You Had Me at Good-bye

by Tracey Bateman

  “Excuse me, Dancy,” Sheri says, leaning closer to Jack than necessary. “I need to steal the birthday boy for a few minutes.”

  “No problem,” I murmur and take a sip of water.

  Brynn leans toward me as Sheri demands Jack’s attention. “Are you going to let her get away with that?” Didn’t we have this same conversation at the bowling alley a few weeks ago?

  I smile at my soon-to-be sister-in-law. She knows nothing about me if she thinks I can just yank a man back from anyone, let alone from my beautiful cousin. “I couldn’t care less if Jack would rather chat with Sheri.”

  It’s not exactly the truth, but maybe a little white lie is called for. Maybe?

  “Trust me, he wouldn’t.”

  I appreciate her support, but I refuse to get into a tug-of-war with Sheri over a man who wouldn’t stand up for me when I needed him most. Plus, I know that he had to have helped Mr. Kramer decide whom to get rid of. It would have come down to Fran or me, so why did they choose me? I know why Mr. Kramer would want to keep Fran around, but Jack could have fought for me. And he didn’t. Instead, he agreed with the decision and then broke the news to me over a steak dinner. I’ll never eat another filet mignon as long as I live.

  Dinner is served, and I eat in silence and solitude. Kale and Brynn are caught up in some sort of heated conversation, and, of course, Sheri will not give up one second of Jack’s attention—not that I care—so I might as well be home watching The Biggest Loser. Which would be ironic, since that’s exactly what I am.

  I’m feeling sorry for myself and imagining a scene for my book where Valerie is the life of the party, when I reach for my water glass. In a twist of what can only be regarded as fate, Jack actually breaks free from the bonds of Sheri’s control and turns to me.

  “Are you having a good time?”

  I’ve always startled easily, and this is no exception. Instead of grasping the glass, I knock into it and down it goes. Ice water rushes out onto the linen tablecloth in all directions.

  I give a little screech and yank my napkin off my lap, shooting to my feet and trying to do damage control. At the same time, Jack scoots his chair back and tries to get up in an effort to avoid the sudden rush of water heading toward his lap. But in doing so, he knocks against me or I knock against him and—oh, yes, cliché of all clichés—I land squarely in his lap, with the water pouring off the tablecloth and soaking into my little black Anne Klein dress.

  Kale is laughing so hard, I think he might hyperventilate. Even Brynn, whom I thought I could count on to be on my side, is nearly choking with laughter.

  Then I realize that just about everyone is laughing. Everyone, that is, except for me, Floyd (who looks like he might challenge Jack to a duel), Sheri, and Jack, who is waiting patiently for me to get off his lap. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t just shove me off.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, stumbling away from him.

  “It’s okay.” His voice is smooth, and there’s not even a hint of his usual mockery. Which is probably good, because one untoward look and I know I’d burst into the tears threatening just beneath the surface of my calm exterior.

  I look around the table, and it’s all I can do to muster enough dignity to calmly excuse myself from the room.

  Late August evenings in New York can go either way, if you want to know the truth. It can be rainy and cool, or summer-warm with a slight breeze. Or, like tonight, cool but clear. I can’t go back into that dining room, so I sit on the patio outside. I’m pretty much alone out here, with the exception of a waiter who keeps asking me if I need anything. All I want is to be left alone to nurse my humiliation. If not for Emily, I would have left for home immediately. But to do so would mean having to walk back through the room with everyone’s eyes on me to tell her we’re leaving. That would be worse than just toughing it out and waiting for her to find me.

  Only, she doesn’t. I’ve been out here for about thirty minutes when I hear movement behind me. I assume, of course, that the waiter is coming back to ask me if he can please get me something to drink, at least, and I turn expectantly, ready to give in and order coffee just to make him feel better. But it’s Jack’s face that greets me.

  I stiffen and prepare to be mocked, now that he’s over the surprise of my landing in his lap. Instead he sits in the love seat next to me. “May I?” he asks, although he already has.

  “Sure.”

  “Sitting out here to dry your dress off?”

  Rather than explain that I simply can’t bear the humiliation of going back into the dining room, I nod. It’s so much better than the cowardly truth. “It’s almost dry.”

  “We’re having cake in a few minutes. Thought you might want to watch me blow out the candles.”

  I can’t help a self-deprecating grin. “Aren’t you afraid I might set something on fire?”

  “You’re pretty good with water. We’ll just pour you another glass.”

  “Shut up!” I bat him lightly on the arm.

  He chuckles. “You know, it wasn’t so bad, having you on my lap.”

  “Poor Sheri nearly had a heart attack. I suppose she thinks I ruined your birthday party.”

  “Well, yes, she isn’t pleased. But it had more to do with appearances than the company.”

  “And I’m sure it appeared as though I was throwing myself at you.” I sigh. “I bet you get that a lot.”

  “You flatter me.” His response makes me realize how that sounded. But there’s no way to recover from a comment like that. So I don’t even bother. Besides, he’s sort of staring into my eyes, and my breath is so shallow I think it might have stopped a few seconds ago.

  “There’s something I feel I must tell you.”

  He loves me? Can’t bear to be without me? All the times I’ve imagined this scenario, I’ve made him beg. But at this instant all those power-trip daydreams flee, and I’m not sure I know my own name.

  “Dancy.” Oh, that’s it.

  “Hmm?” I ask lazily, my eyes drawn as though by their own volition to his sensuous mouth. My mind conjures up the image of him leaning in closer and closer, and my eyes sort of start to droop like they do just before—

  “I hired Sheri today.”

  What? “What does Sheri have to do with this?”

  “Um . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Snap out of it, idiot. He’s not moving in for a kiss. “Hired her for what?”

  “Sweetheart,” he says slowly. I’d relish the endearment if not for two things. First of all, I’ve heard Simon Cowell say exactly the same word, in exactly the same tone of voice, when speaking to Ryan Seacrest. Not exactly a term of undying love. And second, by the hesitation in his tone, I have a feeling I already know what position Sheri will be taking at Lane. “Editor.”

  My entire world upends with the utterance of two little words. Sweetheart. Editor. Words that might have been insignificant and passed unnoticed in any other context. But the wretched truth is that Jack Quinn not only fired me, but he hired my cousin to take over my job at Lane Publishing. Well, not my job, really. I knew they’d be hiring someone of my rank to work on nonfiction. But still, did it have to be her?

  I know I must compose myself. Never mind that a few seconds ago, I was ready to pucker up and make him forget that Sheri ever existed. In my fantasy scenario I was going to upend his entire world with a kiss to end all kisses.

  He’s looking at me kind of funny, and his dark, normally sturdy brow is creased with a little worried pucker. In his eyes I see a question forming. And I know I’d better speak up before he comes to the wrong conclusion.

  Okay, think. Think. Think. How do I get myself out of this with grace? I sit up straight, humiliated to discover I’ve been leaning in way too close to him. But there’s no time to dwell on that little stupidity on my part. It’s time for damage control. “That’s—wow, um—fantastic. Sheri’s a fantastic editor. She’ll be a fantastic addition to your staff.” I swallow hard. He hasn’t respon
ded, and I must do something to fill the silence. I clear my throat. “So, you hired Sheri. That’s really—” I take a deep breath.

  “Fantastic?” he supplies.

  “Yes. Fantastic. I just thought . . .” No. Do not even consider mentioning that he said they were doing away with the position.

  “Thought what?”

  “Well, I thought she was getting promoted at Sharp. Why jump ship to take a demotion?”

  “You’d have to ask her that question, to be honest.”

  I’m just about to sink through the cobblestoned patio floor when I hear a string of obscenities that everyone knows we just don’t use at the country club.

  Alarm shoots to Jack’s eyes. “Is that Brandon?”

  “Who else?” I jump up and head for the door leading into the lobby. Sure enough, there’s my little brother, dressed in a nice suit, being physically escorted toward the door by two tuxedoed thugs. “Hey!” I holler as defensiveness shoots through me. “What do you two think you’re doing?”

  “We’re sorry, Miss Ames. We caught this punk wandering around the clubhouse. We’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s my sister, you—” (More profanity—not repeating it.)

  “Brandon, calm down,” I say, stepping forward. “I’ll handle this.”

  Shawn, the night shift head of security, frowns. “You know this kid?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, he’s my little brother.”

  The security guard peers closer with a skeptical look on his face. “I’ve been working here for ten years and never saw a little brother before, Miss Ames. Are you sure you’re not just taking up for this kid so he doesn’t get into trouble?”

  “Fellows,” Jack says, stepping to my side. “I assure you, Miss Ames isn’t exaggerating her relationship with this young man. He is, in fact, her younger brother.”

  Shawn’s face goes red.

  “Would you be so kind as to turn the lad loose, gentlemen?” Jack continues.

  Shawn nods at the other guard, and they drop their death grip on Brandon’s arms. He jerks away like it was his own doing and straightens his clothes.

  “Please keep him with you. His unorthodox appearance scared Mrs. Hamilton.”

  That explains a few things. Mrs. Hamilton is a dowager who comes from old money and whose father actually built the country club, so she’s got a lot of influence. But my family pays our dues. We have all the benefits of any other club member, regardless of Mohawk spikes or piercings. I mean, he is dressed appropriately, isn’t he?

  “Listen, Shawn,” I say, ready to defend my younger brother to the death. “None of the other young people are asked to stay with their folks. He has every right to join a dinner party to which he was invited without being harassed by the country club staff.” I stress staff. And I’m sorry to do so, but he’s snubbing my brother, so maybe I’ll snub him right back.

  “Yes, I suppose I see your point, Miss Ames. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

  “It’s no problem. You didn’t know. But please pass the word along that my brother has the right to be here.”

  “Yes, Miss Ames, I’ll do that.”

  “And I think you owe him an apology.”

  Okay, I’m sort of inflated with power right now, so that was probably a bit much. I hold my breath, half expecting him to tell me where to get off.

  Instead, he turns to Brandon. “I apologize for any embarrassment I caused you, Mr. Ames.”

  “It’s Mr. Cunningham,” he replies with a sneer.

  Shawn’s look of suspicion returns. And now I’m forced to explain. Why can’t Brandon just let well enough alone? “He’s my half brother.”

  “Half brother, huh?” Shawn nods. “Have a good evening.”

  “I was just about to knock that guy’s head off,” Brandon says.

  “Sure you were. What are you doing here?”

  “I got off work a little sooner than I thought, so I changed and came over. I didn’t think you should take the subway alone after dark.”

  “You were looking out for me?” My eyes are getting misty.

  Brandon slings his arm around my shoulders. “Well, I couldn’t have my sister getting mugged, could I?”

  I throw my arms around him. “What are you hungry for? My treat. Anything you want.”

  He sends me a grin. “How about pizza?”

  What else would a teenager want?

  “Don’t the two of you want to stay for cake? I’m told it’s red velvet.” Jack grins, and his voice has a lilt to it. He knows how much I love red velvet cake. But then, not enough to go back into that room. “Brandon hasn’t had his supper yet. He doesn’t need to eat dessert first.”

  The mirth leaves his eyes, and he nods, suddenly sobered. “Oh, right.”

  “I’ll go see about Emily and be right back,” I say.

  I steel myself as I walk into the dining room. Emily is deep in conversation with Floyd and doesn’t see me standing there. I’m forced to tap her on the shoulder. She turns, eyes bright. “Hi! Isn’t this a great party?”

  “Terrific,” I say. “My little brother showed up and I need to get him home. Are you ready?”

  Her expression drops faster than a ride at Six Flags. “Oh, I suppose so.”

  “I could take her home.”

  Emily and I both turn our attention to Floyd. Emily beams. “How sweet. That would be wonderful.”

  “I know a little coffee shop just around the corner that stays open all night, if you’d like to join me after we leave here.”

  I think, after all these years, I’m finally free of Floyd.

  “Thanks, Floyd,” I say. “Emily, I’ll see you at Nick’s, I’m sure.”

  Neither seems to hear me. I can’t help but smile as I leave the dining room.

  “What’s so funny?” Brandon asks. He’s still chatting with Jack in the foyer.

  “Oh, nothing. Emily is staying. Floyd will drive her home.”

  “Do I detect a love connection?”

  “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  Laughter rumbles in his chest.

  “’Night, Jack.”

  “Good night,” he says, opening the door for us. “Oh, and Dancy—”

  “Yes?”

  “If you reconsider the freelance job, give me a call.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  During the cab ride home, Brandon gives me a nod. “That was pretty cool, how you stood up to that wannabe cop. Calling me your brother and all that.”

  “Well, you are my brother.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He pauses and then turns to look out the window. “I still thought it was cool, the way you did it.”

  And, just like that, I know I’m going to do everything in my power to convince my dad and his mom that Brandon needs to stay in New York and attend the precollege program at Juilliard. He just has to.

  I’m sorry when the next weekend comes—truly sorry that Brandon will go back to our dad’s apartment on Sunday afternoon. I guess that’s why I agree to go to church with Brandon, Kale, and Brynn. Kale arrives to pick us up at nine o’clock. I have Granny’s Bible, and I look the part. As I walk into the church, my knees are shaking a little. The music begins, and I glance at Brandon—spiked hair, piercings, yet a look of reverence on his face, arms raised. I can’t help but remember the kid from Friday night who cussed out the guard at the country club. I suppose Rome wasn’t built in a day, though, was it?

  Tears shoot to my eyes. My hands are curled around Granny’s Bible, and I truly look like every other churchgoer. Only, maybe that’s not true. These churchgoers look—different. Like I said, it’s not something I can put my finger on. Rather, it’s how they worship. Their hands are raised, some have tears streaming down their faces, and many are kneeling as the music plays with soft reverence.

  And then it strikes me. These people know God. I wonder . . . could I know Him, too?

  After the service,
Brandon drags me around the church as only a teenager can, wanting to introduce me to every person who has been kind to him since he started attending. I’d venture to say that’s most of the church, because my smile is starting to feel pasted on.

  As we reach the back of the church, the pasted smile freezes at the sight of Jack Quinn standing in the foyer, apparently waiting for us to reach him. His smile is obviously genuine, so I try my best to relax. “Hi, Jack,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can possibly muster.

  Brandon looks beyond Jack to a group of teens and adults at the door. “Be right back.” And he’s gone before I can form a reply.

  Jack is staring down at me. I gather my courage and smile.

  “It’s good to see you, Dancy.” He takes in my appearance with an appreciative light in his eyes, until he observes my hat. His smile falters only a split second, and if I hadn’t been watching so closely, I probably would have missed it.

  “You look lovely,” he says.

  If we weren’t in church, I’d whack him ever so lightly on the arm. Instead I purse my lips just a second. “Stop it. I can tell you hate the hat.”

  His eyes widen. Then his lips curve into a boyish grin. “I didn’t realize I was that transparent.”

  “Like an open book,” I shoot back.

  He gives a throaty chuckle that raises goose bumps on my arms. “Or perhaps you know me too well.”

  “Could be,” I say flippantly. “Is that a blessing or a curse?”

  “I suppose that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

  I don’t have a chance to respond as Brandon rejoins us. Next to him, a thirtyish woman in dressy shorts and flip-flops stands smiling so pleasantly that I can’t help but respond in kind. “Hi, I’m Anna,” she says. “My husband and I are the youth pastors here.”

  I shake her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” I say.

  “Same here. We’ve known Kale and Brynn for a while. Then Brandon, now you. Looks like we’ll be getting the whole family here before long.”

  I hate to disappoint her, but I don’t think I should be duplicitous. “Well, I’m just visiting.”

  Confusion slides across her face. “Oh, but I thought—”