by Night Moves
“Six?” Jeremy echoed. “Not even six, but almost six? What the hell are you doing up? What the hell am I doing up?”
“You’re preparing to do me a huge favor, Jeremy.”
On the other end of the phone, she heard the rumble of a male voice and knew it belonged to Paul, who shared Jeremy’s bed, his life, and four cats named Curly, Larry, Mo, and Joe—Joe being a recently adopted stray.
“No, it’s Jordan,” Jeremy told Paul around a yawn. “Go back to sleep. So what kind of favor do you need at this ungodly hour, Jordan?”
“It’s an ongoing favor, actually. You don’t have to do anything right at the moment—”
“Thank God for that.”
“And before I tell you what’s going on, I have to make it clear that I can’t tell you everything, okay?”
“What do you mean by that? You can’t tell me everything? What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Did something happen?
You bet something happened. And I’m still not even sure what, she thought grimly.
Aloud she said, “Jeremy, I need to take some time off.”
She heard him exhale audibly. “Is that all? You had me thinking the worst. It’s about time you took time off. When, how long, and where are you going? I hope you’ve decided to check out that spa I told you about, because the massage therapist there is—”
“Jeremy, it’s not like that. I’m not going on vacation. Something’s come up and I need to take some time.”
“What came up? And how much time?”
“I can’t tell you, and I don’t know.”
There was a pause. “Did somebody die?”
“No!”
“Are you sick?”
“No. I can’t—”
“Okay, I get it. You can’t tell me. God knows you deserve time off, Jordan. Take all you need. I’ll hold down the fort. When are you leaving?”
She hesitated, wondering whether she should let him know that she wasn’t leaving. But maybe it was better if she didn’t even tell him that much. The last thing she wanted was for him to give in to his curiosity, stop over to see her, and see Spencer. Then she’d have to offer some explanation—and Phoebe had made it clear that she wasn’t to say a word to anybody.
“I’m leaving right away,” she told Jeremy.
“As in … today?”
“As in, consider me gone.”
“What about—”
“The Goff-Anderson wedding? The cold salads are already prepared, the lobsters are being delivered at noon, and the flowers at twelve-thirty. Make sure you’re there by ten, though, because the tables and chairs—”
“I know.” Jeremy yawned again. “The tables and chairs are coming at eleven. The paperwork is in the office, and considering your anal-retentive habit of writing everything down, I’m sure I won’t have any questions. But if I do—”
“Then call me,” Jordan said. “On my cell phone. I’ll have it on.”
“Fine.”
“And the small jars of cherry jelly for the Clark shower favors are—”
“I know.”
“I already tied the gingham fabric around the tops of the jars, so all you have to do is bring them with you. The shower is at—”
“I know, Jordan. I know what you’ve scheduled and when, I know where to go and believe it or not I know what to do and how to do it. For Christ’s sake, just go away and forget about work for a while, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And have a fabulous time.”
“I will.” Could he hear the hollow note in her voice?
She sipped the acrid coffee. She’d made it too strong.
“Jordan?”
“Hmm?”
“I hope I get to meet him when you get back.”
Meet him?
She almost choked on her coffee. “How did you know…?”
“I figured it had to be a man. It’s about time you met somebody.”
A man? She smirked despite herself.
What would Jeremy say if he knew the “man” was three feet tall and wore Winnie the Pooh sneakers?
She sighed. “Jeremy…”
“I know. No details. But I’m filling them in myself. You met someone, you’re wild about him, and he’s whisking you off to some fabulously exotic romantic locale.”
Well, okay. Let Jeremy think whatever he wanted.
“Bon voyage, Jordan,” Jeremy said, making kiss-kiss noises into the phone.
“Good-bye, Jeremy.”
She hung up, pressing a finger on the talk button and then lifting it again to hear the dial tone.
She had to look up the number. It wasn’t one she knew off the top of her head, so seldom had she dialed it these past few years. Regret seeped into her at that realization. Growing up, she knew Phoebe’s phone number better than her own, having called it at least a few times daily for more than a decade. There was a time, around fourth grade, when they went through an open-the-window-and-holler phase, but their parents swiftly nipped that in the bud.
Jordan’s smile at that memory faded quickly as she punched in a Philadelphia area code and the unfamiliar number for Phoebe’s home there.
The line rang four times before an answering machine picked up.
Reno’s monotone announced, “We aren’t here to take your call right now. Please leave a message at the tone.”
Jordan hung up, staring into space.
There were so many things she needed to ask Phoebe.
She would just have to try again later.
Beau got to the gym early for his morning racquetball game, which wasn’t surprising. His mother had taught him that a gentleman was always punctual.
Ed wasn’t there yet. That wasn’t surprising, either.
Ed was late for everything. Beau had noticed long ago that his friend and partner seemed to spend a big chunk of his life on his cell phone, phoning in apologies and making excuses for delays.
He should be used to it by now. After all, he and Ed had known each other since their days as roommates at Rice University’s school of architecture. Back then, Ed managed to go late to some classes and miss others and somehow come out with excellent grades. The guy was a bona fide genius.
After graduation, Beau drifted in Europe before marrying Jeanette, having Tyler, and settling back in his hometown of DeLisle, Louisiana.
His father wanted—no, expected—him to take over Somerville Industries, but Beau was content to work for a local architectural firm, relying less on his paychecks than on his sizable trust fund to support his family. His father, who considered architecture Beau’s “hobby,” always held out hope that Beau would come back to the fold—even now.
These days, Beau’s cousin Redmond was being groomed by Beau’s father to take over the company. But Geoff Somerville frequently let his son know that there was room for him, too. His sister’s son might be willing and capable, but Geoffwanted Beau there, too.
Last winter, the ailing architect for whom Beau had worked for years was slowly running the firm into the ground. On the verge of breaking up with Lisa, Beau realized he needed a fresh start. But he knew that working for his father wasn’t the answer.
There were too many memories in DeLisle. It was time to escape.
He and Ed had kept in touch sporadically over the years. He knew Ed had married a Richmond debutante, whose rich daddy funded the start-up of Ed’s Washington-based firm. Several times, Ed had invited Beau to move up north and come on board. A few months ago, when Ed extended the offer again, Beau realized the time was right.
It was easier than he expected, leaving his family and DeLisle behind. Maybe easier than he wanted it to be.
He was no longer sure whether he had been clinging to the past, or truly longing to escape it.
Now life had settled into a rhythm of work, meals on the run, and working out at the gym.
Even at this early hour on a summer Saturday morning, Capital Fitness was already crowded.
Beau de
cided to wait for Ed in the exercise room. He found a vacant treadmill, got on, and worked his way up to a warm-up jog.
A few days from now, he thought, he’d be jogging on a sandy beach. He had rented an oceanfront home on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. When he’d made the reservation last fall, he was living in New Orleans with Lisa and had intended for the two of them to go together. It was her idea, in fact. By the time they broke up, he had already paid for the place, and it seemed a waste not to use it.
Anyway, a solo vacation was fine with him. He would welcome the solitude. So much had happened these past few months—the breakup, the move, the new job—he needed a chance to clear his head.
Actually, he thought, increasing his pace on the treadmill, it wasn’t just this spring. He hadn’t had a chance to get away and sort things through in years. It was as if his life had careened out of control in that one horrible instant that was forever imprinted in his mind, and ever since then, he had let the mad current sweep him along.
Well, he’d had enough. It was time to sort things out. To examine his life. To gain perspective on where he was now and where he wanted to be.
Hell, there’s only one place I want to be, he thought grimly, closing his eyes, remembering …
He made himself stop. He forced his eyes to open before the tears could flood in.
As he glanced into the mirror in front of the row of machines, he locked gazes with an attractive woman with a blond ponytail and a workout leotard that bared her sculpted, tan abs.
She smiled at him. He smiled back briefly, then shifted his attention away. But he could feel her watching him as he moved through fifteen minutes of cardio, then checked his watch and stepped off the machine.
Ed must be here by now, he thought, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel.
“Hi, are you a new member?”
He looked down and saw Blond Ponytail standing at his elbow. She was petite, especially next to his six-foot-four frame. She couldn’t be more than five feet, one or two, he found himself calculating.
Jeanette had only been five-one.
He used to call her Pip. As in Pipsqueak.
He swallowed hard, pushing back the intrusive memory, and focused on the question.
“Yes, pretty new here,” he said. “I joined a few weeks ago.”
“Where are you from? I love your accent.”
“Louisiana.”
“I knew it! I was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras once. It’s such a great city.”
“Yes, it is pretty great,” he agreed.
And it was true. He did think New Orleans was a great city.
Suddenly, he missed home like crazy. But living there was too painful. Everywhere he turned, he saw Jeanette and Tyler. He just couldn’t go on living like that.
“Well, D.C. is a great city, too,” the woman said with a grin. “I should know. I was born and bred just a few blocks away from this very spot.”
“You’re the first person I’ve met here who can make that claim,” Beau said. “Everybody around this town seems to have been transplanted from somewhere else.”
It wasn’t like that back home. In his small hometown, DeLisle, about halfway between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, most families could trace their local roots back for generations. The Somervilles had inhabited their sprawling antebellum plantation-style house for 150 years.
“Yeah, people come and go here. But you’ll get used to it,” the woman told him. He saw her glance down at his hand and realized what she was looking for.
A wedding ring.
He deliberately slid his fingers back beneath his towel, not wanting to see his ringless fourth finger.
He wasn’t used to seeing it that way himself. He found it hard to believe that there was a time when he didn’t think he wanted to wear a ring. He’d never been one to wear much jewelry, other than a watch and the occasional cufflinks. But when they established that they were getting married, Jeanette said she wanted him to wear a ring.
“Why? Don’t you trust me?” he’d drawled, his eyes twinkling at her. They both knew she didn’t have a thing to worry about.
“I trust you. But I’m an old-fashioned girl. I want an old-fashioned husband with an old-fashioned ring on his finger.”
Funny, just when it seemed he’d finally gotten used to the gold band glinting there on his left hand, he had to try to get used to a bare finger again.
You can’t wear that wedding band forever, Beau.
Those were Lisa’s words, about a month into their relationship.
The truth was, he had believed he could wear it forever, even after Jeanette was gone….
Just as he had believed he’d be married to her forever.
Forever.
Nothing was forever, he thought bitterly. Nothing but pain.
“So what’s your name?” Blond Ponytail asked in a sultry tone.
He had forgotten all about her.
“Beau,” he said. “Beau Somerville.”
“Nice to meet you, Beau. I’m Suzanne Lancaster. I was just going over to the weight room to lift… Maybe you can spot me?”
“Sorry,” he said, but his tone wasn’t the least bit apologetic. “I have to meet someone on the raquetball court.”
“Maybe another time,” she said with a shrug. “Listen, maybe this is bold, but—maybe we can get together later and I can show you around a little bit. You know, show you some of the local sights that are off the beaten path. There’s more to D.C. than the White House and the Smithsonian.”
“I’m sure there is,” Beau said. “But I’m not…” He hesitated.
“Not interested? Not available?” She was watching him closely. “Maybe a little of both, huh?”
He nodded. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was worth a shot. My divorce was final last week, and I’m feeling kind of lonely.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who wanted it.”
“That must be hard.”
“Yeah, divorce is hard.”
He nodded. “I’m sure it is.”
“How about you? Let me guess. Happily married?”
He felt the old familiar sick churning in his stomach. “Not anymore.”
“You’re divorced, too, huh?”
Beau looked down at his watch. “Sorry, I’m late for my game.”
“See you around,” she said with a wave.
He was already halfway to the door.
“Where’s Mommy?”
Jordan blinked. The little boy lying in her guest-room bed didn’t. No, Phoebe’s son was staring right up at her with his big brown worried eyes, waiting. He looked as though he had been lying awake there for quite some time, pondering the very question he had just asked.
“Mommy is …” Jordan hesitated.
Damn Phoebe!
Damn her for leaving so quickly last night.
As soon as Jordan had agreed to take Spencer for her, she had said she wanted to catch the last train back to Philadelphia and asked Jordan to call her a cab. Jordan obliged, never expecting a driver to materialize at the door within minutes. She had thought it would take at least a half hour. That she would have time to talk more to Phoebe, to find out more about…
Well, about everything.
About her life, and her marriage, and her son—and about what could possibly have been earth-shattering enough to propel her back into Jordan’s life with such a bizarre proposition.
But there was no time.
The cab was waiting, and the train was leaving.
Phoebe had to go.
Spencer had fallen asleep on the couch watching television while Jordan and Phoebe talked in the kitchen. With tear-flooded eyes, Phoebe kissed him gently on the forehead. He didn’t even stir as she made her way to the door, with Jordan trailing along behind, asking every question she could think of—except the one Phoebe had already refused to answer directly:
Why are you leaving him here?
/> After she had disappeared into the rain-shrouded darkness, leaving a bewildered Jordan alone with her child, Jordan cried. She couldn’t help it. She cried out of exhaustion, and frustration. She cried because seeing Phoebe again only reminded her of how much she missed her friend, and because her heart hurt for the abandoned little boy on the sofa, and because, quite frankly, she had no idea how to care for a small child.
She had watched Spencer sleep for more than an hour before deciding to move him upstairs to the bed. She decided that if he woke up, she would explain that his mommy had to go away for a short time but would be back for him soon. She even rehearsed the exact words she would use.
But he didn’t wake up.
Not then.
Now, he was fully awake, waiting for an explanation.
Now in the grim light of Saturday, after Jordan’s own sleepless night and her early-morning call to Jeremy, the previously rehearsed words had evaporated and an explanation refused to come as easily.
She took a deep breath and began again. “Mommy had to go back to … um, go back home.”
But was that where she had gone? Was she back in Philly? The answering machine had picked up every time Jordan dialed the number since early this morning, wanting to ask Phoebe how she should explain her absence, and whether Spencer had any food allergies, and what kind of toothpaste he used….
“Back home?” Spencer echoed. Jordan heard the sob in his voice before the first tear trickled down his cheek. “Without me? But—”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said, hurriedly sitting on the bed and reaching out to take him into her arms. She stopped only when she saw him flinch and recoil.
She didn’t blame him. She might be his godmother, but she was a virtual stranger to him. Phoebe—no, more likely Reno—had seen to that.
Jordan settled for a pat on the small, round arm that extended above the pale blue sheet. “Your mom had to take care of something in Philadelphia, and then she’ll be back for you. I’m going to take good care of you until she returns. Anything you want or need, just tell Auntie Jordan and I’ll see that you have it. Okay?”
He didn’t nod. He didn’t do or say anything, except lie there staring at her with tears spilling down his cheeks.
