Blueprints

by Barbara Delinsky

What Jamie wanted to do that Sunday morning was to race to Caroline’s. She didn’t because, for starters, Caroline hadn’t called, which meant she was still angry. Then there was the fact of Tad being Roy’s son, and Roy had been awful to Caroline for years. Finally, though, Jamie had to behave like a grown-up, and a grown-up didn’t run home at the first sign of trouble.

  Besides, she was a mommy herself now, and if she planned to be an architect at the same time, she needed to work. Her MacAfee inbox was starting to clog, and it wasn’t that her clients were insensitive. Inevitably, they expressed condolences. But they quickly got to the point, which was wanting to know whether she had made progress on their house, office, or bank.

  In nearly every case, she had not.

  So she spent much of Sunday morning meeting with sitters on Chip’s list. All three were warm and affectionate with Tad, but only one was interested in a nanny slot.

  One was all she needed. Jamie hired her.

  Wanting to thank Chip, she picked up her phone and realized she didn’t have his number. So she e-mailed. Good news. June Flores will be here tomorrow at seven. She’s lovely. I can’t thank you enough.

  Feeling victorious and more hungry than she had in days, she took Tad for lunch at McDonald’s, where she proceeded to eat every last crumb of a Quarter Pounder and fries, plus more than a few crumbs of the Happy Meal she had torn into small pieces for Tad. Then, feeling too stuffed, she drove by Roy’s for the jogging stroller. She didn’t go into the house, simply backed up to the garage and piled in the stroller and as many other outdoor toys as the back of the SUV would hold. She had a patio, she reasoned, and Brad was already disenchanted with baby gear, so would a little more hurt? No.

  She wasn’t quite as bold when it came to Tad, though. Praying that he wouldn’t notice where they were, she left him in his car seat, playing with his Happy Meal bendy dog. She was barely back in the car when he asked for his mother.

  Her insides twisted. Buckling her seat belt, she said an apologetic, “Oh, sweetie, Mommy’s not here.”

  “Daddy?”

  She put the car in gear. “He’s not here either.” Her voice was higher now, filled with tentativeness, because how did one discuss such a cruel truth with a child? She had wondered it before, but the question plagued her. Blogs offered a dozen different answers. Which to use? Caroline would know, but she was temporarily off-limits. Next best bet would be a pediatrician or even a grief therapist. Now that she had a nanny, she could consult one, but what was she supposed to tell Tad at this very moment?

  “Woof?” came his little voice, sounding curious but not tragic, and she was saved.

  “Woof? Oh my goodness.” She couched her relief in exaggerated excitement as she started down the road. “That little dog on the wall?” It was a painting in Tad’s bedroom. He used to wave at it when he walked by, but it hadn’t occurred to Jamie to take it along. “Good thought, Taddy. We’ll have to get him another day, because right now we are going for a nice, healthy run and then,” with drama, “to a puppet show.” The show was held every Sunday on a green several towns over. Jess had never taken him, which was partly the point. It would be a new memory with minimal connection to things Jamie couldn’t discuss, like death.

  * * *

  I’m glad June signed on, Chip e-mailed that evening. She’s motherly and mobile. Give her a car seat and she’ll take Tad to kids’ programs in the area. Are you nervous about leaving him?

  Oh yeah, he did get it. VERY, she wrote back in caps. It’s easy to leave him with a sitter for a few hours when he’s sleeping, but leaving him for the whole day, mostly awake, is something else. But I don’t have a choice. I have to work. BTW, what pediatrician do you use?

  Jake Babineau. He’s with Williston Medical Associates, in the center of town. He went into private practice after a stint at Children’s, so his qualifications are good. I like his way with Buddy. And he’s good with me, too. He’s alarmist enough to take my alarms seriously, but not so alarmist that he makes me alarmed. Does that make sense?

  Absolutely, she typed with a smile of relief. And I appreciate the vote of confidence, since he’s the one Jessica used. Tad saw him right after he turned two, so he’s not due again for a while, but I need some advice. He’s asking for his parents more, and I don’t know what to say. Does Buddy ask for his mother? Jamie still didn’t know the details of that. Several of the local articles, like the one announcing Chip’s teaching appointment, mentioned his son, but only in passing.

  He didn’t used to. When he was little he didn’t know that having a single parent was any different from having two. He’s started asking now because some of his daycare friends talk about their moms. I tell him his mom loved him but can’t be here. He seems satisfied with that for now. Each time he asks, I get nervous and think this is it, I need a better answer, but his mind moves on to something else pretty quick. Babineau says when he’s ready to handle more, he’ll ask more. He tells me not to push the issue.

  Hadn’t Tad’s mind moved on to something else back at the house? Normal, then. She felt less guilty for having happily evaded the truth.

  Does Buddy ever see her? Jamie wrote.

  They had been e-mailing back and forth so steadily that she guessed he had to be sitting with his laptop the way she was—okay, maybe not curled up in a corner of the sofa … maybe, actually, in bed wearing nothing. That was a frivolous thought. The relief at being able to talk so freely with him was making her giddy.

  He was slower to reply this time. Fearing she had overstepped and thinking that she could not afford to alienate a friend who was an amazing resource, she was about to apologize when his answer arrived.

  No. She basically gave birth and handed the baby to me. She didn’t want any part of either one of us. It’s pretty sad when you think of Buddy, but once I embraced (haha) the terror of being a father, I was fine with it. She and I were together one night. Neither of us wanted more. We came from different places and were heading different places. She told me she was protected, so I thought it was over and that I’d never see her again. Turns out she didn’t believe in birth control any more than abortion.

  Would you have wanted her to abort? Jamie wrote back and instantly wished she hadn’t. She feared she had overstepped here, too.

  But this was what friends did, wasn’t it? Okay, she had no close girlfriends to judge by, and Chip was male, but did that matter? If he didn’t like the question, he could just not answer.

  He did, albeit taking a little longer again. I want to say no. But at the time, I wasn’t sure I could take care of myself, much less a child. I had just finished college—slightly late, but I finally did finish—and I didn’t know if I’d be any good as a phys ed teacher. I had to do a practicum to get my degree, but the school arranged that. I didn’t know if I’d get a job on my own. Some of my past was, well, out of control. I think the only reason Williston gave me a chance was because I grew up here.

  Jamie figured that might have been part of it, but his e-mails were intelligent, his manner at the playground smooth. He had been something of a local hero before losing focus in the pros. He had charisma; she felt it herself.

  That said, he was clearly haunted by his past. Do you worry she’ll show up someday?

  If she does, I’ll just have to deal. At some point, Buddy may want to know her, and I’ll have to let him. You’re lucky that way. You may have inherited Tad with no prep time, but at least he’ll grow up with a mom and a dad. I hear your fiancé is a nice guy.

  Without conscious thought, she let her fingers fly. Poor guy is pretty upset with me right now. I haven’t had time to plan the wedding or draw plans for a house for us, which is especially critical now that I have Tad, who has taken over my office, meaning that I have no place to work, which is especially crucial since I won’t be able to work the kind of long hours at the office that I used to or even be able to travel—I’ve barely thought about that. Sorry. Just broke out in a cold sweat. Must be a panic attack. She se
nt it off before she could think twice.

  His reply came quickly. Want to talk? What’s your number?

  She sent it. Her phone rang seconds later. Caller ID didn’t identify him, but the timing would have been too coincidental for it to be anyone else. So she picked right up and said an embarrassed “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

  His voice was kind. “Think I didn’t lose it at the beginning? Think I still don’t?”

  “Yeah, I think that. You seem totally on top of things.”

  “At the playground, sure. Sports are what I do.”

  “Do you miss hockey?”

  “I teach it summers.”

  “I mean playing professionally.”

  “No. That became lethal for me. Do you still play tennis?”

  “I call my old pro once in a while, but then I get out on the court with him and it isn’t fun like it was. I’m totally out of shape.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “I’m so bad now there’s no way I’d ever win a match.”

  “But you’re not playing matches.”

  “Tell that to my competitive self. It thinks I need to win and gets really, really upset when I serve into the net or hit one out. ’Course, I won’t have time to do even that now that I have Tad. Tell me the parental panic gets better.”

  “It gets better.”

  “Are you just saying that because it’s what I want to hear?”

  “No. It does get better.”

  “I hope so.” She took a deep, steadying breath and glanced in surprise at the clock. They had been going back and forth for an hour, and though only the last had been voice to voice, it had calmed her. “I should let you go. But thank you. I’m totally grateful for June’s name.”

  “Any other questions, just text.”

  She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You may come to regret that.”

  “Only if you tell the other moms. I try to keep this number to myself.”

  It was a warning. She held up a hand he couldn’t see. “It’s safe with me. No friends here, remember? But actually I do have another question. Toddler bed or twin?”

  “Twin. Tad’s tall. He’ll outgrow a toddler bed in a year, and then you’re stuck buying another. I suppose you can afford that.”

  “Maybe in terms of money, but not time. Twin it is. Thanks, Chip.”

  “Charlie,” he corrected.

  “I really like Chip.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay. Charlie.” She had to give him this, since he’d given her so much. “Thank you. Have a good Monday.”

  * * *

  As the new week approached, Caroline was frustrated on three counts.

  The first involved Jamie, who hadn’t returned with Tad. No, Caroline hadn’t called to invite them, but, having agonized over pros and cons until she was a tangle of nerves, she believed that Jamie had to be the one to reach out. Since she was the one laying the groundwork for a core family of her own, she needed to show Caroline her place in it. The idea that showing involved not calling or coming over sent Caroline into a tailspin.

  The second involved Theo, who called often enough that Caroline was becoming unsure of her role. He seemed to want her in on discussions that went well beyond holding his hand. He was asking her opinion, as if she were in management, and, bottom line there, she didn’t know what she was doing.

  The third involved Dean, Gut It!, and work that perhaps, just perhaps, she shouldn’t be doing. Over the years, she had made a practice of spending time with the homeowners well in advance of a taping, her belief being that for an unscripted show to flow, the major players had to be fully comfortable with each other. She had set a date with the Millers weeks before and might have canceled if Dean hadn’t offered to go with her. They agreed not to mention a host change. But if the change went forward and Caroline’s on-screen time was reduced, Dean would be able to fill in. Well beyond that rationalization, though, his presence was a comfort. Seeming to understand that she was feeling fragile, he kept his hands to himself when they were with the Millers and limited himself to a brief touch now and again when they were not. For the Caroline who was starting to look at his hands as sensual tools, starting to realize that he smelled like a river banked with pines, starting to wonder, still and again, whether he had lost interest, and if not when he would make his move, it was frustrating as hell.

  So by the time Monday morning arrived, she was looking forward to doing her own work in her own garage with her own tools.

  But the day started badly. When she went to the MacAfee shop to pick up the dowels that had finally arrived, she found herself disconcertingly aware of the men. Five were there. She had worked with each at one time or another. They were physical guys in a physical trade, which meant that on a virility scale of one to ten, all were seven or above.

  Irrelevant, she told herself, but that didn’t stop her from noticing things she didn’t usually notice, like shoulders and chests. She even darted covert glances at a fly or two while she reviewed a stack of invoices relating to her work.

  It was unsettling. Maddening, actually. She wasn’t about to jump any of them, but after spending a lifetime of blending in with the guys, what she saw now made her feel very different from them.

  Angry that Dean had awakened her to this, she grabbed her dowels, strode back to the truck, and was heading home to the sanctity of her garage, where she could work with no one to ogle, when Theo called.

  “Can you come to the office?” he asked. He didn’t sound imperious—Roy’s death had scraped away that rough outer layer—but he remained firm.

  Caroline released a disappointed breath. “Now?”

  “Please. We have a Barth problem.”

  Oh dear. “Another one?” The first was the all-too-visible Dutch Colonial on the corner of South Main and Grove.

  “Actually, a second and third.”

  “Where?”

  “One is a small frame near the town line. They can do what they want with that one, but the other is the Italianate in the center of town.”

  A large house with a belvedere tower and arched windows, the Italianate was in as prominent a spot as the Dutch Colonial. “The Ellwells’ house? Why did we not know it was on the market?”

  “That’s what we have to discuss,” came the rasping reply, and she agreed. Totally aside from whether she should be in on those discussions, her competitive edge went on alert.

  Pulling into the first driveway she came to, she turned around and headed back into town. She arrived at Theo’s office to find Brad and Dean already there. Dean shot her a quick look to say that he was as puzzled by his presence as she was.

  “Where’s Jamie?” Theo asked Brad.

  “She’s not in yet. She had a new nanny coming. I’m sure she wanted to get Tad settled before she left. Her assistant knows to send her up as soon as she arrives.”

  Theo grunted. He looked from face to face. “I don’t know what happened. We should have known about those other two houses.”

  “Roy would have picked up on them,” Caroline said gently. “That’s why we need to hire someone to fill his spot.”

  “No. This goes beyond marketing. It’s about being part of Williston.” He glowered at Dean. “That’s why you’re here.”

  “I was wondering,” Dean rolled it right back. “I’m not family.”

  “But you know Williston as well as anyone here,” Theo argued gruffly. “Have you not heard the rumors about Barth projects—framers defecting, plasterers stolen?”

  “From us? Nope. Our guys are loyal. I’d guess the Barths are smart enough to use their own people. They start poaching our guys and they’ll be in trouble.”

  “You can make that happen?”

  “Oh yeah. Anyone who defects can kiss good-bye any hope of ever working with us again. Besides, the lumberyard knows me. One word, and Barths’ll find their stuff on backorder. I’m guessing they’ll use their own resources there, too, but I can sp
read the word. Once our guys know to look, they’ll report back anything fishy.”

  Theo grinned. “And that, my man, is why you’re here. You’re the central clearinghouse when it comes to local subs.”

  Caroline chuckled, thinking the term was apt.

  Dean tossed a chin her way and asked Theo, “What’s she?”

  “She’s family.”

  “So is Dana,” Caroline said, referring to MacAfee’s in-house Realtor, “but she isn’t here.”

  “She doesn’t deserve to be,” Theo groused. “She does fine when clients come to us, but she knows nothing about reaching out, and she doesn’t know Williston. She doesn’t live here. She doesn’t even like the town. Send her over to Fiona’s to schmooze and she sits alone in a booth eying her salad like it’s crawling with bugs. She does more harm than good.”

  Caroline might have disagreed out of family loyalty; Dana MacAfee Langham was the daughter of Theo’s long-dead brother. But Theo was right. Dana was off-putting. “Have the Barths affiliated with a Realtor here?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “We’d better find out,” Caroline reasoned. “It’s all well and good for Dean to sabotage the Barths while they’re trying to build, but it’d be better if they had nothing to build in the first place. There are a couple of terrific Realtors in town who have an ear to the ground.”

  “If that’s so, why didn’t we know about the Italianate?”

  “Because those Realtors aren’t beholden to us. One of the best is a friend of mine.” From the nail shop, but Theo didn’t need to know that. “Would you consider putting a nonfamily Realtor on the payroll?”

  Before he could answer, Jamie rushed in. Closing the door behind her, she slipped into the only free seat. “Sorry,” she told Theo. “I just got the message. What’s up?”

  * * *

  Jamie tried to focus while Brad filled her in, and again when Theo argued the pros and cons of Family Builds, but her pulse was racing from the dash to work and refused to settle down. The morning had been a nightmare from the get-go. Tad threw a tantrum when she put him in his SpongeBob T-shirt instead of the Handy Manny one he had worn the day before. “Hannymanny want Hannymanny,” he kept crying, but Handy Manny was in the hamper with chocolate pudding streaks on the front. She pulled off SpongeBob, pulled on Bob the Builder, pulled off Bob the Builder, pulled on Diego. “Not dis not dis,” he yelled until he saw Jake and the Never Land Pirates, but then he wanted her to read him the board book while she was trying to shower and dress. “June will read any book you want,” she promised him through the mirror as she tried to cover her freckles, a hopeless task what with sweat from nerves. Tad either picked up on her nerves or wanted his mommy and not a nanny, because he took one look at the woman who walked in the door and, in a burst of tears, clung fiercely to Jamie, which meant that when she finally pried him off, she had to change her skirt—because she had tripped carrying his cereal bowl to the sink and forgotten to clean up the puddle, which Tad must have played in while she showered.