by Wendy Wax
“Oh?” Brooke’s expression became more guarded. “I ran into him while I was talking to Edward in the lobby.”
“I thought he was an investor/entrepreneur of some kind,” Claire said. She and Brooke exchanged looks, and Samantha remembered how they’d come out into this same hallway to try to protect her from her own brother.
Samantha considered her answer. She’d spent so many years and so much energy presenting her brother’s failures in the best possible light. Even with Sylvie and Lucy, she’d shared the auspicious beginnings of each new venture, then skimmed over the ugly endings and mounting losses. But all of that was over. And she was so very tired of pretending.
“He’s invested other people’s money in all kinds of things. And he’s lost pretty much every penny.” The words were out before she could reconsider. “I’m hoping Edward will be able to help him harness his skills a little more productively.” Making the admission aloud was oddly liberating.
“If anyone can harness anything, it’s Edward Parker,” Claire said firmly.
“It’s true,” Brooke agreed. “Private Butler and Edward Parker have stellar reputations. I’m really excited about doing these jobs for the Daltons.”
“Well, Hunter can be a handful,” Samantha said. “He’s so persuasive. That’s why he’s always been so good in sales. But he has a real problem answering to others.” Oh, God, had she really said these things aloud, too? She studied Claire and Brooke’s faces and saw no judgment or censure there.
“Well, my money’s on EP,” Claire said. “He always seems so cool and collected. And he handles his clients with kid gloves. But I don’t think he takes any shit off of anyone.”
“Claire’s right,” Brooke said. “It could be a great introduction to a whole new business for your brother. And Edward Parker can take care of himself.”
Brooke stifled a yawn. Claire and Samantha automatically followed suit. Embarrassed by how much she’d said, Samantha pushed the elevator call button. “I hope so.”
Claire surprised Samantha by giving her a hug. “It’ll be okay,” Claire said. “Sometimes as a parent you have to step aside and let your child fall and scrape his knee. That’s how they learn.”
“Hunter’s not exactly a child anymore,” Samantha said ruefully. “I just hope it’s not too late to try to force him to turn things around.”
“It’s never too late to do the right thing for the people you love,” Claire said. “And a parent—or parent figure—is allowed to change her mind. Lord knows I did a ton of that and Hailey seems to have survived it.”
The elevator arrived. Claire turned and headed down the hall to her unit. Brooke and Samantha stepped onto the elevator and pushed their respective floors.
When the doors opened on nine, Brooke held the door open for a moment. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly. “It will.” She hugged Samantha carefully as if she were afraid the hug might not be returned or welcomed. “And you can give me or Claire a call if it’s not.”
“Thanks.” Samantha rode up to the twelfth floor and tiptoed into the apartment, embarrassingly grateful for the hugs and the support. In the bedroom she found Jonathan asleep. Gently she removed the reading glasses that had slipped low on his nose and pried loose the business journal still clutched in his hands.
“Hey,” she said softly, pulling the covers up over him and turning off the bedside lamp. His eyes remained closed, his breathing regular. But as she placed a good-night kiss on his forehead, his lips turned up in a smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BROOKE HAD PLANNED THE DAY WITH THE KIND OF precision normally reserved for a Swiss timepiece and military invasions of foreign countries. By the time she picked the girls up from school, the condo was spotless, Darcy had been “speed walked” and the girls’ overnight cases were packed and sitting by the door. There was nothing left to do but feed them a snack, hear about their day, and deliver them up to Barbie and Ken’s apartment, where they would eat dinner and spend the night.
“Here, let me get that.” Brooke wiped Ava’s chocolate-smeared face and brushed the cookie crumbs off of her T-shirt. “I think you’re supposed to eat these cookies, not wear them, baby,” she said when she’d eliminated the snack remnants. “Do you want me to check your homework, Natalie?”
“I don’t have any,” Natalie said her attention focused on the cookie on its way to her mouth.
This was unlikely. Although Natalie was only in second grade she almost always had a math sheet or two and a reading assignment. “Natalie.” She gave her the “I’m your mother” look, but Natalie didn’t seem at all concerned. She washed the cookie down with a long gulp of milk. “Daddy said Sarah can help me. ’Cuz she knows all about big budgets and spending money.”
Brooke stopped the frown before it could form. Sarah’s spending habits were none of her concern. If Zach and Sarah were willing to help with homework, she should be glad, not irritated. More time with their father was a good thing for the girls and far more important than any discomfort Brooke might feel.
Right.
Brooke glanced down at her watch. She’d arranged to meet Marissa and her father at Lenox Square mall at six thirty and reaching Buckhead during rush hour could be a long and agonizing process. “Okay then,” she said. “Let’s potty up and I’ll take you upstairs.”
There were no protests and so at five thirty she closed the apartment door behind them and didn’t even scold when the girls raced down the hallway to be the first to push the elevator button.
On the tenth floor Brooke found herself following the girls who, unlike her, knew exactly which door they were looking for. In front of number 1012 Natalie pressed a finger to the buzzer and went up on her tiptoes to try to see in the peephole.
Nobody came to the door.
Natalie and Ava turned to Brooke.
“Go ahead and ring again, Natalie. Maybe they didn’t hear the bell.”
Natalie rang again, pressing harder this time. Brooke stepped closer and heard the peal of the bell inside. What she didn’t hear were footsteps. Or the sound of a hand on the knob.
Shit. Brooke glanced down at her watch. It was 5:42. “Let me call Daddy and see what’s going on.” Not wanting to upset the girls, she tried not to look as pissed—or worried—as she felt. She’d spoken to Zach on Monday to confirm tonight’s details and he’d raised no objections or concerns about the timing.
She stood in the hallway, her cell phone pressed to her ear, listening to the hollow ring of Zach’s cell phone. Then she listened to his cheerful recorded greeting as she was routed to voicemail. After leaving a terse message to call her right away, she dialed his office, which had apparently already closed for the day.
She debated whether to call the emergency after-hours number, but she had no idea who was on call tonight. She only had a 30 percent possibility of reaching Zachary instead of one of his partners.
Ava tugged on her hand as Brooke tried to figure out her next steps. Both girls were staring at her, waiting for her to do . . . something.
Brooke’s watch read five fifty; she’d planned to be in her car and on the road right now. The only thing predictable about Atlanta traffic was that it would be heavy. The rate—or lack of—forward movement was an unknown that would only be discovered when you were in the thick of it with no means of retreat.
Shit! She had no idea what to do. Fragments of ideas sprang to mind, none of them helpful. She thought about Claire Walker’s offer to watch the girls if she had to work. She’d seemed sincere and had even insisted that Brooke put her number in her cell phone. But how could she just call at the last minute like this and expect her to drop everything to watch her children?
“Mommy,” Ava crooned. “Where’s Daddy?”
Brooke’s armpits were damp and the waistband of her slacks dug into her waist. She’d felt obliged to dress as professionally as her wardrobe allowed, but now she regretted the long sleeves of the cotton button-down shirt and the too-tight pants.
> “I don’t know, sweetie, he’s probably on his way home right now.” Or not. “But I need to go to work.” Brooke had intentionally not told the girls that she was taking Marissa Dalton shopping, knowing they’d want to come along. Maybe she should call Bruce Dalton and see if she could bring the girls after all. But he’d be put on the spot and feel compelled to say yes. And how much could she focus on Marissa and make the trip all about her if she had the girls with her?
Damn Zachary and his girlfriend. They could be anywhere right now, doing anything. Even if she reached them she had no idea how long it might take Zachary to get back here. Assuming that he would even drop whatever he was doing.
Ava plopped down on the hall floor. Natalie slumped against the wall.
Should she call Bruce Dalton and at least let him know she was running late? Maybe ask if they could move their time back a bit? She looked down at her wristwatch again and knew it was too late for that. He and Marissa would have already left their house. Just as she should have.
Swallowing back an oath, she dialed Claire Walker’s number.
“’Lo?”
“Claire? It’s Brooke. Brooke Mackenzie.”
“Oh. Hi. What’s going on?”
Brooke turned her back in an attempt to keep the girls from hearing. “I’m, well, I’m . . . you mentioned you might be able to watch the girls if I ever found myself in a pinch.”
There was silence on the other end.
“I’ve just brought the girls up to Zachary’s because I have a job for Private Butler. Only neither Zachary or Barbie, I mean Sarah, are here.”
She felt the girls’ eyes on her and turned so that she could see them. Ava dropped her head into her hands. Natalie opened her overnight case and began to paw through it.
“Oh, gosh,” Claire said. “I’m so sorry, but a friend from my old neighborhood is actually here in Midtown and I’m on my way right now to meet her for dinner. If she weren’t already here, I’d cancel so I could keep the girls. Really, I’m . . .”
“No, don’t apologize.” Brooke was embarrassed even to be asking, but she didn’t know what else to do. The girls looked up at her through eyes that reflected their disappointment. “That’s all right, I’ll just . . .” What? Call Bruce Dalton and tell him she wouldn’t be able to make it after all? She didn’t want to disappoint Marissa. Or Edward Parker, who had a company’s reputation for reliability to maintain.
“Why don’t you try Samantha?” Claire said interrupting Brooke’s thoughts. “I ran into her in the elevator just a little while ago. I’m pretty sure she’s home.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly . . .”
“I don’t think she’d mind at all,” Claire said.
“But it’s dinnertime and the girls haven’t eaten and—”
“I’m sure the woman has food in her apartment,” Claire said, cutting her off. “And the worst she can say is no.”
“But . . .”
“It’s a job, Brooke. It’s important. If Samantha’s at home, I’m sure she’ll be glad to help you out. Wouldn’t you do the same for her?”
The answer, of course, was yes. But unlike Brooke, Samantha had a husband and a social life. Even if she were at home she was probably getting ready to go out.
“Just ask,” Claire said. “And if she can’t, she can’t.”
It sounded so logical but Brooke couldn’t even imagine asking. Or Samantha agreeing. And how would the girls feel about being left with someone they barely knew? “Okay. Thanks.”
Brooke hung up without thinking to ask for Samantha’s number. She began to punch in Claire’s number to ask for it, then caught a look at her watch. It was ten after six.
“Oh, what the hell.” Brooke grabbed each of her daughter’s hands, pulled them to their feet, and sprinted for the elevator. The Davises only lived two floors up.
* * *
AS QUIETLY AS SHE COULD, SAMANTHA PUT THE leftover spaghetti and meatballs into the refrigerator. With Natalie Mackenzie’s help she loaded the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Both of them listened to the rise and fall of Jonathan’s voice as he read a bedtime story to Ava on the family room couch.
“Thanks,” Samantha said to Natalie when the kitchen counter had been wiped down. “Do you want to go lie down until your dad or your mom can get here? We have an extra bedroom with two beds in it.”
Natalie shook her head, a none-too-gentle movement that sent her mushroom cloud of red hair brushing across her sturdy shoulders. “Could I maybe just go listen to the story Mr. Davis is reading Ava?”
“Sure,” Samantha said. “We’ll both listen.”
They moved quietly toward the couch where Jonathan was in the middle of what Samantha thought might be his second time through Ava’s dog-eared copy of Stellaluna. Ava’s head kept nodding downward and jerking back up as she fought to remain awake.
Each time he stopped, Ava dragged her chin off her chest, opened her eyes, and asked if he’d please read some more.
Each time he complied without so much as a sigh or a word of complaint, her heart did a strange little summersault in her chest. He’d been the perfect host, welcoming the children in when Brooke arrived with them so unexpectedly, entertaining them through dinner, and then readily agreeing to read Ava the book she’d dragged out of her My Little Pony overnight case.
But then he’d always had an affinity for children. Even at twenty-seven when he’d married Samantha and taken on the role of father to the eleven-year-old Meredith and nine-year-old Hunter, he’d had a gentle patience with them that exceeded Samantha’s.
He smiled as she and Natalie settled on his other side and he became more animated, acting out the parts of the lost fruit bat and the baby birds as he read. The curtness with which he’d been addressing Samantha since they’d discussed Hunter’s latest financial debacle had disappeared.
As she listened to the rise and fall of his voice, Samantha felt a keen pinch of regret that she’d never been able to give him the children they’d both wanted. He’d never thrown her infertility up at her or used it against her in any way. But he hadn’t supported Samantha’s desire to adopt. He’d caved to his mother’s horrified objections at the idea of someone without Davis blood carrying the Davis name, even as she’d complained over the lack of an heir to carry it on.
A rueful smile tugged at her lips. If this were Downton Abbey, Hunter would undoubtedly be arguing in favor of an “entail” and angling to land the part of Matthew Crawley.
It was after nine, and both girls crumpled in sleep on either side of Jonathan when a quiet knock sounded on the front door. The flickering light from the television cast light and shadows over their sleeping faces.
“I’ll get it,” she whispered as she eased off the sofa and gently repositioned Natalie’s now-heavy limbs.
Brooke was already apologizing when Samantha opened the door. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she stepped inside. “I finally heard back from Zachary at eight thirty. He and Sarah drove up to Highlands to play golf with friends and to see the foliage and were invited to stay for dinner.” She drew a deep breath of outrage, her body practically vibrating with anger. “I just can’t believe he did this to them. Or me.” She grimaced. “I’m so sorry we intruded on your evening.”
“It’s all right,” Samantha said. “Really. They were a pleasure.”
“Oh, I’ll bet your husband just loved the whole thing.” This was accompanied by an eye roll.
“You’d be surprised,” Samantha said. In many ways the girls’ presence had smoothed out the rough edges of their disagreement. It was hard to be angry or distant with such sweet neediness right there in front of you. “How did the shopping trip go?”
“I know Marissa enjoyed it. I got her completely outfitted, including some winter things and this adorable red winter coat.” She dropped her eyes. “And I think Bruce was happy with how happy Marissa was.”
“And you?” Samantha asked noting the way Brooke flushed every time Bruce Dalton’s nam
e was mentioned.
“Well, it would have been great if I hadn’t been so worried about where Zachary was and why he hadn’t even called. And then I kept picturing the girls here driving you both crazy. I’m sure the last thing you expected to do tonight was babysit.” She said this as if it were akin to being flayed alive.
“Like I said, it was no problem.” Samantha led Brooke through the kitchen and into the family room. From there they could see the back of Jonathan’s head. It looked as if he sat alone on the couch. “We like children.”
Brooke came to a halt as they rounded the sofa. Her mouth dropped open as she caught sight of her daughters on either side of Jonathan, collapsed against him like little redheaded bookends. The book he’d been reading lay open-faced across one muscled thigh. Jonathan winked at Brooke in welcome and laid a warning finger against his lips. “Let’s not wake them up if we can help it,” he said softly. “I like Stellaluna as much as the next man. But after the first time through it’s kind of hard to get the bat and bird voices right.”
When Brooke and the children had gone, Samantha locked the front door and turned out the foyer light. Not waiting for an invitation, she settled next to Jonathan on the sofa.
“Thanks,” she said. “You’re a good man, Jonathan Davis.” She laid her head on his shoulder and rested her hand on his thigh. “And you read a mean Stellaluna.” His thigh tensed beneath her hand, and she was afraid for a moment that he would shrug away from her. But she felt him expel a breath of air as his arm slipped around her. He pulled her tighter against him.
“We aim to please,” he said quietly, and she thought she heard an uncomfortable note of irony. But then he shifted and pressed her back into the cushions. When his lips found hers and he began to undress her, she almost convinced herself that she had imagined it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
