Читать книгу Dear Santa - Karen Templeton - Страница 8

Chapter Three

“For heaven’s sake, Grant—it’s freezing out here!”

Even though they were in the sun—and it was in the mid-fifties, to boot—Grant’s mother clutched the suede-trimmed collar of her plaid wool blazer, shivering up a storm as they stood at the edge of the circular drive fronting the house. “Of course Haley misses her mother,” Elizabeth “Bitsy” Braeburn said, her voice far chillier than the temperature. Sunlight glinted coldly off her severely pulled-back blond hair. “That doesn’t give her license to rule the roost. And if you don’t exercise some control over the child now, God help us all when she gets to be a teenager.”

“She’s not even four, Mother,” Grant said in a low voice, his hands balled in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, thinking, You should only know how much control I’m exercising right now. “She doesn’t even understand yet that Justine’s dead.”

“Then tell her again.”

“I have. Repeatedly. As has Etta. The concept means nothing to her.” He tore his gaze away from his daughter—all bundled up in sweaters and fleece-lined everything, sitting cross-legged in the leaf-cluttered grass with Henry in her lap as she kept an eagle eye on the ten-foot-tall entry gate—to look at his mother. Who, for reasons not yet clear, had shown up uninvited a half hour before, impeccably coiffed and tastefully accessorized, as always. “And according to the psychologist, there’s not a damn thing I, or anyone, can do to force things.” He looked back. “When she’s ready to accept Justine’s death, she will.”

The vigil had begun yesterday morning, when Haley announced she was going outside to “wait for Mommy.” Both Etta and Grant had patiently repeated the whole heaven thing, only to be met with an unsettling “Have you ever seen heaven?” When he had to admit that, no, he hadn’t, a tiny chin went up in the air, followed by “Then how do you know it’s real?”

A particularly thorny question to ask someone who didn’t, in fact, “know” anything of the sort. But what was the alternative? At the moment, letting Haley believe her mother was somewhere else seemed a far better option than trying to explain that Justine no longer was.

But who knew the “somewhere else” would prove to be the sticking point, that in Haley’s bright but still developing mind, being somewhere else meant that, at some point, a person could return. Clearly convinced—and rightly so—that her mother would never simply leave her, she simply couldn’t comprehend that Justine wasn’t coming back.

Hence the vigil. And since Grant couldn’t see letting a three-year-old sit outside by herself for hours on end, here he, and his trusty BlackBerry, were. Never mind that, when he asked Haley if she’d like company, her only response was a “suit yourself” shrug.

At least this morning there really was someone to wait for: Mia. Who should be arriving any minute. Hell. His mother hadn’t exactly taken to Justine; he could only imagine what she thought of Mia, with whom she’d only dealt with in the context of the wedding, five years before.

“For God’s sake,” Grant said as his mother’s shivering increased. “Go inside and get warm. I’m sure Etta’s got the coffeepot on—”

“Who on earth is that at the gate?” Bitsy said, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Speaking of the devil. Or—loath as Grant was to admit it—more likely a godsend, he thought as he caught sight of Mia’s old minivan, growling impatiently as it waited for Etta to buzz the gate open.

“That can’t be right,” his mother said as the gates slowly groaned apart. “Grant, you simply must speak to Etta—she can’t go letting in every Tom, Dick and Harry who wanders down the drive by mistake!”

“It’s not a mistake.” Grant said quietly, ignoring his mother’s flummoxed expression as Haley scrambled to her feet, showing her first signs of enthusiasm in two days. “Stay on the grass!” Grant yelled when the little girl started running toward the drive, almost amazed when she actually stopped. As the van passed, Haley spun around, her small legs pumping as she raced it up to the house. A minute later, Mia and his daughter were a tangle of arms and kisses, and his mother—being possessed of a one-hundred-gigabyte memory—said, “Why is she here?”

“Did you bring Mommy?” Haley asked, trying to peer around Mia to see inside the van.

After the briefest of glances in Grant’s direction, Mia crouched in front of the child, shaking her head. “No, sweetie,” she said softly. “Remember? Mommy’s not alive anymore.” She gently tugged a curl. “So you can’t see her. Nobody can.”

Haley regarded Mia for a moment or two before her thumb went into her mouth, her other arm strangling the poor stuffed toy around its neck. Then she settled into Mia’s arms again, her curls flattened against Mia’s bulky sweater, and Grant’s throat tightened.

“That’s why she’s here,” he pushed out. When, however, he noticed Mia’s struggle to stand with Haley clinging to her, he strode over to relieve her of the child, in a move both unpremeditated and instinctive.

Now on her feet, and clearly oblivious to the bits of leaves and dirt on the knees of her jeans, Mia’s eyes darted from Haley—who, while not exactly relaxed in his arms, wasn’t squirming to get down, either—to Grant. A small smile toyed with her mouth before she turned to Grant’s mother, who’d joined them. The smile stretched a little further.

“Mrs. Braeburn,” she said smoothly, extending her hand. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”

A moment passed before his mother apparently decided it wouldn’t kill her to remove her hand from her pocket to shake Mia’s. “All right, I suppose. Considering the circumstances.” She withdrew her hand, readjusting a large tourmaline-and-diamond ring that had shifted sideways over her protruding knuckle.

If his mother’s imperiousness bothered Mia, she didn’t let on. But then it occurred to Grant that, in her line of work, she must deal with women like his mother every day.

“Yes, of course.” Sadness flickered across her face, but the smile never wavered. “You look fantastic, though. I love your jacket!”

Eyes that had seen their share of tweakings over the past few years widened almost imperceptibly—point to Mia, for catching the old girl off guard.

“Um…thank you, dear.” Bitsy’s gaze remained on Mia for a long moment. “Thank you,” she repeated, then turned to Grant. “Now can we go inside before I freeze my assets off?”

“I’m here to tell you,” Etta said, hanging the vintage, black silk dupioni dress Mia planned to wear for the funeral in a white-washed armoire that, in any other house, would have dwarfed the room, “I have never seen that woman at a loss for words. I don’t know if that makes you an angel or a witch, but whatever you are, keep it up! You need me for anything else, hon?”

“I didn’t need you at all,” Mia gently pointed out, shoving shut the drawer to a small Bombay chest by the bed. “Please, please don’t wait on me, Etta—it makes me hugely uncomfortable.”

Her red lips pulled down at the corners, the older woman crossed her arms under her bosom. “Well, get over it, because that’s what Mr. B. pays me for. And besides…” She glanced furtively toward the bedroom’s open door, then lowered her voice. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to have somebody normal to talk to, for once.”

Mia turned, a smile twitching at her lips. “You don’t like Mr. Braeburn?”

“Oh, please…I got Mr. B.’s number a long time ago. He’s not so bad, once you get past all the crap. But that mother of his…” Etta shook her head as Mia wondered what “number,” exactly, Etta meant. “Talk about a piece of work. Thank God you’re here, is all I have to say. For the baby’s sake, I mean. If Dragon Lady had her way…ohmigod, can you imagine the amount of therapy the poor kid would need down the road?”

“Etta! That’s terrible. And anyway, I’m only here until after the funeral. Which you know. Besides, Grant said he’s already taken Haley to see somebody, right?”

After a hmmph meant to sum up her entire opinion on modern psychology, Etta said, “So. There’s already two blankets on the bed, but if you need more, they’re in the chest there at the foot of the bed, along with more pillows…. What’re you lookin’ at?”

The panorama outside the window had drawn Mia like a fashionista to a sample sale. “Everything,” she said on a sigh, sinking onto the window seat. Although she knew there were other houses close enough to see from here, a miniforest of autumn-tinged trees obliterated all semblance of civilization. In the distance, the sun glanced off a sliver of the Long Island Sound, like a diamond tennis bracelet nestled amongst the foliage. “It really is spectacular, isn’t it?”

Etta crossed the thick-piled white carpet—with the room’s pale, lemon-yellow walls, it was like being inside a meringue pie—to join her at the window. “It is that. And thank God Mr. B. didn’t tear the house down and replace it with one of those McMonsters like a lot of them have. Who the hell needs a forty-thousand-square-foot house?”

It was true. So many of the older houses in the area, erected at the turn of the century as testaments to their owner’s position and wealth, had been replaced in the past decade or so by dozens of insanely overpriced, oversized mansions as testaments to their owner’s overblown egos. Bowling alleys, home theaters larger than your average Manhattan art house, heliports, thirty-car garages… Amazing, how Grant managed with only seven bedrooms and eight baths, the formal dining room that easily sat twenty, the pool and the tennis court and the six-car garage. Still, the place—with its slump rock exterior and traditional floor plan—exuded an aura of settledness that somehow precluded pretension.

It was, quite simply, a lovely house. The kind of house that engendered fond childhood memories, that called scattered siblings back year after year for Christmas and Thanksgiving and wedding anniversaries….

Frowning, she angled her head to get a better look at the pool, now covered, and guesthouse. “He fixed it up?” she asked Etta.

“The guesthouse? Yeah, about two years ago. Before the divorce. You should see it inside, it’s really something. All new kitchen and bath, the works. Listen, I made chowder for lunch, is that okay? Or I can put deli stuff out for sandwiches…?”

Mia turned to her, smiling. “Chowder’s fine.” Then she frowned. “Is Haley eating?”

Etta shrugged. “Not really. But then, she never really ate before, as far as I could tell. How the kid is still alive, I have no idea.” She started toward the door, then twisted back, as if weighing whether or not to say whatever she was thinking. When she finally said, “Lunch is at twelve-thirty,” Mia doubted that was it.

Well. Her clothes put away, her laptop set up on a small desk near the window, she might as well make herself useful and go look for Haley. Who she found—along with her father—out in the park that passed for a backyard. Haley and Henry shared a low-slung swing on a shiny new set, under the watchful eye of her father, seated on the flagstone patio in a white, cast-iron chair, his ankle crossed at the knee. At Mia’s “Hey, there,” he looked up, his frown—permanent, from what she could tell—easing somewhat.

“All settled in?” he asked, his attention drifting back to his daughter.

“Yeah.” Her hands in the pockets of her down vest, Mia lowered herself into a matching chair a few feet away. “Your mother left?”

“Yes, thank God.” He spared her a glance. “I don’t think she quite knows what to make of you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “You know, since I’m here now, if you need to get back to work…?”

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes never leaving his daughter. “But I’m fine.”

Mia followed his gaze. “How’s she been?”

Grant’s shoulders hitched in a semblance of a shrug. “Quiet. Keeping to herself. Except for asking us where Justine is every five seconds. Which the doctor said to expect.” He leaned forward, his hands between his knees. “I went online, did some reading up.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Late last night, after I got back. From the anniversary party?” He nodded, a slight breeze ruffling his hair. Either he hadn’t shaved this morning or he had a seriously overachieving five-o’clock shadow.

“I suppose it’s at least somewhat reassuring,” he said, “to know her reaction is normal.”

“Yeah,” Mia breathed out. “Kinda hard to react to something you don’t understand.” She sank back into the chair, her hands still in her pockets. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves, sending a few hang gliding onto the grass. “Um…not that I’m trying to horn in or anything, but if you need help with the arrangements…?” When the frown deepened, she said, “It’s what I do, remember?”

“Help?”

“No. Well, that, too. But I meant pulling food and whatnot together for two hundred out of a hat. It’s why God created delis that make up platters of artfully arranged cold cuts.”

“I take it you don’t generally do funeral receptions, though.”

“I have. They can be parties, too, depending on the deceased.”

“Not in this case.”

“No. Not in this case.”

His eyes drifted back to Haley. “I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said, earning her a puzzled glare. Interesting combination. “Just sign a check for the food and we’ll call it square.”

Another nod. Then he said, “I know it’s probably nuts, asking people to trek all the way out here after the service. But I thought it might help Haley. If she could say goodbye here.”

“Makes sense to me,” Mia said, and his shoulders seemed to relax, just a fraction, and it hit her how hard this was on him, navigating these completely uncharted waters with nothing to guide him except, she supposed, a basic desire to do the right thing by his daughter. Well, that, and the best therapy money could buy.

“I also shouldn’t have strong-armed you into this,” he said suddenly.

“This?”

“Coming back,” he said, not looking at her as he slowly ground his knuckles into the palm of his other hand. “You’ve got that pained look people get when they’re forced to be someplace they don’t want to be. It’s just I was so desperate the other day, I reacted without thinking…. I apologize.”

Mia blinked, then laughed softly. “Believe me, Grant—if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be. No apology necessary.”

Under hooded lids, his eyes slid back to hers…and her stomach flipped. Nothing had prepared her for the full force of that probing gaze, riddled with concern. It was almost as if…

Never mind, she told herself as, knocked flat on her mental butt, she looked away until she could right herself again. When she didn’t reply fast enough to suit him, he probed further.

“Then what’s wrong?” he probed further. “Is it work?”

“No!” she said, a knee-jerk reaction to the presumption implicit in the question. “Business is great, O ye of little faith.”

“Then what?”

She messed with a thread dangling from the hem of her sweater, then crossed her arms. “Not that you’d care, but…my building’s going co-op.” Her mouth pulled down at the corners. “I have to either move or buy when my lease is up. In two weeks.”

“They can’t give you only two weeks’ notice, for God’s sake!”

“They didn’t. It’s been in the plans for more than a year. But I’ve been so busy with work…and I kept holding out this tiny hope that we’d win the battle and the landlord would back down.”

“Never mind that that almost never happens.”

“I know,” she said on a stream of air.

“I take it you can’t afford to buy?”

She let out a dry little laugh. “Everything I have—had—is tied up in the business.”

“You used personal capital as seed money?”

“It’s not unheard of, Grant. Especially since I couldn’t get a loan to save myself. So you can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some dumb cluck who had no idea what she was getting into.”

“Did you even have a contingency plan?”

Tamping down the urge to slug the man, she said, “I left Hinkley-Cohen on very good terms. I could have gone back anytime.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Okay, Grant? Hard as this might be for you to believe, I did know the risks going in. I also knew, given time and a long enough lever, I could make it. And I did. Am. But I was already in up to my eyeballs when the whole co-op ball started to roll. Moving then wasn’t an option. So I took another risk, that the landlord’s plan would fall through. Since it didn’t,” she said, turning back, “I suppose I’ll figure something out.”

“In two weeks.”

“Twelve days, actually…. Hey, cookie,” she said softly as Haley approached. “What’s up?”

As much as it warmed Mia’s heart when the little girl wriggled up into her lap, she didn’t miss Grant’s scowl at having not been chosen. Well, bud, she thought, wrapping her arms around Haley’s waist, you’re the only one who can fix that.

“How’s Henry doing today?” she asked, her lips close to the little girl’s ear.

A shrug. “His mommy still hasn’t come back.” A pause. “He’s getting scared,” she said, ruffling the thing’s increasingly matted mane. “He says everybody keeps telling him she’s gone to heaven and she can’t come back, ever. That makes his heart hurt.”

As it did Mia’s. She hugged Haley more tightly. “I know,” she whispered, laying her cheek against the soft curls. “I know it does. So you have to hug Henry lots and lots to make him feel better.”

“I am. But he said it doesn’t help.”

“It will, lamb chop,” Mia said, her eyes burning, not caring if Grant’s were boring holes in the side of her face. “Eventually, it will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. You just have to keep reminding Henry how much you love him.”

“Like you love me?”

Mia thought her own heart would break. “Yep. Like I love you. And Etta and your daddy and your grandma—we’re all going to love you and love you until it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

A moment later, Haley cocked her head, as if listening to the stuffed toy. Then she slid off Mia’s lap and turned to her. “Henry wants to know if you’d push us on the swing.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Mia said, getting up and holding out her hand.

“Mia.”

Grant’s low voice brought her head back around. He’d stood, his hands in his pockets, his mouth a straight line.

“If you want to buy your apartment, I’d be happy to cosign for your loan.”

Her eyes popped open. As did her mouth. When the buzzing stopped, however, she leaned over to Haley and said, “Go on back to the swing, I’ll be there in a sec.” When she was sure the little girl was out of earshot, she looked back up at Grant, standing there looking like the Daddy of all Immovable Objects.

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“To say thank you?”

“Then you can send me flowers. Or give me a gift certificate to Bloomie’s. But I wouldn’t dream of letting you take that risk. Or myself. I really can’t predict my cash flow right now—”

“Not a problem.”

“For you, maybe not. For me, yes. Thank you,” she said softly, when he blew an obviously frustrated breath through his nose. “That’s incredibly generous. But no.” A piece of hair blew into her face; she pushed it back, angling her head. “My mommy always told me never to take financial favors from strangers.”

“We’re not strangers, Mia.”

Man, this dude did not give an inch, did he? “Uh, yeah. We are.”

Apparently accepting that they’d reached a stalemate, he said, “Then I suppose you’ll be looking for another apartment when you get back to the city.”

“That’s the plan, yep.”

“In less than ten days.”

“Rub it in, why doncha?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “There is one more option. If push comes to shove.” He nodded toward the guesthouse. “It’s sitting empty, anyway.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Think about it,” he said, then turned and strode back inside.

“I take it we’re not talking some rickety old shack you wouldn’t keep your dog in?”

Mia could count on Venus not to mince words, about this or anything else.

“Uh, no.” After Haley went down for her nap, Mia got the key from Etta to check out the guesthouse. Not that she was even remotely considering taking Grant up on his offer, but she figured she might as well know what she was turning down. “Two bedrooms,” she said into her cell. “Wood floors—well, carpet in the bedrooms—a kitchen big enough for a table and more than half a person in it at once—”

“Get out.”

“I know, I know. Of course, compared with the main house, it is a shack. Compared with what I’m likely to be able to afford in Manhattan, however, it’s a palace. But come on—it’s in Connecticut!”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’re in Washington Heights?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And what’s with the ‘uh-huhs’?”

“Think back. Way back. To the way you nearly broke something trying to get a better look when Grant walked by your office on his way to his appointment with that tax attorney—what was his name again?”

“I did not!” At yet another “uh-huh,” Mia sighed. “Okay, but that was temporary insanity by reason of immaturity. And anyway, my reservations have nothing to do with… that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Venus. I’ve met warmer cadavers.”

“Girl, you have got to get out more.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do. But may I remind you that particular cadaver just offered to co-sign a sizable loan for you? Not to mention save your sorry butt so you don’t end up out on the street?”

“Oh, please…this is a man who invests millions without batting an eye. And what skin would it be off his nose to let me live in this house?” Her gaze skimmed over the skuzz-free stove, the gleaming stainless steel refrigerator with a freezer large enough to hold more than a two frozen dinners, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a single ice cube tray.

“You’re tempted, I can tell,” Venus said.

“Of course, I’m tempted. I’m not made of stone.”

“We’re both still talking about the house, right?”

“And you so don’t want to give me a reason to rethink the raise I was going to give you.”

“He didn’t have to offer,” Venus said, completely unconcerned. “But he did anyway. And it’s been more than a year since that dirtwad dumped you and as far as I know you haven’t even looked at a man since, and here’s this good-looking dude being all generous and kind—”

“Kind might be stretching it,” Mia said. “And it’s not as if there’s no ulterior motive. And besides…”

“Yeah, I know—after what happened between him and Justine, blah, blah, blah. And a girlfriend doesn’t mess around another girlfriend’s man, never mind that they’d been divorced for more than a year and it’s not like she’s gonna know, anyway. And you know something else? It takes two, baby. Meaning I know you’re being loyal to Justine and all, but maybe she had something to do with the marriage falling apart, too. I’m just saying. Because you do have a problem with letting friendship blind you to who somebody really is. Take ours, for instance—you probably think I’m actually nice.”

“In general or at the moment?”

Venus snorted, then said, “But as far as the you-in-Connecticut-me-still-in-Manhattan thing…first off, seeing as half your clients are already up there, anyway, I’m not sure what difference it makes whether you’re schlepping up there from Manhattan, or down to Manhattan from there. And think of how much you’ll save in garage fees.”

She had a point there. Mia needed the van for her work, but she could support a medium-size developing country for what she paid to berth her car every month. Hey, maybe she could live in her car, skip paying rent altogether…?

“I don’t know, Venus. It sounds good on paper, but…I don’t know. Look, I need to get back. Etta and I have to figure out what we’re doing for this reception, since I seriously doubt people are going to show up with funeral food. As far as I know, I’ll be back in the city on Friday.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Venus said, then hung up.

Leaving Mia standing in the middle of a puddle of brilliant fall sunshine gilding the living room’s polished oak floor, feeling very conflicted indeed.