by Brenda Novak
Jenna felt the nervous flutter in her stomach and had to admit she was. “A little. It’s not every day I have an opportunity like this one. We could have a bright future if Mr. LeCourt likes my stuff.”
“Will we be rich?”
“Not quite that fast or that easily. Right now I’d be happy to receive a little positive reinforcement.”
“Positive what?”
She smoothed his hair off his forehead. “Never mind. Just kiss me for luck.”
He kissed her cheek, then climbed out of bed while Jenna went back into her own bedroom. “I think I’ll try to fit the window showing the redwoods into the van, too. I’m going to go grab it while you dress. I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” she called.
Ryan murmured his assent, and she returned to her studio, where she spent twenty or more minutes studying the pieces she’d planned to leave behind. She wanted to take them all—beauty was so subjective that she had no way of knowing which ones Mr. LeCourt would like—but there simply wasn’t enough room in the van. Finally she stuck with her original impulse and began to wrap the piece showing the California redwoods.
“Mom?”
Startled, Jenna whirled to see her son standing in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed by the uneasy look on his face. Then she saw a shadow move behind him, and Dennis came into view, holding a single red rose.
“Hi, Jen,” he said.
It took two attempts at speech to get her voice to work. “Dennis, you know you shouldn’t be here. You know what happened last time.”
“I just wanted to see Ryan for a minute before he left for school.” He stepped inside and handed her the rose, the scent of which warred with his cheap cologne.
Jenna accepted his gift because it would have taken much longer to refuse it. “Thank you. You’re looking better than you have in a while. I’m glad to see you’re taking some pride in your appearance again. That’s a healthy sign.”
“Did you get my letter?”
Jenna nodded.
“Then you know I’m going clean. I’ve got a new handle on life, Jen. I know I can do it this time. And I think I’ve got a job over in Fort Bragg. My cousin Joe put in a good word for me at the lumber mill where he works.”
Fort Bragg was only eight miles away. Jenna tried not to blanch. “Wonderful. I hope you can hang on this time, Dennis. You’ve got a lot to give the world, if you can just stay sober long enough.”
He smiled and dropped a hand to ruffle Ryan’s hair. Ryan shifted uncomfortably.
“Are you going somewhere?” Dennis asked, eyeing her suit and the bubble wrap she was holding.
Jenna searched for an explanation she felt she could give him. She hated to mention San Francisco. Dennis would undoubtedly think she was going to meet Adam, and she didn’t want to say anything that might set him off. “I have an appointment to show someone my stained glass this morning.”
“Great.” He rubbed his face as though he was used to feeling the roughness of whiskers, even though his skin was now smooth and stubble-free. “I hope you don’t forget the rest of us when you get rich and famous,” he said.
“I don’t think you have to worry. I’m not holding my breath on the rich-and-famous bit.”
“If anyone can do it, you can.” He glanced at their son. “Champ, could I talk to your mom alone for a few minutes?”
Ryan hesitated.
“It’s okay, honey. We’ll be right there,” Jenna told the boy. “I don’t want you to be late for school. Go have yourself a bowl of cereal.”
Dennis watched Ryan leave, then turned back to her. “Jen, I just wanted to ask you—” he shoved a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in front because of all the hair gel he’d used “—I just need to know what my chances are. I mean, if I stay clean and sober and all that. Would you ever consider coming back to me? Letting us be a family again?”
Jenna thought fleetingly of the baby. She should tell Dennis now. It might help him stay sober to know he had another child on the way. But she couldn’t be sure how he’d react, and she had her big appointment today.
“I know I’m asking a lot,” he went on. “I just figured if there was a chance, even a small chance, that you’d give our marriage another try, I could do anything.”
It hadn’t helped him before, but Jenna didn’t say that. Instead, she floundered for something to say that wouldn’t be too far from the truth. If Dennis kept her here any longer, she’d be late.
“Dennis, I’m sorry, but I can’t hold out false hope. You need to get well, but you need to do it for you, not for me or anyone else. Ryan will always be here for you, anytime you’re ready to build a relationship, provided you stay clean. But I can’t make you any other promises.”
“But you loved me once, didn’t you? I mean it wasn’t always Adam, was it?”
“No, of course I cared about you.”
“Then you might still care, at least a little bit, right?”
Jenna hesitated, knowing Dennis would take any positive indication well beyond what she intended and start hounding her again. To avoid that she said, “Not more than I care for any of my other friends.”
“You don’t love me at all?”
“Not anymore.”
He sucked in a breath as though she’d slapped him. “I know you’re angry, baby. You’ve got every right to be. I’ve been an asshole—”
“No, Dennis. There’s no need for apologies at this late date. I’m willing to be your friend and help you achieve a healthy relationship with Ryan. But I’ll never be your wife again. Those days are over.”
His jaw twitched and Jenna held her breath, hoping her refusal wouldn’t incite his anger. “Is it Adam?” he asked.
Jenna shook her head.
“There has to be someone else. You’ve never been like this before. So…hard. What happened, Jen?”
Whatever happened had occurred long ago. After everything Dennis had done—and not done—how could he even ask her that? “I’ve never been this sure of what I wanted before,” she said simply.
“And what is it you want? Rich lawyer-boy in your bed?”
Jenna felt a prickle of alarm. “Dennis, I’m not seeing Adam. I’ve already told you that. I want to be alone, get my feet underneath me. That’s all.”
Shaking his head, he strode to the opposite wall, then spun around and came back. “That’s it, then? No chance? Ever? You can shut me out just like that?”
“Young man, I’ve called the cops.” Mr. Durham stood in the doorway, carrying a bat, eyes implacable beneath gray tufted brows. “If you don’t want trouble, you’d better leave now.”
Dennis clenched his fists, and for a moment Jenna feared he might try to start a fight. She stepped forward, planning to use her karate training if necessary, but Dennis backed off with a laugh. “I see old Pop hasn’t changed,” he muttered. “Too bad taking a swing at him isn’t worth going back to jail.”
Then he shoved his way past Mr. Durham and was gone.
THOUGH THE ENGINE SPUTTERED and skipped in a temperamental start, the van ran smoothly as Jenna took Highway 128 south to 101. Dennis’s visit had upset her, but he’d left without making too much of a scene. And he did look healthier than he had in months and seemed more capable of seeing reason. She hoped his days with the bottle were behind him, for everyone’s sake, but she knew only time would tell.
Fiddling with the radio, she decided not to dwell on her ex-husband or his problems. She had enough to think about. Mr. LeCourt could boost her hopes or dash her confidence, but she had to take the risk of meeting with store owners like him if she wanted to establish a name.
Trying to talk herself out of feeling nervous, Jenna wiped sweaty palms on her pants and took a firmer grip on the wheel. Redwoods, intermingled with Douglas fir, towered on either side, surrounding her with a vivid green. The scent of pine wafted through the vents as she snaked through the valley, and that, together with
the misty almost surreal quality of the atmosphere, finally succeeded in relaxing her. By the time she reached Santa Rosa, the rain had disappeared entirely, and she was listening to the latest pop hits and enjoying the drive.
Pulling off the freeway and into a station to get gas, Jenna cut the engine and used her ATM card to fill up. She blessed whoever had pioneered the idea of paying at the pump, then slid back into the driver’s seat. She was running a little behind schedule, but if she hurried, she might still make it to San Francisco on time.
Turning the key in the ignition, Jenna pumped the gas pedal. The motor coughed and sputtered out. When she tried again, the starter wouldn’t even turn over. No clicks, nothing.
“Oh, no! Not now!” She got out to lift the hood.
“Is something wrong?” A heavyset woman carrying a bag of corn chips from the mini-mart to her station wagon paused at the van’s back bumper.
“I think I need a jump. The engine was running fine before I stopped for gas.”
“Do the lights and radio still work?”
“I know the radio does.”
“Hmm.” Setting her corn chips on the hood of her own car, the woman returned to look at the van’s engine with Jenna. “I’ve had my share of car problems. Used to expect my husband to take care of the cars, but he’s a better cook than I am, so he does dinner, instead, and I play mechanic. Why don’t you try starting it again?”
Jenna did as the woman suggested, silently praying that her stubbornness in refusing to borrow the Durhams’ car wouldn’t come back to bite her. She hadn’t had the nerve to leave Mrs. Durham with a battered van to drive to her hair appointment.
When Jenna’s efforts to start the car resulted in nothing more than baffling silence, the woman peered around the hood. “It’s the alternator.”
Jenna let her forehead hit the steering wheel.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the diagnosis. I belong to Triple A, so I’ll go call for a tow.”
“That’s a good idea. Why don’t you walk down to that Chevron station down there.” She motioned a dimpled hand at the red-and-blue sign only a block away. “Unlike this one, it’s full service, so they’ll have a mechanic. See how much they’d charge you to fix it. If they’re reasonable, you won’t have far to go.”
Jenna nodded. “I’ll do that.”
The other woman retrieved her chips and jimmied herself behind the wheel of her own car, then honked and waved as she drove away. Jenna returned the wave but didn’t make any other move, toward the phone or elsewhere.
“Excuse me, are you still using the pump?”
Jenna blinked up at a skinny teenage boy. “I’m finished but I can’t get out of here. My car won’t start.”
“Oh.” He looked unhappy about this news because the other pumps were all in use and he was obviously in a hurry.
“Care to help me push it out of the way?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Once they tried to get the van rolling, two other motorists pitched in, and Jenna steered into a parking spot. She thanked her helpers, grabbed her purse and walked to the Chevron station, where a greasy man with the name “Dale” sewn onto his shirt told her it would cost approximately $200 to fix her car, if it was only the alternator, and would take most of the day.
She used the office phone to call Triple A, then sat staring at the floor, wondering what to do next. She’d be wasting her time calling the Durhams to come for her. Mrs. Durham had the car and was getting her hair done, which left Jenna with only one other option—and the secret hope that if she arrived in San Francisco some time today, she could still salvage her meeting with Mr. LeCourt.
Adam’s secretary answered on the second ring. “One moment, please. I’ll see if he’s in.”
Jenna bit her lip. “Please be there. Come on, Adam, I need you. I need you now,” she muttered.
“I was wondering how long it would take before you admitted that.”
Jenna’s heart leaped at the vibrant sound of his voice, even though she denied his offhand remark. “I’m not admitting to anything. I’m stranded.”
Concern replaced humor. “What happened?”
“My van broke down.”
“Where?”
“In Santa Rosa.” She fought the lump rising steadily in her throat, not wanting Adam to know how close to tears she was. She’d been so excited about meeting Mr. LeCourt, and now she was going to miss her appointment.
“But Gram told me she was giving you her car to drive.”
“I wouldn’t take it.”
He cursed. “You and your damn pride.”
“It wasn’t all pride,” she argued. “The van has a lot more room for my work.”
“That’s true. So are you somewhere safe? Off the road?”
“Yes. I’m at a Chevron station. Fortunately the trouble started just after I stopped to fill up, so I wasn’t on the freeway or anything.”
“Good. Tell me where you are, and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to cause you too much trouble.”
“Jen, it’s no trouble. Just give me the directions.”
Jenna did, then asked him to call Harvey LeCourt.
“Do you think he’ll give me another chance?” she asked, hating the high pitch of her voice. She’d battled a drunken ex-husband, suffered through the morning sickness of a surprise pregnancy and dealt with seeing her father for the first time in twenty-four years, for the most part without a tear. And now she wanted to cry over a missed appointment!
“Sure. Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of it. Maybe he’ll have time later this afternoon.”
The gentleness in Adam’s voice, and his endearment, felt like a warm embrace, but Jenna tried to ignore the comfort it gave her because nothing worked faster than sympathy to open the floodgate restraining her tears.
“Thanks,” she said simply, and hung up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you’re leaving? We were supposed to go over the Cavendish case this afternoon.” Mike stood in the doorway of Adam’s office, his face turning red—as though Adam had given his tie a yank and cut off his air.
“Sorry. A friend of mine is stranded, and I’m going to pick her up,” Adam replied.
“Her? Is that what’s gotten into you lately? A woman?”
Adam retrieved his keys from his desk drawer and grabbed his suit coat from the closet next to the door. “I don’t think I like the implication, Mike. I’m pulling more than my weight around here. You no longer have control of my every waking hour, that’s all.”
“No one’s ever been able to control you, Adam, and I wouldn’t be stupid enough to try. But neither would I bother to imply anything. I’m saying it straight out: you haven’t been the same for the past few weeks. The rest of us are busting our balls trying to build this practice, and you’re taking the afternoon off.”
Adam shrugged. “And I took the past two weekends off. After nearly ten years of giving this firm everything I’ve got, maybe I’ve decided to have a life again. You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Mike?”
Making a tsking sound, his partner shook his large sweaty head. Excessively overweight, Mike could perspire in subzero weather.
“Don’t look so ominous,” Adam told him, trying to lessen the growing strain between them. “I’ve never let my clients down and I’m not going to start now. We’ve got plenty of time on Cavendish.”
“It’s not Cavendish I’m worried about. There’s something going on around here. We need to talk.”
The gravity of Mike’s tone made Adam pause, but he shook it off. Mike was a control freak and would like nothing more than to bait him into staying. “Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.” He slipped on his coat. “I’ll call your secretary and set something up.”
Adam could feel Mike’s glare as he strode past him, but ignored it. Mike had elevated Adam to partner in record time, b
ut he hadn’t acted out of kindness or generosity. He’d seen Adam as a rising star and had wanted to gain for himself a reputation of working with a winner, one whose billable hours were very high. Considering the number of cases Adam had already won, he’d given Mike much more than could have been expected. In Adam’s mind he owed nothing more.
“I’m going to be out for a few hours, maybe the rest of the afternoon,” he told the receptionist. “Do we still have the packaging from those new prints we bought for the conference room?”
“Are you kidding? I save everything. It’s in the supply room.”
“Thanks.”
The telephone rang and she picked it up. He snagged some mints from her desk, then went to the supply room, where he took all the packaging he could find, and left the office.
The drive to Santa Rosa took a little over an hour. Adam called Harvey on his cell phone, then dictated correspondence until he reached the exit Jenna had told him to take. Though he felt bad she’d been stranded, he found himself smiling foolishly at the thought of seeing her again.
Jenna was asleep in the office of the Chevron station, sitting on a gray metal chair with her head resting against the Coke machine and her arms cradling her purse. Adam studied the familiar lines of her face, the thick lashes that dusted her cheeks, the square jaw and full lips, and wanted to bend over and wake her with a gentle kiss. Instead, he hunkered down and took her hands in his.
“Jen? It’s Adam. I’m here.”
She blinked, then focused her enormous blue eyes on his face, and the temptation to kiss her intensified.
“You all set?”
Nodding, she glanced around as though still trying to recover her bearings.
The buzzer on the door squawked, and the mechanic came inside. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to get to your car today, after all,” he said. “We’ve been swamped. But I’ll fix it first thing in the morning. You can pick it up after noon.”
“Thank you,” she said, but Adam could tell she wasn’t happy with the news. He helped her up and they started out to the Mercedes.