by Patricia Kay
Before she left the home that day, she asked the receptionist if she could talk with Mr. or Mrs. Civic. Ten minutes later, Gerri Civic, an attractive fortyish woman with a sweet smile, walked into the reception area.
"Hello, Mrs. Callahan. This is a nice surprise. We've missed seeing you! The children have asked about you many times."
Keep piling on the guilt, Claire thought.
"What can I do for you?"
"Can we go into your office?" Claire suggested.
"Certainly."
When the two were settled into Gerri Civic's small office, Claire said, "Mrs. Civic, would it be possible for Brigitte to have a weekend pass? I'd like to have her come and spend the weekend with me."
"Well . . . it's unusual to grant a pass for a visit to anyone other than family, but in your case ... I don't see why not." Gerri Civic smiled. "After all, you and Mr. Callahan are our greatest benefactors."
/ should tell her Nick and I are no longer living together. It's not fair to let her think . . . "Thank you. I appreciate it. Would it be all right if I pick her up about five-thirty on Friday?" Claire stood, extending her hand.
"Perfectly all right." The director stood, too, and the two women shook hands.
* * *
"Where's Brigitte?" Nick asked Lisa after the first exuberant greetings were over. He shouldn't have stayed away so long.
Lisa's expressive dark eyes widened. "She's at your house!"
"My house!"
"Yeah. Claire came and got her last night. She's spending the weekend with you. Did you forget?" Lisa grinned impishly.
Nick's head whirled. Claire came and picked up Brigitte? For the weekend? What was going on? "I haven't talked to Claire," he improvised.
He wanted to leave right then. Was something wrong? But he didn't want to alarm the children, so he visited with them for a couple of hours. When the visit was over he headed straight for Paul Civic's office.
"Nick! Good to see you!" Civic said, standing immediately when Nick entered his office. "We haven't seen much of you lately."
"Why did Claire take Brigitte for the weekend?" Nick said without preamble. "Who gave her permission?"
Civic's face paled. "Why . . . uh, Gerri did. Is . . . is something wrong?" He frowned. "Your . . . your wife picked her up. I saw her myself. I thought you—"
"You thought wrong. My wife and I are separated. We're in the middle of divorce proceedings."
"But surely there's no harm in Brigitte spending the weekend with Mrs . . . uh . . . Callahan ..."
"Let's hope not," Nick said. He knew he was acting irrationally, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Were Claire and what he had lost going to haunt him forever? Would he run into her and memories of their marriage at every turn? Worse, would she unknowingly build Brigitte's hopes, the way she'd built his, then let her down?
He had to put a stop to this. Now.
* * *
Claire's aunt and uncle had gone to visit old friends in New Braunfels for the weekend, leaving the house to Claire and Brigitte. Saturday was such a beautiful day—sunny and mild for early February—that she and Brigitte had decided to spend most of it outdoors. After cooking breakfast, they put on jeans and sneakers and sweatshirts, and Claire drove to the zoo, where they spent hours walking and talking and looking at the animals.
Claire enjoyed the fresh air and the change of scenery. For the first time in weeks, she felt almost happy. Maybe there could be a life without Nick, she thought. Of course, she wouldn't always have the comfort of the bright teenager's company. She quickly dismissed the depressing thought. Take one day at a time. Remember your philosophy.
"Do you miss your mother, Claire?" Brigitte asked as they walked along.
"Very much." It didn't hurt quite so much to talk about Kitty as it had when she had first died.
"I miss my mother, too." Brigitte shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and watched two grizzly bears roll around on the sun-warmed rocks. She smiled, and Claire looked at her perfect profile. The child was so beautiful. Beautiful enough and graceful enough to be a model. Maybe Claire should mention Brigitte to Peachey.
"Do you want to tell me about your mother?" Claire asked.
Brigitte turned toward her. She nodded.
"Let's go get something to drink and find a place to sit down," Claire suggested.
Over Diet Cokes they talked.
"My mother died when I was eight. But I still remember her. She was really nice. We didn't have much money. She . . . she used to draw paper dolls for me." Brigitte grinned. "The other kids in the neighborhood were jealous.
"After she died, things changed. I guess my dad tried, but he didn't know how to take care of me and my brother. He started drinking a lot." Sadness flitted across Brigitte's face.
"What happened?"
"When I was ten and my brother Sean was fifteen, my dad was killed in a barroom fight." She said it with no emotion, and Claire's heart twisted. "Sean and me didn't have any money, and we didn't have anyone to help us."
"No family?" A lock of hair fell across Brigitte's forehead, and Claire wanted to brush it back, wanted to caress the girl's cheek, wanted to tell her everything would be okay.
"No. My mother had a sister—our aunt Kathleen— but she went off to California or some place, and we didn't have any idea how to get in touch with her." Brigitte looked at Claire, her blue eyes clear. "Dad always said Aunt Kathleen was a hooker."
Shock barreled through Claire. Not that Brigitte might have an aunt who was a prostitute, but that the child was so matter-of-fact about it. She'd said hooker like she might have said teacher.
"Anyway, Sean started dealing coke to make money, but then I guess he got hooked on it, and before long the neighbors called the child welfare people, and they came and Sean was sent to a rehab center, and I came to live at the home."
"And you've been there ever since?"
Brigitte nodded glumly. "I guess Sean's out now, 'cause he's eighteen. I kept thinkin' maybe he'd come and get me, or maybe someone nice would adopt me." Once more her clear, blue eyes met Claire's. "Then, when I met you, after you and Nick got married, I started to dream about what it would be like to have somebody like the two of you for a mother and father." Claire reached across the iron table and clasped Brigitte's hands in hers. She wished she could think of something to say. But everything had already been said.
* * *
Claire felt tired. A good feeling, she decided. Instead of the weariness that had permeated her bones for weeks, she felt honest-to-goodness physically tired.
She looked at Brigitte sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes. She smiled. The teenager was so lovable. It hurt Claire to know how many children had been abandoned, either emotionally or physically. If only she could do something about this one. Claire knew it was impossible for one person to solve all the problems in the world, but if each person solved just one . . . She reached across and squeezed Brigitte’s hand.
"What do you want to do tonight, honey? Go out to eat? Get a pizza and rent a couple of movies?" Claire's aunt and uncle had a VCR, and Claire had been indulging herself for weeks.
"I . . .I'd love to go out to eat," Brigitte confessed shyly.
She probably didn't get to eat out often, Claire thought. Why didn't I think to take her or the other kids out before? "All right. Why don't you pick the place?" She turned onto the street where her aunt and uncle lived.
But Brigitte was no longer listening. "Claire, look ..." She pointed out the front window.
Puzzled, Claire looked down the street. A silver Lotus was parked in front of her aunt's house. Claire's heart leaped up into her throat. Leaning against the Lotus was a tall, dark-haired man who she'd recognize anywhere.
What was he doing here?
"It's Nick," Brigitte said, voice lilting.
Claire pulled in the driveway and cut the engine. Brigitte wrenched open her door and went flying toward Nick. "Hi, gorgeous," he said, hugging her close. His com
pelling eyes met Claire's over the top of Brigitte's head.
"Hello, Nick," Claire said quietly, although her pulse was racing and her insides were quaking. He was wearing soft, well-worn jeans, polished brown loafers, and a cream-colored sweater under a tan corduroy jacket. His hair glistened in the late afternoon sunlight.
"Hello, Claire."
She stood awkwardly. She wasn't sure what he wanted, and she didn't know what to say.
Finally he spoke. "I went by the home today. They told me Brigitte was with you."
"Oh." Oh, dear. She could see by the way his eyes had darkened that he wasn't pleased.
"Brigitte," he said, "do you mind going on into the house. I'd like to talk to Claire privately."
Brigitte looked at him, then at Claire. Claire gave her an encouraging smile. "It's okay, honey. I'll be in in a minute."
Brigitte frowned, but she complied. When the front door closed behind her, Nick turned toward Claire once more. "What kind of game are you playing here?"
Claire stiffened. "What do you mean? I'm not playing a game."
"You must be. You never brought Brigitte home with you while you were living with me. So the only conclusion I can draw is that you're using her."
"Using her!" Claire's nervousness disappeared. "What have I ever done to cause you to believe I'd use a child— for any reason?"
"You used me, didn't you?"
Claire stared at him. She knew she'd wounded his pride. She knew he was angry. She also knew she couldn't let Brigitte be hurt. "I was only thinking of Brigitte when I asked her out," she said quietly. "When I visited the home on Tuesday, Brigitte and I talked, and when she asked me, I told her the truth— that you and I are separated and in the process of getting a divorce. She cried when she found out."
Claire looked away, the memory of Brigitte's pain knifing through her once more, mingling with her own pain. "When I asked her why she was so upset, she . . ." Claire slowly met Nick's gaze once more. "... She said she had dreamed of becoming our daughter."
The color drained from Nick's face.
Claire was relentless. Let him hurt, too. She no longer remembered that she'd left him to keep from hurting him. She no longer remembered that she wanted him to think of her as being selfish. She no longer remembered that she didn't need to look good in his eyes. All she knew was that she was hurting, Brigitte was hurting, and he would have to take his share of the blame for all the problems they'd caused.
After all, it was his idea that they make a marriage of convenience. Not hers.
"So your solution to the kid's daydream is to dangle a carrot under her nose? Make it even harder for her to accept that her dream isn't going to come true?"
His words were cutting and icy cold.
"You can really be a bastard, can't you?"
"I never pretended to be anything but," he snapped. "Unlike you, who pretended to be all sorts of things you weren't."
All Claire's joy in the day faded. She could feel her shoulders slumping under the weight of Nick's dislike and disapproval. What could she say? There was so much subterfuge and distrust between them, nothing she said would even make a dent. "Brigitte's lonely, Nick. You and I let her down. I was only trying to make it up to her a little bit. That's all. No sinister motive."
"You don't have to worry about Brigitte any longer. You're right about one thing. I did let her down. So I'll take care of her from now on." He began to walk toward the house.
"Where are you going?" Claire said, alarm coursing through her.
"To get Briiette. I'm taking her home."
"No, you're not!"
He jerked to a halt, turned slowly. His eyes glittered.
"If you go into that house, if you try to take Brigitte away, I'll call the police."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
For several long seconds, they stared at each other. Claire could see a muscle twitching under his left eye. He was very angry. But Claire was very angry, too. And she would not allow Brigitte to be caught in the middle of the mess they'd made of their lives.
Finally he moved toward the car, and Claire could feel relief washing over her, and weakness coming in its wake.
"We're not finished," he said in a parting shot before opening the door to the Lotus. "But the next round will be in court."
Chapter 13
Claire's anger faded quickly. How could she stay angry with Nick? He was only acting in character. Besides, she was the one who had made him suspicious of her motives. She couldn't have it both ways. If she wanted him to believe she felt nothing where he was concerned, why shouldn't he think she was the same way where Brigitte was concerned?
For the rest of the weekend, Claire couldn't get the memory of Nick's coldness and indifference out of her mind. She had obviously done her job well, for it was apparent to her that he was completely over her.
Of course, he never loved you anyway. So it's not surprising it didn't take long for him to decide to cut his losses, chalk you up as a mistake and move on with his life.
If only she could move on with hers.
If only she didn't still love him.
* * *
Two days later Claire was served with divorce papers. Her heart thudded as she stared at them. Each beat was like a blow to her heart. It was really happening. She hadn't realized the divorce would hurt so much.
Isn't this what you wanted?
She only gave the papers a cursory glance, making note of the fact that she was due at a preliminary meeting the following Monday morning. Then she set the papers down. She couldn't bear to look at them any longer.
"Do you mind if I take a look at those, Claire?" her Uncle David asked.
"No." Oh, Nick. If only things could have been different. If only I'd been able to give you a child.
After her uncle read through the papers, he said, "Who's representing you in this divorce?"
Claire shrugged. "I don't have a lawyer."
"You'd better get one. This all looks fairly complicated to me. Do you want me to find an attorney for you?"
"No. I don't want anything from Nick anyway, so why do I need a lawyer?" / just want to forget. As quickly as possible.
"Claire, you're not thinking straight, honey. Of course you must have someone to represent your interests."
"I told you, Uncle David. I don't want a cent from Nick. I'm not entitled to anything of his. A lawyer would be a waste of money." Nick's face, with its grooves and hollows, haunted her. She'd thought she was doing so well, forgetting him, but seeing him the other day had proven her wrong.
The very next day she received a call from Tim Sutherland. "Your aunt gave me your number at work," he said. "Do you mind?"
"No. But could you hold on a minute?" She got up and shut the door to her office, then picked up the phone again. "How have you been, Tim?" She felt absurdly pleased that he'd called her. He was a link to Nick.
"I've been fine, Claire, but I didn't call to talk about me. I'm concerned about you. Who's your lawyer?"
"For the divorce, you mean?"
"Yes."
"I don't have one, Tim. I really don't need one."
"Of course you need one."
"No, really, I don't."
"Listen, Claire, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say. You can't go to that meeting without a lawyer. They'll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what's happening."
"I won't have a lawyer," she said stubbornly.
"Will you at least let me go to the meeting with you?"
"You! But ... I thought—"
"No, I'm not representing Nick." A hardness settled into Tim's voice. "I told him my sympathies lay with you, so it wouldn't be ethical to represent him."
"Oh, Tim ..." How Tim's statements must have hurt Nick. His best friend! Nick would view this as a betrayal, Claire knew it. "Listen, it's so sweet of you, but I can't—"
"You can. I won't take no for an answer. I can't represent you—I drew up the prenupti
al agreement, so representing you would be a conflict of interest—but I can advise you. And if it turns out you need an attorney, I can recommend one to you."
And no matter what Claire said, Tim insisted he would be at the meeting. Claire thought about it, and she realized it would be a good idea for Tim to be there. She intended to get some things straight with Nick, and she wanted the arrangements to be legally endorsed. She would need Tim's help.
Claire's new boss wasn't thrilled about her asking for the following Monday morning off, but he didn't refuse. For the rest of the week, Claire could think of little else but the meeting and the fact that she'd see Nick again. She and Tim talked several times that week, and on Thursday after work he came over to her aunt's house.
When she opened the door and saw him, she realized how much she'd missed him. They hugged, and Claire wished with all her heart that everything had worked out differently.
Later Tim took her out for dinner. He took pains to entertain her, and she was grateful for his friendship. But even though she enjoyed the evening, it was with a bittersweet pleasure, for she knew she could never see Tim without thinking of Nick. Without being reminded of what she'd lost.
Tim briefed her on what to expect at the meeting. "Remember, Claire, don't agree to anything without getting my okay."
They made arrangements to meet Monday morning at nine forty-five in the lobby of the building where the law offices were housed.
Claire was early and nervous. When Tim arrived, he squeezed her arm and smiled down at her, his brown eyes warm and comforting. "Don't worry," he said. "It'll be okay."
The law offices of Angelo, Ford, and Angelo were dignified and elegant, just what Claire had expected. She and Tim were ushered into a sunny corner office where a big, dark-haired man was sitting with Nick at a rectangular conference table.
After the introductions were made, Claire and Tim sat across from Nick and Bill Angelo, his attorney. Claire's gaze met Nick's, and for just a second, she saw a flash of pain in the depths of his eyes, but it was quickly banished. A dull ache throbbed in her chest. What a mess they'd made of their lives.