The Tao of Pam: Pam of Babylon Book # 6

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “I’ll call you if anything changes,” he said, leaning in for a peck on the cheek.

  “Okay, talk to you later,” Lisa said and watched him as he walked down the path to the driveway where his car was. He turned to wave to her.

  She closed the door after he pulled away. The afternoon stretched out ahead of her. She decided to plan a nice dinner for Ed. They could watch a movie afterwards, and then it would be time for bed. Going through the motions of the day, she bathed Megan and fed her, playing with her until Ed got home. Hearing his car in the driveway, she watched him sit for a while with the car running. Why wasn’t he coming in? Was he dreading it as much as she was? He finally looked up at the door and saw her, so had to get out of the car. Her heart went out to him; he was so thin and pale, the last days having taken a toll on him. She’d try to be nicer to him and not make any demands. She could do that for a day.

  “Well, look at you!” she said brightly. “How’d the day go?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, frowning. He didn’t try to hug her, or kiss the baby, but squeezed by them standing in the doorway.

  “Ed, are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded his head. “Just tired,” he answered. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I made a roast chicken and stuffing, just like you love,” she said, a smile plastered across her face.

  He sniffed the air like a dog. “I smell bread baking,” he said, a sliver of a smile on his face.

  “Just brown n’ serve rolls,” she answered. “But you like those, don’t you?”

  He nodded again. “Yep, sure do.”

  He disappeared into the back of the house, and she could hear him going up the stairs into their bedroom. She’d avoid thinking of the bed, its association to her of sex with Ed, the chance they might not do it again, all very depressing.

  She picked up Megan and sat with her at the kitchen table, fighting tears. She’d thought she could do anything for twenty-four hours, but wondered if being kind to Ed for that long was more than she was capable of. Looking up at the clock, she decided a whole day was too much. She could be nice for an hour. She’d do it hour by hour. She stood up with the baby on her hip and went to the den for a pen. There was a mug on her desk filled with indelible pens, and she picked one in red. On a piece of paper, she made four lines. One for each hour from five until nine that night. Waiting for the hour to pass, she’d cross it off when it was over. She clutched the paper in her fist, waiting for the time to pass. The evening with him didn’t feel so daunting, seeing those four lines. She could do it for four hours. And then she’d say good night, unless he petered out first and went to bed. Moving her belongings into the spare room, she’d tell him it was to allow him room to heal.

  But he didn’t ask.

  Brent was out when Pam returned from the farm. She wondered what had motivated him to call Sandra about working at the company his father built. It was a thrilling moment for her. The day before they had packed a picnic basket and made a camp right on the beach, in front of the house. It was one of the best days Pam could remember having since Jack died. They played the radio, dozed under the umbrella, snacked and drank wine. Brent confessed to his mother just enough of his life that she could understand why Julie would be distraught, ending their engagement, without divulging how reckless he’d been. The rest of the time, when they weren’t sleeping or tossing a Frisbee back and forth, they spoke of Jack. Brent needed to vent, and Pam allowed it. Everyone else had had the opportunity but Brent. It was his turn.

  He hadn’t said a word to her about his plans to stay on in Babylon and join the firm; she’d fully expected him to go back to California that evening. So Sandra’s call helped put the extra pieces into place. He was staying home. She’d have both her children close by again. After resisting it when Dan was in her life, now that she didn’t have a companion, it would be nice. She fantasized about holidays with the children and the grandmothers like it used to be.

  A wave of despair flowed over her. She was doing it again, living in the past. It was depressing to think she had to start over from square one. Dan had taken up so much of her time, and now she saw that it was filler: dancing and bowling and going to dinner and get-togethers with his courtroom colleagues. She wasn’t interested in his friends, and they weren’t interested in her outside of where her life touched Dan’s. Much of the time while they were out, she fantasized about what she could be doing if she was home. Now, it was real. She could stay in, read a book, putter, whatever she wanted without worrying about making him happy.

  Opening the fridge, she was overdue to throw out all the leftover craziness from the picnic, and shop for food for her and Brent. Grabbing a trash bag, she didn’t realize until a few minutes later that she was smiling while she cleaned out the refrigerator. It was just like old times.

  Chapter 17

  Sandra hung up from Pam and walked out into the reception area. “What’s Peter up to?” she asked the new receptionist Molly, a lovely young college student who would be there as a back-up during the summer.

  “He’s in his office,” she said. “Not in the best of moods.”

  Sandra thought, smiling, What else is new? The best time to approach him about Brent.

  Sandra turned back to the offices and made her way through the narrow corridor. Knocking on his door, he said to come in. Walking in, she was always blown away by the view. She had Jack’s old office, a lavish expanse that overlooked the harbor. But Peter’s office had two sides of windows with views to the ocean and then, on the other side, Staten Island and New Jersey. The harbor was full of boats; from where they were on the thirtieth floor, the traffic looked like dots as the boats traveled from the Hudson River to open water.

  “As soon as you stop licking your chops over my view, you can tell me what you want,” he said with typical Peter sarcasm.

  “Brent Smith wants in,” she said, sitting down across from him, but unable and unwilling to take her eyes off the view.

  “Tough shit,” Peter answered. “It’s too late.”

  “Nope, it’s not,” she replied. “According to the codicil to Jack’s will, he has as long as he wants to decide.”

  “Right, Sandra, according to your codicil. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. If he comes, you go.”

  Sandra sat back, shocked. “I think you’re wrong about that. I’m pretty sure we take him whether I am here or not. You and I are partners, pal. Until death do us part, or this place folds.” She stood up and did a little bump-and-grind stretch with her arms over her head, Peter’s jaw dropping. Her jacket and silk shell had crept up, revealing just a hint of flesh, not more than a centimeter. Not being able to help herself, Sandra burst out laughing.

  “Oh my God, close your mouth. You look like a fish.” She turned to walk out.

  “Close my door, and don’t bother me again,” he said.

  “Shut up, Peter. I’ll bother you when I want. And get ready to say hi to our new employee, your protégé, Mr. Brent Smith.”

  “Get out,” Peter yelled. But Sandra could see a hint of a smile on his face.

  Back in her office, she dialed an attorney first. She was right; Brent coming on board didn’t have anything to do with her or the draw she took from the business each month. But it would impact the profits his mother split with Peter each year. Too bad, Sandra thought. Next, she dialed Brent’s number. Answering on the first ring, he failed at muffling bar-crowd noises in the background. Glancing up at the clock, it was nearly five. Happy hour.

  “Welcome aboard,” she said cheerfully. “I know your dad would be so happy about your decision.”

  “Wow, that’s great,” Brent said. “I’m in the neighborhood. Should I come over now?”

  “Where are you?” Sandra realized she was out of touch with the hip and young.

  “At Bender,” he said. “Just around the corner.”

  “Okay, come on over,” Sandra replied, hanging up the phone. Clearing her desk and putting files into her brie
fcase, she didn’t plan to stay past six. She went into the adjoining bathroom to freshen up, touching up her lipstick and running a brush through her hair. Her desk phone rang; it was Molly.

  “Brent Smith here to see you,” she said.

  “Send him over,” Sandra replied. She went to her door and looked down the hallway. A younger, thinner version of Jack Smith was walking toward her. At the picnic, she didn’t have any time to connect with him, too busy running after Miranda. He looked like every surfer dude from California. But in a suit and white shirt and tie, with a haircut, he was handsome. He smiled as he walked toward her, white teeth and dimples, and she held her breath. Jack. He reached for her, and they embraced, Sandra swallowing down tears. This was Jack’s flesh and blood.

  “Wow, you’re all grown up,” she said, trying to stay appropriate. She was only three years older than Brent was, and the chemistry between them was unmistakable. She was tall for a woman, and they were almost eye-to-eye, but he had to look down just enough to make her feel like he was in command. She realized he was taller than Jack was.

  “And you’re still beautiful,” he said, smiling. They stood in the doorway of her office with their arms around each other until someone cleared a throat behind Brent. It was the loathsome Peter.

  “Sorry to break up your cozy reunion,” he said, holding out his hand for Brent.

  “Uncle Peter!” Brent said, letting Sandra go and grabbing him in a bear hug. “You haven’t changed at all.”

  Peter gave a rare laugh. “I just saw you at your graduation, goofball.” But he hugged him in return, patting his back. “So, you’ve decided to upset our smooth-running empire.”

  “Yeah, I’m ready to grow up,” Brent said. “This seems like a good place to hang out while I’m doing it.”

  Peter didn’t seem to notice, but Sandra heard just a hint of insincerity in Brent’s speech.

  “Come down to my office, and we can talk. Sandra, come with. You might be able to keep me from making promises that aren’t mine to make.”

  She followed the men down the hall. “Let me order coffee,” she said, taking the passive role, turning back to her office. She’d get her phone and put it on record. She wanted to be able to retrieve everything said. In the next hour, the three of them hammered out a deal that would keep Brent busy, pay him while he learned the ropes, and maintain his mother’s income. Sandra kept her expression and her tone neutral, even when things said made her bristle; the business wasn’t hers in the true sense of the word.

  In accordance with Jack’s will, Sandra collected a substantial draw each month and was in a position of authority with equal say in decisions with Peter. But she would never benefit from the sale of it, or receive profits. It seemed somewhat senseless; what was the point? She thought Brent might have looked at her with curiosity. Why did she settle for the directive cemented for her in Jack’s will? At the time, it was a guaranteed salary, and she had just discovered she was pregnant with baby Ellin. When she lost the baby, she should have run for her life. Now immersed in the benefits of being a partner in a company that was thriving, being free to take time off when she was needed at home was the biggest advantage, the money secondary.

  Tom bugged her to go after Peter with demands for more money: profit sharing or pensions, anything more than the draw. But she was hesitant to do so. With Brent in the picture now, she might have to rethink her reluctance to ask for more. He was certainly not shy, arguing with Peter about the proposed salary offered.

  “Ha!” He laughed. “I made more than that in Pasadena as a peon website guy.”

  “Well, you should have stayed there,” Peter said.

  “No, I didn’t want to. And I’m sure if I get my father’s lawyer involved, that number will increase. Just save us the trouble and pay me something I can live on.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Sandra said. “Why don’t you tell us what you want instead of making us guess?” He named a price, and both Peter and Sandra chuckled and shook their heads.

  “No way,” Peter said.

  “We can do half that, though,” Sandra said, eager to put an end to the bickering.

  Peter gasped, but Brent jumped at it.

  “Deal. When can I start?”

  Sandra looked at Peter and shrugged.

  “Peter, I think you’ll be a better mentor than me, so whatever you want him to do, go for it.” She stood up and excused herself. The less she had to do with Brent in a business sense, the better.

  Chapter 18

  Ed fell asleep before dinner. Megan was starting to fuss because she was hungry and Lisa wanted them to be together, even if the baby didn’t really eat with her parents. Lisa went to their bedroom to get him if was up. He was snoring lightly, a lock of hair over his forehead increasing the look of vulnerability he had. Not wanting to wake him, she realized then she’d never be able to leave him, either. She would fill her life with enough activity so that being married to someone who she couldn’t engage would not be a horrible problem. Sad, and frustrating, but she would honor her vows, in sickness and in health till death do them part. Untying his shoes, he didn’t stir when she pulled them off and brought the sheet and light cover up over him. He had a little sweat on his upper lip, and his skin was clammy. “Poor Ed,” she said softly.

  She went down the stairs and fed Megan. She thought about inviting her mother over, but the effort it would take to talk about Ed and listen to her constant advice-giving would be exhausting. Megan would be in bed soon, and she’d eat alone. It wouldn’t be the first time. After tucking Megan in and checking on Ed again, Lisa was going to fix a plate when Ed’s phone rang. She went to the counter where he’d left his papers from school and saw that it was Dan.

  “He’s sound asleep,” she said, explaining why she was answering the phone.

  “How’d he seem to you?” Dan asked, concerned.

  “He was quiet, disengaged. The usual. He doesn’t look good to me, either.”

  “Okay, well, tell him I called. I don’t have any news yet, but maybe tomorrow,” Dan replied. “I’m going to open my can of soup and enjoy it during the game.”

  Lisa laughed. “Come here to eat,” she said, spur of the moment. “You can watch the game with me.” It was something they’d done during baseball season when they lived at the beach, so it wasn’t so out of character.

  Dan thought about it for just a second. Would Pam mind? He didn’t think so. “Okay, I’ll head right over. What can I bring?”

  “A bottle of vino?” she asked, and he agreed.

  Twenty minutes later, Dan was at the door in his jeans and T-shirt with a brown paper bag. “Did Ed wake up yet?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ll get him if you think you need to talk to him. But history says if he wakes up now, he’ll be up all night.”

  “Okay, let the man sleep,” Dan said. He followed her into the kitchen.

  “Have a seat, it’s all prepared. Just needs dishing up,” she said.

  He watched her put food on the plates while he uncorked the wine and poured it into their glasses. “When did you start cooking?” he asked, confused. “You never made a meal at the beach.”

  She gasped. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, smart ass,” she said. “I cooked every day. My mother taught me.”

  “Well, my apologies,” he said. “If she taught you, this will be delicious.”

  Lisa brought plates of food to the table, and they ate in companionable silence.

  “The game starts at eight,” Lisa warned. They got up and cleared together, and Dan went back to the den in the rear of the house to turn the TV on while Lisa cleaned up. She was happy and enjoying the evening, thoughts of Ed far removed until she decided to make him a plate of food in case he woke up later. She ran back up the stairs, and he was laying on his back now, out cold, snoring.

  Dan was standing in the kitchen, waiting for her when she came down.

  “He’s out, poor guy. He’s gone for the ni
ght.”

  Dan made the after you gesture with his hand, ushering her into the den. The den was really a small bedroom on the main floor. They had a couch, a recliner and the TV, along with a toy box and a baby bouncy chair. It was a comfortable, nondescript room. Dan brought their wine glasses, refilled, and they sat down next to each other in front of the glasses placed on the coffee table. Lisa reached forward to take sip.

  “I hope Megan stays asleep,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning against the back of the couch. “I never realize how tired I am until I stop at the end of the day.”

  Dan looked at her, her eyelids closed, lashes on her cheeks. Her neck was long, and he couldn’t help himself; leaning over, he kissed the hollow at the base of her neck. She opened her eyes and looked down at the top of his head. It was an innocent gesture which could turn to lust if she allowed it. But she didn’t have any desire for Dan. He was still her mother’s boyfriend. In seconds, she decided that she’d let him continue on if he wanted, but she wouldn’t give him any encouragement. When he was finished and sat back up again, looking into her eyes. The place where his lips had been alternately burned and froze; the trail of it moved through her body, settling in between her legs. Maybe she’d rethink that earlier resolve.

  “Wow,” she said.

  He just looked confused. What the hell are you doing, Snake? he thought.

  Lisa grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. Her breasts were full from nursing; she reached around and unhooked her bra and they bounced forward. She wanted a man to make a fuss over her breasts.

  The sequence happened so quickly, she didn’t really care at all what he was doing, that he was just going to take what he could. Lisa figured that out about him, and it surprised her because she thought she knew Dan. He never seemed like an opportunist. They kissed passionately. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them off along with her underpants, and Dan got between her knees and undid his pants. He pushed up against her, and it didn’t take long for her or for him. He held on to her for a long while. Lisa wondered at first if he was counting the seconds. When has enough time passed before he can let go? But then she thought maybe he was reluctant to let her go, only doing so in case Ed should wake up and catch them. He reached over to the table and took the paper napkins out from under the wine glasses, giving one to her, and taking one for himself. They got the bulk of their mess cleaned up, and then he helped her put her clothes back on.