by Stone, Jean
She didn’t want to believe him, but she did. His eyes told her he was speaking the truth. Solid eyes. Honest eyes. So blue. Meg folded her arms around herself and returned to the window. “Steven, what do you want from me?”
“I want to marry you.”
She had asked, and he had said it. She stared out the window to the street below. Park Avenue. Reality. Or was it? Steven’s wife was cheating on him, had been cheating on him. A man was dead and Steven’s political career was probably finished. Meg didn’t know if there was any precedent for a United States senator serving in office while his wife was behind bars.
“I can stay in the city tonight,” he said. “I was hoping we could be together.”
It was late in the day now, and Meg could see the traffic get thicker, the people on the sidewalks grow in numbers, hurrying more quickly, eager to get home. Meg never walked home quickly. There was no reason to hurry.
She thought about Zoe, spending the night alone in her hotel room, worrying about her son. She thought about her own decision to take a leave from the firm, to try to sort out her life. A prickly sensation inched up her spine. She knew what it was. It was resentment. She resented the fact that Steven had barged in, expecting her to drop everything and be with him. But wasn’t this what she’d wanted? She thought about Zoe again, about her pain. Do any of us ever really get what we want?
Suddenly everything became so clear. Steven hadn’t merely been the reason she’d wanted to die these past few weeks. He’d also been her reason for not really being able to live these many, many years. For so long Meg had blamed herself—her never-born baby, even her long-dead mother. It had been easy to blame her mother; it was always easy to blame mothers. But now Meg knew the truth. Steven—his love, his memory, his absence—was what had crippled her life. Perhaps the reason no man had ever measured up to him was because Meg had never stopped thinking about him … because she’d been afraid if she stopped thinking about him, he would never come back.
But now, if she was going to go on—if she was truly going to have some sort of real, fulfilling life—she couldn’t take the chance of having things continue that way. She might never find the courage to tell him about the abortion—that was her right. But if she never could, if she never could trust enough in Steven’s love to tell him, Meg knew she could have no future with him. She also knew the real reason she couldn’t tell him: it was the same reason why she’d had the abortion in the first place. Meg was afraid that Steven would abandon her. The way her father had abandoned her mother. Because she was not worthy of love. So Meg had pushed Steven away before he could push her away. Because loneliness was less painful than rejection, and guilt was a burden she could not share.
She turned and faced him. “I’m going out of town early in the morning,” she said. “This isn’t a good time.”
He was quiet. He stood there, staring at her, his eyes growing darker, tiny lines forming around them and across his brow. For a moment Meg thought that Senator Steven K. Riley—admired by his constituents, respected by his peers, and one of the most powerful men in America—was going to break down. Then he opened the door and went out. And Meg was alone again.
Ten minutes later Meg was still standing by the windows, staring out, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Had she really told Steven “This isn’t a good time”? She was so afraid of being hurt by him again, and yet, in reality, she was the one inflicting the hurt now. Just as she had done over fifteen years ago. The only thing Meg knew for certain was that she loved him. And that being alone—even if it meant being without him—was still far safer than being vulnerable to love.
But you don’t have to be alone anymore, she reminded herself. You’re changing your life. You’re going to free yourself of guilt and of loneliness. You’re going to open your heart to friends, to things that matter.
Yet as determined as she was, Meg wondered if there would ever be room in her heart for a special man, someone whose love she could accept, someone she would love in return. Someone other than Steven.
“Meg?” She turned around quickly. George Bascomb entered her office without knocking.
“We’ve decided that a six-month leave would be more in the firm’s best interest than a permanent separation,” he announced flatly. He folded his hands and walked to the window.
In the firm’s best interest. The words jolted Meg.
“Of course,” George continued, “you’ll be expected to be available during that time should any problems arise concerning your cases. Also, we think it’s best if we tell the media you’re on temporary leave due to an illness in the family.”
Meg stared at the little man, at the back of his navy-blue suit. “I don’t have any family, George.”
He spun around. His face grew red. “Well, invent one, goddammit. You don’t seem to want to share with us exactly what this ‘personal matter’ is that’s come up, and we can only imagine it’s something the media might use to cast a shadow on the firm. But no one can say anything negative about a family illness.”
Meg wrapped her arms around her waist. “That’s all you worry about, isn’t it, George? The image of the firm.” A memory of Avery came creeping back.
George stared at Meg. “The firm pays your salary. The firm matters.”
Meg shook her head. “No, George. People matter.” Her eyes darted around her office, her photoless office, her mark of success. Suddenly it seemed empty, barren, and very unfriendly. She looked back at George. “Please tell the partners I thank them for their concern, but I’ve decided to reject the idea of a six-month leave.”
The expression on his face was easy to read. It said, “Women are such a pain in the ass.”
“I’m leaving today,” Meg said. “Permanently.” She watched his round face. It still didn’t flinch. “You can send my formal severance package to my home.”
George straightened his tie. “You’re a fool,” was all he said as he left her office.
She watched him go, knowing it would only be a matter of days before her name would be deleted from the stencil on the door and the letterhead in the drawers.
It wasn’t until they were thirty thousand feet in the air that Meg told Danny she had left the firm. She had slept surprisingly well the night before, eased of life’s pressures, her soul set free.
He chewed thoughtfully on the rubber omelette before saying, “Well, I suppose with your credentials you can go anywhere.”
“What you’re really saying is George was right. That I was a fool to leave. That anywhere after Larson, Bascomb is a step down.”
He swigged his coffee. “Yep.”
Meg gazed past him out the window of the jet. They were smoothly cruising atop a bed of clouds. “The truth is, I’ve been thinking of getting out of criminal law.”
“To do what?”
Meg shrugged. “Family law, maybe. Something more meaningful.”
“There are criminals in families, Meg.”
“Fine. They can go to Larson, Bascomb. I’ll handle the rest.”
Danny whistled. “I can’t believe you quit. The tabloids will hate it. Imagine. No Meg Cooper to chase from the courtroom.”
Meg picked at her corn muffin. “The tabloids won’t care. I’m sure no one else in the world will either.”
Danny reclined against the seat. “This all started with Holly Davidson, didn’t it?”
“No, Danny. It started years ago. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Then going to the spa, meeting Zoe and Alissa—even seeing Steven again—it all made me realize how much more there is to life than bullshit.”
Danny laughed. “Alissa Page taught you there’s more to life than bullshit? Now, that’s funny.”
“In her own way, she did. I know she seems a little odd, but …”
“A little? Babe, that’s an understatement.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Yeah. Gave her the information she wanted. Case closed.”
“I wonder what’
s happened.”
“Who knows? Who cares?”
The attendant came and collected their trays.
“She really got to you, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
“Come on, Danny. Alissa. I think you kind of like her.”
“She’s a lonely, rich, married woman.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“Then I suppose the question should be, why not?”
“Don’t know. Losing my touch, I guess. You’re changing the subject.”
Meg closed her eyes and lay her head back. “I know. So are you.”
“Have you heard from your other friend? The one in Washington?”
She kept her eyes closed, aware of the numbness creeping through her once again. She wondered why that still happened whenever she thought of Steven. Then she remembered her new life, her new freedom. The numbness began to fade. “I saw him yesterday,” she answered.
“And?”
“And nothing. This morning I got up and showered and dressed and met you at the airport and got on this plane.”
“What about the hours in between? The nighttime hours?”
“Raggedy Man kept my feet quite warm, thank you.”
“Raggedy Man. Christ. Him again.”
They were silent for a while. Meg let the steady rumble of the engines lull her into half sleep and wondered why she felt so content, so happy. It was only yesterday that she had walked away from her megajob, and possibly her career. It was only yesterday that she had walked away from the man she loved. Again.
But right now Meg only knew that she felt comfortable in her jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her courtroom demeanor left behind in Manhattan. She was flying toward the unknown, and it was more intriguing, more pressing, more exciting than any job, any case, had ever been. What would happen tomorrow was anyone’s guess. As for today, she was going to help find Zoe’s son. She was finally going to do something that mattered.
When they landed in Minneapolis, it was raining. Meg confirmed that a car would await them at the Chisholm-Hibbing airport. Then they boarded their connection—a small six-passenger commuter plane. Meg sat behind the pilot and gripped the back of his seat for the entire bouncing, agonizing trip, all the time questioning her decision to seek excitement.
Once they touched down on the tarmac, she turned to Danny. “Remind me never to go up in one of these again.”
He laughed. “Never go up in one of these again.”
“Very funny.”
“Not as funny as it will be watching you walk back to Minneapolis.”
Inside the terminal Meg took out the directions Zoe had given her and studied them while Danny got the car. The airport wasn’t too far from Eric’s diner, which Zoe had indicated was named simply “Lunch.”
On their way to the diner Meg asked, “Do you really think they’re here?”
“Sure. The guy runs his own business and is married with three other kids. What’s he going to do? Take Scott to Mexico? Besides, my guess is he isn’t exactly loaded.”
Meg studied the rain as it shot across the windshield. “What are you going to say?”
“Just watch me closely. Maybe in your next career you can be a private eye.”
Meg laughed. “Now that’s not funny.”
The diner was the picture of Zoe’s description. They went inside and ordered sandwiches and coffee from a young waitress. When they finished eating, Danny asked the waitress if he could speak with the owner. Meg couldn’t imagine what Danny had in mind.
A tall, fair-haired, yet rugged-looking man appeared from the back. Meg knew it must be Eric. He didn’t look like a kidnapper—whatever it was kidnappers looked like. Somehow she’d managed to avoid ever having to defend one. Thank God.
Danny stood up and shook hands with Eric. “Dan Gordon,” he said, “from St. Paul.”
“Eric Matthews. What can I do for you?”
Meg studied him. She tried to picture him young, filled with enthusiasm for life, filled with love for Zoe. She saw strength in his face, stability. Maybe that was what Zoe had seen.
“The fact is,” Danny said, “I’m a marketing rep for Super Saver Markets.”
“Super Saver?”
“Based in St. Paul. Looking to grow.”
Eric’s look grew suspicious. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Not with you, Mr. Matthews. With your diner. This is a nice piece of property you have here. Right on the main road and all.”
Meg managed to keep a straight face while Danny convinced Eric that he was interested in buying the property.
“I’ve built this place up from nothing,” Eric protested, shaking his head. “It’s my life. My family’s life. I’m not about to sell.”
“Super Saver Markets is very generous,” Danny intimated. “You could retire.”
“And do what?” Eric grinned. “Move to Florida?” He offered Danny his hand. “Thanks, anyway, but tell the folks in St. Paul I’m not interested.”
Danny shook his hand. “No harm in asking.”
Eric nodded; then Danny asked if there was a phone he could use.
Back in the car Meg laughed. “You’re a very convincing liar, Mr. Gordon.”
“Hey, all that matters is that now we know who he is. And we know that he’s here. Which means, so is Zoe’s son.”
“What about the phone? Who did you call?”
“No one. I looked up Eric Matthews in the book. Got his home address. See if you can find Ten Mile Road on that map of yours.”
She found it.
Within minutes they were parked in front of Eric’s small clapboard house. The yard was big, a cluttered graveyard of snowplows and old tires. But there were brightly colored flower boxes on the porch of the house, and a calico wreath that read “Welcome” hung on the shiny red door.
“Now what?” Meg asked.
“Now we wait.”
“For what?”
“We’ll know that when it happens.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Two boys rode up on bicycles. They were wearing long green rain ponchos, but Meg could tell that one was young, about seven or eight. The other, a teenager. The teenager rode a girl’s bike.
Danny quickly got out of the car and approached them.
“Hey, boys!” he called. The boys stopped.
Meg rolled down her window in order to hear. She ignored the rain that pelted her shoulder.
“What, mister?” the young boy asked.
“Not you,” Danny said. “I want to talk to Scott.”
The younger boy looked at the older boy. The older boy looked at Danny. “What about?” he asked.
“We’re friends of your Mom’s,” Danny said. “We just want to talk to you a minute, that’s all.”
Scott looked to the car. Meg got out so he could see her. She didn’t want him to think it was Zoe sitting in the car; she didn’t want him to run.
“Hello, Scott,” she said. “I’m Meg. This is Danny.” She pointed to Danny, then walked toward them.
Scott turned to the younger boy. “Take off,” he said. “I’ll be in the house in a minute.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
After the boy had left, Scott said, “I told my mother not to try and find me.”
“She didn’t,” Danny said. “We did. We’re concerned about her, because she’s concerned about you.”
“I’m okay.”
“She’ll be glad to know that,” Meg said.
“I’m not going home.”
Meg backed off and decided it would be best to let Danny speak. “We didn’t say you had to,” he said. “We only wanted to be sure you were okay.”
Scott wheeled the bike back and forth in the mud. “She didn’t say I had to go home?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Danny said.
“I don’t. Eric is my father.”
“Yeah. We know. What’s he like? Is he a p
retty cool guy?”
Scott shuffled his feet. “Yeah, He’s okay.”
“Your mother misses you.”
“My mother’s in New York. Working. I’m sure she doesn’t have time to miss me. Besides, she lied to me.”
“About your father?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, well mothers do those kinds of things. They think they’re protecting their kids when all they’re really doing is screwing up. Bet you didn’t think your mother could ever screw up, did you?”
Scott didn’t answer.
“The trouble is, she really loves you, Scott. She wants you to go home.”
He stared at the ground. “I gotta go in the house,” he said. “Eric’s wife made chowder for lunch. She cooks. You know, real food. Not like my mother.”
“Any message for her? Your mother?” Danny asked.
Scott mounted the bike. “Nope.” He started down the driveway. Meg and Danny walked back toward the car. Scott wheeled the bike around and pedaled up next to them. “I guess,” he said quietly, “I guess you could tell her I’m okay.” His voice cracked a little. Meg thought she saw tears in his eyes. Then he turned again and biked toward the house.
As they got into the car, Danny looked at Meg. “He’ll go back to L.A.,” he said. “Once he thinks he’s proved his point.”
16
“What if something happens to Daddy while you’re gone?” Natalie cried as she stood in Alissa’s bedroom watching her pack.
“Stop sniveling,” Alissa said. “It’s been almost six weeks since his surgery.” What it really had been was six of the most frantic weeks of her life. Plans for the gala, of course, had been a mess. She’d fired the two caterers—one of whom refused to return the WFFA deposit until Alissa reminded him that “One word from Alissa Page to the right people would assure he’d never again work in this town.” She argued with printers, rearranged the seating a dozen times, fought with the women to select a band that played music more contemporary than the forties, and convinced the decorations committee to start over. As always Alissa got her way, this time by tantalizing everyone with the alluring promise of her “little surprise.” And now the gala was only a month and a half away.