by Joan Cohen
At first, Vince looked wounded, but he quickly seized the offensive. “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t the first thought that came to mind. I thought you were past menopause. Now you’re pregnant. How did that happen?” His voice rose, and the couple across the aisle looked up from their soup and stared.
“How did that happen, Romeo?” she hissed. “Need me to draw you a picture?” She pushed away a momentary pang of guilt. Was she sure the baby was Vince’s? The odds he wasn’t the father were infinitesimal.
Vince recoiled. “You know what I meant, Jeanne. Weren’t you the one who said you didn’t need to bother with contraception anymore?” She hated him for speaking the truth. She was the idiot. Less than twelve months of missed periods did not a menopause make. “Whatever the reason, here you are—pregnant and planning to ab—terminate. I think having a baby is a good thing. You don’t. I get it. Maybe you’re right. You’re married to your job and always have been. You might have trouble with the whole divided loyalties thing.”
Jeanne choked with anger. Never mind that she’d thought only moments before that no one would want to be born to her; do men who have children get questioned about divided loyalties? The clink of silver seemed a din, the glare of track lights dizzying. Her hands twitched in her lap as she fought down the urge to scratch his eyes out. “How the fuck would you know?”
Vince leaned in. “I know you, Jeanne. You said yourself you don’t want the baby.” She looked away. The couple next to them was openly listening, making no pretext of eating. Vince sat back against the red leather.
Jeanne’s guts twisted. He had her completely turned around, arguing both sides. How furious she was with herself, a professional who managed business risk but had proven she couldn’t manage personal risk worth a damn. It was too much to bear, too much for her not to direct her ire at Vince.
She briefly hovered between collapsing in tears and lashing out. “On second thought, I don’t want to dine with a fucking asshole. Do you think I got pregnant to entrap you? You’re a three-time loser at marriage. Who would want you?” She grabbed her bag and slid out of the booth. “Go ahead and eat without me. I hear the baby lamb is tender.”
He followed her into the parking lot, calling her name. When she hesitated, he grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry—really—I wasn’t accusing you of getting pregnant on purpose.” She allowed him to guide her out of the roadway and onto a grassy berm, where he held her hands in his. “Please,” he implored. “Don’t leave.”
Jeanne never cried, at least not in public. That was strict policy. Tears she had willed to stay in place rolled down her cheeks and salted the corners of her mouth. How humiliating to play their B-movie scene in the Grand Grille parking lot. Home was where she needed to be, burying her face in Bricklin’s fur.
He waited for her to dig a tissue out of her purse, blot her eyes, and blow her nose. When she looked up at him, he dabbed at a spot on his cheek and pointed to hers. “Mascara.” She handed him a clean tissue, and he gently wiped away the streak. After a final shuddering breath, her shoulders relaxed. “Jeanne, I know how you feel about marriage. You’d never try to trap a ‘three-time loser’ like me.” He grinned. “The last words I ever expected to come out of your mouth, though, were ‘I’m pregnant.’ You didn’t give me a minute to catch my breath.”
“You can’t take back what you said. You think I couldn’t handle motherhood.”
“No, you think that, or at least you act like you do. Why did you get so angry if you were planning to get an abortion? Maybe there’s a part of you that wants a baby. God knows, you treat that dog of yours like Baby Jesus.”
“You mean he isn’t?” She managed a weak smile. He laughed and put his arm around her, and she allowed him to guide her back into the restaurant. “I’m sorry for attacking you. The pregnancy is my own fault, and I’m upset at myself.”
There was nothing wrong with Vince’s appetite. Jeanne wondered if he were the one eating for two. Halfway through his porterhouse, he put down his fork, cocked his head, and observed her. “What,” she asked, her fingers reaching for her face, “more streaks?”
“No, I take back what I said. I can see you as a mother and role model. You should reconsider. Have the baby, Jeanne. You could use a counterweight in your life. Financially, you can handle it, and I’m willing to do my share . . . on the money side, for sure.”
His share was money? Vince wanted no part of the parenting he was urging on her. “Sleep on it,” he said, placing his hand over hers. “Don’t schedule an abortion without telling me.”
As soon as Jeanne turned into her driveway and saw Bricklin, she exhaled away her tension. The honey-colored golden retriever was sprawled on the broad sill of the bay window like a cat. He abandoned his watch and was waiting at the door when Jeanne entered her condo from the garage. The dog’s hindquarters wiggled from side to side, propelled by vigorous tail waving.
She knelt and hugged him. “If you were human, you could get a couple of hundred bucks an hour for this brand of therapy.” She could have let him out back but instead removed his leash from its hook. “Can I persuade you to accept some biscuits and a walk in lieu of cash? I may need the walk more than you.” Bricklin’s tail provided the answer, and Jeanne kissed him on his soft muzzle. “Have I ever told you how much I value your predictability?” The dog tilted his head as though he had an issue with the question. “Okay, so I value predictability in everything. Doesn’t mean I don’t hold you in especially high regard.”
The road through Jeanne’s condo complex had no sidewalks, but the two of them were safe in the middle of the road, given how few cars drove into the cul-de-sac. The field beyond the last unit was Jeanne’s favorite evening destination, because she and Bricklin were usually alone there. She could let him have as much freedom as his adjustable leash would allow. Street lights illuminated the field enough for her to make her way with a little help from her cell phone flashlight.
She would have been embarrassed to have anyone see how often she conversed with her dog. His face had such an empathetic expression when he looked up at her, she didn’t consider these talks one-sided. After all, the moment she spoke, he cocked his head to show she had his full attention.
“When I left the house this morning, I had no idea how remarkable today would be. Bricklin, I’m pregnant. If I don’t do something about it, my life will be irreversibly altered. I’m so used to the way things are, I can’t imagine such a radical change.” Nose to the ground, the dog seemed no longer engaged. “Your life is all about habits too, a daily routine, although, now that I think about it, you’re a prisoner. Why don’t you run away from me when you’re off leash at the park?” Bricklin looked up at Jeanne with a quizzical expression. She stopped. “Is it possible? I suppose it is. Perhaps I’m a prisoner too.” Bricklin’s eyes were thoughtful, but he kept his counsel.
CHAPTER 2
Jeanne pulled into a parking space opposite her office building, turned off the motor, and peered at her face in the rearview mirror. It was irrational to think her pregnancy could show in her eyes, although the purple shadows beneath them testified to her poor night’s sleep. Other than those, the usual Jeanne looked back at her. She would be at her desk soon, immersing herself in her work and grateful to be dealing with quandaries strictly business related.
Suddenly, face out of focus, her eyes sought the reflected action in the background. “No!” she yelled, whipping her head around, but her voice had no effect on the blue Toyota Camry smashing through the lobby entrance. The thunderous crash shattered plate glass and bent steel. She raced for the door that was no longer there.
The car had made it almost to the reception desk and was surrounded by giant shards. The white-haired driver in the front seat didn’t move, and she imagined his face mirroring the front of the building, which looked like a gaping mouth with its teeth punched in. She steadied herself against the brick exterior and reached for her cell to call 911. Eduardo, the jockey-tiny Cuban who manned thei
r reception desk, had flattened himself against the lobby’s rear wall. He genuflected and slid down to the floor. From behind the couch, CEO Jake Tyler rose, wild-eyed and ashen as the rising plaster dust.
Jamming the phone into her pocket, Jeanne rushed in, ignoring the glass crunching beneath her feet, and yanked open the car door. Others spilled into the lobby from their offices, but she was the first to reach the driver, whom she judged to be in his eighties. Although his face, or what showed of it behind his airbag, appeared unharmed, the crosshatch of wrinkles around his eyes mapped his confusion. He peered at Jeanne. “I braked. Why did it keep going?”
The EMTs arrived quickly and herded everyone away from the car. Jeanne turned her attention to Jake and pushed her way through to his side. As she searched his face for signs of injury, his dazed blue eyes met hers. “I’m okay. Where’s Franklin?” Jeanne scanned the crowd and spotted their board member, Franklin Burrows, pacing in front of the building, phone clutched against his ear as he gestured in the air with his free arm.
Jake saw Franklin too, and the sight of his agitated investor seemed to snap him back to reality. He bolted from the couch, shouting directives. “Fall back, everyone. We need to clear the lobby for the medics.” He pointed a shaking finger at Eduardo, who had slid back up the wall to his feet. “Call the managing agent and get a maintenance detail in here to clear this glass and board up the front of the building.”
Jeanne’s legs felt weak. The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled her nose, and the whining sirens reverberated in her ears. Retreating to the solitude of her office, she shut the door she seldom closed and leaned against it. The air here was clear of plaster dust. Weary, she ignored the hanger behind her door and cast her coat over the hook, freeing a few slivers of glass. Although her desk chair was spare and ergonomically contoured, dropping into it felt like sinking into a down-filled sofa.
She ran her fingers through her hair and dropped her head back. She couldn’t stop imagining what it had been like for Eduardo to see that car coming at him through the window, and Jake, vaulting the couch, must have been terrified. How close she had come to being in the lobby herself. If she had been killed, would she have counted as two victims, an autopsy revealing her pregnancy?
Emails rolled down her screen like credits after a movie. Vince, calling her cell, spared her from attacking the list. “Are you all right? I hear Jake freaked out.”
“Franklin told you? I’m okay and Jake’s pretty steady. He’ll be fine.”
“Maybe he will, but you definitely don’t sound like yourself.”
She didn’t want to tell him she felt sickened and weak when she thought of the driver’s face behind his airbag. How much of that was because she was pregnant? “The crash shook the building, and I was right there when it happened, so, yes, I was a bit shaky. I’m in my office now. I’m all right.”
“That’s my Jeanne, ever stalwart in the face of trouble. Unfortunately, I’m not sure I believe you—think I’ll just check up on you later. Ciao.” She leaned on her desk and covered her face with her hands. When she was a child, she had covered her face with her bedsheet because she believed the shadowy monsters on her wall would go away if they couldn’t see her eyes. Surely, they’d be gone when she looked again. They were. She’d fallen asleep, and it was morning. If only she could do that with her pregnancy.
How could she have allowed her ovaries to betray her this way? Vince thought a baby was just what she needed, like a hobby, like taking up yoga. All she needed was a little more balance in her life. She needed to think, but the maintenance crew’s hammer blows, rhythmic as her baby’s heartbeat, distracted her.
Better to return to some normal activity like plowing through her email. Maggie, her buddy from Weight Watchers, had heard about the crash from a coworker. The story was already on local news channels. “No one hurt,” Jeanne responded. “Fill you in at the meeting.” Vince thought her participation in Weight Watchers was silly, but she had been an athlete as a kid and fifteen pounds thinner. She couldn’t risk gaining any more. Because she believed in accountability at work, she favored the accountability of her weekly weigh-in rather than sporadic visits to her bathroom scale. Maybe pregnancy queasiness would help keep the pounds under control.
Two quick knocks on the door brought her back to the present. With reluctance, she gave permission to enter. Clara Nordell stood in the doorway looking down at her. Clara looked down at most people, since her height was somewhere north of six feet. She’d been the star center of the women’s basketball team at Connecticut College, and she treated every challenge confronting the marketing department as an opportunity for a three-pointer.
Clara waved a paper at her. “Jake was supposed to okay his quote so we could get the press release out. When he didn’t return my email, I took the hard copy down to his office. Jeanne,” she said, lowering her voice, “he was catatonic—just sat there and ignored me—like he was watching an imaginary movie across the room.”
“Leave the release with me.” She took the paper from Clara’s hand. “Jake was in the lobby when that car came barreling in. Of course, he’s stunned. I’ll bet Eduardo is too.”
“Eduardo went home. Said he was having heart palpitations, and that poor old man . . .” She flattened her hand over her heart. “If anyone was going to have a heart attack, you’d think it would be him. I wonder if he hit the accelerator by accident, his being so old and all.”
Jeanne listened to Clara’s five-inch heels tapping their way back down the hall. She wondered if there was a man in Clara’s life and, if so, how tall he was. Probably not five-eight like Vince, or she could eat apples off his head. Jeanne couldn’t help smiling to think of her mother’s favorite description of mismatched couples.
Had her parents looked well matched? Knowing so little about her father made him indistinct, the way people looked to her in the morning before she put on her glasses or inserted her contact lenses. Mother had told her he’d died young in an accident, and Jeanne had had to beg before she’d parse out additional information.
She did share that Jeanne had his wavy brown hair and brown eyes. Sparkling eyes, she’d said, that went with his sense of humor, but as a girl Jeanne could never catch sight of the sparkle, no matter how much she peered into her bedroom mirror in search of it.
Another sleepless night left Jeanne dragging and out of sorts. The front of her company’s boarded-up building gave it the sad air of a bankrupt business. All that was missing was a sheriff’s notice nailed to the door. When she reached her office, one glance at the number of messages in her inbox sent her fleeing to the kitchen, but she didn’t get very far before she heard a familiar voice call her. Though she pretended not to hear, Parker Neal fell into step beside her. “Miss a deadline or something? You were sprinting.”
“Busy, that’s all. Just going for coffee.”
“Maybe you should consider the decaf.”
The thought of fencing with their CFO was less than appealing, but she was trapped. He stuck to her side the rest of the way. They passed through the lobby, which smelled of newly sawn wood, to the corridor beyond, where the engineering cubicles were clustered near the kitchen. Seeing how engrossed they were in their work gave Jeanne a pang of envy. She was too agitated to concentrate on anything but the miniscule embryo within her.
Parker offered to let her use the coffee brewer first, but she opted for chamomile tea. Getting wired seemed like a bad idea. Parker brewed his cup using an espresso blend and a limited amount of water. No surprise he needed a strong brew to grease his gears. Feigning youthfulness took a lot of his energy. The taut flesh tugging at the sides of his mouth were the legacy of a face lift, and his too-black hair had a life of its own—or more accurately, his toupee did.
Parker leaned against the cabinet and sipped his drink while she covered hers with a dome-topped lid. “What did you think of Jake’s reaction yesterday?” he asked in a lowered voice. “I mean diving over the couch and all.”
; “‘And all’? Should he have stood his ground and grabbed the front end of the car like Superman? I didn’t think that was in the CEO’s job description.” Of course, Parker wasn’t in good enough shape to clear the couch, but there was no profit in pointing that out.
Parker straightened up and patted his rug-covered pate. As Jeanne turned to leave, he gestured toward the engineering conference room. “Give me a minute, okay?”
Shit. “A minute is all I’ve got.”
He closed the door behind them. After taking a seat at the head of the table, he reached out to swivel a side chair in her direction. She perched near the edge, poised for departure. “Jeanne, I’ve seen the look on your face in Jake’s executive staff meetings, and I can tell what you’re thinking. Tell me I’m wrong, but I think we all know the company’s growth has taxed Jake’s ability to manage. Isn’t it time to replace him?”
Jeanne squinted into the morning sun spilling through the slats in the conference room blinds, prompting Parker to jump up and jerk on the cord. He was impatient for her response, but she was unprepared to give one. “You really want to talk about this in the office?”
He was right. She had unspoken frustrations with Jake’s operational weakness, but she was disturbed she’d let her feelings show. Parker’s statement was based on more than the nonsense about Jake’s couch vault. Jake was the classic engineering founder—brilliant at creating technology but challenged when it came to managing growth. “I understand your hesitation,” Parker continued. “I like Jake too, but I’m looking at what’s best for Salientific.”
Jeanne understood there was a case to be made for replacing Jake, at least at some point, but had no doubt Parker’s reasons had more to do with his own ambitions and sense of urgency than concern for the company. She shifted in her seat and looked down at her hands. Parker was an over-the-hill wannabe CEO, actually over several hills. He didn’t have the leadership skills for the job, the reason he’d been passed over so often. It didn’t help his cause that he cut a ridiculous figure. No matter, he’d compete hard and doubtless saw her as a rival. Jeanne tightened her grip around her cup. “At the rate we’re growing, Parker, we may, at some point, need a CEO with a different skill set, but I don’t think we’re there yet.”