Читать книгу Motherhood Without Parole - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 11

Kate’s first thought was that she was being watched—the kind of focused, silent stare that might come from a dog who needed to be let out for his morning constitutional. Slowly recalling that she didn’t own a dog, she struggled to open her eyes.

Her gaze immediately collided with a small boy’s. PJ. Reality clicked into place—the kids had returned and today would be her first full day alone with them. Her heart thudded in her ears. If she were awake enough to think rationally, she would tell herself she’d known this was coming. What difference did it make that it had happened earlier than expected? But rational had apparently hit the snooze button.

“Morning, PJ.” Since she was lying on her side and he was leaning against the mattress, his face was mere inches from hers. Unaccustomed to waking under close scrutiny, at least she’d managed not to scream, curse or otherwise traumatize him.

He blinked at her, his face a miniature of his father’s except for Heather’s hazel eyes. “Do you know how to make waffles?”

“Good question.” She yawned, trying to remember if they had any waffles in the freezer.

“Your breath is stinky.”

That’s what you get for standing so close, kid. Was she supposed to reprimand him for being rude or applaud his truthfulness? “Let me brush my teeth, then we’ll talk about waffles.”

“Okay.” He waited until she stood, then fell in step with her. “Neve says you probably can’t cook.”

Kate was irritated by this assessment, but the girl wasn’t entirely wrong. “I can cook some things.” Including a shrimp pasta dish that was her single cooking-for-a-date meal and a layered dip that was her fallback dish for social events where she wanted to make a good impression by bringing something. Unfortunately that repertoire got old fast and would be of no help for breakfast. She paused in the doorway. “PJ, I have to go to the bathroom now.”

“Okay,” her new shadow responded.

“Alone, all right?”

“Sure. I’ll wait here.”

Since she’d never been one to carry on conversations from inside the stall of public restrooms, it was a little weird to have PJ calling questions through the door.

“Do you ever watch cartoons?” he asked conversationally. “That’s what I was doing, but my show went off. Neve’s taking a shower and couldn’t play with me. She said when she’s done, she’ll find me some Pop-Tarts or something, but I want waffles. And she takes too long in the bathroom. Always brushing her hair and stuff. Are you done yet?”

When she opened the door, PJ practically fell onto the tile floor. It didn’t take a child psychologist to understand why he might be a little clingy right now. Kate would be patient with his being underfoot.

As long as she could avoid tripping over him, they would be fine. “So…waffles, huh? Let’s see what I can do.”

A search of the freezer revealed that there were no instant waffles to be found. Maybe she had a recipe? It dawned on Kate that she only owned one cookbook—a novelty gift on cooking for your lover. She gestured toward the family room, visible through the wall cutout above the kitchen sink.

“Do you want to watch television? Maybe you can find more cartoons. I can call you when the waf—when breakfast is ready,” she amended, hedging her bets.

“Okay.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Appreciating his agreeable manner, she surprised herself by ruffling his hair. When he shot her a warm, approving smile, confidence filled her. She could definitely do this.

The mothering part anyway. The waffling part grew fuzzier as she pulled one foreign apparatus after another from the cabinets in search of the waffle iron. Her attempt to separate eggs was only partially successful, but how much damage could a little yolk do to the recipe? She’d begun pouring lumpy batter into the iron when her stepdaughter suddenly made her presence known.

“What is that?”

Kate jumped, glancing at the book open on the kitchen island. “A cookbook.” The waffle recipe was on the right-hand page, opposite a tasteful yet provocative breakfast-in-bed photo.

“But he’s not wearing a shirt. And…” Neve took a closer look. “You’re not supposed to let us see stuff like that.”

“Then stop looking.” Kate shut the book with a snap, then shoved it behind her back for good measure. “Speaking of clothes, what are you wearing?”

Neve glanced down, her expression genuinely quizzical. “Shirt and jeans.”

Yes, but the sparkly blue shirt had the word Juicy emblazoned across the chest. What was that supposed to mean? Then again, Kate wasn’t about to start making parental objections before their first breakfast. She knew enough from Patti to choose her battles, and that didn’t include what Neve wore around the house. “All right. I—”

“Are your waffles burning?”

“Damn. Shoot…that’s not what I meant. The first thing.”

Grinning, Neve leaned against the kitchen island as if waiting to hear other things Kate shouldn’t say in front of them.

“Why don’t you go keep an eye on your brother?”

“He’s just watching TV. I can see him from here.” Neve peered around Kate. “You have batter left. If you want, maybe I could make the waffles. I used to help my…”

Heather? Well, that would explain why Paul owned a waffle iron in the first place. “Thank you. I still need a shower. Are you responsible enough to take over kitchen duty?”

“Of course.” The nostalgic expression had been replaced by one of almost haughty adolescent confidence. “Not like I’m gonna burn down the house.”

“Great.” Because I’m not sitting through an arson trial, too.

Kate made it through the shampoo cycle before the water heater gave up the ghost. Rinsing conditioner from her hair with increasingly cold water, she decided PJ must not have been exaggerating about his sister’s bathroom schedule. Just how long had Neve been in the shower? As Kate wrapped herself in a towel, a strange buzzing drew her attention to the bathroom counter. Her phone, in vibrate mode, was pulsing across the cultured-marble surface.

Bangs dripping into her eyes, she answered. “Hello?”

“Kate—wonderful.” Delia’s voice was strained. “Please get down here and tell these kids to let me in.”

“You’re at the house?” When Kate had retired to her room last night, she’d been unable to sleep. She’d called her friend, but Delia hadn’t said anything about coming by today. “I can’t even believe you’re up this early.” Normally the other woman slept in on the weekends—called it powering up for her sixty-hour workweek.

“I’ve been awake since the crack of where-the-hell’s-the-sun. I could come in and tell you about it or I could stand on your front porch all morning using my cell phone minutes.”

Kate laughed, knowing perfectly well her friend had unlimited calling for keeping in touch with clients and property managers. “Give me just a second.” Once she’d shimmied into a pair of slacks and a cardigan, she hurried down the stairs. “Neve? PJ? Open the front door.”

“We’re not supposed to let strangers in,” Neve called from the kitchen.

PJ, engrossed in a cartoon where a sports car was talking to a bear, barely glanced in Kate’s direction.

“It’s not a stranger. She’s my friend—I’m giving you permission.” Since Kate was closer to the door than either of the kids, she opened it herself.

Delia raised her eyebrows. “New bouncers, huh? They’re effective.”

“Maybe you should have tried a cash bribe.”

“Don’t have much on me, but I did bring this.” She held up a bottle of champagne. “How do you feel about mimosas?”

Kate loved Delia but occasionally thought Patti might have a point about their friend’s fondness for alcohol. “Under the circumstances, that’s probably inappropriate.”

“Well, you know me.”

Kate swung the door wide. “You can join us for waffles.”

Or pools of batter, which were what Neve had managed to create.

“Oh, snap,” the girl was muttering in exasperation, trying to sop up the worst of the mess. She shot a sheepish glance over her shoulder. “I think I poured too much. It overflowed and steam went everywhere, so I unplugged it before I set off the smoke alarm.”

Who was Kate to criticize? She hadn’t done much better. “You go talk PJ into cereal, and I’ll clean this up.”

“I’ll try,” the young woman promised.

“Nice shirt,” Delia said as Neve left the room. “What? I liked it.”

That figured.

Delia set the bottle of champagne on the island. “You should put this away for some other occasion. I actually brought it over as a…gift. I won’t be drinking much for a while.”

“Oh?” Had she and Alexander fought about alcohol?

Her friend chose not to elaborate. “So what are you doing with them tomorrow?”

“With who?” Duh. “Good Lord. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.” What would the kids do Monday while she was at work?

She’d been alternately looking into affordable afternoon help and wondering if Neve was old enough to babysit her brother a few hours a day after school. She’d even planned to take off the week before school, to smooth the transition, but now she needed a more immediate course of action. She couldn’t take off both weeks and she was supposed to be finishing up an important project this week.

The ability to meet deadlines—even when they changed last-minute if production was moved up—was critical. The manuals that accompanied each technological product had to be carefully written and proofed. What kind of example was Kate setting for those she supervised if she couldn’t meet her schedules?

Where could she find help, someone to watch the kids tomorrow while she set something up for the rest of the week? Patti didn’t have an outside job, per se, but the woman was on so many community and charity boards she worked nearly the same number of hours as her corporate counterparts. Maybe Lily… She’d certainly made it clear she would be available to help. Kate just worried how it would look that she needed to be bailed out so soon.

Mulling over her options, she ran a washcloth across the batter-smeared countertop. She frowned at the open cookbook. Neve had obviously used Kate’s absence to sneak a peek.

A sarcastic observation forming on her tongue, she turned toward Delia but was struck anew by the shadows under her friend’s eyes. Kate had been too easily side-tracked by her own problems. It was time to find out what was wrong with Delia.

“You want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing major.” The normally indomitable Delia fidgeted, glancing toward the other room where the kids were quietly watching television. “Actually, it is. But still not the end of the world, right?”

Somewhere beyond minor but shy of apocalyptic—that narrowed it down. “Whatever ‘it’ is has obviously been worrying you. Those bags you’ve got going on aren’t exactly Fendi.”

Delia bent her knees, peering at her blurred facial reflection in the microwave door. “Just a little exhaustion a decent eye cream should take care of. Like I said, I’ve been up for hours.”

“Did Alexander wake you leaving for the airport?”

“Nah, his flight’s not until noon. And—” Delia drew a deep breath “—I’m sort of avoiding him.”

Kate pitched her washcloth into the sink. “What’s going on, Dee?”

Delia had said on occasion that she couldn’t see herself staying permanently with one man. Could she be trying to figure out the best way to end things with Alexander? Then again, Delia wasn’t shy. If she wanted a man out, Kate imagined she would simply say so.

“Hell, Kate, I’m forty-three years old.”

So? Delia had hit her professional stride as an executive for a leasing company that oversaw commercial properties, she looked fabulous and, by all accounts, had an enviable sex life with a thirty-seven-year-old man who laughed at her jokes and danced with her at country club events. Unless…was Delia wanting to settle down, and Alexander refused to commit?

“Please don’t tell me forty-three’s a bad age,” Kate joked. “I’m coming up on it fast.”

“Forty-three is great for certain things. But pregnancy?”

“Pregnant!” Kate hadn’t meant to shout. She never raised her voice. In a near whisper she asked, “When did this happen? I mean, when did you find out?”

“About five o’clock this morning.”

Kate made her way to the two-person breakfast table in the corner and sank into one of the chairs, gesturing toward the other. “How sure are you?”

Delia sighed. “I don’t know. The box was at the back of the cabinet—a two-test pack with one left over from God only knows when I bought the thing—and I didn’t think to check for an expiration date. So maybe it was wrong?”

“Maybe? I’ve never used one.”

Delia rolled her eyes. “You’re probably one of those every-twenty-eight-days girls you could set a calendar by. You’re organized even on a biological level. I didn’t even notice when I missed the first period. I stay busy, and frankly it’s not like I’m anxious to experience the cramps and accompanying joys. But then when I realized I’d missed a second one… I got up at five this morning, needing to pee for the third time since going to bed, and knew there was no way I could fall back asleep. But honestly I was expecting a negative. I figured that it would just confirm my suspicions that after forty things get less predictable. Well, this was certainly unpredicted! I haven’t figured out how I’m going to tell Ringo, but the man’s likely to keel over in shock at the news.”

Which explained avoiding him and using the extra time of his New York trip to think it through. “You should get a second opinion,” Kate said. Surely there was room for error in an expired grocery store pregnancy test.

“Oh, trust me. I play tennis sometimes with an OB and I called her on the way here. She told me to swing by her office first thing in the morning, but she went ahead and answered a few questions.”

“About your age?”

“For starters.” Delia stood, clearly restless, and ended up by the island, pivoting the champagne bottle on its base. “Risks, side effects, the drinks I’ve had lately. Even I know pregnant women shouldn’t have alcohol, but the doc said I wouldn’t be the first woman to imbibe before she knew she was expecting. After talking to her, I’m not as worried about what’s past as what the hell happens next.”

“Wow.” It was a lot to take in. Kate could only imagine how her friend felt.

“Yeah. Pregnancy? Wow barely begins to cover it.”

“Is someone pregnant?” Neve chirped.

Both women jumped, having been so intent on the conversation that they hadn’t noticed the teenager at the carpeted edge of the kitchen. Or the woman who was arriving behind her.

“Lily!” Kate stood. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“I opened the door when I saw her drive up,” Neve offered.

Maybe Lily was just here for a friendly cup of coffee, but Kate couldn’t help thinking of a woman in her office who’d adopted a baby and was periodically subjected to unannounced visits from social workers. “Well, good morning. You remember my friend Delia from the wedding and…everything?” The two women had seen each other in the courtroom, as well. “She came over to help me with breakfast for the kids.”

Lily’s laser-beam gaze shot from the bottle of champagne in Delia’s hands to the cookbook open to a bare-chested hunk, then back to Kate. “Uh-huh. Well, is there anything I can do to add my assistance? PJ says he’s really hungry.”

“Starving,” the little boy moaned from the next room with drama Kate wouldn’t have thought the easygoing child capable of an hour ago.

“I, um, was just about to pour cereal.” At least she’d cleaned up the mess caused by their waffle attempts. “You can grab some bowls, if you’d like. Or check the fridge for fresh fruit.”

Delia volunteered to do the latter, burying her head in the refrigerator.

Lounging in the doorway, Neve watched the women retrieving milk and silverware. “So is someone having a baby?”

Lily actually dropped the bowl in her hands, her gaze flying toward Kate.

She thinks I might be pregnant, Kate realized. It was almost funny. But not.

The possibility was less laughable with Delia sitting there facing that very real prospect. Besides, Kate couldn’t scoff at the thought of herself being a mother. Even if she never gave birth, Neve and PJ were here now, her responsibility. Not just for the five months, either.

Though she imagined the situation would become easier once Paul was home, her life had been changed for years to come. Unlike her husband’s temporary confinement in West Virginia, motherhood was a life sentence.

If there was one thing Neve hated, it was the way grown-ups were allowed to change the topic when they didn’t want to answer a question. Kate had conveniently declared breakfast ready without ever addressing the baby issue again. Like that would work if a kid tried it, Neve thought as she chased soggy cornflakes around the bowl with her spoon. She could just imagine her father demanding, Would you like to explain the grade you got on this pop quiz? and her trying to respond with, Hey, Dad, did you know I could roll my tongue into this funny U shape? It would never fly.

Then again, since when had her father taken a pressing interest in her day-to-day schoolwork? As long as her final grade on the report card was okay, he gave her plenty of space. States and states of it. One of Neve’s science teachers had said that the ability to curl your tongue was genetic. Since Neve could, either her father or her mother should be able to, as well. Wonder which one.

She should ask her dad next time she saw him. At least then she’d have an opening line for her first visit to the jail. Her throat clogged as she tried to remember if she’d ever seen her mother do it. Mom made funny faces when no one was looking, just to make Neve and PJ laugh. And she always made macadamia brownies on days that sucked.

Lately it felt like most days sucked.

“Can I be ’scused?” PJ asked. He sat at the small table with Neve, while the three women in the room ate standing around the kitchen island. The cornflakes hadn’t merited a sit-down meal in the carpeted dining room.

“It’s excused,” Neve corrected. “You’re too old to talk like a baby.”

“Neve.” Aunt Lily’s tone was sharp. “Yes, PJ, you may be excused. Put your dishes in the sink first, okay?”

“Excellent idea, Aunt Lily,” PJ said, crossing his eyes in Neve’s direction. “After I rinse my bowl out, can I play the Xbox?”

Brat. “You’ll need help hooking it up,” Neve reminded him. Their father put it away in the closet when they weren’t home. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much. After all, she could hardly envision Dad and Kate sitting down to a challenge match of Crazy Taxi, but still… She didn’t like to think of her things stuffed onto crowded shelves and forgotten while her father and Kate did whatever it was boring, married adults did.

Mom was never boring.

She glanced up to find Kate looking at her. “What?” It came out disrespectful, and she was surprised Aunt Lily didn’t reprimand her again.

“Are you all finished?” her stepmother asked.

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t very hungry.” Now that breakfast was over, would the women carry on the conversation they’d abruptly ended? “But I could stay and load the dishwasher for you if you want.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, looking suspicious of the offer. Just because she couldn’t make waffles didn’t mean she was stupid. “That’s all right. Why don’t you and PJ go play? Maybe you could help him get his video games set up.”

“Sure.” Go play? I’m not six. She was beyond the stage where she dressed Barbies in her room while the grownups had their Very Important Talks.

As soon as PJ had all the cords plugged into the right outlets, Neve grabbed the Harry Potter book she’d been reading and sat in the silvery-gray armchair closest to the kitchen. The chair wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the couch or the recliner closer to the television set, but she wouldn’t be able to hear anything from either of those seats.

Right now it sounded as if Kate’s friend Delia was saying goodbye. Neve made a point of concentrating hard on her book when the tall blond woman walked through the living room to the front door.

“Well, I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable,” Aunt Lily said. “How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?”

“I don’t think she’s ready for people to know—that’s the point.” Kate’s tone was civil, but even a kid could hear the tension between the two women.

“Then, if I can give you a little advice, don’t bring controversial subjects up with kids in the next room. They hear more than you think.” As if realizing the truth in her own words, Lily suddenly lowered her voice.

The rest of the murmured conversation was a lost cause, so Neve gave up and tried to pay attention to what was going on at Hogwarts instead. But not even Hermione, her favorite character, could distract her. Controversial? That meant, like, scandalous. Was Delia’s having a baby a scandal because she was so old…or because she didn’t want to have one?

Adults should be more careful, in Neve’s opinion. They should be responsible so that there didn’t end up being kids all over the world who felt unloved. If I ever have children, I’ll love them all the time. Even when they were annoying, like PJ. And she would sure as hell never kick them out of their own home because she didn’t have time for them.