Close Match

by Jerald, Tracey

  “He wants me to come to visit,” I blurt out. Her eyes widen.

  “For how long?”

  “For as long as I’m comfortable with.”

  “Whoa. What are you going to do?”

  I begin pacing the hotel suite; now I know how Ev could afford two of them. “There’s the side of me that wants to get to know him and his family. But then there’s the side of me that wants to be with you and with Simon.”

  She’s quiet—so quiet I think I’ve lost her. I begin pressing buttons on the phone until she snaps, “Will you stop flipping the camera around? I’m beginning to get dizzy.”

  “You were so quiet I thought I’d lost you.”

  “You’re worse than some of the people I work with,” she complains. I smile because Bristol has some great stories about the computer-illiterate people who work at her brokerage firm. “Listen, you already told me you’d be here for all of the major moments with the baby, so what’s holding you back?”

  An image of Monty flashes through my brain. Thoughts of Ev’s dark-haired stepson send warning signs screaming in my head and my heart. But he doesn’t factor in. Not when it comes to this. “Nothing. I’m not scheduled for anything.”

  “And you can always come home.”

  “True,” I concede. Ending my call with Bristol shortly after that, I know what I’m going to do. It just feels crazy to put it into words.

  “I’m thrilled you’re going to be able to come down for an extended stay,” my father says softly. We’re out to lunch before the car service takes me back to the Dulles VIP terminal. If it weren’t for the cobblestone streets of Old Town, I’d swear I was back in New York City with the amount of swearing that comes from people’s mouths when you make an accidental wrong turn. Sheesh.

  “It wasn’t that difficult to get the time off.” That’s not an exaggeration of the truth. It isn’t like I have a nine-to-five job. Everything Bristol said made sense. I want—no, need—to get to know my father better.

  “Still, it means a lot. If your job is going to cause any problems for you financially, well.” He looks embarrassed for a moment before he mutters, “You know you just have to ask.”

  A flash of anger whips through me that he thinks I’d be sitting here right now for money when I can almost hear my mother whispering in my head, Take a deep breath, darling. “Ev, I have no need for your money. I don’t want your money. That’s not why I’m here,” I remind him firmly.

  Green eyes—the same shade as my own—look at me with amusement. “And that, I know without a doubt, you got from your mother. In the very short time we were together, she wouldn’t let me pay for a thing.”

  Placing the menu aside, I lean forward. “Really?”

  His smile holds fondness. “Oh yeah. Elle was all about sharing the bill. She continuously paid her way. I called her a stubborn Irishwoman more than once in the few weeks we spent together.”

  Laughing, I pick up my water. “She was that,” I murmur.

  “You said she was in the same business you are? I know you said last night she was a recovering alcoholic, but did stress contribute to her illness? Should you get checked out?” His evident concern about my well-being causes warmth to steal through me. I’m saved from having to answer when our waiter comes up. We both place our orders, and I realize I can’t do it anymore.

  I can’t hide who I am.

  After the waiter departs, I angle my body toward his. “Part of the reason I went through the DNA testing portion of the genealogy kit was to see if there were any underlying medical issues. I’m covered through an excellent plan I pay out of pocket for.” I’m not shocked by his gasp of outrage. He believes I work for a communications firm. “Please, let me finish?” He nods. “But my medical history was under the presumption that Bristol’s father’s family lineage was my background. I can more than afford to have the right medical care, but I needed information first. And if something came up, until I could find that data—” I grimace. “—well, I could deal with my doctor. Ev, what Mom and I did, what I do, for a living is extremely physical.”

  His eyes narrow in contemplation. “Dealing with clients, running events…” His voice trails off as I shake my head back and forth.

  “No.” I take a deep breath and let it out. Just as I’m about to tell him, the waiter arrives with our appetizer. Tipping my head back, I smile brilliantly. “Thank you.”

  The waiter stumbles backward. “Umm, you’re welcome?”

  The food sits between us untouched. “Linnie, what do you actually do for a living?” Ev asks me quietly.

  Reaching into my bag, I pull out my cell. Pulling up my Wikipedia page, I take a deep breath. I turn my phone around to slide it across the table. He tags it and starts to read. A choked gurgle escapes.

  “I haven’t been entirely truthful about what I do either. I think,” I whisper, as his eyes shoot up to meet mine, “you might understand why.”

  His fingers slowly scroll the article. A lance of pain crosses his face when he murmurs, “Brielle, not Elle.”

  “Everett, not Rhett,” I reply back. His head snaps up; chastisement and pain chase across his face. “You couldn’t have found her, nor she you. Not back in those days.”

  “It would have been almost impossible,” he acknowledges. I relax slightly. “But if I’d known about you, I damn sure would have tried.”

  The prick of tears in the back of my eyes burn.

  He twists his arm under mine. Clasping my forearm, he grips tightly. “Linnie.” We sit in silence for a few moments until the waiter comes back to ask if there’s a problem with our food.

  Grinning at each other, we pull apart and begin to dive in.

  * * *

  We’re in the middle of our main course when Ev asks, “What do you need for an extended stay?”

  I chew the bite of my sandwich before answering him thoughtfully. “I have to look into renting some studio space of some sort. I can’t let myself get out of shape.”

  Ev snickers. “Because I can see you’re out of shape now. What did you say you ran? Five miles yesterday on top of all the walking we did?”

  “I’ve not been eating like normal,” I protest.

  “So, what you’re saying is we can’t make this kind of meal a regular occurrence.”

  I look at the plate of goodness in front of me. “Sadly, but no. This isn’t what I normally consume when I’m working, though I do give myself some leeway when I’m not on the stage. I normally weight five pounds less?” I estimate.

  He frowns. “That’s too tiny.”

  “Now I know how Mom and Char fell for you.” His eyebrows raise. “Charm.”

  His laughter booms out.

  “I’m considered both tall and large for a dancer,” I tell him. Now that I can talk openly, it’s such a relief. “When I did a stint in the New York City Ballet…”

  Ev holds up the hand not filled with his sandwich. “I didn’t get that far reading. You were in the ballet?”

  I grin. “Yep. I towered over the other dancers in the corps when I was en pointe.”

  “So, what kind of dance can you do?”

  “Probably the better question is what can’t I do.” Leaning back against the red leather booth, I begin to rattle off a list. After a few minutes, I add, “I have to keep my skills sharp. There’s always someone younger, prettier, more talented who wants the same roles I do.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “It’s true.”

  We each take a bite of our food before Ev says oddly, “You were a gift.”

  “Excuse me?” I don’t know how I’m supposed to take this. No one’s ever said anything like this to me before.

  “From Monty to me and Charlotte. We saw you and…wow. I just realized Elle was on stage too.” He looks dumbfounded. “It was our anniversary. Char wanted to see Miss Me. Monty spent a fortune on them.”

  “They’re less expensive now,” I offer, slightly embarrassed.

  My father rolls his eyes
. “Of course they are. You’re not starring in it. But what I’m trying to say is, yes, Char hogged the binoculars, but I did get to look through them. How did I not recognize…?”

  My heart breaks for him. My father is analytical and is trying to figure out how even if he didn’t recognize me, how he didn’t know my mother. I pick up the phone I never put away and unlock it. Pulling up the phone app, I scroll quickly to a picture of my mother and I hugging each other’s arms from opening night. Simon has his arms wrapped around both of us. We’re all beaming because Bristol took the picture. My smile is bittersweet, and my eyes fill with tears as I trace my mother’s face. “Would you have recognized us?” Mom and I are in heavy stage makeup, and both of us have wigs on. I hand my phone back to my father.

  Putting what’s left of his sandwich down, he takes my phone after wiping his hands. For a few minutes, he stares at the photo, two weeks’ worth of memories living and dying in his eyes. If I learn nothing else in the next few months, I know this: my father did have feelings for my mother during their affair. It was wrong from my mother’s standpoint. It ended up hurting people. But for the person who was created from it, it’s small comfort.

  His voice interrupts my thoughts. “Since you showed me the article earlier, that’s exactly what I remember from when Char would let me have the binoculars. Do you have a picture of the two of you without all of…this?”

  My throat tight, I reach over and pluck the phone from his hand. Within seconds, there’s a selfie of Mom and me at my condo laughing. You can see her beautiful hair, lightly made-up face, and unforgettable smile. Without a word, I hand it back to him. With just a table separating us, I can see his eyes flare. “I…I take it you would have recognized her?”

  The answer’s already evident by the moisture in Ev’s eyes. He gives her picture another long look before he hands my phone back to me. “Will you excuse me for just a moment?”

  “Certainly.”

  My father stands and walks around the perimeter of the restaurant. I put away my phone, my lunch forgotten. Opening myself up to Ev has opened all of my wounds from the last few months.

  My head is in my hands, so I don’t realize he’s back until I hear him ask, “You mentioned a studio space. What size do you need?”

  Grabbing hold of the reprieve with both hands, I explain the reason for the large amount of space I dance in. “I have to be able to do multiple spins and jumps without injury. I plan on having someone send me workouts while I’m away.”

  Ev shakes his head, trying to absorb everything I’ve just told him. “How many hours a week does that entail?”

  “When I’m in a performance? I do only one day of full classes. When I’m not—like now? I’d normally go in three or four days a week to keep at peak level. On off days I run about five miles for endurance.” At my father’s shocked look, I try to explain, “I have to be ready for the next role. It could come up at any time.”

  “Do you have another role in mind?”

  I shake my head. “No. There’s not even a project that interests me at the moment.” And I frown a bit at that. The offers Sepi keeps bringing up are singularly uninteresting. I wonder briefly if she’s trying to ease my way back onstage.

  His face reflects his shock. “My agent’s sent me several things, but nothing’s piqued my interest. This…it’s more important for me to get to know you, to figure out who I am and who I come from.” And since I have no idea who I am without the spotlight, it is going to be an interesting journey.

  Tentatively, his hand reaches across the table and squeezes mine. “If I haven’t said it enough, thank you for agreeing to come down.”

  “I hope it will be worth it.”

  His hand clenches harder. “I already know it is.”

  Twenty-Six

  Montague

  I’m leaning against the paddock fence when I hear Ev’s SUV drive up.

  She’s here.

  Unfortunately for Lynn Brogan, I’m not in the best of moods after having had the kind of nightmare that sends me straight to the bourbon bottle in my suite of rooms. In the light of day, I can reason with myself it was a crazy mash-up of my last case as an NCIS agent combined with my worry for Ev that placed Ev in the center of the room pulling the trigger of the gun on himself instead of that last victim I was trying to help save. But instead of being one of our team in the immediate circle who was splattered with the victim’s brain matter like it was the actual night it occurred, I was one of the ones who thundered up the stairs seconds too late, looking accusatorially at those in that tight circle. The circle compromised instead of Mom, my former partner Shaun, and another agent.

  And the agent closest—like I was that day—when she turned to face me was Linnie. But her lips were painted a deep glossy red, her head tilted as if she was trying to ask me something.

  I woke up sweating, cursing, and turned on. If I thought I wanted to punch a hole in the wall of my room before, it was nothing like what I wanted to do last night.

  Yanking my Nationals cap off my head, I flip it around backward and twist it so it settles correctly on my head. My heart rate finally settled back down to something resembling normal, and I was able to pass out sometime before my alarm went off. Rolling to the side of the bed, I mentally prepared myself to face the day. Then I remembered what day it was. Even coffee, bacon, and my mother’s blueberry rolls couldn’t brighten my morning. I decided I’d be better off mucking out some stalls to improve my mood while my mother and Ev went to retrieve Linnie from the airport on their own.

  My focus still on the horses, I don’t see them move when the delicate crunch of gravel alerts me to someone coming up behind me. So it’s not a surprise when my mother announces, “Did you work out whatever was causing you to be a snot this morning?”

  “I tried,” I admit.

  “I’m glad,” she says. “Because otherwise, I was going to cheerfully set you on fire with the way you stink. Jesus, Monty.” She pulls away to my uproarious laughter. “Did you roll around in the horse dung this morning.”

  Grinning, I stalk after her to give her a sweat-soaked hug. “It’s called shit, Mom.”

  “No, that’s what you smell like,” she retorts. “Stay away!” She takes off screeching with laughter.

  I stop chasing her as she makes it up to the deck. “Dinner in a few hours. Can you make yourself presentable by then?”

  “I can try,” I call back. Flapping her hand at me in the way only a mother can, she ducks inside the kitchen. But now that she’s mentioned dinner, my stomach growls when it realizes it missed lunch.

  Knowing there will be something to eat somewhere in the tack room, I head in that direction. Passing by any number of kids ranging from six to eighteen, I nod as I make my way toward the back of the barn. I open the fridge and spy a bag of apples that are marked, “For Humans.” Knowing this is my mother’s handiwork, I snag two and a bottle of water before shutting the door.

  Something’s changed about Ev in the last few weeks. There’s something he’s hiding. Panic rips through me as I wonder if he’s sick again, but then I think back to the times I’ve caught him with a small smile playing about his mouth at the oddest times. I quickly dismiss the idea of an affair because more often than not, he’s wearing that look when he’s talking to Mom.

  So that leaves one thing: Linnie. There’s something about Linnie I don’t know.

  Well, the time for not asking questions is over. She’s staying with us now—that means the gloves can come off. I promised Ev I wouldn’t investigate her. I didn’t promise I wouldn’t try to find out everything possible about her.

  And now my ability to do so just got a hell of a lot easier.

  Sinking my teeth into the crisp apple, I wander back out into the September sunshine, wondering what Mom’s going to make for dinner.

  * * *

  “This is way too much food,” Linnie protests. I can’t help but grin. I didn’t forget how tiny she is, and the amount of food Mom’s pi
led on her plate must look like someone swapped her plate with mine at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Terrified eyes meet mine across the table. I try to school my features, but I can’t. I’m snickering as she shoots me a death glare. “Char, I appreciate your warm welcome, but there is no way I can eat all of this. I’ll finish maybe a third.”

  Calmly, Mom plucks Linnie’s plate back up and slides half of it onto mine. “Hey!” I protest. I already had a small mountain of homemade enchiladas, beans, and rice on my plate.

  “Did you eat lunch?” Mom asks.

  “I ate.” It’s not a lie, though two apples for the amount of physical labor I hardly counts.

  “Shut it, Monty.”

  Shaking my head, I slide my chair back and walk over to the fully stocked bar. I begin to mix a pitcher of margaritas expertly. “Ev, I know you’re good with tea. Mom, margarita?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.”

  “Linnie?” I remember her saying she doesn’t drink, but right now, she looks like she could use one. Her eyes are enormous in her face, and she looks like a skittish colt, ready to bolt at any second.

  “No, thank you.”

  Clearing my throat from the bar, I ask, “Then what would you like to drink?”

  “Oh, water’s fine with me.” Everyone around the table laughs.

  “Linnie, you’re going to need something to wash the spice down,” I assure her. “If alcohol’s not your thing, we’ve got soda, tea, or I can make you a virgin margarita.”

  Her lips curve in a smile. “A virgin margarita sounds delicious. Thank you.”

  Grabbing a second pitcher, I quickly mix up some of the fresh lime juice we keep on hand with orange juice and simple syrup. Sticking a slice of fresh orange on top so I can be sure which pitcher is which, I bring both back to the table. “Here you go.” I place the pitcher next to her. Pouring for Mom, I reach over to pour for Linnie just as she’s about to grab ahold of the pitcher’s handle. Our fingers brush and that electricity that sparked between us in the lobby of the Hamilton shimmers again. Her lips part slightly just like they did in my dream. Only they’re not bright red but instead stained in pale pink.