Keeping Claudia (Toby & Claudia Book 2)

by Suzanne McKenna Link

  “It’s my fault that I got pregnant.” Her guileless blue eyes filled with tears. “That night you were going to stop, but I—”

  I drew her closer. “I never blamed you.”

  “But you didn’t want it. Did you purposely bring me to your mother’s grave to see the statue, to show me you suddenly now care?”

  “No,” I fired back. “That Sunday, being upstate with you and Dylan. It got me thinking. Maybe I was wrong about wanting kids—”

  “Your brother was right,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “He said you would do whatever I wanted you to, whatever it took.”

  I yanked my hand away from her. “And you figure the statue was me faking it, trying to do whatever it took?”

  “It’s not?” she challenged.

  I gripped the handlebars of the bike and looked away. My brother wasn’t too far off the mark. A year ago, I’d a done anything to keep her. “You know, some girls would consider that a major compliment.”

  “I’m not some girl.”

  “No, Claudia Chiametti, you most definitely are not.”

  “All I want is for you to be truthful, to me and to yourself.”

  To her, my turn about was suspect. How could I blame her for not trusting it?

  “Come on, let’s go inside. My father is probably gnawing a hand off.” She discharged an audible breath and started up the driveway, turning back only when she realized I hadn’t followed her.

  My stomach rumbled with hunger, but I stayed straddling the bike. “Are you sure you still want me to come in?”

  “Of course. We had a bad moment, but we’re still okay.” She held my gaze, unspoken words passing between us.

  The opening had narrowed, but I could still wedge a foot in the door, convince her I was being honest. Ready to try, I engaged the kickstand but halted as a familiar black Lexus pulled alongside the curb. Berger emerged with a large, bright bouquet of flowers. With eyes trained on Claudia, he strolled over, handed the flowers to her, and kissed the side of her face.

  Color rose in her cheeks. “Thank you, Andrew. I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

  “Being early is one of my flaws, but I figured it’d give us more time to discuss our trip to Boston.” Berger planted his feet, grinning easily at her. The grin stayed wide, but his eyes narrowed perceptibly as he acknowledged me. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  He rested his hand on her back, noticeably staking his claim. He was screwing with me. Asshole.

  “Nope. I was just leaving.” The bike’s kickstand gave way, retracting with the smash of my heel.

  Claudia extended a hand to stop me although her feet remained stationary. “What about breakfast?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said and started the bike. “Good luck in Boston.”

  Chapter 35 • Claudia

  As Andrew had predicted, my interview with the senior center’s board had only been a formality; the position was mine.

  It was only ten o’clock in the morning when, with a sigh of relief, I stepped out of the meeting room after the interview. Andrew paced the hallway, waiting for me.

  “You did great. The board loves you,” he said, slipping his arms around my waist. Andrew and I had grown closer over the last few weeks. We’d even kissed a few times, though briefly. When he pulled me close just then, I went willingly into his arms. This time the kiss lingered, his lips, more persuasive than before. I didn’t think it altogether presumptuous, but with my mind scrolling though a long list of to-dos, I resolutely kissed him and broke away.

  “I have to get over to the university.” I squeezed his hand and let it go. “See you back at the hotel later.”

  If my response was lacking, Andrew didn’t mention it. In fact, he smiled when I left him to further secure my future in Boston. I caught the Boston subway, the ‘T,’ to the Boston University campus, Andrew slipping from my thoughts.

  There wasn’t anything wrong with the kiss or the kisser. On the contrary, as far as kissing went, the kiss had been really very nice. Andrew smelled good, his cologne expensive, and his touch, gentle. The kiss had been persistent without being forceful—a gentleman’s sophisticated kiss—and in his arms there was an unmistakable suggestion of security. Instead of warmth and excitement pooling low in my belly, I was flooded with anxiety. Instead of visualizing my future, I could only see what might’ve been.

  Good luck in Boston.

  Toby’s last words to me on Easter had felt very much like a goodbye, a farewell, nice knowing you.

  I breathed through the tightness in my chest, willing it to pass. Toby had been right when he’d said I was a different person than the sheltered girl who’d left home three years ago—I wasn’t the girl who played it safe anymore. I’d expanded on that by coming to Boston. Here, I was on a new path, one of my choosing, and everything was falling into place. I vowed, later, at our hotel, I’d nestle up with Andrew and show him this is where I wanted to be.

  My mind made up, I followed a campus map to the registrar’s office and sat in a chair, surrounded by the din of voices, rustling papers, and the clickity-clack of keyboards, waiting to find out if the school would accept my transfer. Eileen, a woman not much older than myself, checked my school records on her computer while I sat in front of her desk, playing with my necklace.

  “Which saint are you praying to?” Eileen asked, glancing up from her computer screen. Her question was lost on me until I realized I was thumbing Toby’s pendant. It had become an almost unconscious habit.

  “Oh, Saint Jude,” I said, wondering if the pendant brought Toby half the comfort it seemed to bring me.

  She smiled and nodded as if she understood. “You won’t need Ol’ Jude’s help today. We can get you transferred in time for fall classes. All you need to do is complete the financial aid forms.”

  My lungs constricted. This was happening.

  I exhaled reminding myself this is what I wanted. There would be many things to look forward to in my new life as a Bostonian: new sights to explore, new aspirations to dream up.

  My cell vibrated in my pocket with an incoming call, and I excused myself, giving Eileen an apologetic smile as I moved a few feet away to take my father’s call. “Hi, Daddy. How’re doing?”

  “My hip’s giving me a lot of trouble today, and I can’t find the muscle ointment.” He sounded preoccupied.

  “It’s in the downstairs bathroom, left top drawer. Take some acetaminophen. That always helps,” I said. “We really need to get you back to physical therapy.”

  “I don’t need that kind of help,” he muttered, sounding out of breath. “What time you coming home tomorrow? They’re forecasting snow with whiteout conditions. I don’t want you getting caught in it.”

  My father’s calls were often like that. He called several times a day with requests and cautions—a reminder of how much he worried about me. And how he relied on me. I didn’t get angry, didn’t mind the calls. Our relationship continued to run hot at times. We were both bull-headed and stubborn, but we only had each other.

  “Andrew is a safe, capable driver, but if the weather is that bad, we’ll wait it out,” I said to reassure him.

  I finished up in the registrar’s office and left with a folder of paperwork and brochures, another item successfully crossed off my list. As I stepped out into the daylight, the darkening clouds of the impending storm swirled overhead, and my shoulders felt heavy with the yoke of my decision.

  With the move come August, I’d be breaking up our father/daughter team. How would he handle it? How would I handle it? Would I spend my days worrying about him?

  Easter sunrise service replayed in my head. That morning, Toby had echoed my mother’s warning—my father would play the invalid card as long as he needed to keep me home.

  I couldn’t let my father orchestrate my future. I wouldn’t.

  With Andrew in meetings all day, I followed my map app to check out a few of the neighborhoods where I’d found apartment listings.

&n
bsp; I tossed my bag and college paperwork onto the dresser in my hotel room when there came a knock at the door adjoining Andrew’s room to mine.

  “Claudia,” he called. “May I come in?”

  I pulled open the door in answer and smiled at him.

  “Hello there.” He stepped into my room still dressed in dress slacks and shirt, sans tie and shoes and looking much more relaxed than earlier.

  I motioned to the Boston University folder. “I started the enrollment process, and I even went to look at apartments.”

  “That’s terrific. I have wine chilling in my room. We’ll celebrate.” His voice was warm as he pulled me to him and gently arched my chin to look into my eyes. Though he said not another word, his eyes said everything. Unable to hold his penetrating gaze, I lowered my eyes to his top shirt button.

  “Claudia,” my name was a whispered plea that brought my attention back to his handsome face.

  I knew what he wanted. I forced my mind blank and pressed my mouth to his. His lips were warm, and as I slipped my fingertips under the starched fabric of his shirt collar and encountered the smooth, warm skin of his neck, heat spun to life in the pit of my belly. The kiss quickly escalated, and I hardly registered Andrew’s fingers undoing the buttons of my blouse until his hands stroked the bare skin of my torso.

  His hands were different, smoother than the callus-roughened ones I was used to, but still, they elicited the right response. His touch felt good, and I reached for his shirt buttons, starting to undo them, but my awkward fingers made little progress.

  “I can do that.” Andrew covered my hands with his. “I have prophylactics back in my room. Should I go get them?”

  He lifted my wrist to his lips and gently kissed it, drawing my eyes to his. There was an unmistakable promise in his expression, a promise to take me out of my head, to make me feel something more, something better. My chest rose and fell with quickened breaths.

  I stood on the edge of a precipice with a decision to make: I could either run back to safety or jump off.

  I took a breath and leapt off.

  “Yes,” I said. I wanted what his kisses and hands promised. I wanted to feel something other than the heavy emptiness I’d been carrying even if it were just for a little while.

  Andrew’s eyes darkened before he kissed me again. “Be right back. I’ll bring the wine, too,” he whispered before letting me go.

  Refusing to let the knot in my stomach ruin the moment, I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I finally understood how easy it was for Toby to fall into bed with someone new. I hadn’t even been looking for it, and yet, here I was brushing my teeth, preparing for the ultimate of intimacies with Andrew. Still, my fingers shook as I removed my earrings, and I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the vanity, to stare at myself in the mirror.

  “Are you nervous because this is new?” I asked my reflection. “Or is it because you aren’t really sure this is what you want?”

  “Claudia?” Andrew’s concerned call came with a soft knock at the door. “Everything okay?”

  My stomach dropped to my knees, feeling nothing like the tingly jitters of anticipation.

  I couldn’t do this. I dropped head and sighed. “I’m sorry. I suddenly don’t feel very well.”

  Through the closed door, I convinced him that I didn’t need anything, just some time. With that, he finally retreated.

  It was about a half hour before I cracked open the bathroom door. Except for the muffled sounds of a news station on in Andrew’s side, all was quiet. The door between our rooms was still open, and I tiptoed over to peek in. Andrew was asleep. He slept as tidily as he appeared awake. His head lie propped up on the pillows, hands folded over his stomach.

  I envisioned myself living my life here with him. I wasn’t in love with him, but I could eventually learn to love him, of that I was certain. I knew it would be a good life, and still, my heart ached. In Boston there would be no reminders of Bella. Or Toby.

  My face warmed with annoyance. When had I started framing everything I did, or wanted to do, with thoughts of Toby?

  It was a bad habit that had to end. But instead of banishing any further thoughts of him, I was besieged by the memories of the last time we were together on Easter. And my irritation grew.

  Ire burned the back of my throat as I recalled the baby angel statue on Mrs. Faye’s grave and how Toby had claimed that suddenly he understood, that suddenly he regretted the loss of our baby—how my anger had spilled forward like molten lava because Bella’s memory was mine. I wouldn’t let him, or anyone, mock it.

  I choked on the anger, and it sputtered out, suddenly empty of the fuel needed to burn on. As furious as I was at Toby, there was still a part of me that wanted and needed to share the pain of losing Bella with him—a part of me that wanted so badly to believe he understood and was saddened by what we’d lost.

  I quietly shut the adjoining room door and grabbed my cell. I needed to talk to someone I trusted to understand.

  I called April.

  “Please remind me that Boston is good for me, that I can do this,” I huffed into the phone, pacing the length of my hotel room.

  “Boston is great, and you totally can do it,” she said without hesitating. “But the question is do you want to?”

  I balked. “Of course, I want to.”

  “So why the doubts?”

  “I’m thinking about my dad and …” My voice dropped away. I’d almost included Toby, but I wasn’t going to let him bookend my every thought. Not anymore. “It’s not like when I went away to school in California. This is permanent.”

  “You’ll be busy with school and work, and like before, without any relationships to get in the way, you’ll have plenty of time to excel at all your goals,” she said.

  “That’s right.” I massaged the base of my neck, starting to feel better. There were plenty of reasons to feel good about this move—I’d have financial and career security. I glanced at the door adjoining my room to Andrew’s. “And I have Andrew. Things are going well with him. He’s been nothing but supportive and reliable.”

  “You make him sound like a pair of boring, sensible shoes,” she snorted.

  I felt defensive of Andrew. “Don’t knock sensible shoes. You get a lot more done when you’re not crying over how much your feet hurt.”

  Her sigh exposed her impatience. “When you came home from California, you wanted to embrace a new way of living, and you did. You dared to put on high heels and get yourself out there. Boston is new and exciting, but it sort of sounds like you’re slipping into comfortable shoes and doing exactly what you swore you wouldn’t, letting your practical side overrule your emotions. Ever since the miscarriage, it’s been business as usual with you.”

  “Ouch,” I mumbled.

  “I hate telling you that, but you know I’m right,” she said. “You’ve always been a taskmaster, and if career success and sensible shoes are all you want, no matter where you go—Boston or anywhere—I’ve no doubt you’ll be successful. But if your main reason to move there is to escape the emotional ties you created here, then you’re going for the wrong reasons.”

  I had no line of defense against April’s truth. When emotions became too unwieldy, autopilot engaged, and my focus shifted to what I could control—school, work, a list of checkable tasks. The rest fell to the wayside. This was my default setting.

  Returning to the emotions that had led me to call her in the first place, I told her about the angel and Toby’s sudden one-eighty about Bella.

  “What if Toby’s intentions were honest?” April asked. “What if it’s taken him this long to understand how you felt about the baby and to sort out his own feelings about it? “

  The undeniable stirrings of hope surged through me.

  “It would change everything,” I said.

  “Maybe you need to come home and find out. There’s nothing wrong with sensible shoes, but you need closure on this,” April whispered. “You owe that much to yourself
.”

  After ending our call, I looked out at the city of Boston through my hotel room window. The talk with April only served to give me more to think about. I’d started constructing a life here. It felt solid and concrete, and it scared me to pull away from it, to take a chance on the unknown.

  I lifted my finger to my mouth, but caught myself, and dropped my hands to my sides. “Grown up, professional women do not chew their cuticles.”

  With the intention to find something more suitable to chew on, I surveyed the room’s mini fridge and considered pigging out on one of the overpriced snacks. I was interrupted when my cell buzzed with an incoming call. It was Liz’s mobile number.

  “Claudia, I hate to bother you on your time off—” Liz started.

  I shut the fridge. “It’s no problem. What’s up?”

  There was a tiny hiccup over the line. “It’s Kel. He’s… he’s had a stroke.” With that, Liz’s voice broke.

  I stood, fixed, in the middle of the room. “Liz, I’m so sorry. Is he all right?”

  “He’s in the hospital. The doctor says he’s stable. Thank God.” She blew out a ragged breath, audible over the connection.

  “Do you need me to cover for you at work? Tell me what can I do.”

  “I’m not worried about work, but I could use some company. Can you meet me for coffee? My treat.”

  I wished I could confide in her about Boston. “I’d love to, but I’m not home right now.”

  “Oh, okay. No worries—”

  “How about tonight?” I interrupted. It was stupid, if not impossible to offer, but all I knew is whatever small gesture I could do to make Liz feel better, I wanted to do it.

  The impending snow was a solid enough reason to leave Boston early. But now there was Liz. I shoved my clothes into my luggage and thought about waking Andrew. I strongly suspected he’d veto the idea and try to convince me to stay. I sat down and wrote him a note explaining Liz had an emergency, and I had to leave.

  On the last line, I added an apology for ruining our night, and that I had a few things I needed to work out.