by Josie Brown
The kiss they shared would have lasted a lot longer if they hadn’t heard Amelia scream at the top of her lungs. “No, Addy! I mailman! Me!”
Jillian sighed.
Caleb took that as his cue to break up their fight.
Jillian’s response was a fervent “Thank you!” accompanied with a suggestive wink that promised another act of appreciation later tonight.
* * *
11:33 a.m.
Like the rest of the PHM&T mommies, Jade stood in the back of the Golden Gate Valley’s reading room as their children listened, enthralled by the dulcet tones of an out-of-work actress’s rendition of The Cat in the Hat Comes Back.
Spotting her, Bettina snaked her way over. To get her attention, she poked Jade in her side.
“Ouch!” Jade squeaked.
One of the librarians looked up. Holding a finger to her lips, she hissed, “Shhhhh!”
Despite Jade’s glare, Bettina nodded for her to follow.
Once they were outside, Bettina didn’t waste time on small talk. “As you know, the Twosies pulled the task of coordinating the parents’ Valentine’s party,” she exclaimed brightly. “And I can’t think of a better person to host it than you.”
“But I leave for England on the twentieth! I need time to pack—”
“Easy-peasy. It’s winter in the U.K. Take a heavy coat and a ’brelly.”
Exasperated, Jade added, “And I’ve got to pull some research for Reggie before we leave—”
“Seriously, TMI. Or as the Brits say, ‘such a bore.’” Bettina winked. “Add it to your vocabulary, if you haven’t already. It’s time you learned a second language anyway: English. So much more posh than your native New Jersey-ese.”
Jade ignored that. Instead, she exclaimed, “Why can’t some other Twosie mom do it?”
“Because no other Twosie mom is going to Jolly ol’ England. Ergo, no other Twosie mother will be shirking her club duties for eons. Consider it your penance for having the rest of the group pick up your slack after you’re long gone.”
“Bettina, you know I’ll only be gone a month, right?”
Bettina shook her head mournfully. “A shame.”
Jade frowned. “Are you implying it would be better for me to quit altogether?”
Bettina laughed. “Jade, don’t be so paranoid! Having you around is always good for a laugh or two. What do the French call it? Ah yes: ‘petite amusement.’ In show business, you’d be the ‘comic relief.’”
“Now you’re calling me a clown?”
“In life, we all have our unique roles.” Bettina patted her arm. “Now, about the party’s theme: I’m thinking pink—and lots of cupids!”
“What? Not fright wigs, grease paint, and size eighteen clodhoppers?” Jade muttered sarcastically.
Bettina flicked her fingers dismissively. “Whatever. Just give the project your usual flair and I’m sure it will be a rousing success.”
“Thank you…I guess.” Jade’s smile was tepid at best. “Okay, since you’re not letting me off the hook, I suppose I should look at it as a bon voyage party.” She shrugged. “I’m sure Reggie will be thrilled when I tell him.”
Bettina let Jade’s sarcasm slide. Once that cell phone was hers, yet another dead body in the cemetery of her past would be laid to rest, once and for all.
* * *
3:47 p.m.
“I’ll be honest, Dr. Spruill, I never thought I’d be so eager to come back here.” Brady paid off the statement with a half-hearted laugh in the hope that it sounded casual enough.
The doctor nodded, but kept scribbling on his pad.
Brady glanced over at Ally to gauge her reaction to his remark. To his chagrin, she was staring straight ahead, so he really couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
Finally, she murmured, “Brady, I know you didn’t like the fact that I wanted to wait until we were in therapy to discuss the meeting with my father. But wasn’t that the whole point of us going in the first place?”
“Okay, yes, you’re right,” he admitted. “Needless to say, I’m curious as to how your meeting went. I’m just concerned that I’ll also hear that he…well, that he hurt you again.”
“You’re very sweet to be so protective.” Ally reached over to stroke his cheek. “Believe me, sweetheart, if that had happened, you’d have known. It’s just that he brought up some interesting considerations, and since it affects both of us, I felt that we should use Dr. Spruill as a sounding board.”
“Fair enough,” Brady conceded. “So, don’t keep us in suspense.”
Ally nodded. Taking a deep breath, she murmured. “It’s Garrett Hartley.”
She had anticipated that Brady would be surprised; that perhaps he’d laugh and make some joke about coincidences, or how Silicon Valley truly was a small world.
What she didn’t expect was that he’d rise, stalk the room, and slam his hand against the wall.
Even Dr. Spruill quit scribbling to ask, “I take it you know him?”
Brady snorted. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. He was my savior. He was my mentor.” He ran his hand through his hair. “He was the son of a bitch who tried to take my company away from me.”
“Oh.” Ally’s shocked response was so low that even Dr. Spruill leaned toward her. “All he said about you is that he knew you and that he’d financed your company.”
“How did my name come up in your conversation?” The question was sharpened with suspicion.
She blushed. “He told me he’s been following my…career.”
“So, he had a private investigator following you.”
“Probably,” she admitted. “Then again, isn’t that what you did to him too?”
“The only difference is that I didn’t know it was him,” Brady countered.
“If you had, would it have made a difference?” she asked.
Perplexed, Brady frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Would you have given me the envelope with his name in it?”
“I…I don’t know.” Brady shrugged. “I’m sure he found it ironic that we’re working together.”
“To be honest, he didn’t know about that,” Ally admitted. “Frankly, he called you ‘my boyfriend.’”
Brady rolled his eyes. “That’s so typical of Garrett: trying to minimize my role—first in my company, and then in your life.”
Ally sprang up. “Believe me, Brady! Had I known how you felt about him, I would have… I wouldn’t have…”
“What? You wouldn’t have met with him?” Brady waved her off. “Don’t be silly. He’s your father.” Under his breath, he added, “Lucky you.”
“I’ve never felt so,” she reminded him. “It was your idea that I reconnect with him.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.
Dr. Spruill tented his hands. “Ally, you’d mentioned that there were some considerations that came up in the meeting with Garrett.”
Ally shrugged. “Yes, well…he offered to finance Life of Pie.”
“No way in hell,” Brady growled.
“I…I think I should at least consider it.”
“Why?” Dr. Spruill asked.
“Well…” Ally struggled to find the right words. “For one reason, it’s what he does for a living—and he’s successful at it.”
Brady raised a brow.
“And because I’d much rather play with his money than ours,” she pointed out.
When Dr. Spruill nodded, his dangly emerald earrings sparkled in the light. “Is that because you think that, as a father who abandoned you, he owes you his support?”
“To be honest, yes,” she admitted.
“We’re already playing with other people’s money,” Brady reminded her. “Did you forget that we already have a deal with Collins, Acworth, and Markham?”
“No! Of course, I mentioned them to him.” She shrugged. “He said we could do better.”
“Of course he did,” Brady declared, shaking his head. “Well, you know h
ow I feel.”
“About what?” Dr. Spruill asked.
Brady looked surprised at the question. “About—about him horning in on her success. And, frankly, about him butting into our lives. As far as I’m concerned, she never has to call him again.”
Dr. Spruill shifted his gaze to Ally. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I guess I don’t know how I feel,” she admitted. “Like Brady, a part of me wants to tell him to fuck off. But another part of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt; to see if…well, if he really wants to help.”
Brady muttered, “Don’t bother. He’ll screw you over.”
“In any case, it’s Ally’s decision,” Dr. Spruill reminded him.
Brady shook his head. “Not when it comes to the business. She has partners: Jillian, and on a smaller scale, me, too.”
“You’re right. I should present any new options to her—and to you.” Ally paused, and then added, “When I told him you were our broker, he asked me to have you call him.” She blushed. No way in hell was she going to mention Garrett’s declaration to Brady: that he’d much rather deal with her.
“After what you’ve just heard, Ally, is that what you want?” Dr. Spruill wanted to know.
“I don’t think it would hurt,” Ally replied. “As Brady just pointed out, we have an obligation, not just to ourselves but to Jillian, to hear what he has to offer.” She looked at Brady. “I’m sure our attorney Barry’s input would be important on this as well.”
Brady frowned. “Is that your way of saying I’m prejudiced about your father?”
“Are you, Brady?” Dr. Spruill asked him.
“Hell, yeah, I am!” Brady retorted. “But, hey, I’ll talk to him”—he looked Ally in the eye—“for you. But if we—you—make the decision to take him up on his offer and he screws us over, remember: it’s on you.”
Even as she nodded, she wondered, what am I getting us into?
Chapter Ten
Thursday, 7 February
11:04 a.m.
“Hey, Jillian, come up here for a second,” Caleb shouted from upstairs.
“Sweetie, I’ve got four test mini-pies in the oven, and I’m palms-deep in dough!” Jillian called back. “Not only that, Mary is here, going over last week’s sales figures. Can it wait another five minutes?”
Sighing, she rolled her eyes at Mary Barnum—Life of Pie’s store manager—who was tapping on a calculator with one hand while gently rocking the sleeping Scotty’s infant carrier with the other.
“Um… No, not really!” he countered.
They could hear him clumping down the stairs. When he appeared in the kitchen, he had on the bottom half of his National Parks uniform—a pair of khaki slacks—but he was shirtless.
Noting his broad, tanned shoulders and six-pack abs, Mary grinned, then let loose with a low appreciative whistle.
He had a twin in each arm. Both were certainly grumpy.
After nodding hello to Mary, he walked over to Jillian. “Hey, have you noticed how lethargic the girls seem? Take a look at their faces. What do you suppose those little spots might be?”
Jillian was about to wipe her hands on her apron, but stopped to take a good look. “Oh, no! The girls have chickenpox!”
Caleb frowned. “That’s not good.”
“They’ve had their shots, so it shouldn’t be bad.” She glanced at Scotty. “But Scotty is too young for the shot, so we should definitely keep them away from him. Caleb, you’ve got to do what you can to keep them upstairs.”
“Sure—for the next fifteen minutes. But after that, I’ve got to head out to my shift at the Presidio. This was supposed to be your day off, remember?”
“Don’t remind me,” Jillian muttered.
The chime of the doorbell rang through the house.
Jillian shook her head in frustration. “Now, who could that be?”
She was halfway down the hallway when Mary exclaimed, “Oh! Um…I think Scotty just had a little accident.”
Jillian shouted back, “You don’t mind changing his diaper, do you?”
“But I’ve…I’ve never…” She shrugged. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything…”
Jillian shook her head helplessly. But by then, she’d already reached the door—
Only to open it to Judge Marsh.
Jillian gasped, “Oh! …Hello!” She put out her hand.
Judge Marsh stared at it, but didn’t take it.
When Jillian looked down at her hand, she realized why: it was still covered in flour. Quickly, she wiped it on her apron.
“Is now a bad time?” the judge asked.
“Yes. I mean, no! It’s just that I…we…weren’t expecting you.”
“That’s odd since I sent a confirmation letter.” Judge Marsh frowned.
“Oh? I’m so sorry! I didn’t see it.” From behind Jillian, one of the twins was crying. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside so that the judge could do so.
As they entered the foyer, the judge gazed beyond the hall and into the living room.
Jillian flinched. The twins’ toys, books, and crayons were strewn all over the room. They’d pulled an old comforter over the coffee table in order to make a house. Every pillow on the couch had somehow found its way onto the floor.
“Excuse the mess,” Jillian implored her. “The girls can be quite rambunctious.”
In the hallway, a floorboard squeaked. They turned to find Caleb, twins in hand, in a covert attempt to make his way upstairs again.
Jillian stopped him cold with a side-eye and the proclamation, “Ah, just the people I’m looking for! Caleb Martin, this is Judge Julia Marsh. She’s been so looking forward to meeting you—and Amelia and Addison, of course.”
Judge Marsh’s brow arched at Caleb’s attire—or lack thereof.
The timing could not have been worse for the twins to start bawling in unison.
No matter what Caleb said to shush them, nothing worked.
Perplexed, the judge asked, “Mr. Martin, I take it you’ve never had children?”
“No, ma’am,” Caleb admitted meekly.
“And you have no experience as a childcare worker?”
“Not many fathers do either,” he pointed out. “However, I have a double-major in Forestry and Environmental Science from University of New Hampshire.”
The judge’s nod came with a frown. “I know firsthand that it’s quite cold in New Hampshire. Frigid, some might say.”
Caleb nodded. “Indeed, it is—and indeed they do.”
Judge Marsh lowered her glasses in order to scrutinize him more thoroughly. “Up there at this time of year, there aren’t many days when one can walk around without one’s shirt.”
“Indeed, there aren’t.” Caleb glanced down at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m late for work.”
The judge nodded. Instinctively, she patted Addison’s back. Suddenly, she frowned. “This child has a fever!” She put her palm on Amelia’s neck as well. “As does this one.”
“Yes, we know,” Jillian assured her. “We think it’s a reaction to their chickenpox vaccinations.”
“Is little Scotty also ill?”
“No,” Jillian assured her. “But because he’s too young to be vaccinated, we are keeping them away from him.” She pointed toward the kitchen.
“He’s in there, by himself?” Judge Marsh asked. She started toward the kitchen.
Scotty was there, all right—and so was Mary, whose anxious attempt at diapering the infant was failing miserably. As she tried to clean him with an already messy wipe, a stream of pee shot straight up.
Jillian ran over to her. “I’ll take care of him,” she murmured to her. Nudging Mary out of the way, she worked quickly to clean up Scotty and his mess.
“Who are you?” Judge Marsh asked the woman.
“I’m Mary! I work for Jillian.”
The judge gave Jillian a sideways gaze. “You said you had no help at home with the childr
en.”
“I don’t!” Jillian insisted. “Mary works at my pie store.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Judge Marsh murmured.
Jillian sniffed the air. “Oh, my goodness! The pielets! They’re burning!”
Mary ran to the oven and pulled out the tray.
The pies were scorched black on top.
Judge Marsh came out with what everyone else was thinking: “This was obviously the wrong day to come. On that note, I’ll take my leave.”
Jillian started her way. “Please—it’s not always like this—”
Noting the dirty diaper in Jillian’s hand, Judge Marsh waved her off. “No need to bother. I’ll show myself out.”
She nodded to Mary and Caleb and hurried down the hall.
A cold chill ran through Jillian. Oh, my God, I’m going to lose Scotty.
It wasn’t until she’d gotten back from the doctor with the girls—who confirmed that, yes, they were dealing with chickenpox—that she found Judge Marsh’s missing letter: in Addison’s toy cubby.
Chapter Eleven
Saturday, 9 February
Reggie nodded out to the laughing crowd that filled the living room of the Marina District cottage he shared with Jade. “I hate to admit it, but for once, I think Bettina had a great idea.”
Still, flabbergasted by his statement, Jade stopped what she was doing—arranging heart-shaped meat pies on a platter—in order to stare at him. “Are you crazy? You know, her purpose in demanding I do this wasn’t that we enjoy ourselves. Just the opposite! It was supposed to be some form of punishment.”
“And as with most of her schemes, this one backfired.” He plucked one of the pies off the tray and popped it into his mouth.
“Well, thank you,” Jade preened at the compliment. “Still, she had no right to demand that we take the time out of our completely crazy schedule to host a party for a hundred people!”
As he gulped down a pastry, he nodded. “You’re right. She didn’t. But I’m still glad we did it. I can’t think of a better send-off for us than a roomful of happy couples in love.”
