"I understand completely, Claire. Would it help if I told you that trust does return? Gradually, I'll admit And only if both parties are working hard to repair the damage."
"Please don't tell me an affair can make a marriage stronger. I've read that in some of the literature, and I'm sorry, but I don't buy it."
"Not the affair itself," Riva agreed. "But the self-examination that follows it." She slipped her glasses on once more, checked her notes, then looked at Claire again.
"Think back several years, Claire. Say, to when your youngest daughter was three or four. What was your marriage like then? Were you completely satisfied with it? Do you think Kirk was?"
Oh, that was a tough one. Claire leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. Two or three years ago…
"Not completely satisfied, no…" she admitted, wishing she could say otherwise. "Kirk's long hours at work were always a point of contention between us. Often, I…"
"Yes?"
Claire had been about to say that she'd sometimes wondered if she'd made a mistake in marrying Kirk. An ambitious, successful businessman might seem a wonderful catch to many women, yet occasionally she'd wondered what her life would have been like if things had worked out differently between her and Grady.
But what did any of that have to do with Kirk's relationship with Janice? With her ability to trust him again?
Claire scanned the now-familiar room—the crowded bookshelves, the tidy desk, the open window. She thought of her children, the way they'd all laughed that morning when Jenna had put a dollop of Kirk's shaving cream on her hair by mistake, thinking it was mousse. She thought of her parents, and their habit of holding hands whenever they walked together. And she thought of Kirk, how he'd caught and held her gaze when he'd said goodbye.
"You were saying…" Riva prompted.
Claire blinked, and looked back at the counselor. What had they been talking about? Her thoughts tad fragmented.
"I'm not sure," she said. "I'm just not sure."
"How did things go?" Mallory asked later in the afternoon when Claire arrived to pick up the kids. She was standing at the kitchen table, folding a load of Angel's clean domes.
"Not bad." Claire set her purse down on the counter and went to the table to help. She picked up a T-shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles with her hand.
"We talked about trust." She sighed. The session with Riva Sharp had unsettled her, as usual, and she wasn't ready to talk about it. "Then I went to my appointment with the doctor."
"And? How was everything? Is the baby okay?"
"Just fine. Fetal heart rate is normal. My weight gain is within the accepted range—so far—and my blood pressure is excellent, too."
The doctor had also pressed her to make an appointment for her amnio as soon as possible. Regardless of the results of the triple-screen blood test they'd taken, he was recommending the procedure.
"No time to lose," he stressed. "You're in your seventeenth week."
Claire scribbled a mental note to discuss the procedure with Kirk when he called her that evening. "I saw the girls in the backyard as I was coming in. Did they behave themselves for you?"
"They've been fine, keeping Angel amused while I catch up on the laundry from our weekend in Ottawa. Why do people always go through more clothing when they're on vacation than when they're at home?"
"Tell me about it. I definitely spend more time at the washing machine than I do on the deck when we're at the cottage. The girls change about three times a day. Then there are all those beach towels… By the way, how was your holiday?"
"Lovely. I'm glad Drew decided not to sell his place. It's so beautiful in the Gatineaus, Claire."
Having finished the last of Angel's clothing, Mallory put the laundry basket down on the floor. "One more thing I should probably mention…"
"Yes?"
"Andie asked if Drew and I slept in the same bed when I was pregnant with Angel."
"Oh?" Claire thought about the blankets on the couch whenever Kirk came up for the weekend. "Oh!"
"I take it you and Kirk…?"
Claire rubbed her forehead with her palm. "The counselor said we should try to keep life normal for the sake of the children. But sleeping together… So far I haven't been able to do it."
Except for that one night in Toronto, which had been so wonderful. Until Kirk made that phone call. Claire had done a lot of thinking about that, not to mention discussing the situation with Riva.
Perhaps she'd been too suspicious. But when she'd heard his voice, warm and low—and especially that word, sorry—her mind had automatically jumped to Janice.
"What did you tell Andie when she asked the question?"
"That sometimes pregnant women sleep alone if they're feeling uncomfortable."
Yes, some pregnant women did. She never had, though. Until now. And the reasons she and Kirk slept apart had nothing to do with her pregnancy. But Claire didn't want her daughter to know that.
that evening, after the younger children were in bed, Claire asked Andie if she'd like to play Monopoly. Andie pulled out the old board game and set the pieces up on the kitchen end of the pine table.
"You be the banker," Claire said.
"Just trying to get me to do more math, aren't you?"
"You bet." Claire got a plate of brownies and two large glasses of milk for them to snack on as they played. The game had been going on for more than an hour, when the phone rang.
Claire glanced at the card she'd just pulled from the stack at the center of the board. "Oh, no. I have to go to jail again." She moved her marker to the corner square, then went to the phone. "Hello?"
"Claire."
Kirk's voice rumbled in her ear, and even though she'd been expecting to hear from him, she felt her heart pound in her chest.
"How did your session go today?"
Claire reflected on her hour with Riva. Why did she always feel so ambiguous about their conversations?
"I guess it went okay." Finding out that some people were able to trust again after going through experiences like hers and Kirk's had been encouraging. Now the big question was whether she would be one of those people.
"That's good. And the appointment with the doctor?"
"That went well, too." Claire thought about the amniocentesis, but she didn't want to discuss it with Andie listening. It would only give her daughter one more thing to worry about.
"Great! I go for my appointment with Riva tomorrow. If you want I'll call…"
"Yes," she said quickly. "That would be fine, but later."
"When the kids are in bed? So we can talk?"
"Exactly."
"Speaking of which, how are they doing? Did they have a fun day at Mallory's?"
"Yes. They played so hard they were exhausted when I got them home. Jenna fell asleep at the dinner table and Daisy wasn't far behind her. Andie's still up, whipping me at Monopoly. Do you want to speak with her?"
Andie took the phone. "Hi, Daddy. She's letting me win, as usual."
Claire pretended to look surprised. Who? Me? she mouthed, which made Andie smile.
Claire smiled back, but in reality she felt a little sad. When, exactly, had her daughter learned to see through her so easily?
the next morning, Kirk strode off the elevator toward the curved cherry-wood desk where Tara, the receptionist, was speaking on the phone. She smiled and held out his copy of the National Post. "Thanks, Tara." He glanced at the headline. Bad news about the unemployment rate. With a twist of his hand, he opened the door to the secured area, walked past the cage where traders would be processing market transactions in about an hour, then followed the corridor to his large comer office.
The trappings of success. His personal assistant, Greer, who'd be bringing in his coffee any moment; an expensively appointed office, with sofa, chairs and coffee table for entertaining clients and a hell of a view of Lake Ontario—if you overlooked the sea of office towers that came before it.
True, mere w
as that empty space on the wall opposite him—the abstract he'd bought a few months ago hadn't suited him after all—but he'd fill the gap soon. He was thinking of having a family photograph taken after the baby was born.
Assuming they were still a family then…
Kirk turned on his computer and was just logging on when Greer came in with his coffee.
"Good morning."
"Thanks, Greer." She whisked in and out so fast all he caught was a blur of floral fabric and a whiff of her perfume. But there was his mug, on the ceramic coaster Andie had made for Father's Day when she was in grade one. He reached for the handle automatically as the Starquotes from the Toronto Stock Exchange came up on his screen.
He sipped the coffee. Hot, strong, freshly brewed. Full points to Greer, as usual.
First Kirk checked the current bid and ask prices on a stock he'd purchased for several of his clients yesterday. Up ten cents. Well, that was a good sign the price would climb, even though the market wouldn't be open until nine-thirty. He glanced at his watch. In another forty-five minutes.
After removing his reading glasses from his breast pocket, he slipped them on, then breezed through the paper while he finished his coffee. Fifteen minutes later, he listened to his voice-mail messages.
Generally, he loved this first hour of the day, before the markets opened and the flood of client phone calls began. He needed the time to clear his mind, to focus on the priorities of the day. More and more, administrative matters and office politics were intruding on his work. Natural fallout from the kind of success he'd earned hi his many years with the firm.
Here, everyone valued his opinion; his business acumen had won him respect and admiration. Aware of the natural pitfalls of being a stockbroker, he'd consciously steered clear of trouble in his career, often walking away from situations offering a quick profit when he sensed the underlying economics were suspect.
The result was a reputation for integrity and acumen. He'd worked hard to earn it. He just wished that it meant a damn to Claire.
She seemed to take their healthy income, their substantial investment portfolio for granted. As for the work he did, she rarely asked questions and never focused long when he brought the subject up. If he told her about a great deal he'd closed, she usually said something like "That's great, Kirk. Do you think you could come by Daisy's school for her dance recital tomorrow at three?"
In her eyes he was a failure. Because he couldn't always make it for those recitals, parent-teacher interviews and student performances, which she structured her Me around.
Kirk picked up a framed photo of the three girls shot last Christmas. Lord, how he missed them. He couldn't remember feeling this lonely other summers. Maybe because other years he hadn't been facing the possibility of losing them forever.
Except for every other weekend and a couple weeks' holiday each year.
It wouldn't be enough. Even on those nights that he came home too late to tuck them in, he slept better knowing they were all under the same roof. They were a family. And, by God, he wanted to do everything in his power to keep them that way.
"Kirk?"
Startled, he propped the photo back on his desk and looked up. Janice. Oh, hell.
"How are you doing?" she asked, closing the door and leaning back against it.
She was tanned from her holiday and had on a navy dress with a deep vee neck, and impossibly high heels. The kind Claire claimed had been invented to hobble women so they couldn't run away from the men they attracted by wearing those shoes.
"I'm fine, Janice. You?" They hadn't spoken since she'd come back to work. He stood and went to open the door.
She looked at him questioningly, and he thought about what he and the marriage counselor had talked about yesterday.
"Do you love your wife, Kirk?" she'd asked him.
No question he did.
"Then you've got to earn back her trust."
"Yes. But how?"
She'd nailed nun with that levelheaded look of hers. "By being trustworthy."
Yes. It was that simple. And that complicated.
"I don't think Claire would appreciate us talking in here with the door closed," he said now, explaining his action to Janice.
"I don't get this," she said in a hushed voice, her eyes lowering defensively. "I know you said things had to change between us. But what about our friendship? I've come to really count on you, Kirk. And I miss our time together."
"We can't be friends anymore, Janice. It wouldn't be right."
"But why?"
Did she really not get it? "Claire has to come first. She's my wife, after all. I wouldn't blame her for being angry at seeing us together." He stepped back to his desk. "I think you ought to go back to work, Janice."
"You are a heartless bastard."
The feeling behind the words gave him a quiver of conscience. He hadn't meant to hurt Janice. Perhaps he could have been kinder. Perhaps he could have softened the blow. But instinct told him blunt honesty was the only way. And the sound of Claire's sobs was now indelibly etched in his conscience.
"I'm sorry if you're unhappy. But the mistake I made, the mistake we both made, was in letting our friendship get out of hand in the first place. Calling it quits now is the only right thing to do. For both of us. You need to meet a man who can give you his whole heart. That's what you deserve, Janice. And I need to think of my wife."
Janice flinched at the word wife, then stepped forward until she was close enough that he could hear her whisper. "I can't keep working at this firm if we aren't together."
He looked down at his desk, at the blotter that protected the smooth, polished wood. Janice leaving was the best thing he could hope for. It would help give Claire peace of mind that the affair was truly over. Still, he couldn't ask her to quit.
"That's your decision," he said finally. Janice leaned in closer. "Is that all you have to say?"
He didn't even have to think. "Absolutely."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Just a worn-out washer,” Grady said, leaning over Claire's kitchen sink.
The constant plip-plop from the faucet had been driving her crazy all week, but she'd been waiting for Kirk to come home to fix it. She was really anxious for him to arrive—had been since the phone call this afternoon with the results of her blood test.
But of course he wouldn't be here for hours. And by then Grady would have the faucet repaired.
"I noticed this dripping during lunch last weekend," he said, unscrewing the top. "It will take only a minute to replace." He knelt by his toolbox, searched for a few moments, then stood, shaking his head. "Must have left those washers in the Jeep. I'll just be a sec."
Claire got a cold beer out of the fridge and opened it for Grady. She paused when she caught Andie staring up from her math workbook. She'd been on her second page for the day but had dropped her pencil the minute Grady walked to the door. So far she hadn't picked it up again, even though Grady had tried to tease her into it.
"What time will Daddy be here?"
Claire didn't need to check the clock. "You know he usually doesn't arrive until after dark, hon. When you and your sisters are already asleep."
Andie scowled, but before Claire could ask what was wrong, Grady had returned. She heard him stomp on the outside that, then he pushed the door open.
"Found just what I need. And, Andie?" He grinned at the girl who hadn't spared him so much as a smile since he'd walked in fifteen minutes ago. "I think I hear your dad's car driving down the lane."
"Really?" Andie pushed back her chair and rushed out. Daisy and Jenna, who'd been playing with Barbie dolls by the patio doors, were right behind her.
Claire shrugged apologetically at Grady for her daughter's rudeness, then looked at her wrist. Only five-thirty. Kirk must have left work very early. She glanced into the mirror on the wall by the door and noted the pink hi her cheeks. Her heart was pounding ridiculously fast for a woman about to greet a man she'd been married to for over
a decade. What was the big deal?
But having him home so early on a Friday was such a treat. He must have missed them. Or maybe just the girls…
"Go on," Grady teased. "Run out the door and say hello. I can see you're dying to."
"I'll let the girls have the first chance. Hopefully, he'll still be standing once they've finished then- ambush." Claire pushed her hair behind her ears, then peered over the ledge that acted as a mini backsplash to the sink and inspected his work.
"Is that the old screen?" she asked, spying a flat circular disk on the counter.
"Yeah. All plugged up. You definitely needed a new one, so I replaced both it and the washer." With nimble fingers, Grady began to screw the tap back together just as the front door was flung open.
Kirk stood alone in the doorway, still wearing his suit from the office. He leveled his eyes at Claire, and right away she knew something was wrong.
Claire straightened and looked behind him. "Where are the girls?"
There was a dangerous stillness to Kirk's expression as he closed the door deliberately behind him. Not just the screen door but the wooden one, too.
He didn't answer her question, just dropped his weekend bag, then took a few steps forward.
Claire's feeling of unease escalated. Why was he ignoring Grady? He must have seen the Jeep out front, and by now he would have noticed Grady standing by the sink in the kitchen.
But his gaze focused on her as though she were the only one in the room. And still he didn't talk.
Feeling awkward, Claire began to chatter. "Grady stopped on his way home from work to fix the faucet. Won't it be nice not to have to listen to that stupid dripping all the time?"
"I could have fixed it," Kirk said finally, taking another couple of steps. All of a sudden Claire was glad the counter separated the two men. She recognized the granite edge to Kirk's dark gray eyes now. He was about to lose his cool. It didn't happen often, but when it did…
"Hey," Grady said, flashing a smile. "I'm sure you could, Kirk. But it was no trouble for me to come out here. After all, it's only a few miles."
"True," Kirk said. "Makes me wonder, though. How many times a week do you generally drop in to visit my wife?"
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