by Kathryn Shay
“But you promised.”
“I know, but I can’t get out of it.”
There was a long, long pause. “Can Aunt Beth or Grandpa take us, then?”
“No. That’s why you’re there alone, now. Beth is at a conference and Grandma and Grandpa are in Buffalo visiting your great-uncle Sal.”
“Oh, Daddy, please. You’ve just got to do it...Tammy and I already planned what we’d wear. I’ve been saving my baby-sitting money...oh, please.”
He’d never before heard Heather whine like this. “Heather, if I could change this, I would. But I can’t.” His guilt caused him to snap at her and he pounded his free fist into the desk.
She said nothing.
Consciously, he forced his muscles to relax. “Listen, how about tomorrow night? Call Tammy and see if you can reschedule.”
Again, another pause. “Heather, are you there?”
“Yes.” Her tone was flat and void of emotion. It caused a chill to skitter through him. “Tammy has to go to her grandfather’s tomorrow night.”
“Well, some other time, okay?”
“Sure.”
Nick closed his eyes, tilted his head up to a heaven that didn’t seem to be listening to him these days and sighed under the awful burden of letting down his child. “Lock all the doors. I’m not sure what time I’ll be home. I’ll call Mrs. Castellana and have her check on you every hour until she goes to bed.” When there was no affirmation from the teenager, Nick tried to appease her one more time. “Honey, I’m really sorry.” Still no response. “I love you, Heather. Good night.”
“Goodbye, Dad.”
o0o
Four hours later, famished and exhausted, Nick walked into a still and quiet apartment. He’d finished the project, done a hell of a job and never felt worse in his life. Making his way to the kitchen, he picked up a note on the counter and read the missive, written in Jason’s childish scrawl.
Hi, Dad. Sorry you had to work. We’re okay. Mrs. Castellana brought meatball sandwiches and we left you some in the fridge. See you tomorrow.
Opting to forgo dinner, Nick popped a beer. He made his way to the bedrooms and opened the door to Heather’s. She was sprawled facedown, her blond hair pulled back in a braid. At the bed, he brushed back her silky bangs and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Sorry, sweetie,” he whispered and left the room.
When he opened Jason’s door, his son called to him. “Hi, Dad. Help me sit up, would ya?”
“Jase, you’re supposed to be asleep,” Nick admonished gently as he assisted his son. “You okay?”
Usually, Jason’s eyes were bubbling with so much mischief that Nick wanted to check his hands, his pockets and behind his back to inspect for frogs. Tonight, they were clouded by apprehension. “Yeah, I’m okay, but Heather sure isn’t.”
Nick sighed heavily and sank onto the edge of his bed. “I know, son. I disappointed her. And you.”
“Aw, Dad, it’s not your fault. It’s just that she was counting on going to the movie so much. She—” The boy broke off, as if he had second thoughts about telling his father.
Nick brushed the hair out of his son’s eyes. “She what, Jase?”
“Geez, Dad, I’ve never seen her like that. She threw the phone onto the floor, and then she...she swore.”
Nick had to hide the smile. Actually, he was glad Heather had had a temper tantrum. It was healthier than bottling it all up inside. “There’s a time and a place for those words. Sometimes they make us feel better.”
Jason’s forehead creased. “Yeah, I know. You told me that before. But, Dad, she, well, she yelled at me, too. More than once.” His big blue eyes misted with tears. “She never does that, Dad. Heather’s never mean to me.”
Grasping his son’s slender shoulders, Nick pulled him close. He wanted to swear himself right now. But that wouldn’t make him feel any better. Hugging Jason, he wondered if anything ever would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nick won the argument with Amanda about attending the gala but he didn’t feel like a victor as he entered the Hotel Conrad the following Saturday. She had given in the night of his birthday celebration and agreed to go, but he felt like a bully for insisting. Then he felt like a heel, as she’d further capitulated and agreed to help her mother hostess. He was meeting her here now because she’d arrived early to assume her duties. God, he’d really blown this one, just like last Saturday with Heather and the movie. Things were going downhill like a runaway snowball, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
“Your invitation, sir?” a concierge asked at the door. Digging into his pocket for the card, he glanced at the nameplate on the door—The Ballroom—and winced inwardly as he remembered what he’d said to her. Oh, I’ve been good enough here before. I seem to make the grade in the bedroom but not in the ballroom. Well, since he’d made her prove that accusation wrong, he’d damn well better enjoy himself.
As he stepped inside and looked around, he could sense the money in this room, which showed in the glittering dresses and the tailored lines of the tuxedos. It was revealed in the way the men strode with confidence and the woman carried themselves with poise and assurance. Nick thought of how he’d told Amanda this life was what he wanted—and how she’d said she didn’t.
Heading for the bar, he heard behind him, “I don’t believe my eyes.”
He turned to find Adam Sherwood and his wife, Joanna, bearing down on him. Adam reached out to grasp Nick’s hand. “What the hell are you doing here, buddy?”
With genuine pleasure, Nick grinned and shook hands enthusiastically. “A beautiful woman coerced me into this monkey suit and persuaded me to attend. Hello, Joanna.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sherwood continued, clapping him on the back. “I never thought I’d see the day. Where is this prize?”
“Helping with details. Her mother is hostess tonight and Amanda’s pitching in.” Because of me. Nick felt another pang of guilt. “What about you? Since when did the public defender’s office pay for you to come to these affairs?”
“Free tickets from the mayor. The charity aspect is good public relations. My job has some perks. You really should think about signing on with us.”
Shaking his head at Adam, Nick sidestepped the invitation and spied Amanda over his friend’s shoulder. The floor seemed to drop from beneath him, the disequilibrium akin to going up in an elevator too fast. She was breathtaking tonight. Her hair was loose—the way he liked it, all wild and puffy at her bare shoulders. Around her neck hung a row of sapphires. A fitted, shiny dress hugged every curve and ended in the middle of her shapely calf. The outfit was the exact shade her eyes. He plucked a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and gulped it, trying to rein in his reaction to the woman who was making her way toward them. Though Adam was still talking, Nick’s attention was riveted on Amanda.
When she reached him, she touched his arm with both hands and her subtle scent wafted over him. Her smile was forced, almost nervous. “Hello.”
Guiltily, he realized that dread for this evening was written all over her beautiful face.
Turning to the other couple, she held out her hand. “I’m Amanda Carson.”
When the Sherwoods introduced themselves, Amanda turned to Nick. “How nice for you to have your friends here. Shall I see if they can sit at our table?”
He nodded, irritated at the reminder that Adam would be his only ally at this gathering. When Amanda left, he caught the other man’s grimace. “Don’t say it, Sherwood. She’s different.”
“She doesn’t look different.”
He was right. Tonight, Amanda Carson looked every inch the debutante that his ex-wife had been. Decked out in jewels. A dress that cost more than his monthly rent. And an obvious ease with these people one couldn’t put a price tag on. He had trouble reconciling this image of her with the woman who’d faced down an adolescent boy with a knife and sobbed over another who’d slashed his wrists with razor blades. And her asse
rtion that she didn’t want any part of this life was even more suspect, Nick thought, watching her.
He had no time to dwell on this, as Robert Carson sauntered by with another man. Seeming to notice Nick accidentally, Amanda’s father stopped and greeted him, but there was something about the encounter that put Nick on instant alert.
They shook hands warily—like boxers squaring off before a match. Robert turned to the man beside him. “This is Porter Erickson, my associate. Nick DiMarco.”
While Nick introduced the Sherwoods, he covertly studied Erickson. This was the man who had dented Amanda’s self-confidence as a woman. Nick fought to control the urge to wipe the smug look off the man’s face.
“Nice to meet you, DiMarco,” Erickson said flatly. His eyes scanned the room, never really looking at Nick, who felt himself dismissed. But he held his head high and forced his hands to relax at his sides.
In moments, Amanda rescued him by insinuating her slender form between him and the two men. She perfunctorily kissed her father on the cheek and nodded to her ex-husband.
The younger man gave her a very male perusal as if seeing her for the first time...or in a different way. Nick wondered if he’d look so sophisticated without teeth.
“You look well, darling,” her father commented. “Doesn’t she, Porter?”
“Actually, I was just thinking that you look different, Amanda. Healthier, almost glowing.” Erickson’s eyes were fixed on her.
Amanda thanked him for the compliment and caught Nick’s gaze. He winked at her. You look well loved, he silently told her. Amanda smiled, indicating she’d gotten the message. One look at Erickson’s face told Nick her ex-husband had understood, too. The measure of satisfaction Nick felt at this surprised him. He’d never been into pissing contests before.
But Nick’s smugness changed to irritation when they sat down to dinner and Craig Coleman swaggered to the table and pulled out a chair across from them. Amanda’s cheeks flamed and her eyes sought her mother. Joan’s surprise was evident, too. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to figure out who had manipulated the seating arrangements. Coleman was accompanied by a chic, trophy-date type. And he dominated the conversation.
“What law school did you attend, DiMarco?” was his first attack. After that, the siege came fast and furious. “Where do you live...not passed the bar yet...any prospects...” until Amanda put down her wine, leaned on her elbows and looked the man square in the eye. “Craig, save the interviewing for later. Your date is looking a little lost. Pay some attention to her.”
Amused at her defense of him, Nick squeezed Amanda’s knee under the table and was rewarded with an intimate smile. When he glanced at Sherwood, who held his napkin to his mouth to keep from laughing aloud, Nick had to quell his own chuckle. The fact that Coleman noted their mirth made the incident even more enjoyable.
It was when dinner was served that Nick saw Suzanne Sullivan DiMarco Cohen at the adjacent table. He stared at his ex-wife, intrigued by his first glimpse of her in ten years. He wasn’t exactly surprised because Amanda had warned him that Coleman and Erickson would be here, and very possibly the Cohens. Amanda had also told him that, although she’d never met Suzanne, she’d seen his ex-wife on several occasions similar to this. But he’d apparently suppressed any anticipation of seeing Suzanne, or of his reaction.
Time had not diminished her beauty. Blond hair coiled at the back of her neck, but it was lighter than he remembered it. Cool blue eyes stared out from a classically sculpted face. She wore shimmery gold everywhere, at her throat, wrists, ears and even threaded through the metallic dress. She’d never looked more lovely. Or more remote. Or more bored. A man who had an easy fifteen years on her sat beside her.
Reaching over to cover his hand with hers, Amanda frowned. “Nick, what is it?” She must have seen the look on his face.
Before he could respond to Amanda, Suzanne spotted him. Color suffused her beautiful cheeks and neck and she dropped her wineglass, staining the pristine linen a blood red. The activity distracted her, but Nick continued to stare. Amanda’s gaze followed his and he felt her stiffen next to him. It was her concern that shook him from the shock of seeing his ex-wife again.
Amanda gripped his hand tightly and angled her body to face him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course.” Nick cringed at the hoarseness of his voice.
“I’m sorry she’s here, Nick.”
His whole body clenched as he looked at Amanda, silently thanking her for not saying he’d been warned. “It was another reason you didn’t want to come,” he said. “It seems I blew this whole thing for a lot of reasons.”
Unexpectedly, Amanda’s eyes filled with hurt. “Is it so hard for you to see her?”
Nick cocked his head and took another glance at Suzanne. “No, not hard.” Studying her, he found his rage had dissipated and he felt only cold anger at her for having abandoned her children. He felt a sudden chill and glanced at Amanda. The two could be sorority sisters, he thought. Nobody could miss the similarity. It underscored every single doubt he’d ever had about Amanda Carson.
o0o
As soon as dinner was over, Amanda, who had called on old patterns of control for the entire meal, excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. She was angry at the situation and jealous of the woman who had once had Nick’s heart; she needed to find some inner strength to finish the evening. On the way there, she thought about Lisa. It was the second anniversary of her sister’s death, and Amanda sought some comfort in her memory. Lisa’s favorite lawyer joke. “Why does Chicago have one thousand lawyers and New Jersey one hundred hazardous waste sites...? Because New Jersey had first choice.”
The humor, combined with the deep-breathing exercises she’d learned in ballet class, and the cold water she splashed on her face, calmed her enough to repair her makeup at the mirror. The door swung open, emptying the room of its other two occupants. Unfortunately, another person entered. Suzanne.
Amanda’s self-confidence threatened to desert her, but she yanked it back with a silent pep talk. Okay, I’ve done harder things. I buried my sister. I buried Ron. I faced down a very angry Nick. I can handle whatever she dishes out.
Suzanne lounged against the wall and watched Amanda smooth rouge over her cheeks. Amanda kept her hand from shaking by noting the lines of stress around Suzanne’s eyes and the slight puffiness there. The woman was incredibly beautiful, but the years had not been kind to her.
“I’m Suzanne Cohen,” she said without preamble.
Briefly, Amanda held her gaze in the mirror. She looked like all the girls Amanda had grown up with, not the shrew Nick had made her out to be. “Yes, I know. I’m Amanda Carson. We’ve seen each other at these events. But that was before I knew Nick and your connection to him.”
A flicker of surprise flared in Suzanne’s eyes at her candor, and Amanda calmed a little more inside. Taking out her lipstick, she averted her gaze.
“And now you know Nick.”
“Yes. I know Nick very well.”
Removing a cigarette from her purse, Suzanne lit it with trembling hands, though smoking was not permitted in the hotel. Inexplicably, Amanda felt sorry for the woman, felt a connection, recognizing again how familiar her type was.
The woman took a long drag. “I didn’t know Porter’s wife had claws.”
“Porter’s wife didn’t.”
When Nick’s ex-wife laughed, Amanda’s sympathy fled. The sound was sultry and sensuous and images of Suzanne with Nick in ways now familiar to Amanda taunted her.
“Ah, I see,” Suzanne practically purred, crossing her arms over her voluptuous breasts and tilting her chin regally. The gold lame of her dress shimmered with the movement. “I remember how Nick’s energy and expertise in bed gave me that same kind of assurance. Tell me, is he still that good?”
Amanda straightened her spine and turned to face the woman fully. Tossing back her hair, she looked Suzanne up and down. “That’s an adolescent question worthy of my stude
nts, and it doesn’t merit a response. If you’ll excuse me, I find this conversation extremely distasteful.”
At the words adolescent and student, Suzanne’s face crumpled. Clearly, the haughtiness had been a facade. Amanda didn’t leave as she’d planned, some instinct telling her to wait for what was to come.
Obviously gathering her composure, Suzanne glanced at the small lounge area off the main bathroom. “Will you talk to me for a moment?” When Amanda hesitated, she added, “Please.”
Only for Heather’s sake, Amanda thought as she nodded, then preceded the gorgeous woman into the small room.
They sat across from each other, the door closed.
Suzanne held her gaze. “Have you been seeing Nick long?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
The color drained from Suzanne’s face. She wasn’t attractive with pasty skin. Sinking into the chair as if some invisible weight were crushing her, she took a deep breath. Finally, she seemed to summon her courage. “Do...do you know Heather...and my son?”
The possessive tag cut Amanda like a knife. She wanted to shout, He’s more my son than yours. She was shocked at her vindictiveness, and at how acute her feelings had become for both of Nick’s children. Instead, she assumed her best professional voice and answered, “I know Jason. And I work at Heather’s school, so I...see her often.”
“Yes, I’d heard you had...a job.” Suzanne looked perplexed.
Amanda wanted to laugh at her puzzlement but knew the situation was deadly serious.
“How are they?” Suzanne asked.
Amanda would bet her next paycheck that was one of the hardest questions the woman had ever posed. But how to answer? And why did she want to know? “Heather’s turned into a beautiful young woman. And Jason’s got a wonderful, clever sense of humor.”
Suzanne’s eyes glistened. Instead of being moved, Amanda was instantly angry. “Why, Suzanne? Why, after ten years, do you show such concern?”
The harshness of Amanda’s voice must have stunned Suzanne. The woman blinked to force back the tears. At last, Suzanne began to talk in a raw, halting voice. “Life didn’t exactly turn out as I expected.” She laughed ruefully, and it was an ugly sound. “What an understatement! I loved Nick a great deal when I was twenty. He was so different from all the men I knew, so earthy, so masculine.”
