The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield

by Ninya Tippett

  Her face was drenched with tears and even though I wanted to somehow smack her in the head for even contemplating losing Don when he was so unworthy of her, I couldn’t.

  “I couldn’t tell anybody,” she choked out, burying her face in her hands. “My parents are going to toss me out when they find out I got knocked up by Layla’s husband. And sure, I can ask Layla for advice except that I don’t I even know where the hell she is and even if I did, she’s married to the man I’m having an affair with! Because I’m such a fucking mess and I couldn’t stay away... And I’m j-just so... Oh, God.”

  I let her sob for a while, reaching out to gently place a hand on her arm so she at least knew, through the fog of her tears and guilt and despair, that someone was there with her. It was a small thing but I knew the difference it made.

  It seemed like an eternity passed before Bessy’s sobs slowed.

  Her face was wet and sticky when she lifted it to look at me, her eyes swollen and red from the force of her tears. “Maybe I deserve this. I did a lot of terrible things, after all.”

  “And do you think getting rid of your baby is going to justify any of those terrible things you’ve done by counting it as your punishment to suffer?” I asked bluntly. “We all make mistakes, Bess, but we don’t have to keep going just because we’re already on a roll.”

  I refrained from pointing out that whatever punishment we may deserve, we should make no child pay for it.

  You can’t escape the descent to hell by merely pushing someone else in front of you first. There’s always someone behind you who’ll do the same exact thing. Still down you go, baby.

  “If I do keep the baby, how am I supposed to care for it?” she asked woefully. “How do I explain it to my family?”

  “You explain it with the truth and hope that they can forgive you,” I answered. “Whether they stick with you or not, Bess, you’re going to have to learn to care for someone else other than yourself. It’ll be daunting and difficult but then you’ve always been tough. This time, be tough for your child.”

  After a long stretch of silence, Bessy nodded and straightened, her shoulders squaring with some resolve. “You’re right. To hell with Don. I don’t need him for this.”

  I could tell that while she’d said the words out loud, there was still some uncertainty flickering in her eyes as she got up to her feet, grabbing her bag.

  “I have to go,” she said abruptly, her backbone ringing clear in her voice once again. “I have something I need to do.”

  I smiled and rose from the chair. “Alright. Go. I’ll tell Anna you stopped by.”

  Bessy stiffened and sent me a pleading look. “Please don’t tell her. She doesn’t know about Don. I’m not even sure why I came to see her. There was just nobody I could talk to.”

  “You can tell her when you’re ready,” I assured her. “If there’s anyone who might actually understand your situation completely, it might be her. But you’ll need to tell your parents. And you need to tell Layla. She deserves to know the truth.”

  Her shame was visible as she cast her eyes down and nodded slowly. “We’re all cheated of something we deserve, in ways both good and bad.”

  I reached out and touched her arm in reminder. “If you need anything in the meantime, you can talk to me too.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  We stood there for a moment, both probably still coping with the reality that the world had somehow flipped and we were on the same side for the first time in our lives.

  Later that night, as I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom brushing my hair down as I usually did before bed, I kept thinking about Bessy’s situation.

  No kid deserved a father like Don LeClaire but that was no reason he didn’t deserve a chance at life either.

  Setting the brush down on the counter, I found my hands moving to my stomach, settling over the small place where one day, my own child would grow.

  I slowly moved my hands over the flat planes, imagining what it would be like, to have my belly swell and grow with child—one that might have Brandon’s dark hair and my blue-green eyes, or my dark blonde hair and his hazel eyes.

  He would be a very lucky child, having a father who was strong, kind and loving, whose hands would pick him up when he stumbles down and patch up his knees when he scrapes them.

  “Is everything alright?”

  I started at Brandon’s voice and I found him staring at me through the mirror from the doorway behind me where he stood.

  He had a curious frown on his face and I couldn’t stifle a small giggle at how odd I must’ve looked to him, caressing my stomach over the thin fabric of my night gown.

  “Yeah. Just thinking about things,” I said lightly, turning around to face him.

  He was in a plain white cotton shirt and gray pajamas but he still looked as seductive as hell.

  I almost wanted to tackle him into the bedroom and start making babies with him—or at least get more practice.

  “Nicole had just emailed me a preliminary concept for the house,” he said, blinking and tearing his gaze away from the outline of my bare breasts under my flimsy white night gown. “I thought maybe we can look at it before bed.”

  Nicole had been ecstatic when we told her about the house Brandon bought and that we wanted her to do it over. We’d taken her for a tour a couple of days ago and she’d been brimming with ideas ever since.

  “She said she’ll send more options when she’s drafted the rest of her ideas,” Brandon added, his hand lifting to outline the slope of my bare shoulder, his fingers toying with the strap. “She’s a little nervous because it’s her first big project.”

  I smiled and took a step closer to Brandon. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. I liked a lot of her ideas. She’ll shine in this project.”

  Brandon nodded distractedly, just as my own fingers trailed down the front of his shirt. “Things have turned out so well for her since she made the leap to come back. Even Francis isn’t posing as a problem anymore.”

  I paused and furrowed my brows. “Do you think his decision to be moved back here in the country permanently is a good thing?”

  When Brandon returned from an afternoon of golf earlier, he shared the news that Francis was coming back to the country permanently. Martin had decided to let Francis take over Brandon when Brandon ascended to being the CEO after Martin’s retirement at the end of the year.

  “It shows he wants to be close enough to his family,” Brandon said with a shrug. “Hopefully, it’ll give him the chance to take an active role in raising Zach. Nicole never complained but I knew that despite everything I provided them, there was always something missing.”

  “Having a father makes a difference in a person’s life,” I said. “What kind of father he is will determine the kind of difference he makes.”

  “The kind of father you had might make one think that you could’ve turned out worse,” Brandon said softly, touching my cheek. “But you didn’t."

  “I think I was made stronger by having the father I had,” I mused in irony. “The way skin gets tougher and calloused when it’s been through so much. It’s not pretty but it’s strong.”

  “No, you’re not pretty, Charlotte,” Brandon murmured, his fingertips moving to trace the curve of my bottom lip. “You’re beautiful. And strong.”

  Warmth pooled in my chest as I lowered my head so I could kiss Brandon’s fingers. “I’m only beautiful to someone who can appreciate my flaws and believe them to be the very reasons I’m unique.”

  “The fault lies in the people who don’t look close enough at you and see your worth,” Brandon said, cupping my chin and tipping it up until our eyes met again. “If they’ve seen even just a glance, they couldn’t have given you up. Not your mother. Not your father.”

  I couldn’t help the sardonic snort. “Oh, they’d seen my worth, Brand, and decided that there was something else worth more to them.”

  Brandon pierced me with a searching gaze, hi
s brows pulling in together as if the puzzle he was staring at was missing some vital pieces. “We’ll never know about your father. But your mother’s still alive, Charlotte. You can still find out.”

  I felt the sharp pang in my heart and I moved my face away from Brandon’s hold. “I’ve decided a while ago that I no longer require answers to my questions because I’ve stopped asking. My mother’s about as dead to me as my father is, Brand. That’s the plain truth of it.”

  I didn’t want to talk about my mother.

  It’s a useless exercise to keep looking for the limb you’ve lost a long time ago. Just limp along as you always have.

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Brandon attempted again, grasping me by the arm to keep me from pulling away from him. “Wouldn’t you want to know if she’s thought about you all these years?”

  I snorted. “Her thinking about me makes absolutely no difference in my life. I’d rather that she didn’t. I’d rather she spent all that time caring for her other children so that they may never know what it’s like to be without a mother—one who’s already lost to another life I wasn’t made a part of.”

  A ragged breath escaped me and I struggled to suck it back in, willing the blood to stop roaring in my ears.

  I closed my eyes briefly as I forced myself to relax and ease my accelerated heartbeat.

  When I opened them again, I saw Brandon watching me with a frown.

  “Do you have those plans that Nicole sent you?” I asked curtly, not caring if my change of topic was as abrupt and as obvious as an elephant barging into the room. “I’d like to see them now, please.

  Before Brandon could answer, I stepped past him and strode into the bedroom, away from the suffocating memories and the man who wanted me to face them.

  Chapter Thirty-One: The Cowards, the Clowns and the Courageous

  You would think that a woman with an incredible amount of money would have no issue buying gifts. But when her father-in-law was not only a ridiculously rich man as well who not only cared about her a great deal but also made the incredulous move to matchmake her with his son, it wasn’t going to be as easy as it would seem.

  It was two days later and I still had nothing to give Martin for his birthday this weekend.

  Since Brandon left early this morning for a business summit in Stockholm, not returning until the end of the week just in time for his father’s birthday, I was left to my own devices. I would’ve come with him if not for the upcoming birthday bash we were finalizing and the little side fact that I was still sheltering Riley and Danny in my old house until Layla could organize her official escape from Don’s clutches.

  My first instinct was to turn to Anna and Tessa but the sisters still had classes so I called up Jake to meet up for lunch and hopefully a quick shopping trip downtown right after. He was the only other person close to Martin who could offer me some gift-giving advice.

  The trouble was, he didn’t quite know what to get him either.

  Martin had everything he could ever possibly need and want—well, except for his wife, Evelyn, to still be alive but even I didn’t have the powers of resurrection, as handy as that might be.

  In the past few birthdays he’d had since I knew him, I’d given him a small cake I made when he stopped by Marlow’s. The only time I’d given him anything that had some kind of monetary value was when I gave him a small book of sketches by an artist in Paris who drew the faces of different diners he could see from the glass window of a cozy cafe as he sat outside on a bench every day. I’d given it to him the first time I saw him again at Marlow’s after my abrupt return from Paris. He had, after all, given me the means to escape my reality even for a little while and head out on my own to the city of lights where I had hoped to start anew.

  And just when you were resigned to the fact that you could never escape your life, he’d introduced you to a completely different one by squaring you off with his son. If fairy godfathers existed, Martin would be yours.

  And since fairy godparents usually did the wish-granting, buying them a gift was like solving one of the great mysteries of life.

  “I’m telling you. There’s only one gift you can give him that would put all his other gifts to shame,” Jake said as we came out of a very high-end designer store. “Grandkids. Tell him you’ll give him either a Brandon junior or a little Charlotte and he’ll be over the moon.”

  I looked at him in exasperation. “I’d like to think of my future children as more than just some gift merchandise I can pop out, tie with a pretty bow, and send with express delivery.”

  Jake grinned. “You know they’ll be very cute.”

  “Just as cute as yours and Tessa’s little minions would be,” I shot back, wiggling my brows at him meaningfully. “If you’re so adamant on giving Martin grandkids, why don’t you and Tessa get to it, huh?”

  I probably shouldn’t have teased Jake about it, knowing his heart was still bleeding in some places, because the moment I mentioned Tessa and their future children, his face went from being incredulous to pained to downright crestfallen.

  “While I haven’t looked that far into the future, I will agree that Tessa and I are going to have some pretty adorable babies,” he said right after a long sigh. “If only they wouldn’t inherit their mother’s obstinacy.”

  I snorted. “News flash, Jake—she’s not the only one with that gene.”

  We were chuckling as we headed for his car parked at the end of the block when my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I asked, since the call display only showed the phone number but no name.

  There was no answer at first—just a series of harsh, ragged breaths.

  “Hello?” I prompted again, stopping mid-stride.

  I had this ugly feeling it was someone I knew but I couldn’t put a finger on it.

  Layla’s prepaid cellphone came up as Poppy Pett (because I liked the name even though she thought it was ridiculous) and the other number we provided Danny and Riley with showed as Rusty Ruiz (because I liked it too).

  “Char?” a faint, trembling voice finally came through the line.

  My body stiffened into alert mode as I replayed the sound of my name over and over again in my head until I could tag the voice.

  Bessy.

  “Charlotte, is everything okay?”Jake asked, drawing me back to reality, his face etched with concern.

  I held up a finger to my lips to quiet him before I lowered my head to focus on the sounds from the other line.

  “It’s me,” I said gently, not wanting to startle her. “What’s going on?”

  She burst into small, suppressed gasps, as if she was having trouble breathing. “I’m at the... the c-clinic to... you know? I thought I could b-but... I... I c-can’t!”

  It felt like a fist pounded straight into my chest as Bessy’s words sank in.

  “Where are you?” I asked, gripping the phone so tight in my hands, I could feel the sweat squishing on my curled palm. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

  “But I have to! I h-have to...” Bessy was full-blown sobbing on the other line now. “He told me I have to, Char... I h-have to...”

  “You don’t have to do a damn thing, do you hear me?” I snapped, stepping out to the edge of the sidewalk and flailing my hand up in the air to get a taxi’s attention. “Stay put. Text me where you are. I’ll come get you and we’ll fix this, okay?”

  “Charlotte, what the hell are you doing?” Jake demanded, gripping my shoulder and yanking me to face him. “Who’s on the phone? What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got to go, okay?” I told him, cupping a hand over my phone. “I’ll call you later, Jake.”

  A taxi pulled up in front of me and I scrambled into it. I tried to shut the door but Jake grabbed it and held it open.

  “What’s the address?” I asked Bessy on the phone again as Jake and I played tug-of-war on the door while the hysterical woman on the other line just kept sobbing. “Focus! What’s the address?”


  “For the love of God, Charlotte!” Jake hissed, glaring at me. “Wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you!”

  I rattled off the address, growing desperate to reach Bessy without further delay. In her state of mind, God knows she might do something she would truly regret.

  “Charlotte!” Jake barked to get my attention. “Something’s wrong and—Ow!”

  I smacked his hand hard enough that he had to release his grip on the door, wincing when he shot me a scathing look.

  “I’m so sorry, Jake!” I apologized haphazardly right before slamming the taxi door close. I turned to the taxi driver and pounded on the back of his seat urgently. “Let’s go!”

  The clinic Bessy went to was fortunately within the outskirts of downtown so I was there in less than twenty minutes. Abortion was legal in the state but the place she chose didn’t look like the kind someone who could well afford the luxuries of first-class health care would pick.

  As I hastily climbed out of the taxi, I glanced around the street that looked more like a back alley to me, and swallowed hard.

  The building was short and a dull concrete-gray with a simple, faded white sign that said ‘Family Care’ in black letters. There were a few cars parked in front of the building and across the street, and the other store space next to the clinic was vacant, unsigned, and sporting boarded up windows and graffiti art.

  It looked like the kind of place someone would go to if they wanted to stay well below the radar and where all transactions were done in cash and without any paper trail.

  My blood boiled.

  I was sure Don planned this little trip to the doctor for Bessy, not wanting to risk anyone recognizing the young socialite if she’d gone to more credible places than this dump.

  Bessy, at least the girl I knew since high school, was certainly spoiled enough to ever consider this place.

  I was still rooted to the spot, staring at the building and fidgeting with my purse, when I heard the loud screech of tires coming down the street.