by Brenda Novak
Either way, the girls would lose, which gave him one more thing to hold against his ex-wife.
“I’ll let you know what I decide. Call me if you hear anything,” he said.
“I will. Do you want me to take the girls for you next weekend?” she asked.
“No. I’m glad to have them home. I want to keep them.”
“Dillon, don’t get any ideas about going to court again….”
For a moment, her old hostility was back, but the emotion seemed to falter, along with Helen’s words. “Never mind. We’ll deal with the custody issues when Amanda gets back. Just be good to them,” she said. “And let me see them once in a while, okay?”
How does it feel to have so little control? he was tempted to ask. Dillon had felt almost powerless for two years, but telling Helen how wrong she and Amanda had been wouldn’t help the situation now.
“We’ll come by on Sunday.”
“Thanks,” she said softly, and hung up.
Dillon ran a hand through his hair. He needed to work out a car-pool arrangement and a safe nurturing environment for Sydney and Brittney during the afternoons until he could get home from work. Mentally he went down his list of prospects: Children’s World, Kindercare, Aunt’s Bee’s Daycare. He’d have to take time off tomorrow to visit each place, because even if Amanda came back, he wasn’t going to let the situation return to the status quo. He wanted his girls, and for their sake, he was finally ready to do whatever it would take to make it official.
“CAN WE RENT a movie?” Brittney asked, setting down the crayons Chantel had bought to entertain them until Dillon arrived.
“Probably not tonight. Your father should be here any minute.”
“Where’s Mommy?” the younger girl, Sydney, asked her.
It was the first time either of them had mentioned their mother, but after hearing what Dillon had said about her at lunch, Chantel felt a twinge of pity. “I’m not sure, sweetie. She’ll probably be back soon, though. Look, I’m making spaghetti and meatballs. Are you hungry?”
They’d already had a snack. Chantel had stopped on her way home from work and bought some chocolate milk and oatmeal cookies, but it was past six-thirty and time for dinner. She’d made an extra large batch of spaghetti, thinking Dillon would be tired and hungry after a long day at the office, but she didn’t want to admit to herself that she was doing exactly what Stacy had wanted to do for him.
“Something smells good,” Sydney said. “Is it the spaghetti?”
“I think it’s the garlic bread. And I’ve made a little salad. Why don’t you girls help me set the table?”
Pleased by the prospect of helping, the two of them put their crayons and coloring books away and started setting out the silverware. “Are you my daddy’s girlfriend?” Brittney asked.
Chantel hid a smile. “No. We’re just, ah, friends.”
“He sure has lots of friends,” Sydney said.
“I’ll bet he does,” Chantel muttered, figuring he classified all his romantic interests as friends. It made sense that he’d downplay his relationships, considering how angry it made him that his wife was doing the exact opposite and having the girls call each new boyfriend “Daddy.”
“Should we set a place for Dad?” Brittney asked.
Chantel considered the table, wishing she had some flowers for the center. “Yes. I’m sure he’ll be hungry.”
“Do we have to wait for him? I’m starving,” Sydney announced.
Chantel glanced at the clock. Dillon was already twenty minutes late. “There’s no need to wait. He can eat when he gets here.” As the children washed their hands, she filled their plates. Then she sat down with them and ate some salad while they dug into their spaghetti.
“This is good!” Brittney declared. “I love the meatballs.’”
“I make them out of sausage. Gives them more spice.”
It was a quarter after seven when they finished dinner. Leaving a plate for Dillon, Chantel cleaned up the kitchen while the girls watched television. When she was through with the dishes, she decided to read to them. “Anyone got a good book?” she asked.
“We’re reading Charlotte’s Web in school,” Brittney said.
“Do you have a copy?”
“It’s in my backpack.” While Brittney retrieved her book, Sydney turned off the television and settled herself on the couch. Brittney sat on Chantel’s other side and they began to read.
“When’s Daddy going to get here?” Sydney asked when Chantel had finished two chapters.
“I’m sure he’s on his way.” Chantel looked at their sweet faces. How lucky Dillon is, she thought. Being a part-time parent was certainly better than not having any children. Like her. “Why don’t you go and take a bath for school tomorrow? Afterward, you can each put on one of my T-shirts and lie in my bed and watch TV until your dad comes.”
“Cool!” Brittney shouted.
Sydney stood up and clapped her hands. “Cool!” she echoed.
As the girls headed down the hall, Chantel checked her watch again. Dillon was an hour and a half late. Where was he?
She found the business card he’d given her when she’d rear-ended him and called his cell phone, but got only his voice mail.
“Dillon, this is Chantel. I’m getting a little worried about you. Stacy said you’d be here at six-thirty to pick up the girls. They’re fine, just so you know, and I’m okay with having them. It’s just that they keep asking about you, and I don’t want them to worry. Give me a call when you get this message, okay?”
Twirling her hair around one finger, Chantel hung up. Was he all right? Had he gotten into another accident or something?
Please let him be safe, she prayed, trying to will away the apprehension that knotted her stomach. Then she went in to get the girls settled in her bed.
DILLON SAT on the couch, glancing at the clock every few minutes while Stacy cleared away the dishes after the candlelight dinner she’d just fed him. He’d tried to help her clean up, but she’d pressed another glass of wine in his hand and insisted he relax.
He would rather have helped. He already felt bad enough, letting her baby-sit and now eating her food. He didn’t want to add to the list of favors. Besides, he needed some way to keep himself engaged while he tried to work out how he was going to get through the evening without hurting her feelings.
“Do you know when the movie started?” he called to her.
Stacy’s voice came from the kitchen. “Chantel didn’t say.”
“I still can’t understand why she’d whisk the girls off to a movie without asking me if it’s okay,” he repeated for the third time. “I had other plans tonight, and they have school in the morning.”
“I told you—Chantel’s like that. She’s not very practical. She thought a movie might take their minds off their mother and asked me if they could go. Neither of us thought you’d mind. As a matter of fact, I thought it might be nice for you and me to have a little time alone. The cabin was so crowded, you know?”
“Yeah.” Crowded with memories of Chantel. “Do you mind if I try Chantel’s house once more?”
Stacy appeared at the doorway from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. “I’ve already left her three messages. She’ll call us as soon as they get home.”
He set his empty glass on the coffee table in front of him. Stacy’s house was far more utilitarian than Chantel’s. Chantel surrounded herself with warm jewel tones, lots of textures and art, and it all said, “Welcome home.” Stacy’s place had functional furniture—vinyl, instead of leather, polyester, instead of silk—and everything was arranged in very symmetrical configurations.
Dillon itched to remodel the twenty-year-old tract house. It needed more light and a fresh coat of white paint. But he felt that way about many of the buildings he entered. He figured it was natural for an architect. Only Chantel’s place had felt just right, at least on the inside, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of the design, the decor or sim
ply her presence. He suspected the last.
Stacy disappeared, then came back carrying her own drink and a newly opened bottle of wine. “More?” she asked, filling his glass nearly to the brim without waiting for his answer.
“I’ve probably had enough,” he said. She’d served him a couple of glasses of good scotch before dinner, and he’d had quite a bit of wine since. But Stacy was sliding closer, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. So he picked up his glass and began to drink again.
“Are you always this uptight after work?” she asked.
“Am I uptight?” He took another sip.
“You’re acting a little jumpy. I’m sorry you’re upset about the movie.”
“It’s not that. It’s been a long day.”
“Come sit here on the floor. I’ll loosen up your shoulders. A friend of mine is a massage therapist. She’s taught me a few tricks.”
Dillon polished off his drink, then refilled his glass. “Actually I feel fine,” he lied. “The chardonnay’s great, by the way.”
He looked at the half-empty bottle—their second—and realized he’d drunk most of it. He’d probably have a hangover in the morning, but that became the least of his concerns when Stacy slipped her hand beneath his elbow and threaded her fingers through his.
“What ideas do you have about the buildings you’re going to design for downtown?” she asked, referring to the new project he and his partner had landed today.
“Something with a lot of glass. We want twin towers that look modern, open. We may have an atrium in the lobby and on the first three floors of each building, or maybe something in the middle that links them. It would break up the space, bring nature back into the concrete world of the city.”
How much longer could the movie last? he wondered. Had Chantel done this to him on purpose? Had she known about the candlelight dinner?
“How’s the baby doing? The one who was born last month with the heart condition?” he asked.
“She’s hanging in there, but she needs more surgery. She’s got a fifty-fifty chance, at least. Ten years ago, she probably wouldn’t have survived this long.”
“I hope she pulls through.”
“So do I.” Stacy laid her head on his shoulder and began to snuggle closer, wrapping one arm around his waist.
Dillon loosened his collar by another button and used the excuse of pouring more wine to pull away. “Want some?”
“I’ve never seen you drink so much,” she said. “If you go on like this, you won’t be able to drive home.” She gave him a meaningful smile. “But I guess we could ask Chantel to keep the girls overnight.”
“They’re going through a really hard time right now. I don’t think that would be wise.” He read disappointment in her eyes and felt worse than he had a few minutes ago. Why had he ever asked Stacy out in the first place?
Because they’d known each other for two years, and things were easy, comfortable. She had a lot of qualities he’d liked—still liked. And he’d had no idea their relationship would become so one-sided.
“I’d better get going,” he said, standing. “I’ll stop by Chantel’s later and pick up the girls. I need to hit the mall while it’s still open and buy a few things for them to wear. They came to me with very little.”
“Want me to go with you?”
“No, it won’t be any fun for you. It’s just going to be a quick trip. Thanks for dinner.”
Dillon retrieved his suit coat and headed out to his car, but he’d gone only a block before he knew Stacy was right—he shouldn’t be driving. He’d had too much to drink, and he didn’t want to endanger his life or anyone else’s. Pulling over to the curb, he used his cell phone to call a cab.
By the time the cab arrived, the alcohol had hit Dillon’s blood stream full force, but he managed to remember Chantel’s address. He repeated it to the driver.
The cabby blinked, no doubt hearing the slur in his words. “You sure, buddy?”
He didn’t care that she wasn’t home yet. He’d wait. “I’m sure. Just take me to her.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE TELEPHONE startled Chantel awake. She blinked and looked around, confused. She was on the couch and the television was still on, its sound turned low. How late was it?
The chime of her pendulum clock told her the time before she could get her eyes working well enough to check. Nine-thirty. Jeez, it was still early. She must have nodded off as soon as she put the girls to bed half an hour ago.
Shoving herself into a sitting position, Chantel answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Chantel, it’s Stace.”
“Hi. How’s work?”
“I’m not at work. They ended up not needing me, after all, so I made dinner for Dillon. He’s on his way to get the girls. I’m sorry he’s so late.”
Chantel absorbed this information, wondering why neither Stacy nor Dillon had called her. Maybe they’d been having too much fun.
The thought wounded something inside her, even though she told herself it shouldn’t. “No problem. I enjoyed the girls.” Which was the truth. If she couldn’t have children of her own, Chantel wished Stacy would get married and provide her with some nieces and nephews to spoil.
Maybe that’s exactly what’ll happen—with Dillon.
“You were really great to baby-sit. I admit I took advantage of you, but Dillon and I haven’t had any time alone for a couple of weeks. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Great. I owe you one, Chantel. Oh, and one more thing…”
“What?”
“Would you mind telling him you were planning to take the girls to a movie but changed your mind?”
“What?”
“I know it sounds silly, but I didn’t want him to worry about Brittney and Sydney, so I told him you’d taken them to a movie. I’d appreciate it if you’d play along.” She paused. “I really like him, Chantel.”
So do I. But giving him up was part of her penance, wasn’t it? “What are sisters for?”
“Thanks.”
Stacy hung up, and Chantel let the receiver dangle in her lap as she rubbed her eyes. Dillon and Stacy had spent the evening together while she’d been watching the clock, worrying about him. Stacy should have called her.
Someone banged on her door. Dillon. Already. Chantel put the phone on its cradle, straightened her T-shirt and cutoff sweats, and went to answer it.
He was standing outside, his suit coat slung over one arm, his tie and shirt collar loosened. He looked like he was coming home to her after a long day, and for the briefest moment she felt the impulse to pull him into her arms and bury her face in his neck.
“It appears you’ve had quite a night,” she said, instead.
He nodded. “How are the girls?” His voice was just a little too loud.
“They’re fine. They’re asleep in my bed.” She moved aside to let him in, smelling alcohol mingled with a hint of cologne as he passed. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Too much.” He dropped his coat on the chair by the closet. “Your sister made me a candlelight dinner—steak and potatoes and cheesecake, soft music playing in the background.”
Chantel thought of the spaghetti she’d made him, which was a far cry from steak and potatoes and candlelight. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
He cocked one eyebrow at her. “That’s what you wanted me to do, wasn’t it? Enjoy myself? Fall in love with your sister? You took the girls to a movie so Stacy could create this romantic evening. Would you have been happy if we’d made love?”
Chantel flinched. “If that’s what you wanted.”
His gaze grew pointed. “Bullshit. You know what I want. I haven’t been keeping any secrets.”
Rubbing her arms, Chantel walked across the room and settled back on the couch, covering her legs with the blanket she’d brought out from her room. “Did you guys have a talk about your relationship?”
He sat down in the
chair opposite her and stretched his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. “What did you think I should say? You won’t let me tell her how I feel about you.”
“How you feel about me doesn’t matter. It’s how you feel about her that counts.”
“You want me to tell her I feel like she’s in the way?”
Chantel decided to change the subject. “I hope you didn’t drive here,” she said.
“I took a cab.”
“Where’s your car?”
“Not far from Stacy’s.”
“Is the cab waiting?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, an act of belligerence. “I sent it away.”
Uh-oh. Chantel swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that they were alone. Yes, his daughters were here, but they were asleep down the hall. So she and Dillon had all night—if they wanted it.
Dillon stood and closed the distance between them, sinking onto the couch next to her. Chantel slid over to allow him more room, but the arm of the couch and his large body boxed her in. “Tell me again why we can’t be together,” he said. “It’s crazy, but sometimes I forget.”
Chantel closed her eyes. There were times when she forgot, too, or at least wanted to. She could feel the heat of his arm through their clothes and remembered the way his body had warmed her, the smooth supple feel of his skin with nothing between them. She remembered hearing him groan her name when he was too lost in passion to even know he’d spoken. How many times had they made love that night? A lot. Too many times to ever forget.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Dillon. You’ve had too much to drink, and you’re not thinking straight. I’ll wake the girls and drive everyone back to your place.”
“Because of Stacy?”
“Because of Stacy. I wish things could be different, but they’re not, and there’s nothing we can do about that.”
“I don’t believe it. There’s always something that can be done.”
“For a price.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “I think it’s more than Stacy that’s bugging you. I think you’re scared.”
