by Lisa Jackson
Cissy almost laughed. Then Sara asked, “You going somewhere special?” She was looking over Cissy’s choice of dress.
“Meeting with those same attorneys over estate issues.”
“Ahh.” She looked hopeful.
“I’m not selling the house, Sara.”
“Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but never say never.” She glanced over at Jack’s Jeep, which was parked on the street in front of the house, across from the unmarked car. “Looks like Jack’s back. Is he part of the protection, or is it more than that?”
“Maybe a little of both.”
She nodded. “Well, he’s a great-looking guy, and he loves his kid.”
“We’re working things out,” Cissy said.
“So all that talk about divorce was just—talk? You never intended to go through with it.”
“I had every intention of going through with it,” Cissy responded heatedly. “But things have changed.”
“Can I ask how?”
“All this with my mother…losing my grandmother…it’s kind of put things in perspective, you know? Makes you ask yourself, What is family? What’s important?”
“But you said Jack was having an affair.”
“I was wrong.”
“Oh.” Sara’s brows lifted.
Cissy could tell she didn’t believe her. Well, fine. She didn’t have to. It wasn’t up to Cissy to convince Sara that she’d made a mistake. That just because women looked at Jack in “that way” didn’t mean he acted on their unspoken invitations. Maybe it was because Sara herself liked Jack’s company, became flirtatious and animated when he was around, that she was reacting now as if Cissy were burying her head in the sand.
“I’d better go,” Sara said, moving away from Cissy’s car. “Tell Jack I’m glad for both of you. And I hope things get resolved with your mother soon too.”
Cissy watched Sara hurry back to her house, steamed for reasons she couldn’t fully explain. She searched inside herself and realized it was because of the way Sara treated her. As if she never really mattered. Sara had a tendency to negate Cissy’s importance without even realizing it. It was as if she’d deemed Jack the prize and Cissy unworthy of his love, or even his interest. As if she expected Jack to wake up one day and recognize he’d made a mistake—that Cissy was too young, too inexperienced, too unsophisticated for the likes of Jack Holt.
And some of Cissy’s own insecurities where Jack was concerned had been triggered not only by Sara’s attitude, but by others’ attitudes as well. Larissa, for instance. She’d supposedly been Cissy’s friend, but that had all been a fantasy, she saw now. Larissa had merely put up with Cissy because she was married to Jack, but like Sara, she’d dismissed Cissy as a serious threat for his attentions. Sure, Cissy was married to him. Yes, she’d borne him a son. But Jack was out of her league: older, wiser, and too intelligent to want to seriously be with her “till death do us part.” Both women felt that it was only a matter of time until Jack was back on the market; Cissy could tell.
And she’d damned well almost followed through on their expectations!
Now she shook her head in disbelief. Had she been so affected, so unsure of her own worth, that she’d believed as they did?
Jack had told her that she was on a search for unconditional love, a product of her uncaring mother, selfish father, and remote grandmother. Maybe he wasn’t that far from the truth. Cissy had certainly let other women feed into her insecurities about his love for her.
Pulling out of her drive and heading into the city, Cissy realized that blaming Jack for cheating had almost become a self-fulfilling prophecy. She was sure he would cheat, she’d expected it based on his father’s and brother’s history, and therefore she’d pushed Jack away so hard that he damned near slept with Larissa. Then she’d compounded her error by kicking Jack out of the house and demanding a divorce!
Cissy pulled up in front of Joltz, feeling as if she were having some kind of epiphany. A parking spot had miraculously appeared, and she slid into it almost by reflex. She had some time before the appointment with the attorneys. Enough anyway to grab a coffee and take advantage of the parking spot, which was almost a must-do in San Francisco whenever one came available.
She felt slightly dazed. Both with the events of the past several weeks and her own self-realization. She wanted the police to catch her mother. She wanted to know how Marla had killed Eugenia or orchestrated her death. She wanted Cherise’s murder to be solved.
But she was glad she had Jack back. And she resolved that she would never let anything break them up again.
Never.
Diedre and Rachelle were behind the counter as Cissy walked inside. They were both busy helping customers, so Cissy got in line. Across the room Cissy saw Selma seated at one of the small tables near the window. It figured. There was no escaping her. If Cissy was anywhere near Joltz, Selma was there. Spying Cissy, Selma waved and headed her way. Cissy inwardly groaned. She wasn’t ready for Selma to take their “friendship” to the next level.
“Hi,” Cissy said, trying to infuse her voice with enthusiasm, failing miserably.
“You’re all dressed up,” Selma observed. “Where are you going?”
She managed to make the question sound cheery and perky instead of downright nosy, but it grated on Cissy’s nerves all the same. “Financial meeting with lawyers.”
“No jeans. Dead giveaway that you weren’t planning to spend the afternoon writing here.” Selma sounded proud of her powers of observation.
Cissy reached the front of the line, and Rachelle shot her a smile. “The usual?”
“Please. And a muffin. Those apple bran ones?”
“You got it.”
Cissy moved to one side to wait for her order. Selma moved with her as if they were old pals. She started telling Cissy how she’d always wanted to be a writer but was thinking of becoming a novelist rather than a newspaper and/or magazine writer. Cissy wondered if this, maybe, was what was driving Selma’s seemingly deeper interest in her. Did the woman hope she could help her in her writing ventures? Or was it something else?
Rachelle handed Cissy her latte and a plate with her muffin, and Cissy moved to an open spot at the bar surrounding the baristas, hoping Selma would take the hint and return to her own table. But Selma said, “Let me get my coffee,” then hurriedly gathered her things and settled onto the stool next to Cissy. Other patrons quickly scooped up Selma’s table, and Cissy was stuck with unwanted company. Rachelle caught her eye and looked sympathetic.
When Selma winced and rubbed above her right eye, Cissy tried to ignore her. But after the third time, she felt obliged to ask, “You okay?”
“I’ve been trying some decaf the last couple of weeks, but weaning off the caffeine gives me a headache. I guess that’s what it is. I thought caffeine was making me tense, but this is almost worse. Maybe if my problems went away, it wouldn’t matter.”
She’d opened the door for Cissy to ask her about those problems, but Cissy was already sorry she’d gotten dragged into the conversation. Faced with way more information already than she wanted about Selma, Cissy didn’t take the bait. Rachelle did, though.
“What kind of problems?” she asked, right on cue.
“The worst kind. The kind that involve men.”
Diedre looked over, her expression skeptical. “You got man problems?” she called over the blast of the espresso machine.
Cissy tore off a small piece of her muffin. It was lunchtime, but she couldn’t seem to get her appetite engaged no matter what she did.
“Sure do,” Selma said.
It felt odd to hear that Selma was involved in some kind of relationship. She hadn’t been with a guy at the funeral reception. Like Diedre, Cissy was kind of surprised. Selma had seemed single, unattached and maybe even not all that interested. With a small jolt, she realized she’d made assumptions about Selma like Sara and Larissa had made about her.
“How do you trust a guy?” Selma ask
ed suddenly, as if she really wanted to know. “Really trust him.”
Rachelle slid her a look. “The million-dollar question.”
“We all have problems,” Diedre said.
“Maybe you have to have a little faith,” Cissy suggested.
“Do you trust your husband?” Selma gazed at her curiously.
Cissy dusted her hands, finished with her muffin, leaving about a third of it on the plate. “It’s important in a marriage,” she said, sliding from her stool.
“But do you?” Selma insisted.
Diedre and Rachelle were listening hard, as if waiting for Cissy’s answer too. “Yes, I do. It’s taken a while. I mean, marriage is…hard. But we have a son, and a home. Together.”
Selma seemed to take that in. “I just want to have him with me more. A home…Wow…Wouldn’t that be great?”
“You’ve got two homes,” Rachelle pointed out to Cissy. “Unless your real-estate friend gets her way and you sell your grandmother’s.”
Cissy shook her head. “That house was never really my home. I mean, yes, I did live there when I was younger, but it wasn’t a ‘home,’ if you know what I mean.”
“But what a cool house,” Diedre put in with surprising passion. “You got to live there. Lots of us never get that chance.”
“It wasn’t all that terrific,” Cissy disabused them. “We Cahills seem to have trouble in the happiness department.”
She left before the conversation could continue, always uncomfortable talking about her family. Stepping outside, she pulled on her shades, sliding them onto the bridge of her nose. The sun was bright, though it looked as if it were heading for a bank of clouds. It was a sheer delight after all the gray fog of the past few weeks. Cissy turned her face skyward and inhaled, some of her worry lifting with the change of weather.
She did trust Jack. She did. She loved him and felt safe with him, and that’s all that mattered.
And then she saw the unmarked car, its two officers shadowy within the interior, engine running, double-parked on a side street, facing her. So, they’d followed her to Joltz and would undoubtedly follow her to the lawyers’.
She hardly knew how to feel. Sure, it was protection, but geez…It sure felt like more than just surveillance…. Almost as if she were under suspicion….
Irritated, Cissy stalked to her car, threw open the door, climbed inside, and twisted the ignition. She pulled into traffic and watched as the car nosed into the street behind her, several cars back.
“Pain in the butt,” she muttered and wondered if maybe Paterno’s claim of protection was a cover for something else.
Jack wiped the remains of B.J.’s lunch from his face and got him out of his high chair and back on the ground, where he instantly started chasing Coco, who ran for the living room.
He cleaned up the kitchen, then collapsed the stroller and propped it against the wall. “Come on, Beej,” he called to his son, who followed Coco from room to room. “Let’s get to the park before the sun goes away.”
Beej’s running skills weren’t exactly causing Coco concern. The dog’s ears and tail were down, but she could easily keep ahead of his awkward chase.
Hearing Jack, Beej veered his way, grabbing his father’s leg to keep from falling.
Jack lifted him into one arm and grabbed the stroller with his free hand.
They were heading for the door when the front bell rang. “Tanya,” he said, remembering. He set Beej down and opened the door. But it wasn’t the nanny. It was his father.
“Dad?”
Jonathan lifted his hands at the surprised tone of his son’s voice. “Nothing’s wrong. I knew you’d moved back in, and you weren’t at the office, so I just stopped by.”
“You called the office?”
Jonathan leaned down to B.J., but he tore away in pursuit of Coco again.
“I was going to ask you to lunch,” Jonathan said casually.
“I already had tuna sandwiches with B.J. I’m babysitting while Cissy meets with the attorneys for Eugenia’s estate.”
“When’s she going to be back?”
“Couple hours.”
“What about Tanya?”
Jack gave his father a long look. “I can’t get away right now, Dad. What’s wrong?”
“Just wanted to see you. Is that a crime?”
Jack ignored his father’s defensive tone. He knew his father, and it was just a matter of time before Jonathan got to the real point of his visit. There generally was an ulterior motive. Sometimes minor, sometimes not.
“Beej and I are on our way to the park. You can certainly join us.”
“No, no. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time. Just hold on about the park for a bit, and we’ll be fine.”
Jack threw a glance at B.J., whose attention was on the dog. “Want a beer?” he asked his dad, deciding he might as well give Jonathan his ear now rather than put off the discussion to some other time.
Jonathan accepted the long-necked bottle. “I’ve been talking to investors in these oil-drilling sites in South and Central America. Getting the money men together with the operational teams. You know what I mean?”
“You’re looking for investors in wildcat drilling?” Jack’s father had tapped him for money more times than he could count, always with the promise of a fabulous return on his investment. Mostly Jack bobbed and weaved his way out of the deals, but Jonathan seemed to always come up with a new one.
“I’m brokering some deals. I was thinking maybe you might want to get in on the ground floor.”
“I’d have to talk it over with Cissy, and now’s not the best time for us. A lot of things need to be resolved, financially, with her family.”
A cloud crossed Jonathan’s face. “I’d hate you to miss out on this, Son.”
Jack’s smile was noncommittal. He let his father expound heartily for long minutes until B.J. grew tired of chasing Coco and came back their way, hanging on Jack’s leg and looking up at him.
Jack picked up his son as Jonathan was saying, “I thought your magazine could do a small profile on me. Get some publicity going. It would be great if you were a part of this.”
Jack had heard about a lot of get-rich-quick schemes from his father, some of them full of merit, most not. Unfortunately, even the ones that panned out never really worked, for Jonathan had yet to see any of them to their profitable end. Long before that happened, he was off chasing another idea, another dream. Sometimes his brother was in on the deal, at least peripherally. They both believed that “big killing” was just around the corner.
“It’s a really great opportunity,” Jonathan said for about the third time when B.J. started chanting.
“Park. Go park. Park. Park!”
“In a minute there,” Jonathan cut him off a bit tensely, then launched into more particulars.
B.J. responded with, “Now, now, now!”
“Bryan Jack,” Jonathan snapped.
Beneath Jonathan’s bonhomie Jack heard nervous tension. This latest deal must be really important to him; but then, they all were.
“WE GO!” B.J. regarded Jack urgently.
“I promised him the park,” Jack said to Jonathan. “We really have to go, if we’re going.”
“Put it off till tomorrow.”
“Kind of important to follow through on promises,” Jack pointed out.
Jonathan got his face close to B.J.’s. “Okay, little man. Why don’t you go find some toys to play with? Your dad’ll be ready to go in a minute.”
“No, Poppa.”
“Don’t tell me no.”
B.J. scowled.
“And remember, grumpy boys don’t get to go at all.”
“Dad,” Jack warned, as Beej wound up for a siren wail.
“You can’t just give in to him,” Jonathan said, annoyed, over the escalating scream. “He’ll never learn anything!”
“Except how to be disappointed over and over again?”
“When can we have a real disc
ussion?” Jonathan demanded. “This is important to me, Jack.”
“Dad…” Jack tried to comfort B.J., whose upset had turned to tears. Jonathan tossed his hands in the air as if everyone were conspiring against him just as the doorbell rang again.
This time Jack discovered Tanya on the porch. “I came to get my check,” she said uncertainly.
B.J. held his arms out to her as if she were a savior, and Jack, a bit reluctantly, handed him to the nanny, who cooed at him.
“There you go,” Jonathan said with relief as the little boy stopped crying.
“Go park!” he told Tanya. “Park!”
She turned her gaze to Jack. “You want me to take him to the park?”
“No, that’s fine. We were just leaving. You don’t have to.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Jonathan said, smiling at Tanya. To Jack, he added, “Didn’t I tell you she was great?” He loved taking credit for discovering her.
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“She’s the nanny,” Jonathan declared, as if Jack were just about as dense as he could be.
Jack was about to explain that Tanya was no longer employed, when he caught her eye. “I’d be happy to,” she said, hugging B.J. and smiling. “He’s a great kid. And you’re busy. It’s no problem, really.”
“You sure? He hasn’t been Mr. Happy today,” Jack warned.
“I think I can handle it.”
“You’re a fine young lady.” Jonathan gave her a warm look.
Jack handed Tanya her check, then helped tote the stroller to her car. They strapped B.J. into the extra car seat she used. “I’ll give this back to you, since you paid for it,” she told him.
“I’m sorry things haven’t worked out.”
Tanya shrugged that off. B.J. waved at him from the backseat window, and, with a deep breath, Jack returned to his father, who immediately, and enthusiastically, launched into more discussion about his new venture. Jack silently wished he could have gone with Tanya and B.J., his attention drifting a bit as he wondered how many more times he would play this scene out with his father. It was always jab and parry. And inevitably Jonathan would leave feeling Jack wasn’t a “team player” because he hadn’t invested in the latest investment opportunity.