The Would-Be Mommy

by Jacqueline Diamond

  On the stage, Mark shot her a questioning look. Perhaps she could still try to cut them off, but those poor people. Every painful step they took reminded her of what they’d suffered.

  Impulsively Jennifer hurried down the steps and went to meet them. “There’s a ramp to the side if you need it,” she told Andrea.

  In the woman’s lined face Jennifer saw the harsh toll the years had taken. Not that Andrea had been in great shape at the trial, either; too badly injured to sit for long periods, she’d been able to spend only a few minutes on the witness stand.

  John, however, had attended every single court session after he completed his testimony. In the courtroom, whenever Jennifer had glanced his way, his rage-filled expression had scorched her. At Frank’s sentencing, his fury had coalesced into pure hatred. She’d actually stepped backward in fear that the man might attack her.

  Now, with an effort, she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes glimmered. Could those be tears?

  “We didn’t know about the baby.” His wife put a hand on Jennifer’s arm. “We didn’t realize how much you’d lost.”

  “It strikes me that you were the same age that our daughter is today,” John McCoy added ruefully. “You were just a kid.”

  “Can you ever forgive me?” Jennifer asked.

  “I’m only sorry we’ve wasted all these years holding on to our anger.” He raised his voice, loud enough for the reporters to hear. “Andrea and I would like to make the first donation to the Edward Serra Memorial Clinic.”

  “This clinic is a wonderful idea,” Andrea added. “I always felt there had to be a reason for us to endure so much.”

  Careful not to jostle the frail woman, Jennifer hugged her. Before she knew it, she was hugging John, too. “I’m sorry,” she kept saying, over and over.

  Cameras flashed. Videocams whirred. When her vision cleared enough to make out the stage, Mark and Samantha were beaming.

  Amazingly, everything had turned out all right.

  Except that, as more questions flew and reporters closed in, Ian gave her a farewell tilt of the head and strode from the room. No doubt eager to file his story, but as he’d explained earlier, also on a tight deadline to make his flight out of LAX.

  Gone.

  They’d said goodbye this morning. She supposed that, with phones and e-mail and text messages, the world had become a small place.

  Yet it remained infinitely vast.

  How ironic that, at the moment when the wounds of twelve years ago were finally beginning to heal, Ian had ripped a hole in her heart. A hole that she suspected she would spend the rest of her life trying to fill.

  But he’d given her so much. Without him, this reconciliation wouldn’t have been possible.

  After wiping her cheeks, Jennifer gratefully accompanied John and Andrea McCoy to the stage. She still had a job to do.

  And she wished Ian the best with his, wherever in the world it might take him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On his first morning in New York, Ian slept late, enjoying the comfort of his hotel room. It might be modest by five-star luxury standards, but it put the L.A. motel to shame.

  A firm mattress with extralarge pillows. Heavy curtains that blocked the light. A bathroom large enough so he didn’t bump into things, with extra toiletries and thick, soft towels.

  Besides, what else did he have to do? He wasn’t scheduled to see Viktor and Anni until dinnertime, and felt no inclination to play tourist, since he’d attended university in New York and visited many times since. Shopping held little interest for a man who had nowhere to put possessions, and he’d long ago lost touch with his college classmates.

  As he showered, Ian tried to picture what Jennifer might be doing. Ten o’clock in the east meant seven in California. He visualized her rocking in the nursery chair, feeding Rosalie a bottle while mentally redecorating the room. And taking comfort in the results of the press conference.

  The heartwarming reconciliation had made the national and international news. On a TV screen at the L.A. airport, Ian had glimpsed Jennifer embracing the McCoys, just as he’d seen them in person a short while earlier. On the Internet, his article and Pierre’s images—both video and JPEG—were everywhere.

  He toweled off and willed his brain to shift into “here and now” mode. Usually, once he wrapped up loose ends and left a locale, he immediately snapped back to his normal state of being ready for action.

  Instead, he continued mentally following Jennifer through her morning routine. Putting on makeup, dressing Rosalie…

  The phone rang. He grabbed it. “Martin.”

  “Hey, Ian.” A female voice, intimately familiar, but not Jennifer’s. Ian’s mouth curled with instant recognition.

  “Yo, Anni. In town already?” Viktor hadn’t mentioned their arrival time, only that they were staying at the same hotel.

  “And hungry. Want to meet me in the coffee shop? My hubby’s gone to work and left me all alone.”

  “You bet.” Ian wished he and his twin hadn’t drifted so far apart these past few years. They barely saw each other once or twice a year, and almost always surrounded by others.

  Such distance was inevitable, he supposed, but a far cry from their closeness while growing up. Not only had they shared their mother’s womb, they’d been best friends and a constant source of support during the family’s frequent relocations.

  It was to him rather than their mother that Anni had confided her secret crushes on boys. And he’d turned to her for advice on how to win dates with girls, back in those days when most had considered him a skinny, overly intellectual geek.

  They’d shared their ambitions, as well. Both had gone to college in the New York area and had looked forward to their occasional lunch meetings, when they’d laughed, consoled each other on disappointments and spun wonderful dreams.

  Anticipation quickening, he gathered a few things and hurried downstairs. In the lobby, he heard the ding of the adjacent elevator and turned to see Anni exiting at almost the same instant. Like him, she carried a small shopping bag.

  Birthday gifts. The big date wasn’t till next month, but they weren’t likely to see each other again that soon.

  Big hug. Paper rustled, and the scent of peppermint filled the air. Anni loved the stuff.

  Ian stood back. “You look radiant.”

  She grinned up at him. Even discounting the obvious gender difference, they were far from identical: she stood a few inches shorter, and had chin-length hair a shade darker than his. Anni used to complain that she wouldn’t have minded inheriting the blond locks, but instead got stuck with the same narrowly chiseled face, which suited him, but in her opinion, made her look gaunt. Well, she’d rounded out, and to Ian’s eye she looked fabulous.

  “Whoa! You aren’t pregnant, are you?” he guessed.

  His sister made a face. “Typical male. The only thing that could make a woman glow is fertility, right? Well, hah! I sold a short story, that’s what.” She named a prestigious British literary magazine.

  “Good for you!” He strolled beside her to the coffee shop, their gaits perfectly matched despite the difference in height.

  After placing orders for crisp bacon and eggs over easy—he chose rye toast, though, and she preferred whole wheat—they exchanged shopping bags. “Happy birthday!” they said in unison.

  Each poked through the wrappings. Anni first pulled out two books wrapped in balloon-themed paper. “For the girls,” Ian explained. “The bookseller raved about them, and they’re new, so I took a chance that you don’t have them already.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Anni tucked them away for her daughters to unwrap. “You go next.”

  He opened his gift. Inside the boxful of tissue paper nestled a slim leather wallet, key chain, business card holder and money clip, all worked with a design of the moon and stars.

  “For the man who has everything and needs something to put it in,” his twin announced.

  “They’re stunnin
g. Mind if I ask why the celestial theme?”

  “Because you’ve always wanted the moon and I know you’ll keep on reaching for the stars, no matter what happens,” Anni said.

  He felt a twinge of uneasiness. No matter what happens. Did that mean he hadn’t won the promotion? Still, it seemed foolish to read in too much. “Perfect choice. These are elegant, and my old wallet’s nearly worn out. Now open yours.”

  With a wriggle of anticipation, his twin unwrapped the items he’d selected: a beautifully bound blank book and a fountain pen.

  “To write your novel,” Ian said. Anni had always preferred composing longhand rather than on the computer. “Or more short stories.”

  She ran a finger over the embossed binding. “I love it. Thank you.”

  When a wing of hair tumbled across her cheek, Ian reached across the table and brushed it into place. “You look happy. I trust things are going well with Viktor and the girls.”

  “Better than I had any right to expect.” She stared down at the blank book in her hands.

  “What does that mean?”

  The waitress arrived with their food, and Anni delayed her answer until they were alone again. “This wasn’t exactly the life I chose,” she admitted as she sprinkled salt on her eggs. “That’s what I’ve been writing about in my stories. Choices and happenstance and where life takes us.”

  “What exactly didn’t you choose?” He reached for the salt as soon as she finished with it.

  “After my marriage I planned to keep on reporting full-time at least until my late thirties,” his sister said. “Then I got pregnant.”

  “That was an accident?” He’d never had an inkling.

  Anni nodded. “At first I wasn’t sure what to do. After a while I reconciled to the fact that sometimes you have to compromise. When Bethany was born, the truth finally hit me.”

  “That a baby is a miracle?” Ian asked.

  “Well, sure, although I never expected to hear that from you,” his twin teased. “But also that I was going to get older whether I moved in all the right circles, or stayed in a small circle of love. I am who I am, and I’ve got the talents I’ve got. In the end, the best use of my abilities is whatever makes me and the people I care about fulfilled and happy. So here I am, and no regrets. Not one.”

  “I’m glad,” Ian told her. “Do you suppose they have any cayenne?”

  She pulled a small container from her purse. “I always carry some with me.” They took turns peppering their eggs.

  As he ate, Ian mulled this unexpected revelation about his sister. He’d never suspected that events, rather than choice, had shaped the course of her life. Yet she did seem more than merely contented.

  At the same time, he couldn’t deny a growing sense of disquiet at her bringing up the subject of accepting whatever hand fate dealt you. Had she sprung this revelation by chance, or was she trying to prepare him for a letdown?

  She’d struck a chord that resonated with him, Ian had to admit. He was getting older, and the adventure of flitting from one post to another had begun losing its thrill. If he didn’t land the column, what lay ahead? Certainly he didn’t want to go on this way indefinitely.

  He ought to make the best of his few days in New York. It never hurt to plant a few seeds that might bear fruit later. Holding that thought, he returned his focus to his sister.

  For the rest of the meal, he updated her about his experiences in California. Although he skimmed over his feelings for Jennifer, he suspected Anni had a good idea of how matters lay. She didn’t press for details, though.

  “I’m planning to hit the art museums this afternoon,” she said when they’d finished eating. “Want to come with me?”

  “Actually, I have plans.” He deliberately left the matter vague, partly because the plans had just begun to take shape in his mind.

  “I’ll see you tonight, then.” Anni tucked her blank book into the gift bag.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Actually, Ian didn’t mean to wait at all. He intended to stay very, very busy.

  “THIS IS THE LIFE.” Lori leaned back in the hand-carved white recliner. “Esther must be out of her mind. I can’t imagine why she’d want to work a zillion hours a week in Washington when she could be here.”

  Sunlight streamed through the artfully designed patio cover, turning the outdoor kitchen and lounge area into a Mediterranean fantasy. Nearby, water splashed between rocks and ferns into a pool. Tony Franco’s house was going to be the perfect setting for the reception—possibly even more perfect without its opinionated mistress, in Jennifer’s opinion.

  “Wasn’t Esther also working a zillion hours a week at the district attorney’s office?” she asked.

  “Well, who forced her to do that?” Lori glanced over at their companion. “As usual, no use trying to get a response out of Sam.”

  “Be with you in a minute.” Samantha tapped buttons on her Smartphone. The last time Jennifer checked, she’d been researching counseling centers to see how they organized their staff and services.

  The two days since the press conference had been crammed with planning for the Edward Serra Memorial Clinic. Between consulting with Samantha about fundraising and dealing with the press, Jennifer had barely had a spare moment.

  Even so, memories of Ian invaded her thoughts at random moments—while she cradled Rosalie, while she ate breakfast, whenever she crossed the hospital lobby.

  In a perverse way, she wished he’d finish whatever business he was conducting in New York and head to his next assignment. Once she knew for certain he wasn’t coming back—not that she put much stock in that possibility—maybe she could put him in the past once and for all.

  They’d exchanged e-mails on Friday, but all he’d said was that he was incredibly busy and would fill her in later. Reluctant to intrude, she’d refrained from phoning, and he hadn’t called her.

  Out of sight, out of mind. On his part, anyway. That seemed the most likely explanation.

  “Jared asked me to move in with him,” Lori said. “Isn’t that cool?”

  A spurt of envy dismayed Jennifer. She wanted to be glad for her friend, not envious. “Good for you.”

  “That’s hardly a surprise,” murmured Samantha. “You guys are getting married.”

  “I know, but since he hadn’t said anything, I assumed he wanted to wait. Of course, now I have to deal with logistics.” Her freckled nose scrunched. “I’ve got so much stuff in my apartment.”

  “Isn’t his house a three-bedroom?” Jennifer asked. “That’s one bedroom and two offices. That’s plenty of room.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Lori stretched. “I’m so tired, my brain’s just not functioning properly.”

  “Yeah, we really worked our butts off today,” Samantha said without removing her gaze from the device. “Oh, wait—we were tasting cakes.”

  “That’s work,” Lori joked. “Anyway, we spent nearly an hour deciding where to set up the tables and stuff for the reception. No wonder I’m exhausted.”

  Jennifer felt tired, too, less from the planning than from struggling not to fantasize about how it might feel to marry the man of her dreams. The man who, these past few weeks, had gone from a vague fantasy to a painfully beloved reality.

  Stop torturing yourself. But how was she supposed to do that? Even though acting pushy went against every instinct, she couldn’t seem to let go until she knew for sure what Ian’s plans were.

  From the far side of the house, she heard a heavy door swing shut. Tony, who’d given Lori a key so she and her attendants could examine the premises, must be back from his golf game.

  The noise woke Rosalie, who let out a cry from the baby carrier. “Time to go home.” Jennifer tried not to show her relief, because much as she enjoyed her friends’ company, she suddenly couldn’t wait to leave.

  And get this over with.

  The next quarter hour passed in a fever of impatience. Aware that Rosalie reflected her moods, Jen
nifer struggled to slow her breathing and focus on the moment. Pack up the diaper bag, chat politely with Tony, say goodbye to her friends. Strap the baby in the car and head home.

  At the condo, she noted that it was four o’clock, which meant seven in New York. Ian might have gone to dinner, but propelled by sheer nerves, Jennifer dialed his number.

  The call went directly to voice mail. No way was she leaving a message.

  She tried again at five. Still no luck.

  He’d mentioned the hotel where he was booked, so she called the operator, who put her through to his room. The phone rang twice.

  “Hello?” said a woman’s voice.

  In a sudden panic, Jennifer nearly hung up, but that would be rude. Besides, she owed him the benefit of the doubt. “Hi. Is Ian there?”

  “He’s in the shower. I could have him call you back.”

  Embarrassment flooded her. He certainly hadn’t wasted a moment finding companionship. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Is this Jennifer?”

  The sound of her name startled her. “Yes?”

  “This is his sister, Anni. He told me about you.”

  His sister. Of course. She should have trusted him, Jennifer thought, ashamed of jumping to conclusions. “Good things, I hope.”

  “Absolutely. I’m sorry about answering the phone—that probably gave you a start. My brother and I took in a concert this afternoon, and we’re meeting my husband in a few minutes. I’ll have him call as soon as he can.”

  “It isn’t urgent.” In truth, she didn’t see how she could bear to wait another minute to find out about Ian’s future. “I just wondered…He mentioned a possible promotion….”

  “Oh, he got it,” Anni said. “Isn’t that wonderful? It’s so nice of you to be concerned.”

  Disappointment arrowed through Jennifer. Subconsciously, she realized, she’d been hoping that if the column didn’t materialize, Ian might request an assignment to the L.A. bureau. Now he’d be off to the ends of the earth.