Always the Last to Know

by Kristan Higgins

  He sat for a minute, looking peeved. Then he got up out of his chair, struggling a bit, and Noah passed the baby to Mickey and was by his side in a flash. “Where are we headed, Mr. Frost?”

  Dad walked to the stairs, listing a little.

  “I guess he wants to go to bed,” I said. “I’ll take care of this. You guys stay put and relax. I’ll be right down.”

  Dad was halfway up the stairs, and I ran to catch up. He went to his old room, the one he’d shared with Mom. I steered him to Juliet’s old room, where he’d slept for years because his snoring kept mom awake. The bed there had rails for him to grab, and to keep him from falling out.

  “You’re doing great, Daddy,” I said. “I’m so proud of you. I know you’re trying really hard, and you’re getting there.” There was a sick feeling in my stomach, though, and I didn’t know why.

  I helped him get into his pajamas and put toothpaste on his brush. He knew how to brush his teeth. When he first had the stroke, he couldn’t even breathe on his own. Of course he was getting better.

  He got into bed, and I secured the railing, then bent over and kissed his forehead. “I’m here for you, Dad. I know you’re in there, and I want you to know that however long it takes, I’ll be here. I love you.”

  He closed his eyes.

  Maybe he was just tired. That was probably it. Mom got him ready for bed most nights. He’d probably been trying to say he was done with visiting and wanted Mom to help him. That made the most sense.

  I washed my hands in the bathroom across the hall and looked at myself for a minute. I hadn’t had a haircut in a while, and the longer it got, the worse it looked. I thought of the salon I went to in the Bronx, wondered if Robert, my stylist, missed me or wondered why I hadn’t been in. It seemed like a long time ago, that New York life.

  When I got downstairs, Mickey and the baby were gone, and Noah was standing at my easel.

  “Shit,” I said. “I’m sorry they left.”

  “Marcus has a window of time where he needs to get to sleep or he’ll be up all night,” Noah said. “Is your dad okay?”

  “Worn out. I mean, he spoke more today than he has since the stroke, at least on my watch. So it was a great day. I think he was just tired.”

  He looked at me a minute. “You’re a good daughter, Sadie.”

  “He was a great dad. Is a great dad.”

  “And Juliet and your mom? How come they got to go to Boston and you didn’t?”

  I sat down on the couch and smiled. “I sent them away like a benevolent overlord. Jules is stressed about something at work, and Mom is exhausted.”

  “You must be, too.”

  “Nah. I’m fine.”

  “Mickey really likes you.”

  “She’s great, Noah. You couldn’t have found a better baby mama.” Whoops. He let it slide. “I mean, she’s really fun. And open. Just . . . seems like a great person.”

  “She is.”

  He nodded at my drawing. “This is really . . . touching.”

  “Oh, that. I was just . . . goofing around.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Um, do you want another beer? A whole beer, just for you?”

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  So. We were going to sit and look at each other and exchange pleasantries? Nah. That would be boring. “Noah, can I ask you a personal question?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you—oh. Sorry.”

  He laughed, that low, dirty sound. “Go ahead, Sadie. You know you can’t stop yourself.”

  I pulled a face. He was right. “Why didn’t you wait to find someone to marry if you wanted kids?”

  “I told you. I tried that. Twice.”

  “By which you mean me and Gillian?”

  “Yes, Sadie. You and Gillian.”

  “I’m not wild about the hard ‘G’ on that. I like the other way better. Jillian. Much nicer.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her.”

  “So why have a baby with Mickey? You’re not that old.”

  He looked at his glass. “I’ll take that beer after all.” He got up and helped himself, then came back and sat down in the easy chair. “I wanted to be a dad. Always have. Gillian and I didn’t work out, and I wasn’t . . . I didn’t find anyone else. One day Mickey and I ran into each other at Frankie’s, and we had a drink, and we started talking. She got pregnant two months later.”

  “And how was that? Sex with a lesbian?”

  “You’re incredibly rude and nosy.”

  “And yet you feel compelled to answer.” I grinned at him, knowing he’d spill.

  “Let’s just say we were both thinking of someone else.”

  “Heidi Klum? For both of you?”

  Another laugh. “Something like that.”

  “How many times did you—”

  “Once, okay?”

  “Wow. She’s fertile. Lucky.”

  He smiled at his beer, shaking his head.

  “And what about Gillian?” I said. “Why not her? I saw your . . . ah, shit, I might as well come clean. I stalked her Facebook page and saw your pictures. You looked really happy, Noah.”

  “Yeah. We were happy for a while.” I waited. He didn’t say any more.

  “Did she cheat on you?” I asked, wanting to kick her if the answer was yes. How could you cheat on Noah? Noah! Was it because he was a blue-collar guy and she was—

  “No, no. Nothing like that. She . . . she’s got a lot of really great qualities.”

  “You’re making her sound like a monster.”

  His mouth pulled up. “She’s not. She was a little crazy with the wedding planning, but it goes with the territory, right? That was fine. Things were . . . nice. We’d even put an offer on a house.”

  “Wow.” I already knew this, thanks to her Facebook posts, but hearing it from Noah, the news had more of a resonance. That would have been huge for him, buying a house with someone.

  “Yeah. So we . . . disagreed on decorating.” He looked at his beer.

  “Ah, yes, I can see how that would split you right down the middle. ‘Blue? I hate blue! It’s over!’” He smiled a little. “So what really happened, Noah?”

  He was staring into that beer real hard. “She wanted me to get rid of something that meant a lot to me.”

  “Was it your hair? She was Delilah to your Sampson?”

  “No, not my hair, idiot.”

  “Your first tooth? The family Bible? What?”

  He didn’t answer for a beat or two. Kept staring into that beer. “A painting some girl gave me a long time ago.”

  He looked up then, and I felt the full force of his dark eyes like a rogue wave, knocking my heart over with its power.

  “You broke up over a painting?”

  “More or less.”

  “My painting? The clouds? You kept that?”

  “Of course I kept it.”

  I couldn’t believe it. If it had been me, I would’ve burned anything related to me after I’d turned down his marriage proposal. Proposals, plural. “That goofy sunrise painting?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. And don’t call my painting goofy.” His voice was low, and there was a . . . a light in his eyes, and that half grin of his was . . . affecting me. Do not underestimate the power of a crooked smile, ladies and gentlemen.

  He and Gillian broke up because he wouldn’t get rid of my painting.

  Man, oh man alive.

  “You . . . you . . . you wanna make out?” I croaked.

  Such eloquence. It did the trick, though. Noah stood up, which was good, because my knees were already useless and weak and tingling. He came across the room and slowly, so slowly, knelt in front of me, held my face in his big, warm, manly hands and kissed me.

  It had bee
n so long.

  Our kissing was slow and hot, and yet I was desperate for him. I’d missed him so much, my wild boy. One of my hands clenched in his hair, and the other was against his neck, feeling the fast, hard thud of his pulse. He tasted so good, felt so good, so right, it was like coming home. I couldn’t think of anything except him, his mouth, his hands. Us. The two of us.

  When he stopped kissing me, he wiped under my eyes with his thumbs, because I guess I was crying a little. “Oh, Special,” he said, “you’ll be the end of me.”

  Then we were kissing again. I slid to the floor, my bones useless, and we tangled into each other as if no time had ever passed and also like we’d never so much as touched. Every brush of his fingers, every time he kissed my lips, my neck, my hand, jolts of liquid electricity surged and hummed in my veins. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him so tight, and it still wasn’t close enough.

  When his hand worked its way under my shirt, I managed to remember—with great difficulty—that my father was upstairs and prone to wandering the house at night. “My dad,” I whispered.

  “Got it. Just like old times,” Noah murmured against my mouth, and I felt him smiling.

  Old and new. He felt different now, bigger, stronger, heavier, but he was Noah, my Noah, and let’s be honest. He’d had my heart since before I knew what love was.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Barb

  You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Sadie took charge like that. I’ll admit I had no idea she could afford to pay for a weekend at this real nice hotel, no sir.

  Gosh, I couldn’t remember when I’d felt so relaxed. I’d have to tell Caro all about this, and we could come here the two of us sometime. But for now, it was so special, being here with my sweet little girl. Of course, she was forty-three. I knew that. When she turned up at my door Saturday night, crying, it had felt like she was little again. I made her a hot toddy, listened as she talked tangles about work and Oliver and Brianna, then tucked her into bed. Being Juliet’s mother was the one place where I always knew what I was doing.

  Being sent to this fancy-pants hotel with Sadie all cheerful and efficient . . . that was just extra.

  Juliet and I had been scrubbed and massaged and had breathed in all sorts of lovely aromatherapy mists and whatnot. The sauna, the Jacuzzi, the steam room, a bowl of fruit, and glasses of delicious cucumber water. I felt warm and smooth and smelled like oranges.

  Then we got back to the room, and there were flowers and champagne from Sadie!

  It was a real nice surprise, don’t you know. Real nice.

  “Sadie is my absolute favorite sister,” Juliet said, then giggled. My favorite sound in the world was my girls laughing, and boy, Juliet needed it.

  “She’s my favorite second child,” I said, and we laughed together. “I hope she won’t have to sell her apartment to afford this.”

  “Oh, I’ll pay her back.”

  “No, you won’t, Juliet Elizabeth. You let your sister do this nice thing for you. Don’t take that away from her.”

  “You’re right, Mom. As usual.”

  We were both wearing fluffy white robes and comfy slippers, sitting under the covers in the enormous king-size bed. That champagne went down nicely.

  “So what’s going on, honey?” I asked, turning to look at her. “You weren’t making a whole lot of sense last night.”

  “I don’t know, Mom. That’s the problem. I have no idea. It’s like all the rules have changed, and no one told me. I was playing one game, and I was winning, and now I’m not.”

  “Do you mean work?”

  “Yes. There’s this associate named Arwen—you met her at the party, and that time you came to the office last fall?” I nodded. “She’s . . . there’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. She’s a good architect. She’s good with people. She’s ambitious and smart. But you’d think she was the first woman architect ever. Vanity Fair is doing a profile on her. She’s up for the Moira Gemmill Prize, Mom!”

  I gathered that was something real prestigious, and made a sympathetic noise.

  “And I just don’t see it,” Juliet went on. “She’s good. She’s not great, but the partners love her, and clients are asking for her by name, and that leaves me pedaling in the air.” She sighed and finished her champagne.

  “That sounds awfully hard,” I said.

  “I’m a little bit afraid that my career is coming to an end. Maybe a lot afraid.”

  “Oh, honey. Don’t be silly.” She cut me a look. “‘In the past decade, Juliet Frost has designed some of the most impressive buildings in North America.’ You know who said that? The New York Times, that’s who.”

  “Oh, yeah. They did, didn’t they?”

  “Four years ago.”

  “See, that’s the thing. Four years ago. Today, I’m old news. It’s not Arwen so much, Mom. It’s that feeling that I did everything right, and I got screwed anyway.”

  I was quiet for a moment, then took her hand. “I know that feeling, hon. I’m sorry. All you can do is the right thing. You’re talented and hardworking and ethical. No one can take that away from you.”

  Her eyes filled. “Thanks, Mama. I was afraid you’d be disappointed in me.”

  “That will never happen, Juliet. You’re my pride and joy, and you know it.”

  She hugged me a long, long time, and I petted her silky hair while she cried. Oh, it felt so wonderful to be needed by my little girl, even if she was a mother herself. There was nothing like it, this moment, the two of us.

  I said a silent thanks to Sadie, then added a quick apology.

  Juliet took a deep, shuddering breath, the sign that she was done crying. She got up, blew her nose, and then poured us more champagne. “Did I mention I love Sadie? To Sadie.”

  “To Sadie,” I echoed. “I should check in.”

  “No, Mom, not yet. You said you knew that feeling of doing everything right and getting the short end of the stick. Is that . . . is that at work?”

  I took a deep breath. “No. Not there. I love my job. I guess I meant, well . . . being married. I love your dad, of course”—that wasn’t exactly the truth—“but we drifted apart. You know that.”

  “Yeah. I do.” Her voice was odd, and I glanced at her, but she was staring straight ahead.

  “We just didn’t have a lot to say to each other, even before his stroke. I felt like I tried, but I could never seem to do the right things. I didn’t know what they were.”

  Juliet burst into fresh tears. “Mom,” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but you can’t blame yourself. Dad . . . Dad was having an affair.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know, honey.”

  That stopped her. “What?”

  “I do know that.”

  “When?”

  “I found out when he was in the hospital.”

  “Holy shit, Mom.”

  “Watch your mouth, honey. But yes. Holy shit.” I snort-laughed, and she did, too. “How did you know, sweetheart?”

  “I saw him with another woman in New Haven this past fall. They were making out on the sidewalk outside the restaurant where I was having lunch. It was disgusting.”

  “You’ve known longer than I have, then. Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  She started to cry again. “I should’ve told you, but it was just a couple weeks before Thanksgiving, and then Christmas, and then your fiftieth . . . I’m so sorry, Mom. I wanted to, and I dreaded it, too.”

  “No, no, honey. Your father is the one who did something wrong. Not you. You were between a rock and a hard place, that’s all. Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  My words made her cry even harder. “You know what I wish? I wish Dad had died. That makes me a horrible daughter, but then you’d be free, Mom. I know he’s been a pretty good dad and all that, but he ignored you for so long.�
� She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “You deserve someone better.”

  “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I said. “You know, I always felt like people looked at us and thought the opposite. Like he could’ve done better. I’m just a girl from Nowhere, Minnesota, who took some legal secretary courses. He married down. He’s a Frost from Stoningham.”

  Juliet huffed, then blew her nose again. “No, Mom. You built this family. You made our home. We’re the Frosts of Stoningham because of you. It’s not his last name; it’s everything you’ve done for the past forty-plus years. You think people don’t know that? Of course they do.”

  I guessed it was my turn to get all teary-eyed. “Thank you, honey.” I toyed with the ends of my bathrobe sash. “Are you worried about anything in your marriage, honey?”

  She closed her eyes. “No. Yes. I mean, part of me thinks if Dad could cheat on you, then Oliver could cheat on me.” Her lips trembled a little, just as they had when she was little. “Ollie’s so wonderful, Mommy. He’s kind of perfect, and I have this stupid fear that he’s going to wake up and think, ‘Oh, my God, I could do so much better than her.’”

  “There is no one better than you, Juliet,” I said firmly. “Trust me. That man adores you. He lights up when you come into a room, and I can tell you, your dad sure never did that with me. Well. Not after the first couple of years, anyway. Oliver’s different.”

  She swallowed. “You think so?”

  “No. I know it. Plus, I’d stab him in the soft parts if he so much as looked at another woman. But he won’t. You two are the real deal.”

  She put her head back on my shoulder. “You’re the best mother ever.”

  “Mm. Tell that to Sadie.”

  “I do. And she doesn’t have to be me, Mom. All the love you gave her isn’t wasted. It just doesn’t show up the same way.”

  “You’re a wise woman, honeybun.” I stroked her silky hair and kissed her head. “Don’t tell her about your dad, okay? It would break her heart.”

  “I won’t,” said Juliet. “She’s been great this whole time. And look at her, sending us off, taking charge. She sent us flowers, even!”