Life is Sweet (24 page)

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he said as they pulled into Nicole's driveway. “Also as evidence that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.”

“But I've been on your side of the fence,” she pointed out. “You weren't going to let me watch television till Christmas, remember? And that's still better than a mom who's either not here or crying all the time.”

That night, he resolved to settle things once and for all with Nicole. Part of the reason he'd been a coward was Olivia, but Olivia had just given him a pretty clear lesson in kids-are-not-fools. Dragging things out this way wasn't fair to her, or anyone.

 

No matter where Becca moved it, the screen could only do so much. It could block the view of her bed from the kitchen, or it could block the bed from the couch in the living room area. But no amount of angling could provide privacy from both vantages.

She'd have to go to a store in the morning and buy another screen, or else the apartment would never work for two people. Or maybe she should find a handyman to build a wall. Walt was handy himself. But it probably wasn't reasonable to ask a man a few days out of ICU to renovate her loft. The goal was to keep him
out
of the hospital.

What Walt needed was his own place. Of course, that would be a lot more expensive than an Ikea screen.

She sighed and scurried over to her computer, where she had been checking her bank balance earlier. Unfortunately, none of the figures had magically changed in the past hour. She wasn't destitute, but she didn't have money to burn. What once had been a financial cushion was now yoga-mat thin. And to think, last month she'd been lamenting not being able to get her cats' teeth cleaned. Now she had a terminally ill maybe-dad on her hands.

And if he wasn't her dad? What if she ended up draining all her savings and Sheetrocking her apartment for some old guy who wasn't even related to her?

A loud buzz made her jump.

She trundled downstairs and shouted through the door. “Who is it? I'm wielding a pickax.”

“You don't own a pickax.” A voice barely recognizable as Erin's penetrated the oaken barrier. “Open up.”

Becca threw the lock and swung the door open. Erin, red-eyed, practically trembled on the small stoop. Two large suitcases and various totes and carry-alls were planted on the bricks next to her. “Can I stay with you for a few days? I brought groceries.”

Becca swallowed.
Where am I going to put everybody?
But this was Erin. Yesterday she'd feared Erin was giving up on their friendship. There was no thought of turning her away now. “Of course.”

Erin grabbed half the bags, and Becca loaded herself down with the rest, kicked the door shut, and followed her friend upstairs.

In the kitchen, Erin made straight for a half-full bottle of wine on the counter.

Becca put the heaviest suitcase down and unhooked some tote bags from her shoulders. “That's really heavy.” She nudged the suitcase with her toe. “What's in there?”

“Several days' worth of clothes and my grandmother's silver service. It's a hundred and twelve pieces.” Erin twisted toward the shelf where the wineglasses were kept. “I think this calls for a drink. Do you want a glass?”

Becca bit her lip. If Erin had fled her house with the family silver, the situation was going to take more than a simple chat over a glass of wine to sort out. They needed a powwow. “Better get down three glasses,” she said, reaching for her phone. “I think this calls for an emergency meeting of the Not-Book-Club.”

A half hour later, Pam had joined them, and she was adamant that Erin shouldn't leave her house. “Your house should be your fortress. Do not cede ground. Make Bob move.”

“He'll have to leave anyway. I'm going to sell it.”

Becca could tell Pam's commonsense instincts and concern for her friend were at war with the prospect of a hefty Realtor commission. For years, Erin's house had been her pride and joy. She cared for the place with the over-the-top nurturing that some people reserved for French poodles or orchids.

“I hate the place,” Erin said. “I thought I'd be happy there. I thought I'd raise a family. Instead, I've spent too long rattling around in it by myself, feeling depressed.”

Becca still had a hard time grasping the situation. “A few days ago you were telling me that you and Bob were going to live happily ever after. What happened to couples counseling?”

Erin toppled over on the couch as if someone had yelled “Timber!” over her. “We were supposed to go, but Bob couldn't make it. I went to one session by myself and talked about my marriage for over an hour. I was expecting the therapist to tell me that I needed to bring Bob back so we could talk through everything as a couple.”

“She didn't want you to come back?” Pam asked.

“Oh yes. She said I should come back. But to deal with Bob, she suggested a private investigator and a lawyer.”

“A marriage counselor told you to hire a detective?” Becca asked.

“At least she didn't suggest a hit man,” Pam said.

“She said she had a cousin who used to be on the police force, so when Bob told me he had to go to Baltimore for a business meeting, I called the cousin and had him followed.”

Baltimore. Becca had a sinking feeling. Her hunch about Nicole had been correct.

“Noah said Bob never went to Baltimore,” Erin said.

Pam's brows rose. “Your detective's name is Noah?”

It seemed odd to Becca, too. Most investigators she knew of had names like Mike. Then again, the detectives she knew were also fictional.

Erin nodded. “Noah said Bob and Nicole headed straight to DC and checked into the St. Regis. Neither of them had luggage.”

Pam arched a brow at Becca. “Maybe you should give Noah's name to Matthew.”

“I can just e-mail him the report,” Erin said listlessly.

“Is that ethical, to have a therapist and a detective working in tandem?” Becca asked.

“I don't give a damn about ethics anymore,” Erin said. “This is war.”

Her emotions seemed to be at war, too. Becca was glad Erin wasn't home alone. “I don't understand. You said you were happy in Hawaii.”

“I was, sort of. Hawaii's a paradise. I was hanging out on beautiful beaches, sipping fruity drinks, and sightseeing. It's hard to be miserable while you're swimming with dolphins. Of course, I noticed Bob was sending me out sightseeing while he worked. But as far as I could tell, everything was okay. I caught Nicole glaring at me a few times across the hotel restaurant, but other than that, I had no proof of anything going on. And Bob said Nicole was just going through some problems in her personal life.” She ducked her head apologetically at Becca. “After a few days of sun and surf, I convinced myself it must have something to do with you and Matthew.

“But then one day after a snorkeling trip Bob had arranged for me, when I got back to the room I found an earring on the carpet of the hotel room. A really boring gold hoop that was just that Nicole woman all over. Really—she has no style. So I gave Bob an ultimatum: Nicole or me. He swore he didn't love her, that she was just clingy and pushy, and probably worshiped him a little because he was more brilliant than she was. So, long story short, he agreed to counseling and a fresh start.”

“But before the fresh start could begin,” Pam said, “he was already up to his old tricks.”

“Well, fine.” Erin glared at her wineglass. “He's welcome to Nicole and her kid. He always said we should put off children as long as possible. Now he'll have a teenager.”

“She's just eleven,” Becca said. What did Olivia do to deserve Bob? She would be heartbroken to have Matthew elbowed out of her life.

“I've changed all the locks on my house,” Erin continued, “and Noah gave me the name of a mover who came over tonight. Cost me a bundle, but I threw all of Bob's stuff into a pod, and the mover is hauling it over to Nicole's house under cover of darkness.”

“Then why leave your house?” Pam asked.

“I don't want Bob to know where I am. I don't want to talk to him. For a few days, I want him to think of me as an evil phantom who may or may not be watching his every move. Tonight I had a bottle of champagne delivered to the lovebirds' hotel room, compliments of me.” She looked at Becca. “You sure you don't mind if I stay awhile?”

“Not at all.” She would have to think of some alternative for Walt. Matthew's offer jumped to mind . . . but Matthew had problems of his own now. Bigger than he knew.

Erin grabbed her hand. “I'm so sorry for screeching at you the other day. I don't have any excuse except that I must have been in thrall to the gods of displaced anger.” Her gaze took in both Becca and Pam. “I know you guys have been in a tough spot.”

“Not as tough as you were,” Pam said.

“We didn't want to interfere if there really was a chance that you could salvage your marriage,” Becca added.

“Nope. Unsalvageable.” Erin took a gulp of wine, swallowed, and then smiled with the forced brightness of a morning anchorwoman. “And you know what? I'm perfectly okay now. I'm free. For the past year or so I've been thinking there was something wrong with me. That
I
was the problem. Now I feel as free as a kid on spring break.”

“Please don't become a Girl Gone Wild,” Pam said.

“Who knows? Maybe I'll finally figure out what to do with myself.” Erin leaned over to Becca. “Anyway, I mean it. I hope this frees up your guy now. Maybe you and he can get together.”

“I'm not sure starting up a new relationship will be high on his to-do list.” Also, the man would be on the rebound, which never seemed like a good time to catch anyone. But she'd learned not to bring up the word
rebound
around Pam. “First I have to figure out what I'm going to do about Walt.”

Erin recoiled. “That old vagrant? You two aren't . . . ?”

Becca nearly choked on her Malbec. “No!” Erin had obviously put the most creepy spin on her words. She just didn't know how creepy.

“Walt's in the hospital,” Pam explained.

Becca took a deep breath. “Also, there's a very good chance that Walt is my father.”

Two blowfish gapes stared back at her.

“No way,” Pam said.

“I thought you didn't know your father.”

“I do now. Or at least it looks that way.” She brought them up to speed on her conversations with Walt.

“Oh God.” Pam shook her head. “What a shock. And there I was hassling you about Cal while you had this horror going on. I mean, I'm sure you dreamed about your long-lost father showing up, probably as Warren Buffett or somebody like that. Not an ex-con with flaky skin.”

“It's not a horror,” Becca said, “except . . .” She was stunned to feel her throat closing up. “. . . he's really sick. He has terminal kidney disease. It looks as if he might not have all that long to live. I mean, sure, he's not a dream dad and part of me feels furious, but if he is actually my father, there's no time even to stay angry with him.”

Tears stood in her eyes, blurring her friends' faces. Two hands reached out, one squeezing her arm, the other her leg just above her knee.

Erin straightened. “He needs a new kidney.”

“Right—a transplant,” Pam said. “Like
Steel Magnolias.
”

Erin glared at Pam. “Not a good example.”

“Oh right,” Pam muttered.

“I have no intention of being a donor,” Becca said. “There are other ways, but I'm sort of overwhelmed at having to figure this all out.”

“My grandfather practically built the transplant center in this county,” Erin said. “I'll make calls tomorrow to see if there's anyone we can get you in to see right away. You and Walt.”

“You can do that?” Becca asked.

“I can try.” Erin frowned. “Unless you'd rather I try to pull some strings at Johns Hopkins?”

“The nearby hospital would be great,” Becca assured her, feeling so much gratitude she worried she might fall apart. “Thank you!”

Pam put her glass in her hand, picked up the bottle, and topped off everyone. “Let's drink to your maybe-dad, even if he's Walt, not Warren.”

“And new beginnings,” Erin said.

During everything that had happened this week, the worst part had been not having these two women to turn to. Having them back again was gold. Becca smiled, feeling as if she could manage whatever the future was going to toss her way now.

“To Not-Book-Club,” she said.

The clinking of their glasses was the brightest sound she'd heard all day.

Chapter 19

When Matthew woke up, he began mentally practicing the words.
We need to talk. This isn't working. It's not you, it's . . . both of us.

No matter how many times he muttered the words at the mirror in Nicole's bathroom, he couldn't make them sound less dickish to his own ears. Was there any way to break up with someone without sounding like an asshole? Part of the problem was that he and Nicole never talked about their relationship. So of course when he forced himself to say things like “growing apart” it was bound to sound awkward, like trying to get around a foreign country with a phonetic phrase book. He wasn't fluent in Breakup.

He tried to think what his answer would be if she asked if there was someone else. Was there? Becca might count as a someone else—to him. He wasn't sure Becca would agree. They weren't involved, unless you gave the term its most prudish, sinning-in-one's-heart spin. Probably it would be better to leave Becca out of it altogether.

He and Olivia hurried out of the house in their usual rush to make it to school on time. Stepping onto the porch, they both stopped short. A storage pod sat in the driveway where Nicole's car was usually parked.

“What's
that?
” Olivia shouted.

“It's something people store their belongings in when they're moving, or renovating a house.”

“What's it doing here?”

Good question. “Maybe it's a mistake.”

But it looked ominous. Was Nicole planning on moving without telling him? Why else would someone have deposited a storage pod in her driveway in the middle of the night?

As if she'd absorbed his uneasiness, Olivia was somber as he dropped her off at school. She opened a door and took a deep breath. “Good-bye, Matthew.”

He tried to laugh. “You sound like I'm dropping you off forever. At the School of Doom.”

“You know what I mean,” she said.

He did know. But how did she?

He gave her a quick hug and she darted out of the car, disappearing into the stream of kids heading toward the front door of the building.

Depression seeped into his bones as he pulled into traffic, and intensified when he realized he'd left his laptop at home. In his hurry to get to Nicole's last night, he'd forgotten it. He U-turned and drove back to his place, dashed inside, and grabbed the computer bag. He made a quick sweep of the town house to double-check that everything was locked and turned off, and was speeding out the door when he nearly mowed down Nicole. He stopped mid-step, inches from her.

“You're not working from home today?” Nicole asked him.

“No.”

“Well, do you have a minute?” Without waiting for an answer, she swept past him into the house.

Too puzzled to question whether he did have time, he followed her. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” she said. “I tried to catch you at my house, but you'd already left.”

“Did you see the pod?” he asked.

Nicole blinked. “The what?” As if she could have missed it. Her tone made him realize that she knew exactly what the pod was doing there. She just hadn't decided what to say about it.

“Is it yours?” he asked.

“Of course not.”

“How did it get there in the middle of the night?”

“Well,
I
didn't put it there,” she said.

They stared at each other a moment. Now that they were face-to-face, all the phrases he'd been practicing in front of the mirror fled his brain. He was too confused. Why was she here? Her appearance puzzled him, too. She wore jeans and a wrinkled shirt—not her usual office attire, even on Friday. And wrinkles were never Nicole's style. Her hair hung loose, almost as if she hadn't bothered combing it before jumping in the car and getting on the road this morning.

Of course, she must have left early if she drove all the way from Baltimore this morning. It was still just after eight. What was going on?

Flustered, Nicole homed in on the coffeemaker. She lifted the stainless-steel carafe and deflated a little to discover it empty. “Oh, that's right. You were at my place this morning.”

He frowned. It was hard to say what he needed to say when she seemed so fidgety and distracted.

She inhaled as if preparing to plunge into icy waters. “Well, never mind,” she said in her matter-of-fact voice. “I really should just get straight to the point.”

So there was a point to this visit. Maybe
he
needed coffee.

“The deal is,” she continued, “this isn't working. You and me. I hate to do this—and I really can't think of a way to say it without sounding like a complete bitch—but I think we should call it quits.”

The blunt statement rocked him on his heels.
She
was dumping
him
? He was supposed to be breaking it off with her.

“Quits.” That wording hadn't occurred to him. If it had, he probably would have dismissed it for sounding too curt and heartless. But it did get the point across.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I know this comes as a shock, but I've felt things haven't been right between us for a long time.”

He'd dreamed once that he'd stepped onto a stage in a school play after studying the wrong part. He had the same disoriented feeling now. “Is there someone else?”

“No.” She walked back from the statement almost immediately. “Well, sort of.”

“Maybe that's why things haven't been right.”

“It's complicated,” she said, as if that explained cheating, no matter how “sort of” it was. Of course, he'd had his own sort-of relationship. The big glass house he was living in kept him silent.

“Look, I know you're angry—”

“I'm not,” he assured her.

“You have every right to be.”

Definitely someone else,
he thought. “I'm worried about Olivia,” he said.

Nicole shook her head. “She'll be fine. I've had other boyfriends she's felt close to. She's adaptable.”

“Maybe not as much as you think. Did you ever once stop and think that it might not be good to drag a man into her life if you weren't serious?”

“I
was
serious,” she said. “I didn't see this happening. It just did.”

“Like how whatever happened last night just did?”

Tears stood in Nicole's eyes. “I've had a very rough week, okay? I realize this is coming out of the blue for you, but you don't know what it's been like for me.”

“Not out of the blue,” he said. “I knew something was out of whack. I thought it was me.”

She pressed her hand against the bridge of her nose—a gesture she made when she was trying to gather focus. When she removed it, she was more clear-eyed. “I guess we handled this just right, then. It's a good thing we didn't let our lives get too mixed up.”

Was she insane?

“You've got your place, I've got mine,” she said.

Places seemed the least of their worries. “There's Olivia,” he reminded her. “She's been upset. I think she saw this coming.”

“I'll have to do something for her.”

“Spending time with her is what she craves from you more than anything.”

Nicole's mouth twisted up on one side. “So after a month, you're an Olivia expert.”

He let the comment pass. Arguing would get them nowhere, and the more Nicole talked, the more he wanted to crack the empty coffee carafe over her head. Besides, he should be glad to reap the benefits of dissolving a non-functional relationship without the downside of having to be the jerk who initiated it.

“When your father walks out of your life when you're five, you get used to loss,” Nicole observed.

Matthew wasn't so sure. He thought of Becca, who'd never known her father and had carried that void around with her all these years.

Nicole squared her shoulders. “Anyway, there's nothing I can do about it. I can't stay in a relationship to please Olivia.”

No. He'd said the same thing to Becca earlier. But he wouldn't be surprised if, looking back, those weeks taking care of Olivia didn't turn out to be his fondest take-away from his relationship to Nicole.

She construed his silence as criticism. “I refuse to feel guilty about this. It wasn't as if
we
were married.” She fidgeted with the paper towel holder on the counter.

“I'm guessing someone involved is?”

She lifted her chin. “This is why I never wanted us to get married. Marriage makes everything harder. It's a disaster.”

Olivia's gloomy expression in the car came back to him. “And you think this isn't one?”

He called in sick, even going so far as to fake a stuffy nose over the phone for his boss. He couldn't face going to the office and engaging in mindless banter about the World Series or whatever the water cooler topic of the day was going to be.

That morning he rattled around his empty town house, trying to make sense of the new reality of his life. He'd known a split was coming. He wasn't even particularly devastated. But the fact was he'd followed Nicole to Leesburg, and now he felt as if his life had been blown off course. What was he doing here, and where should he go next?

Becca was never far from his thoughts. Days ago, he'd been dreaming of their having a relationship, but ironically, that seemed more impractical now that he was free. He certainly couldn't knock on her door now and announce, “Great news! Nicole dumped me!” The idea of jumping straight into a new relationship right after dissolving another one struck him as all wrong. Which could have been what Becca herself had been hinting at. It was awful timing.

And how much of his attraction to Becca had simply been about his relationship to Nicole being in meltdown? Maybe his brain had been subconsciously reaching for something homey, familiar. After all, Becca was a face from his youth. A vestige from that faraway time when life seemed simpler. Back when he was twelve.

Also, she was from another world. She'd met George Clooney, for Pete's sake.

By noon he was mentally making plans to close up the town house and move back to DC. Maybe he could sublet the place till the end of his lease. His commute would be saner again. He would be unfettered from another person and her problems.

The thought of Olivia gave him a pang. She'd never felt like a fetter.

He started making lists. First, he would have to look for a place near DC. A one-bedroom bachelor pad. Pacing around his sixteen hundred empty square feet here, he couldn't imagine why he'd rented a house so big.

When his phone rang, he had the crazy idea that it might be Nicole—that she'd changed her mind, or decided she'd spoken too hastily. Marching to the table to grab the phone, he steeled himself. If she'd had a change of heart, she was in for a shock.

Becca's number appeared on the little screen. He hesitated, then pressed Talk.

“Are you at work?” she asked. “Is this a bad time?”

“Actually, I called in sick today. I'm at home.”

“Do you need anything? Orange juice?”

“No, it's . . .” He stopped, and then confessed, “I'm malingering.”

“Mind if I come over for a minute? I wanted to talk to you.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea. . . .”

“I have some pick-me-up cupcakes. This day calls for them. Also, I wanted to talk to you about Walt.”

The name jostled his own crisis out of his brain momentarily. For the past few hours, he'd forgotten other people had problems, too. Ones much tougher than his. “Okay, when do you—”

“Now?”

He swallowed. He couldn't even remember if he'd shaved yet. This morning, when he'd woken up at Nicole's, felt like a million years ago. But he couldn't think of a way to put Becca off that didn't involve explaining that his life had been shaken up. “Okay.”

“Great. Give me fifteen minutes.”

In less than that, she was standing in his living room, handing him a box of rum raisin cupcakes. She peered intently into his eyes. “Are you sure you're not really sick?”

“Just tired.”

“Have you eaten anything today? Anything real?”

“Coffee.”

She turned him around and frog-marched him into the kitchen. “Please tell me you've got some eggs or something in here.” She opened his fridge and inspected its paltry contents.

She proceeded to make him a sandwich. While she worked, he spilled his news about Nicole. Becca listened, occasionally shaking her head in sympathy. He watched her expressions carefully, on the lookout for encouraging signs. But no. If she was harboring hopes that they would get together, she was hiding them very well.