Sleeping Alone

by Bretton, Barbara

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mark needs to know who his father is. He loves Eddie and he respects John. I want my son to know that they’re his family.”

  “And what about Brian?”

  “Let’s just say I have low expectations.” Dee forced a smile. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Alex. Your child won’t have to wonder who his father is. He’ll know it’s John, right from the start.”

  Nineteen

  “Gallagher, you’re not listening to me.”

  Brian looked up from his yellow legal pad. “You said something, Mary?” They were having a lunch meeting on the subject of Sea Gate.

  “You haven’t heard a word I said, have you?”

  “Sorry.” He pushed the pad to the other side of his blotter. “You were saying?”

  She fixed him with the kind of look he associated with schoolteachers and other figures of authority. It was almost enough to make him laugh. “We need your okay to move on to phase two of the Sea Gate project. The storeowners on Ocean Avenue are hanging tougher than we’d expected.”

  “So offer them more money. Everyone has a price. You’ll hit theirs sooner or later.”

  “Not this time,” she said. “They’ve banded together to fight us.”

  Son of a bitch, he thought. They were a ballsy group, the people he grew up with. He couldn’t help admiring them for fighting the inevitable. And it was inevitable. They’d been able to close ranks against him when he was young but times had changed. Make no mistake about it, this was one fight he was going to win.

  “There’s more, Gallagher. Your brother’s the one behind them.”

  “Johnny?”

  “You heard it here. I don’t know if he volunteered or was drafted, but he’s trying to figure out exactly who Eagle Management belongs to.”

  “Let him,” Brian said. “I want him to find out.” There was a certain karmic symmetry to the situation that pleased him. John was setting himself up as a savior. Brian would take great pleasure in knocking him back down to earth.

  “You don’t sound very upset.”

  “I’m not,” Brian said. “Trust me, he’ll fuck up. He always does.” John couldn’t hang on to his wife or his kids or his career. There was no reason to believe he’d manage to hang on to his old hometown.

  “They formed a committee,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “It’s called Save Sea Gate. Our contact says they’ll be taking it to the media once they get themselves rolling.”

  “You expect me to worry about that, Mary?”

  “Somebody has to,” she shot back. “We need an emergency meeting of our own. Maybe a conference call tonight to—”

  “Listen,” he said, “I have another appointment. Why don’t we just schedule a strategy meeting for next week.”

  “Next week?” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “It’s almost April, Gallagher. We were talking about a June start-up.”

  “Schedule something for Tuesday, and I’ll be there.”

  “Your partners aren’t going to be happy.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Mary. After tonight they’re going to be downright ecstatic.”

  He’d been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to play his trump card, and that moment had finally arrived.

  * * *

  Alex got home a little after five o’clock. She’d have the house to herself for another two hours, and she intended to make the most of it. The one bad thing about living with John and Eddie was not having time for “girl” things like long soaks in the bathtub and walking around with mudpacks on her face and deep conditioner on her hair. She might even wax her legs while she was at it. Before too long her belly would be so big she wouldn’t be able to do things like that.

  She unlocked the front door and stepped inside as a wave of fatigue washed over her. A nap wasn’t a bad idea, come to think of it. A real one, complete with a pillow under her head and a quilt pulled up under her chin. The idea was enough to—

  “Good to see you again, Alexandra.” A tall, well-built man rose from the sofa. He wore a dark gray Armani suit, a Bijan tie, and an insincere smile. “I’m Brian Gallagher. We met at Dee Dee’s on Thanksgiving.”

  She bit back a scream. “Oh, my God! Where on earth did you come from?”

  “I used to live here,” he said, “although everyone tries to forget that.”

  “I didn’t see your car in the driveway.” Her hands were shaking from the shock of finding him in the living room.

  “The Porsche’s getting a tune-up,” he said. “I had my driver bring me down.”

  “But I didn’t see—”

  “I sent him off for dinner.” He looked at Alex curiously. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

  She remained in the archway to the living room. Every instinct in her body told her to turn and run for cover. Ridiculous, she thought. John’s brother was no threat to her. Still the odd prickling sensation remained. “I didn’t know you had a key to the house.”

  “I could say the same thing.”

  “I—they’re doing some repairs on my house. Eddie—Eddie and John were kind enough—I’m staying here until the repairs are finished. I’ll probably be back home next week.” Get a grip, Alex. You don’t owe him an explanation. From what John had told her about his brother, Brian showed up in Sea Gate about as often as Halley’s Comet. Be careful. He’s not here to socialize.

  “So where is everybody?” Brian asked.

  “Cape May,” she said, glancing at her watch. It was only five after five. “They’ll be home any minute,” she lied.

  “What are they doing in Cape May?”

  Didn’t the man read the newspaper? “The oil spill. They’ve gone down to help some friends.”

  “Sounds like something they’d do.”

  The look in his eyes chilled her to the bone. He hates them, she thought in amazement. He hates everything John and Eddie stand for.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I have a few things to do.”

  She started toward the kitchen. Brian followed her.

  “You’re not being very cordial, Alexandra,” he said as she filled the whistling teakettle with tap water, then set it on the stove. “I drive all this way to talk to you, and you don’t even offer me a cup of coffee.”

  “I’m not making coffee,” she said evenly. “I’m making tea.”

  “In that case, I’ll take a Scotch, no rocks.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m off work. You’ll have to serve yourself.”

  “You’re not making this easy.”

  “Listen,” she said, turning to face him. “I’m tired and hungry, and the night isn’t half over yet. I don’t really know what you’re doing here but I know enough to be pretty sure you didn’t drive down to Sea Gate for a cup of coffee.”

  “They’ve been talking about me, have they?” He almost seemed to enjoy the idea.

  “No,” she said, taking a cup and saucer from the cupboard. “I figured it out for myself.”

  He stepped farther into the room. “And what exactly did you figure out, Mrs. Whittaker?”

  The cup and saucer crashed to the floor. A shard scratched her ankle, but the sting barely registered. “What did you say?”

  “Mrs. Whittaker,” he repeated. “Been a while since anyone’s called you that, hasn’t it?”

  She grabbed the counter for support as the kitchen seemed to whirl around her like an amusement park ride gone crazy. He crossed the room toward her. She wanted to move away, but the dizziness was overwhelming.

  “Sit down,” he said, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table. “My wife had the same problem.”

  “I don’t have a problem,” she said as she took the seat. “I haven’t eaten, that’s all.”

  “That’s not healthy, Mrs. Whittaker, is it?”

  “All right,” she said, looking up at him. “I heard you the first time. You know who I am.”

  He sat down opposite her. �
��You’re a long way from home.”

  “Two or three miles,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. “A good stretch of the legs.”

  “Your husband’s been looking for you,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “Funny thing. He never thought of looking for you in Sea Gate.”

  “Is there a point to this, Brian?”

  “From what I hear, you left London in a hurry.”

  She said nothing. Her heart was thundering so hard she feared for the baby’s safety.

  “Griffin has been worried about you.”

  He looked to her for a response, but she refused to give him one.

  “Does your husband know about the baby?”

  The air rushed from her lungs, and she lowered her head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said, unruffled. “My wife used to get dizzy when she was pregnant, too.”

  He reached out to take her arm. She swung out at him wildly. He knows, she thought. Oh, God, he knows....

  “You’re strong,” he said. “John must—”

  “Don’t.” The note of fury in her voice was unmistakable. “Don’t bring him into this.”

  “Protecting little brother,” he said, with a nasty edge in his voice. “He seems to inspire that in his women.”

  “What do you want?” she demanded. “Why are you here?”

  “Haven’t I made that clear?” His expression was as untroubled as a child’s. “Runaway wives usually don’t want to be found by their husbands.” His gaze lowered to her belly. “Especially pregnant wives. I have a very simple proposition for you, Alexandra: You help me get what I want, and I’ll keep your secret.”

  “And if I don’t help you?”

  He met her eyes. “I have your husband’s private phone number programmed in my cell phone. If he took the Concorde, he could probably be here in seven or eight hours. You can help me out or you can explain that belly to the man you married. It’s your choice, Mrs. Whittaker.”

  * * *

  Brian Gallagher was gone by the time John and Eddie returned from Cape May. They were filled with stories about the oil spill and the impact it was having on sea life, but all Alex did was nod.

  “Are you okay?” John asked as he made the salad for supper. “You look pale.”

  “I—I think I’m coming down with something,” she said. “I might not be able to go to the meeting tonight.”

  “The meeting’s not important,” he said, placing his hand against her belly. “You and the baby are. Go lie down. I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  “You know, I don’t think I’m very hungry right now,” she said, edging toward the door. “Maybe I’ll take a nap, then fix myself some scrambled eggs later on.”

  She hurried toward the bedroom before he could say another word.

  Trapped, she thought. This is how it feels to be trapped. Brian Gallagher had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. Whatever decision Alex made, John was the one who would be hurt the most. Nothing on earth could make her go back to Griffin. In a way, she longed for closure, to finally, officially, put an end to their marriage so she could love John the way he deserved to be loved. If it wasn’t for the baby, she would welcome the chance.

  But the baby changed everything. Griffin was nobody’s fool—and he wanted a child of his own more than anything. He would never accept the fact that she was carrying another man’s child, not without medical proof.

  Brian’s proposition was wickedly simple. Just as John had suspected, his brother was the brains behind Eagle Management, the company that was devouring Sea Gate. The only thing that stood between Eagle and the marina was Alex’s house. All she had to do was sell her house to the management company, and Brian would forget Griffin Whittaker existed.

  “You’re asking too much,” she had said. “I need time to think.”

  “Two weeks,” he’d said. “Either you sell the house to me by April 1, or your beloved husband gets a call.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked as he turned to leave.

  “Because I can,” he said. “This fucking town turned away from me years ago. Now it’s my turn to even the score.”

  She knew beyond doubt that he wanted to even the score with John most of all.

  But not even Brian knew how well he was going to succeed. If she told John she might be pregnant with her husband’s child, she would break his heart. If she sold her home to Eagle Management, she would break his spirit.

  The only thing left to do was to pray for a miracle.

  * * *

  The first meeting of the Save Sea Gate coalition went pretty well. John was heartened by the turnout, even if a percentage of the attendees came to learn how they could profit by the town’s troubles. But as long as the marina and the Winslow house remained solid, Eagle Management’s plans couldn’t move forward.

  In fact, things seemed to be picking up at the marina. The long cold winter was over, and the sportfishermen had begun to come back. “Better service,” one of them said when John asked what had brought him to Sea Gate instead of one of the other trendier towns. “Don’t have to sit in the harbor for two hours, waiting to fuel up. You guys get us up and out fast.”

  The coalition was scheduled to meet again on March 30. They’d invited a reporter from the Star-Ledger to join them in order to get an overview of what was happening in their forgotten Shore town. Maybe the media would be able to do the one thing John hadn’t managed: find out the identities of Eagle Management’s top people.

  To his surprise, Alex remained strangely aloof from it all. He knew what her house meant to her and why. With the place at the center of the Eagle Management storm, he’d expected her to be more interested in the coalition’s plans to keep Eagle at bay.

  “Maybe Sally and Rich are right,” she had said last night as they lay together in bed. “Maybe it’s better to take the money and run.” There was so much he could do with it, she pointed out. With the profit from the sale of the marina, he could go anywhere, do anything he wanted.

  He heard her words, but he also sensed their meaning. She wasn’t talking about the marina; she was talking about her own home. He told himself it was his imagination, that there was no way in hell Alex would think about selling her house, but he couldn’t deny the gut feeling that something had changed. He just didn’t know what it was.

  * * *

  Alex had a doctor’s appointment five days after Brian’s surprise visit. She hadn’t been sleeping well. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Griffin swooping down on Sea Gate like an avenging warrior, determined to claim her baby.

  “You need rest,” Dr. Schulman said. “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated, and that intermittent spotting concerns me.”

  “There was very little,” Alex said, clasping her hands tightly together. “I’m fine, Doctor. Really.”

  “I’m going to have to insist on that sonogram, Alex. If you’re worried about the baby, I can assure you the sonogram is a safe procedure.”

  Alex relented and made an appointment for April 2.

  She’d keep it if she hadn’t already left town.

  Twenty

  Making up her mind to confront Brian Gallagher had turned out to be the easy part.

  Finding the right time turned out to be anything but.

  Either she was working extra hours, or Mark was home on spring break or Mercury had gone retrograde and wasn’t coming out until the millennium. All Dee knew was that every time she thought she’d found the perfect time, fate told her exactly what it thought of her plans.

  Opportunity finally presented itself in the form of a permission slip from one of Mark’s teachers. The science department was organizing an overnight field trip to the Pine Barrens on the same night as the second Save Sea Gate meeting.

  Dee took it as a sign from God that she was doing the right thing.

  Brian’s phone calls had slowed down to a trickle. She supposed it was bec
ause he’d finally gotten the idea that she wasn’t going to sleep with him again. At first he was cool to the idea of getting together, but she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He might be terrific in the courtroom, but he was no match for a mother out to help her child.

  The days until the field trip seemed to pass in slow motion. Rich and his wife left for Florida. Sally began the process of shutting down her bait and tackle shop. Eddie had an incident with a school crossing guard, and Alex moved back into Marge Winslow’s old place.

  Only Dee seemed to be trapped in a state of suspended animation, waiting.

  * * *

  “Sorry I’m late.” Brian shrugged out of his camel’s hair coat and handed it to Dee. Only Brian would wear a camel’s hair coat at the end of March. “Traffic’s building up down here.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Dee said, draping his coat over the back of a chair. “It takes me an hour to get to the community college, and that’s after the evening rush.”

  “The community college?”

  Damn it. Why had she mentioned that? Nobody but Mark knew she was taking classes toward a degree. “I’m taking an adult ed course.” Basket-weaving. Embroidery. Astrology. Let him think whatever he wanted.

  “Margo took a course a few years ago. Cake decorating.” He shook his head. “It didn’t occur to her she’d have to actually bake a cake in order to have something to decorate.”

  There was an ugly subtext to his words that made her feel an unexpected kinship with his wife.

  ‘Sit down,” she said, gesturing toward the couch.

  He glanced around the room. “I could use a Scotch.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t have any.”

  “Brandy will do.”

  “I have coffee,” she said, sitting down on the chair opposite him. “If you’d like some...”

  He shook his head, then brushed some cat hair off the sofa cushion and sat down. Apparently the cats in his world didn’t shed. The fact that she didn’t hit him in the head with a lamp was proof of how much she loved her son.