fortune like a guilty burden, either.”

  That insight would’ve shocked him before he knew her better, but Gentry Cabot had a shrewd way of viewing things, and a no-holds-barred rule when it came to opinions. A quick read through her blog proved that much. Before he could respond, an elegant woman approached the table.

  Long and lithe, she wore a tailored, sleeveless white silk dress. She looked slightly familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

  “Colby.” Gentry stood to hug her sister. They didn’t look alike, but Colby did resemble her father, especially in the eyes, which turned upward at their outer edges. “This is Ian.”

  He stood and shook Colby’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  She gestured for him to retake his seat. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Sara raves about your mother and the Angel House. And thanks to your help, Gentry’s like a new person this week. Colt can be a handful, so you both deserve a little pampering tonight.”

  Gentry shot Ian a pointed look. “Excellent point and timing, actually.” Gentry took her seat and gestured to an open chair. “Can you join us for a second?”

  “Sure.” Colby settled onto the empty seat.

  “Ian and I were discussing his EMT training program in Haiti. He and his partners are looking for more donors or alliances.” Gentry shrugged off the details. “He can explain it better than me, but I thought maybe the Maverick Foundation might be interested in helping such a worthy cause.”

  Colby smiled, but years of watching his parents ask for donations had taught Ian how to spot an “I love the idea, but I can’t help” expression.

  “I’d love to hear more about your experiences, but unfortunately our foundation’s stated mission is to serve the people of Oregon. We don’t have the resources to fund international projects.” She elbowed Gentry. “Of course, if the ChariTea launch takes off, the foundation could amend that position in the future. Tell me what you need. Maybe I can put you in contact with others who can help now.”

  “We’re in the early stages. My partner, Archer, is a British doctor, but he’s been working in Haiti for more than a decade. Haitians have extremely poor access to decent medical care. Unless someone’s in imminent danger of death, hospitals won’t even fill a prescription from their own stock. Families need to go elsewhere to buy the medication, assuming they can afford it. If the hospital does fill it, then the family has to restock it as soon as possible.” Both women’s mouths fell open, so he didn’t elaborate on the many other ways that medical care was lacking. “Anyhow, we realize we can’t fix that systemic problem but hope to improve ambulatory care. Currently, emergency patients walk to the hospital or wait for a ride or come on motorcycles, if at all. If we train locals to be EMTs and provide ambulances and supplies, it’ll give more people a fighting chance for a decent prognosis.”

  “I can’t even imagine that.” Colby tossed her tawny hair over her shoulder and leaned forward. “What are your biggest obstacles?”

  “Haiti’s infrastructure, for starters. They’re still rebuilding from the earthquake and subsequent hurricanes, and much of the money sent there has been diverted to the wrong people. Another major challenge will be setting up a steady pipeline of supplies.” As he spoke to Colby, Gentry’s expression shifted to something uncharacteristically somber.

  “Have you partnered with anyone specific yet?” Colby asked.

  “Not yet. At this point, it’s been mostly random donations. We’ve received enough money to rent an old garage structure and hire one local, Stanley, to start working with us. We still need so much more, including vehicles.”

  Colby sat back, her expression thoughtful. “I’m sorry I can’t commit funding, but let me scroll through my contacts. I’ve met a lot of philanthropists this past year. Maybe I can make some introductions while you’re in town.”

  “I appreciate any help. Thank you.” Ian glanced at Gentry, whose gaze remained fixed on the flickering candle on their table.

  “I’m sorry I can’t do more.” Colby touched her sister’s arm. “But I’ll get back to you with anything I learn as soon as possible.”

  “Thanks, Colby. I knew you’d help.” Gentry raised her martini glass, but her impish smile didn’t reappear.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not plotting to keep Ian around.”

  Gentry’s face blanked for the briefest moment, but she snapped right back to reality. “He’s been great, but you know me. I never count on anyone for long. No point in planning out the future when it never turns out how you expect.”

  “My gypsy-spirited sister,” Colby teased. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were related to my mother instead of Jenna.”

  “Your mom would kill you for saying that.” Gentry’s left brow shot up.

  Colby bumped her sister’s shoulder. “I’m sure she likes you much more than she lets on. Your only crime is being Jenna’s daughter.”

  “Who can blame Leslie for disliking my mother? Sometimes even I can’t stand her.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Colby cast Ian a quick glance, as if he’d think less of Gentry for the biting remark. He’d met Jenna, so he understood Gentry just fine.

  The waiter arrived, interrupting them. “May I take your orders?”

  Colby stood. “I’ll let you enjoy your night. The oysters are excellent, by the way. And Ian, I’ll get you some helpful information soon.”

  “Thanks,” he said as she waved goodbye. He scanned the menu while Gentry ordered. The cheapest item was some kind of hand-cut pasta and cheese with Australian truffles that he had no idea how to pronounce. When it was his turn, he said, “I’ll take the fancy mac and cheese, thanks.”

  Gentry had been staring at the lake in silence while he’d ordered. It allowed him a chance to appreciate her regal profile. Seeing her expressive face at rest intrigued him.

  The waiter returned and refilled their water glasses. Gentry repeatedly tapped a finger on the side of the glass. “I’m sorry for being flip about your life earlie
r. I don’t know you well enough to guess your motives. You must love it there . . . and love your dad to want to honor him this way.”

  His father’s face surfaced in his mind, followed closely by the two-story flamingo-pink building that had been damaged by the earthquake, and then the aftershock that brought down what had remained while his father was inside.

  “You look haunted.” Gentry’s eyes went round.

  “That’s about right,” he muttered aloud.

  “Sorry. I’m not good at respecting ‘normal’ boundaries . . . in case you hadn’t noticed.” She allowed him a chance to decide whether to share more. When he remained tongue-tied, she said, “I admire your work ethic, but you need some joy, too. Before you leave, I’m determined to make a few fun memories with you, Ian Crawford.” She raised the martini glass to her lips and enjoyed a long swallow. “Promise me, once you go, you’ll remember to make yourself happy now and then. Not to be clichéd, but you do only live once.”

  Chapter Seven

  Merriment

  According to Merriam-Webster: lighthearted gaiety or fun-making : HILARITY

  According to me: my mission for Colt (and Ian)

  “You might as well come inside.” Gentry turned off the engine and stared at her parents’ home. “I need to visit for at least ten minutes or my mom will find some new way to torment me at work.”

  Ian shifted in the passenger seat, rubbing his palms along his thighs. “They probably prefer to spend those few minutes without me.”

  “Oh, trust me. My mother wants a chance to get a clearer read on you, and that will take the pressure off me.” Gentry winked, although she was dead serious.

  “Great,” came his dry response.

  Gentry patted his hand, then withdrew, resisting the urge to turn his palm over and trace its lines to discover new things about him. “If I can put up with her judgment for twenty-six years and counting, you can do it for a few minutes. It’ll be fun. A ‘judgy’ standoff. Maybe I should sell tickets.”