“Perhaps we should invite Kate Tate to help with the event,” Carrie suggested. Carrie’s life had recently become more chaotic with the adoption of two children. While she was thrilled to be a mom after waiting so long, parenthood exhausted her and she’d been talking about stepping down from the board.
“Who’s Kate Tate?” Mitch asked.
The rest of us chuckled. Mitch hadn’t yet met Kate, but it was only a matter of time before she stormed into his life and organized his corner of the world because that’s what Kate did. She took charge, whipping everyone and everything into shape. Whenever Anna, my sisters, or I opened a drawer overflowing with junk, we’d say, “If only Kate Tate was here.”
Before we could discuss the issue of inviting Kate to join us, my phone rang with a call from Keith. I hesitated, not sure what to do. I hadn’t spoken to him since last night when I’d told him about Lyla answering his phone. He’d been upset by our discussion, but I’d hoped telling him would help him understand the issues that’d led to our divorce.
Not wanting to interrupt our meeting by talking to Keith, I sent his call straight to voicemail and glanced down at my notes. “Carrie, are you still available to meet the caterer with me tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there,” she said. “Twelve o’clock at Alberto’s, right?”
I glanced at my notes. “Eleven o’clock at the Sand Dollar.”
“That’s right. My adoption support group is at twelve. I’m meeting with you at eleven.”
I studied her carefully. “Is everything okay?”
Sitting next to me, Bryan tensed. We had a strict policy of no personal business during meetings.
“Yes. Everything’s great.” Carrie gave a little laugh and shot a quick glance at Bryan and Mitch, making me think she’d talk more if the men weren’t here.
Did she feel guilty for finding motherhood challenging? I wanted to tell her that was normal and okay. Every parent experienced doubt and frustration. There was no harder job than being a mom. Perhaps we could talk more after the meeting.
My phone rang again, and this time I answered it, hoping I could placate Keith with a quick word. Maybe he had an easy question about the boys or where we kept extra laundry detergent.
“Jillian,” he growled as soon as I said hello. “When will you be home?”
I bristled at his abrupt tone. “I’m in a meeting. Is something wrong?”
“A meeting?” His voice was sarcastic. “At his house?”
Heaving a sigh of irritation, I pushed away from the table and walked outside, ignoring Bryan’s disapproving gaze. I stepped onto the back deck of the condo before pulling the door closed behind me.
“Keith, I’m in the middle of a board meeting for Chelsea’s Friends and I don’t appreciate the interruption. Did you need something?”
“Yeah, I need something.”
When he didn’t elaborate, I said, “Well, what is it?”
“I need you to come home so we can talk.”
I leaned my forearms against the railing and took in the sparkling lights of the boats on the water. Bryan lived in the most exclusive area on the island, and it wasn’t uncommon to see multi-million-dollar yachts anchored in the bay.
“What do you need to talk about, Keith?”
“Us. I need to talk about what went wrong and what I need to do to fix it.”
“We already talked about this.”
“We did, but I’ve had a lot of time to think about what you said, and I need to tell you something.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“It’s just that . . .” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I didn’t cheat on you. I don’t remember what happened, but I want you to know I would never be unfaithful. Never. I have no idea why I was with Lyla that night or why she answered my phone. I promise I wasn’t cheating.”
I closed my eyes. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does matter. I was on the phone with Mac today—”
“You talked to Mac?” My eyes shot open.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Mac can help you put everything into perspective.” I’d only met Mac a few times, but he seemed like a good friend. “So, what did Mac say?”
“He told me his fiancée is having a hard time coping with his absence.”
No kidding. I’d met Mercedes at Bianca’s hair salon, and she struck me as incredibly high maintenance. Not your typical, self-sufficient future army wife. I’d been concerned when Mac announced his engagement to Mercedes, but as the saying went, who could explain love? Hopefully, Mercedes cared for Mac as deeply as he did for her.
Keith continued. “Talking to Mac made me realize I didn’t help you enough when Matt and Drew were little. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve spent more time taking care of them so you could have a break.”
“You were a good father.”
“Not always.”
The ocean breeze whipped my hair across my face, and I pushed it back with one hand. “You used to take the boys to the park after dinner so I could have time to myself. You’d wash the dishes with Drew in the baby backpack, and you spent hours lying on the family room floor, helping Matt set up his wooden train set.”
“I remember that,” he said in a faraway voice.
I smiled. “You were also a good role model for my brother. When Anna became pregnant in college, you talked to Marcus for a long time about his responsibilities and his options. You talked to him about facing the consequences of his actions. If you hadn’t stepped in—”
“He would still be alive. If I hadn’t encouraged him to enlist, we wouldn’t have lost him.”
I sighed and stepped back to sit on one of the lounge chairs. “You don’t know that. Besides, you advised him to finish his degree first. He was the one who dropped out of school. He always wanted to join the army, and I think he used Anna’s pregnancy as an excuse to do so.”
I thought back to that night; my brother had come to the house for advice. Keith and I had sat on the back porch with him, talking late into the night. After Marcus went home, I’d snuggled next to Keith, grateful to have a husband willing to spend time helping my little brother.
“What happened to us, Jills?”
“I already told you.”
“I don’t believe what you told me.”
“I know you don’t, but it doesn’t change what happened. After Marcus died, you stopped talking to me. You completely shut down and closed me out. A marriage can’t survive without honest communication. At least ours couldn’t. Having you spend the night with Lyla, even if the two of you were only talking, destroyed us.”
“What can I do to fix it?” He sounded so sincere I almost believed a solution was possible. Almost believed we could try again and make it work this time.
The opening of the porch door startled me. “Jillian?” Bryan called. “How much longer are you going to be? Mitch has an idea for the silent auction, and Carrie is anxious to wrap up the evening so she can go home to her kids.”
“I’ll be right there.” I turned away from Bryan and told Keith I would talk to him later.
When I hung up the phone, Bryan gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m trying to be patient, Jillian, but I don’t understand why you took your ex-husband’s call during our meeting. The gala is just a few weeks away, and if we don’t finalize all the details—”
“I know, but Keith wanted to tell me about his conversation with Mac Baumguard today.”
“It couldn’t wait? He had to tell you about that right now?”
“I’ve been encouraging him to call Mac, so I guess Keith thought I’d want to know. Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”
Bryan adjusted his Italian silk tie. “I’m not making a big deal out of this, but I am concerned by your involvement with your ex-husband. Doesn’t he have someone else to call?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “He has friends like Mac, but they’re all overseas right now. Plus, his mother just died. If
she were still alive, things would be different. When she was sick last year, I promised I would always protect Keith’s relationship with the boys. That’s all I’m doing. Just making sure he continues spending time with Matt and Drew.”
“And taking his phone calls whenever he needs you.”
I held back my words, not wanting to fight with Bryan tonight. We returned inside and finished the meeting. When the others left, I stayed behind to help Bryan clean up the kitchen. We’d only ordered take-out Chinese food, but there were plates, cups, and silverware to rinse and put in the dishwasher.
Wanting to make amends, I announced my plans to call the Historical Society in the morning to confirm our reservation for the gala’s location, tables, chairs, and other details.
Bryan wiped down the kitchen table. “Thank you. I wish we could’ve used the club. It’s prettier at night and the parking is more accessible, but the Carson Mansion will do.”
“The Carson Mansion is beautiful,” I said, offended. I’d spent a lot of effort securing the location, believing an event in the harbor historic district would be charming. We’d based our entire marketing plan around the area, and I was proud of the work we’d done.
“You’re right,” Bryan agreed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He pulled the trash bag out of the can and carried it outside to the garbage chute. Drew had been absolutely fascinated by the condo’s garbage chute that emptied directly into a hidden dumpster downstairs. Had Drew been any smaller, I might have worried about him climbing in and sliding down the chute.
Bryan walked me to my car and kissed me good-night. I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, eager to leave.
“Your car sounds horrible,” he said, stating the obvious.
“It’s fine. I had it fixed last month and don’t want to spend the money to have it looked at again. Besides, I only drive when I go out to the ranch or come see you.”
He nodded and I gave a quick wave good-bye. Why was I irritated with Bryan? He’d done nothing wrong in pointing out the fact my car needed more work. He’d even been justified in his concern about my involvement in Keith’s life.
Nevertheless, I had a nagging, disturbing feeling that my relationship with Bryan was coming to an end. I wanted to blame Keith, yet maybe this was just the natural progression of two people who weren’t meant to be together. Especially two people who had no intention of getting married.
I thought back to an evening on the beach when Bianca had insisted Bryan was wrong for me. I’d told her it was none of her business, and we’d had a huge fight. Now, driving away from Bryan, I cringed, afraid my sister had been right.
*
Work was hectic the next morning, but as soon as I had a break, I called the Historical Society. Despite last night’s less than ideal meeting, plans for the gala were progressing nicely, and I had every reason to believe the event would be a success.
Mrs. Becker, the society’s coordinator, paused when I told her the reason for my call. “Isn’t the gala next month?” she asked.
I sat forward in my office chair, telling myself there was no need to be nervous. Mrs. Becker had been my American History teacher in high school, and she’d always been somewhat spacey and uncaring.
“Our event is this month,” I answered, keeping my voice light and cheerful. “The date is listed on the posters I dropped off last week.”
“Oh, that’s right. Unfortunately, we double-booked you with another event. These things happen, and I’m sure you understand.”
My stomach churned. “Understand what?”
“Understand that we’ve already committed to the other event.”
“What other event?”
She made a condescending humming noise. “I’m afraid that’s confidential, dear. Let’s just say it’s a very important, private wedding.”
Rose Island hosted all sorts of celebrity parties and ceremonies, but that wasn’t exactly the point. I jumped to my feet and began pacing the office. “Mrs. Becker, please tell me you’re going to honor your commitment to Chelsea’s Friends. Please tell me you aren’t bumping us.”
“Oh, I’m not bumping you. Just rescheduling. Now let me see where I put my calendar so we can find you a better date.”
“A better date?” I was outraged. “The gala is less than three weeks away. We’ve put up posters all over the island and have sold hundreds of tickets. I paid our deposit months ago. If you’d like, I can pay the remaining balance today, but rescheduling is impossible.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to, dear. Unless . . .”
“Yes?”
“Unless you can come up with another location. The country club is beautiful this time of year.”
“The country club is already booked. We’re expecting almost a thousand guests. There’s absolutely no way I could find another venue that large on such short notice.”
At this point, Bianca entered my office. Once a week, she came to the assisted living facility to wash and set several of the residents’ hair, so I wasn’t surprised to see her.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked, sitting in my desk chair—something she knew irritated me.
“Mrs. Becker,” I mouthed.
Bianca sighed. “Oh, dear.”
I shook my head and tried harder to convince Mrs. Becker we needed the mansion more than her very important client. Eventually, I gave up and hung up the phone.
Bianca took a handful of pecans from the glass jar on my desk. “What was that about?”
I motioned for her to move so I could reclaim my chair. Reluctantly, she rose and as patiently as I could, I explained the whole situation. “If I can’t find a new location within the next few days, we’ll have to cancel the event.”
“Mrs. Becker . . . spreading joy wherever she goes,” Bianca said sarcastically as she shifted uncomfortably in the other chair.
“What am I going to do?”
Before Bianca could answer, my phone rang. For a brief moment, my spirits lifted. “Please let this be Mrs. Becker saying we can use the mansion.”
“Fingers crossed,” Bianca said.
I gave a hopeful hello only to hear the disapproving voice of Mr. Garret, the Vice Principal at Rose Island High School. “Mrs. Foster, I have your son, Matthew, in my office. You need to come to the school right now.”
“What’s wrong?” I imagined Matt had been caught skipping classes again or violating the school’s no-public-display-of-affection policy by holding Hannah’s hand.
Mr. Garret cleared his throat. “Matthew is being expelled for drinking alcohol on school grounds.”
My pulse lurched. “What? Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He spoke in that vice-principal condescending tone, designed to make even the best parent feel like a failure. “Another student confessed to bringing the alcohol, but Matthew fully participated in consuming it.”
“I don’t believe this. Is he drunk?”
“We’ll talk more when you arrive.”
I pressed for more answers, but Mr. Garret insisted on waiting until we met in person. Hanging up the phone, I heaved a deep groan and told Bianca what happened.
“Wow, if only I had an ornery teenager to make my life complete,” she said sardonically.
“This isn’t funny, Bianca.”
“Sorry.”
“Let me borrow your car to pick up Matt and I’ll forgive you.”
She handed over her keys, and I drove out to the high school to collect my delinquent son. I was sick to my stomach over the idea of Matt following in the footsteps of his father and paternal grandfather. Perhaps he’d only tried a sip of alcohol and found he didn’t like it. Please God, let that be the case. I can’t deal with another drunk in my life.
In the vice principal’s office, Mr. Garret informed me Matt had been suspended for the remainder of his freshman year. While he was eligible for an alternative school several miles north of the island, there was no bus to take him, so I’d be
responsible for his transportation.
I refrained from speaking as I escorted Matt to the parking lot, but once we reached the car, my anger exploded. “How could you, Matthew? After everything I’ve been through with your father, what part of your brain decided it was okay to drink? Especially at school.”
Sitting in the passenger seat, he turned away from me and stared out the window. “I don’t know. I was just being stupid, I guess.”
“You guess? That other school is at least an hour away. I don’t have time to drive you, so what am I supposed to do with you until summer?”
“I don’t know.”
I ground my teeth but forced myself to stop when I remembered the dentist’s warning about my destructive teeth-grinding habit. “You don’t know? That’s just great, Matthew. Thank you for taking charge of your life. I really appreciate the outstanding effort.”
Sarcasm wasn’t my preferred method of parenting, but Matt’s behavior right now was bringing out the worst in me. Didn’t he realize accepting responsibility for his actions could go a long way in diffusing my fury?
Ignoring me, he placed his ankle on top of his knee and tapped it several times. We drove in silence, Matt brooding and me gripping the steering wheel tight.
At the stoplight, he turned to speak, with what I hoped was a heartfelt apology. Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Hey,” he said, excited. “I have my permit with me. Can I drive since Drew isn’t here to distract me?”
I clenched the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. “Seriously? Do you seriously think after getting expelled, I’m going to let you drive?”
“I’m not drunk,” he insisted, as if that were the only issue. “I just had a little bit to drink, and it wore off a long time ago. Honestly. I smell like alcohol because the bottle slipped out of my hands onto my shorts.”
I took a slow deep breath. Lord, I’m about to lose it here. Seriously. I want to reach over and shake some sense into this kid. Please stop me from saying something I’ll later regret.
“Matthew,” I began in a tone similar to the one my mother had used whenever my sisters and I had caused trouble as teenagers. “Let me make myself clear. You can’t drive, and if you say one more word for the rest of this trip, you’ll never drive again. Ever. Not another word. Do you understand me?”
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