Blueprints

by Barbara Delinsky

  “You never asked.”

  “Like you never asked if I was Tad’s guardian?” she goaded. Yes, she wanted a fight. She wanted some show of passion from Brad. Calm and soothing were just fine until life demanded more.

  She didn’t get more from him, though, not at first. It occurred to her that his passivity was a form of punishment. He certainly wasn’t making things easier for her. And that infuriated her all the more.

  “Say something, Brad.”

  “What do you want me to say?” he finally charged. “I’m human. All I wanted was to have a little control over my life.”

  Confused, she shook her head. “Control? Have you been forced into something at MacAfee Homes that you don’t want? Has being engaged to the granddaughter of the president of the company deprived you of freedom? Is the idea of one day heading a company so bad that—” She cut herself off. “Gah. This is going nowhere. There’s no point in fighting.” She held out a rigid hand. “Take the ring, Brad. We aren’t a good match.”

  That quickly it was done. He took the ring, closed his hand, and without another word walked out the door.

  Angry at Brad, shocked at herself, sad and relieved and worried—she just stood there in the front hall for a time. Eventually, she went upstairs, but she spent the night alternately hot and cold in a tangle of sheets, her mind too agitated to rest. Oh, she had done the right thing. She knew that in her heart. But for the right reasons? The ones having to do with Tad certainly were. But those to do with Chip? The idea that, even only in part, she had broken up with one man to be with another was so uncharacteristic that she felt like a stranger to herself.

  * * *

  By the time the sun filtered through the shutters and Tad shouted for her, she was dressed and waiting. For a long moment, she simply held him, a silent little monkey with his arms and legs wrapped around her. He had done the same thing the last two mornings, as though he knew something primal had changed in his life, didn’t understand what, but needed grounding from Jamie. Much as she loved that, she needed grounding, too.

  Setting him down, she grabbed the phone to text Caroline. Before she could, Caroline texted her.

  It’s time we talk.

  Yes. Now. Her thumbs shook as she typed. Can we come over?

  Of course. I’ll make pancakes. Does Tad need milk?

  Just water. Give us half an hour. She felt such relief, she could fly there.

  I’ll be waiting.

  * * *

  Eminently satisfied, Caroline pocketed the phone and stayed on the porch a bit longer enjoying her tea. When she returned to the kitchen, she sifted through a small index box for the dog-eared card her mother had passed down from her mother, who had printed the family pancake recipe in ancient blue ink. The recipe wasn’t unique. Caroline figured an online search would turn up dozens like it. But knowing that her grandmother had created this card, that her mother had used it when Caroline was young, that Caroline had used it when Jamie was young and would use it now for Jamie’s child—Jamie’s child—made it worth the sentimental moments she spent thumbing through other cards in the box.

  It wasn’t until she had mixing bowl, skillet, and eggs on the counter that she remembered Dean, which meant that she was either totally brazen, entirely comfortable with him, or in full denial.

  She raced up the stairs. “Dean! Dean!” He was sprawled facedown on her bed, dead to the world. Knowing that he was naked under the sheet—knowing exactly what his nakedness felt like against her and struck by the newness of it—she felt warmth suffuse her body into a blush. She shook one bare shoulder. “You have to get up, Dean. Now, right now. Jamie’s on her way.” When he opened an eye, seeming confused, she leaned in and said, “You have to leave.”

  He finally focused and frowned. “Why?” His voice was morning rusty.

  “She’s coming for breakfast.”

  “Can’t I come, too?”

  “No, you cannot. She’s bringing Tad. Please. She and I have enough to talk about without this.” She tugged at his arm. “You have to go now. There’s no way the Harley would be in my driveway so early if you hadn’t spent the night.”

  “Sure there is,” he said with a lazy stretch. “Work starts early. I coulda come over.”

  “If you were going to work, you’d have come in the truck.”

  “You and I know that. She doesn’t.”

  “Please don’t argue with me right now,” Caroline pleaded. “I don’t want her finding you here.”

  “Are you ashamed of me?”

  She barked out a laugh. “That’s a joke. I’d parade you around, if it wouldn’t be like rubbing her nose in my fun when she’s been going through such a tough time.” When she started to rise, he caught her hand.

  “You had fun?”

  “You know I did,” she chided and, tugging free, made for the door. “But I can’t have you here right now, please trust me on this. Weren’t you the one who wanted me to talk with Jamie?”

  “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Nothing for you, pancakes for Tad and her. My pancakes are beyond belief. I’ll give you a rain check if you leave now.” She gestured emphatically. “Up. Please?”

  Having run out of words, she hurried down the stairs. She heard the thud of bare feet overhead as she cracked eggs, heard the shower as she whisked in flour, baking power, sugar, and salt. She melted butter in the skillet and cooked a first batch, then cooked a second with one eye on the clock—five minutes, four minutes, three minutes until Jamie was due.

  “Dean!” she yelled seconds before she heard his boots. At the foot of the stairs, she raised her mouth for the quick kiss he sought. How natural it seemed, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that, either.

  “You owe me,” he grumbled.

  “I know.” She pushed him to the door. “Go.” She would have squirreled him out the back if there had been any other escape route for the Harley but the street. Holding her breath while he helmeted up, climbed on, and backed out—cringing as the raucous sound pierced the still of the morning—she breathed again only when the bike turned the curve at the end of the street and was gone. With a little prayer that he wouldn’t pass Jamie, she hurried back to the kitchen.

  * * *

  Jamie was preoccupied. Along with a muddle of questions, doubts, and fear came excitement. She loved that Caroline wanted her there enough to make Great-Granny’s panacea pancakes, that she wanted Tad to have them, too, and that, on some starter level at least, she had forgiven Jamie.

  Right there, she had three things to be grateful for. But what she was suddenly thinking about as she backed out of the garage was the shiny red convertible in the spare bay, disappearing inch by inch as the garage door lowered. She loved that car. She hadn’t planned to buy it, had actually gone shopping for a sleek two-door sedan, but one look at the convertible and something had clicked. It was flashier than any car she had ever owned, not the safest vehicle but spirited. What did that say about her—that she had a hidden wild streak, a repressed need to break out, a craving for risk?

  Did she seriously know this person?

  Roy would not have. He would have freaked over what his daughter was doing—and the risk she was taking with his son? Selfish. Shortsighted. The words echoed from their very-last-ever-on-earth talk.

  But she couldn’t turn back. Could. Not. Which was why she was racing across town at six thirty in the morning, while the rest of Williston was waking slowly, sipping coffee, lingering in the shower. Other than work vehicles and a lone motorcycle, her SUV had the road to itself, which meant she would get there faster. Indeed, the familiarity of turning onto Caroline’s street was a lifeline. Once she parked in front of the mint-over-teal Victorian, she put Tad on her hip and hurried up the walk. The squeak of the screen was actually reassuring. And the smell of time when she stepped inside? Heaven.

  “Mom?”

  Caroline ran barefoot from the kitchen, stopped short, and put a hand to her heart. “Mother and child,” sh
e breathed and slowly approached. Her hair was a wavy mess, and her face blushed in a way that made her look forty, but her eyes, moist now, held adoration. Wrapping a firm arm around Jamie, she said by her ear, “We will not mention the show. It has no place in this house with us right now, okay?”

  Jamie hadn’t even thought about the show, and certainly couldn’t think of it with Caroline’s soft, woodsy scent soothing her nerves and giving her strength. “Mom,” she began, drawing back, but Caroline was studying Tad.

  “Oh my. A real little boy. Hey,” she said softly and touched his hair. Jamie felt the warmth of the touch, but Tad just stared without blinking. “I think I know you. Aren’t you Theodore MacAfee the Second?”

  Those very big eyes were somber as he shook his head.

  “Who, then?”

  “Taddy,” came the baby voice.

  “The Taddy who likes cats?” Caroline asked, to which he started looking around the floor, “or the Taddy who likes pancakes?”

  “Pancakes, please,” Jamie inserted. “I promised him we’d eat here. Mom—” She broke off when Master meowed. Setting Tad on the floor, she waited only until he had run after the cat before turning back to her mother and holding out her left hand.

  Caroline frowned. “You’re shaking.” She had steadied the hand with her own before she finally focused on that bare ring finger. Wide eyes flew to Jamie’s.

  In that instant, with this first oh-so-important disclosure, it was real. Jamie could barely breathe. “I returned it. Brad and I split.”

  “What happened?” Caroline whispered, but quickly caught herself. Cupping Jamie’s face, she said, “First things first. I don’t have a booster seat for Tad.”

  “He’ll kneel on a chair. He looks like Dad. Do you hate him for that?”

  Tad was on his haunches on the other side of the room, waiting for Master to come out from under the spindle legs of a lamp stand.

  “I should,” Caroline confessed, “but how to hate a child? He may have Roy’s coloring, but he’ll take on your expressions, and soon enough he’ll look like himself. Besides,” she gave a gritty smirk, “it’s not like your father gets the last laugh. If he thought I was a withered-up old hag—”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Yes, he did. Isn’t that what booting me off Gut It! was about?”

  “You said we weren’t talking about that,” Jamie begged, knowing that despite this nascent reconciliation, Gut It! remained a huge issue. Not talking about it wouldn’t make it go away, but she didn’t want the intrusion of it now.

  Caroline seemed to agree. She spoke more calmly. “Your father’s opinion of me went way back to our marriage, so this, today, here, now, is satisfying for me. How happy do you think he is looking down from heaven to see his son at my house, chasing my cat and about to eat my grandmother’s pancakes, cooked by me in my kitchen and served on a table I made?”

  The part of Jamie that resented Roy for what he had made Caroline suffer shared her mother’s satisfaction. She might have said that, if Caroline hadn’t gone from bold to unsure in a breath. “I’m not equipped yet, baby. Does Tad need a bottle for his water?”

  “No. He’s done with bottles. Just a little water in a cup will do, since I forgot the sippy.” In her rush to get out of the house, she had also left Moose, which meant she would have to go back for him before dropping Tad off, which meant she would be late for her first appointment, which she couldn’t reschedule because she had back-to-backs all day, which meant she would have to postpone to another day, which wasn’t good.

  But she didn’t care. Just didn’t care. Right now, this was where she needed to be.

  Her mother looked amazing—colorful, energetic, somehow soft, even when she was fired up about Roy. Not that Jamie minded the last. The anti-Roy sentiment was an ally. He would so disapprove of what she was doing.

  Caroline took her hand and touched her ring finger much as Chip had done. The effect was totally different but no less potent. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “Who initiated it?”

  “Me,” she said, and that easily, the story unfolded. “I asked him over. He started to say he was working, but I cut him off and told him he had to come. I’ve tried to be understanding, Mom. I knew he felt wounded and left out, but finally, finally, we had to talk.”

  “About Tad?” Caroline whispered.

  Jamie kept her voice low so that the child wouldn’t hear. “Well, he was the catalyst. Brad can’t deal with a child—doesn’t want to deal with a child—doesn’t want to deal with someone else’s child. But Tad’s mine now. This is nonnegotiable.” Thinking back to the scene last night in her front hall, she was angry all over again. “Brad wants a neat little life that goes according to plan. Well, so did I, only that’s not what I got.”

  Caroline touched her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know you like plans.”

  “But there’s more, more that I didn’t tell Brad,” Jamie said, thinking of Chip, only Tad had returned and was looking expectantly at Caroline.

  “Pancakes?” she asked him with an inviting nod, then said to Jamie, “Hold that thought,” and returned to the kitchen.

  Scooping the child up, Jamie followed. Once there, she set him down and opened a low cabinet. She shifted pots around until she found the one she wanted, grabbed a wooded spoon from a clay jar that held similar ancients, and showed Tad the art of drumming. “Mamie loved doing this when she was your age. See these dents? I made those.” She demonstrated, handed him the spoon, and straightened. His banging was effective cover for more serious talk. “Am I a selfish person, Mom?”

  Caroline was rinsing strawberries and raspberries in a colander. “For what?”

  “Dumping Brad. This is a critical time for the company. Think of the meetings we’ve had this week. The Barths are creeping in, and we’re short-handed without Dad. Brad would have grown beyond legal and moved up in time, but if he and I aren’t married, there’s no way he’ll be CEO. Theo wouldn’t want nonfamily in that position.”

  “Theo may not have a choice. We’re running low on MacAfees.” Caroline turned off the faucet and shook the colander. “Will Brad stay on now? More important, do you want him to?”

  Jamie didn’t know how she felt. This was all raw, and then there was the issue of Chip and what would come of that, and if something did, how comfortable Brad would feel having to see it all the time, which came back to the MacAfee Homes dilemma and whether Jamie had acted without considering the larger picture. “Do you think Brad has what it takes to be CEO?”

  Caroline tipped the fruit into a bowl. “I don’t know. I haven’t worked with him enough.”

  “Then as husband material—did you like him for me? And don’t say that if I was happy, that was enough. I need your honest opinion. You liked it when I got engaged, but were you thrilled?” She shook her own head in reply. “Why not?”

  Easing her aside, Caroline took a jug of maple syrup from the fridge. Then she sorted through K-Cups, picking a coffee for Jamie and a tea for herself. Placing a mug on the Keurig, she made the coffee.

  “Mom?” Jamie prompted. The evasion should have been answer enough, but she needed the words.

  Caroline shot her a guilty glance. “Theo and Roy wanted him for you. He was preapproved, so to speak. Bitchy of me to think this, I know, but there were times when I worried that was part of his appeal.”

  Jamie hadn’t thought of that—at least, not consciously. Considering it now, she admitted, “It probably helped. But I also did like him myself.”

  “Love him?”

  “Yes. Just not”—she paused, struggling for the right word—“not wildly.”

  “He isn’t dynamic or exciting or passionate,” Caroline said in a burst, then gave a short laugh. “That’s funny. I could never put my finger on it before. He’s such a nice guy.”

  “But not dynamic or exciting or passionate.” Chip was passionate. Jamie had seen heat in his eyes and heard need in his voice. “Am I those th
ings, Mom? I mean, I broke my engagement at an unwise time, which is not the way I usually do things. Is what I did totally crazy?”

  “Not if it’s what you feel.”

  “You aren’t shocked?”

  Caroline gathered up food. “Honestly, I’m just so glad you’re here that nothing much would shock me.”

  “What about sex?”

  Her mother went still. “What about it?”

  “How important is it in a relationship, really?”

  Caroline blushed. “Uh, uh—hold that thought.” Then she fled, which was the only word Jamie could use to describe the way she ducked into the parlor with breakfast. And the look of panic on her face? She had never been shy talking about sex with Jamie before.

  Tad was still happily beating his pot—no attention deficit problem there—when Caroline returned for utensils and the fruit plates Jamie loved. Seeing the latter, Jamie teared up.

  “Oh, baby.”

  “I’m okay. Just emotional.”

  “About Brad?”

  “Actually,” she realized and took a breath, “no. When it comes to him, I feel free. This”—she made a broad gesture to include kitchen, plates, her mother, and Tad—“this makes me emotional.” Her voice broke. “It’s a dream.”

  Caroline hugged her again, even tighter this time. Then, plying her with plates and utensils, she saw to Tad herself—kneeling beside him, talking softly, carrying him to the dining room and settling him on a chair. She put a pancake on his plate and cut it up. “Syrup?” she asked Jamie.

  “Oh yeah. He loves sweets.” She dribbled syrup on her own pancake, took a bite, and closed her eyes in pleasure. The issue of Chip, sex, and her future remained, but right now she was more aware of her past. Pancakes were her past. So were Caroline’s fruit plates and the framed Victorian lace, which looked down at her now from the nearby wall as a patchwork of smiles. Swallowing a second bite, she set down her fork. “I am so not good without you, Mom. You have no idea. I’ve had decision after decision to make, and it’s probably been good that I’ve had to rely on myself, but you have answers that might have saved me hours—days—of emotional trauma. Like daycare. Dad liked having Tad at home with Jess, but I can’t be home, and the nanny I hired didn’t work out, and now that he’s in daycare, I like him there. It’s totally different from what he had before, and he’s with other children.”