“Yes. And I like it like this,” Iris said.
It’s just hair. It will grow back, Fran told herself.
“In the future, let me know when you want to change your style and I’ll take you to the salon,” Fran said.
Iris just shrugged and picked at her dark purple nails. “Can I go?”
“No. Go wash your face first,” Fran said.
“What! Why?”
“Don’t raise your voice, young lady. You’re not going out of the house with that much eye makeup on,” Fran said. She had a flash of déjà vu, and it suddenly occurred to Fran that she’d had nearly the same conversation with her own mother when she was a teenager.
Great, Fran thought. I really have turned into my mother. And suddenly she felt decrepit, and a million miles away from the girl wearing the blue bikini who Coop had come close to kissing all those years ago.
“I’m just going over to Hannah’s. Why does it matter if I’m wearing eye makeup?” Iris said.
She has a point, Fran thought. What harm is there in a little eyeliner—okay, a lot of eyeliner—if she’s just doing her math homework? Sure, Hannah’s mother will judge me for letting her out like that. Then again, Hannah’s mother wears her hair too blond and her shorts too short, so who is she to judge anyone?
“Okay, fine, go,” Fran said.
“Really?” Iris looked unsettled at the easy victory.
“You’re just going to Hannah’s? You two aren’t going to the mall or out anywhere else?”
“No, we’ll be at her house the whole time,” Iris promised.
“Okay, good. Call me if you change locations,” Fran said.
Iris looked like she couldn’t believe her luck. “Okay, bye,” she said, turning and hurrying out of the house before Fran could change her mind.
The phone rang, and Fran picked it up. “Hello?”
“Fran, it’s Jaime.” She sounded half-hysterical, and one of the children was wailing in the background. “Is Iris there?”
“Hey. No, she just left. Why, what’s wrong?”
“Logan shut his hand in the door. I need to take him in for X-rays, and I can’t get hold of Mark, and I need to find someone to watch Ava,” Jaime said. The cacophony of screams in the background got louder. Jaime sounded like she was on the verge of tears herself.
“Oh, no, poor Logan. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you so much,” Jaime said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Just give me five minutes,” Fran promised.
WHEN MARK GOT HOME, Jaime was in the middle of reorganizing their closet. It had suddenly occurred to her that she really should organize her clothes so that they hung not just by season and by type—skirts with skirts, jackets with jackets—but also by color. As soon as Ava and Logan had gone to bed—without argument, for once, as they were both too exhausted from the trauma of the day to fight sleep—she’d headed upstairs to tackle the project, and was still in the midst of the reorganization when Mark appeared at the closet door, looking confused.
“What are you doing?”
Jaime, who was sorting her jeans—white to light rinse to dark rinse to black—glanced up at him. His face was flushed with a healthy sheen, as though he’d been out in the fresh air.
She wondered if she looked as tired and hollowed-out as she felt. Her eyes were sore from the steady trickle of tears, her neck was stiff, and her head was buzzing with echoes of Logan’s cries. She supposed she should have put some thought into what she was going to say to her husband.
“I’m reorganizing the closet,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“Work, the tennis club. Why? Is something wrong?”
“You never called me back. I left you a bunch of messages. But you never called me back,” Jaime said.
Mark took a step toward her, concern flickering. “What happened? Is everyone all right? Logan? Ava?”
“They’re both fine. At least, they are now. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“It ran out of power. I didn’t notice until I went to check my messages on the way home from the club.”
“I’ve been trying to call you for six hours. You didn’t notice your phone was out of power that entire time?”
Mark shrugged. “No. I’ve been too busy. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Jaime turned her attention to her shirts. White, white, pink, yellow, blue, pink and blue striped. She hesitated, and then switched the pink and the yellow around, so that it was pink, pink and blue stripe, blue. Much better.
“Jaime?”
“Logan shut his hand in the bedroom door,” Jaime said without turning around.
“Aw, poor guy.”
Jaime looked over her shoulder at her husband, underwhelmed by his reaction. “I had to take him in for X-rays.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Did he break anything?”
“No. But he was really upset. He was in quite a bit of pain,” Jaime said. “And I couldn’t get ahold of you, so Fran had to come over and watch Ava while I took Logan to the doctor.”
“I told you, my phone was out of power.”
“I tried calling you at work, too. April said you were out of the office.”
“I had a client meeting,” Mark said. “And then I was at the club.”
“And I tried calling the tennis club. They said you weren’t there,” Jaime said, turning to look directly at her husband for the first time. She wanted to see how he reacted to this news.
This was as close as she’d ever come to asking him outright if he was having an affair. Mark frowned, and, Jaime thought, looked confused.
“But I was there. Em and I were playing on the back court. Maybe the girl in the office didn’t know we were there. You can’t see that court from where she sits,” Mark said.
“She seemed pretty sure you weren’t. She wouldn’t go check, even when I said it was an emergency.”
Mark shrugged. “She probably just couldn’t be bothered to get up off her ass. I’ll say something to Becky about it.”
“No, don’t. The girl in the tennis club isn’t the problem. The problem is that you were out of touch in the middle of a family crisis,” Jaime said. She folded her arms over her chest.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Mark said. He sighed and rubbed his temples. “It really wasn’t an emergency, was it? Did Logan really need to have X-rays, or were you just overreacting? You tend to do that whenever the kids get even the smallest bump or bruise.”
Jaime was aware that Mark was engaging in what she always liked to call his lawyer arguing tactic. Rather than discussing why he had been out of contact for such an extended period of time—and the effect this had on his family—he wanted to instead go on the attack, challenging her decision to take Logan to the doctor. Rather than defend the indefensible, refocus the argument. But even though Jaime knew what Mark was doing—and knew that she should keep him on point—she was infuriated at this challenge to her judgment. Mark hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen Logan screaming with pain. Not just fear—although, of course, he had certainly been scared—but in actual pain.
“How can you say that I was overreacting, that it wasn’t a crisis, when you weren’t even here?”
“Kids shut their hands in doors all the time. I know Emily did it once or twice when she was little, and we never took her for X-rays.” Mark shrugged out of his sweaty T-shirt and tossed it on top of the laundry hamper.
Jaime’s throat grew thick with anger and tears stung in her eyes. She blinked, willing herself not to cry. It always happened when she was angry, and then Mark would accuse her of trying to manipulate him with tears.
“Logan’s hand turned red and began swelling. I called the pediatrician’s office and spoke to Dr. Hung’s nurse. She was the one who told me to take Logan in for X-rays. She said that kids his age have soft bones that are easily damaged,” Jaime said.
“But she had
n’t seen Logan at that point, right? She was basically just giving you the worst case scenario. Look, I’m not criticizing you,” Mark said.
The hell you’re not, Jaime thought.
“I know you did what you thought was right. But if Logan’s fine—and he is fine, right?—well, then, you just got yourself worked up over nothing,” Mark said.
“I am not worked up over nothing! I’m upset because you weren’t there when I needed you,” Jaime said.
“I told you, my phone was out of power. It’s not like I was deliberately avoiding you. I was at work,” Mark said.
“And at the tennis club,” Jaime said.
Mark’s face hardened. “Is that what this is about? You don’t like me spending time at the club with my daughter, so you manufacture a crisis so you have something to be angry at me about?”
“Manufacture a crisis?” Jaime echoed, staring at her husband in disbelief. “Do you think I wanted Logan to shut his hand in the door?”
“No. But you might work what’s basically a minor household incident up into a major drama just to try to make me feel guilty. I mean, how bad could it have been if you’re now cleaning out the closet?” Mark asked.
Jaime could feel her grip slipping. Tears brimmed in her eyes, causing her vision to go blurry. “I’m not cleaning, I’m organizing. Because it makes me feel better. Calmer. And you weren’t here, so you don’t know how bad it was. But I’ll tell you—it was horrible. Logan was screaming in pain, and I didn’t know what to do.”
Mark’s expression softened. “That must have been very scary.”
“It was.” Jaime drew in a ragged breath. “And I kept trying to call you, and you wouldn’t pick up.”
“Because my phone was out of power.”
“But I didn’t know that. I just couldn’t get you, and I needed you. We needed you,” Jaime said.
Mark leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry my phone was out of power.”
This was nothing short of a major victory. Mark never apologized for anything. Jaime could feel her anger ebbing, soothed by his admission that he had let her down. Or, at least, he’d come as close to admitting that as he ever would.
“And now you think I’m being some sort of a drama queen,” Jaime said, sniffling. It occurred to her that sobbing uncontrollably tended to reinforce Mark’s view of her as a drama queen, but she couldn’t seem to stem the flow of tears. It had been such a long and difficult day.
“No, I don’t. I just said that because I felt like you were attacking me,” Mark said. Jaime leaned against him, too tired to stay angry.
“I didn’t mean to attack you. I was just so scared. What if Logan had been seriously hurt? I couldn’t bear it,” Jaime said. A shudder went through her as she remembered Logan’s wails of pain. Just the idea of him being seriously injured made her sick to her stomach.
“I couldn’t, either. Thank God he’s fine.” Mark kissed the top of her head. “Is there any wine?”
“Yes. I opened a bottle earlier.”
“Great, I could use a glass. Can I get you one?”
“Sure, thanks,” Jaime said, giving him a watery smile.
It wasn’t until after he’d walked out of the closet, whistling softly, that Jaime realized he’d never explained why he—the man who was practically surgically attached to his phone—had failed to notice it had been out of power for hours.
AUDREY LAY ON HER back with the sheet pulled up to cover her breasts and stared up at the ceiling fan, which was turning so slowly she could count each rotation. One, two, three, four, five. It was oddly hypnotizing. She could almost forget that she had, yet again, ended up in bed with Coop on her lunch hour. And this time, they hadn’t even gotten to the lunch part of the date.
“You’re being very quiet. What are you thinking about?” Coop asked.
Audrey turned toward him. Coop was lying on his stomach, his head resting on folded arms.
“What am I thinking about?” Audrey snorted. “Please.”
“What?”
“Your entire gender lives in terror of what the response to that question might be,” Audrey said.
Coop grinned at her. He has an annoyingly sexy grin, Audrey thought. I really need to stop letting it have such an effect on me.
“I think I just disproved your thesis. I am a man, this is real life, and I am interested in hearing what you’re thinking about. Especially if it’s along the lines of, ‘Wow, Coop is a beast in the bedroom. I never knew sex could be so damn good.’ ”
Audrey giggled and then thought, Did I really just giggle? I’m lying naked in bed, with a man I hardly know and now I’m giggling. Nothing good can come of this.
“Not even close,” Audrey said.
“No? Damn. Well, I know it’s not anything along the lines of, ‘I’m not the sort of woman who does this.’ Right?”
“Why’s that?”
“Because that would be a cliché.”
“But people think in clichés all the time,” Audrey argued. “That’s what makes them clichés.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Audrey shrugged, then grabbed the sheet before it fell away. “I’m not the sort of woman who does this.”
Coop groaned and buried his face in his pillow.
“But I’m not,” Audrey said. “This feels … I don’t know. Weird.”
Coop looked back up at her, shaking his head. “Weird. Great. That’s just the review I was hoping for. ‘How’s Coop in bed?’ ‘Well, actually, he makes me feel weird.’ It’s what every guy wants to hear.”
“Who am I supposedly having this conversation about your sexual prowess with?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t that what women talk to each other about?”
“Not in my experience.”
“Really? I thought there was an entire television show about four chicks sitting in a coffee shop talking about their sex lives.”
“Sex and the City. Which is, by the way, a fictional show. And what I meant by the weirdness is that this”—she waved an arm around, encompassing the bed, the room, the sunshine streaming in through the tilted blinds—“is out of my comfort zone. I normally spend my lunch hour eating a turkey sandwich at my desk.”
Coop kissed her shoulder. “I think we can do better than that,” he murmured.
“Seriously? I thought men your age needed a longer rest period.”
“Ouch. Just for that …”
Coop pushed himself up on his arms and loomed over Audrey who shrieked and said, “Wait, no, you’re going to have to feed me first. I’m starving. And then I really do have to get back to work. I have a business to run. I can’t spend all day lolling around in bed with you.”
“Pity,” Coop said, but he got out of bed and pulled on first a pair of blue striped boxer shorts and then his faded blue Levi’s. He glanced at Audrey, who was admiring the effect of a tanned male torso. “Come on, lazybones. Let’s go rustle up some lunch.”
“Are we going out?” Audrey asked, sliding out of bed. She felt suddenly shy of her nudity, and turned her back to him as she dressed.
“No, I’ll cook.”
“Can you cook?”
“I sure hope so. I have the whole dinner party club coming over in three days.”
“What are you making, anyway? You haven’t emailed out your menu.”
“Am I supposed to do that?”
Audrey, now fully dressed, turned to face Coop. “Everyone usually does. But it’s not like we have club bylaws or anything. Aren’t you going to put on a shirt?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Coop said. He grinned. “Why? Does the sight of my bare chest distract you?”
Audrey rolled her eyes. “What are we having for lunch?”
“I’m going to make you the best cheeseburger you’ve ever had in your life,” Coop said.
“Big talk. But can he deliver?”
“Watch and learn, sweetheart.”
&
nbsp; Coop headed toward the kitchen. Intrigued, Audrey trailed after him. His apartment was small and spartan, and the kitchen was just off the living room. Bear, who had been sleeping on his rectangular hunter green bed in the living room, stood, shook himself, yawned widely, and padded into the kitchen after them.
“Where are you going to put everyone for the dinner party?” Audrey asked. There was a small square table in the living room, which doubled as Coop’s desk, but it wouldn’t seat more than four, and there wasn’t room to extend it.
“You’ll see,” Coop said.
“Why all the mystery?”
“I like to maintain an element of surprise at all times,” Coop said. He rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a package of meat wrapped in white paper. “Here’s my first secret: Butcher Bob’s secret blend.”
“Butcher Bob?” Audrey repeated. “That sounds like a character from a kids’ cartoon.”
“He’s my meat guy.”
“You have a meat guy?” Bear nosed at Audrey’s knee, and she leaned over to rub his head.
“Sure. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“You should. Everyone needs a good meat guy,” Coop said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Audrey said.
She leaned against the counter and watched Coop work. He formed the meat into three round patties, and then seasoned each patty on both sides with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.
“Three?” Audrey asked.
“One’s for Bear,” Coop explained.
Audrey smiled. Bear planted himself at Coop’s feet and stared intently up at the counter, as though willing one of the hamburgers to zoom off of the plate and right into his mouth. He licked his chops and began to pant.
Coop washed his hands, got out a skillet, and set it on the burner to heat up. Audrey could tell by the way he worked in the kitchen—competently, with an economy of movement—that he was comfortable there. It was surprisingly sexy. Ryan had never cooked. He always joked that he was even incapable of making toast. But as soon as this disloyal thought flitted into her head, Audrey felt a twinge of guilt.
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