by Beck, Jamie
She knew she should be grateful for this amazing, proud man who loved her regardless of her fertility. For the freedom he’d given her to quit her job, and the patience he’d shown in the face of her inability to cope with disappointments. For his family, who’d treated her like one of their own since the beginning.
She didn’t want to be distant or to lose these people or her marriage, yet she felt herself slipping away little by little, powerless to stop it.
As Hunter’s breathing settled, he propped himself up on his elbows, his expression turning distraught. “Are you crying?”
She turned her face, ashamed.
He withdrew, sitting back on his calves, hands on the mattress. “I thought we were connecting, Sara. That we were helping each other. But it looks like you felt forced. Or you took pity on me. Neither is very flattering.”
“I’m sorry.” Even to her ears, those words sounded weak. Her leaden limbs wouldn’t budge. Absently, she wondered if this was how Colby’s dead husband, Mark, had felt during his depressions.
“So am I. I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m sorry the IVF failed. I’m sorry I don’t know how to make you happy anymore. But sorry isn’t helping either of us, is it?” He shook his head, and though she’d rarely seen him cry, he looked as if he was fighting back his own tears. “I’m at a loss here. You’ve got to help me. Help me help you . . . help us. Regardless of what happened today, we still have each other.”
“I don’t know what to say. Obviously, you didn’t want the babies as much as I did, or you wouldn’t be so quick to turn the page.”
“That’s unfair. Of course I want a family with you, but I don’t need it. I love you, and I loved our life before baby making became the number one goal. I can still be happy in this marriage without children because I’ve got you. Obviously, you don’t feel the same.”
He slid out of bed.
“Hunter.” She reached for him, but he waved her off.
“I need a minute.” He padded to the bathroom, pausing by the bamboo plant from his mother, and closed the door. Seconds later she heard the shower running.
The setting sun cast a peach glow over the room. It glinted off the mirror and glass surfaces, highlighting the sheen of the silk-satin drapes. The bedroom looked like heaven even though, at the moment, it felt a lot more like hell.
Sara stared at the plant that hadn’t brought them luck or good chi. Closing her eyes, she prayed, even though she didn’t even know what she was praying for. Ultimately, she guessed she was praying that she’d get out of her funk before she destroyed her marriage.
The bathroom door opened. Hunter returned, towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up his discarded clothing and took them to the walk-in closet, presumably to dump them in the hamper. When he reemerged, he was wearing thin sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt.
Sara sat up and reached out again. “Hunter, wait.”
He approached but sat at the end of the bed. “I’m going to make something to eat. Grilled cheese or whatever.”
Greasy, high-carb meals had always been his go-to for comfort. Comfort she ought to be providing. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like this has all been about me and my disappointment. I’m sorry you’ve had to spend all your time comforting me and I haven’t reciprocated. I don’t want to be this way, to feel like this. I don’t want to hurt you, either. I love you.”
He clasped her calf. “I know this is hard, but we need to be able to turn to each other. If we lose that, we’ve got nothing left.”
She nodded, reaching both arms toward him. He edged closer and hugged her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. They sat together in bed for a minute or two, cuddling.
Sara suspected he, like her, wished for some kind of miracle to come fix whatever had broken in their relationship. But miracle fixes were for kids’ dreams, not grown-ups’. Only she and Hunter could knit the cracks back together, but neither seemed to know how.
Chapter Eight
Hunter strolled down the hall toward his father’s office, head bowed, filled with thoughts of his wife. For two days, he’d been holding his breath, wary of doing or saying the wrong thing. If he could go back in time and not have had sex with Sara that day, he would. That was saying a lot, because never before had he wished for such a thing.
He hated the fact that, after many weeks of abstinence, their first time together had ended on a sour note—another unpleasant first for them. So he’d refrained from making more overtures, instead choosing to make the calls to their family members, all of whom had offered heartfelt condolences. Each time he’d passed along their love, Sara’s face had turned splotchy, and her eyes filled with tears.
He’d brought her flowers and her favorite chocolates, and remained holed up with her while she got herself together, all the while stuffing his own feelings of loss down deep, to be dealt with later.
This morning, when he’d returned from a vigorous bike ride that hadn’t quite lowered his stress, she’d announced she wanted to go to the Angel House for a couple of hours. He resented that that place comforted her when he could not. But when his attempt to discourage her from going failed, he’d come to the office.
Now, strolling the halls of this business where he’d worked side by side with his dad for so long, he had to face a reality he hadn’t before allowed himself to imagine. He might never be working in that corner office with his own son. He might never have any progeny to take over the legacy that had meant so much to him.
His sisters might have children, but those kids would take their fathers’ last names. The idea that he might be the last male Cabot in this family—the end of the line—seemed incomprehensible and vast, like the sadness swelling inside.
Things looked bleak today, but as long as he didn’t quit, there’d be hope for the future he’d always believed in. If he was to be the last Cabot, then he’d make damn sure the legacy of the name endured. He looked up as he approached his father’s office, shaking off all sense of defeat.
“Was that Gentry?” Hunter asked his dad’s assistant, Cindy, while staring at the closing elevator doors. His sister’s auburn hair and vibrant clothing were hard to miss, but she rarely visited CTC.
“Yes,” Cindy replied, as if it was perfectly normal for Gentry to be in the building.
“Why was she here?” He suspected Jenna had been courting Gentry’s vote. Bitterness festered, but he refrained from growling. Although Cindy had always liked him, she remained loyal to his dad. Hunter wouldn’t allow her to see him as anything less than calm and collected.
“I don’t know, but it got a little loud. She just whipped out of there and stormed off.” Cindy returned her gaze to the computer screen, unfazed by (or perhaps just accustomed to) Gentry’s antics.
Interesting tidbit, though, about the argument. Perhaps Gentry was giving Jenna a hard time, as Colby had predicted. For a split second, he thought maybe all was not lost. He couldn’t do anything about the failed pregnancy, but he could still save CTC.
“Can I go in?” he asked.
Cindy smiled. “Enter at your own risk.”
With his hand on the knob, he could hear Jenna through the closed door. Her brittle voice sounded even shriller than usual. “How could she do this? So foolish! What do we do now?”
Admittedly, Hunter savored a smug sense of satisfaction, guessing that Gentry had told them that she couldn’t be bought. He opened the door and waltzed into his dad’s office with a spring in his step, but almost immediately he lost his composure.
Whatever had transpired must have been something bigger than he’d guessed, because he’d never seen his father or Jenna look so pale. He almost joked but sensed it wouldn’t be appropriate.
His father’s expression turned even graver when their gazes met. “Hunter.”
Oddly, something sounding a lot like compassion laced his father’s voice in spite of his obvious angst. Not at all what Hunter expected in that moment. That tone reminded him of all the reasons he�
��d loved his dad. Of why he’d spent his childhood in these offices, trying to impress and please the man.
“Why do you two look like you just lost your best friend?” He paused, then ventured his original guess. “Did Gentry threaten not to vote for the sale?”
“You have a one-track mind. Not everything revolves around CTC. I’d think you’d realize that by now,” Jenna barked, her brows drawn. Hunter opened his mouth to snipe back, but she rubbed her forehead and looked at his dad. “This will ruin her life.”
Jenna thought every decision Gentry made would ruin her life, whether it was dropping a class or dating a street vendor. With everything going on in his life these days, Hunter didn’t have much patience for her histrionics. But considering the deepening lines of his father’s expression, he decided to keep quiet.
In fact, he started to worry about what kind of trouble his sister might be in, and if he could help. He would feel better if he could fix at least one thing in his family now.
“Jenna,” his dad said in a way that indicated he didn’t want to discuss the matter in front of Hunter.
Of course, that only piqued Hunter’s interest.
“What?” she snapped. “He’s going to find out, anyway.”
“Find out what?” Hunter rested his hands on the back of a chair in front of him. The tension in the room worked its way under his skin, locking him in place, muscles tight with anticipation. His mind was ruled by logic, so it couldn’t begin to predict what someone as impulsive as Gentry might’ve done.
Following a heavy sigh, his father rested his chin on his fist.
“I’m sorry, son. I wish the timing were better, given what you and Sara are coping with, but your sister’s gotten herself pregnant.” His father held his breath, his eyes a study in both disappointment and empathy.
It took a minute for the words to sink in, though. Hunter had heard about out-of-body experiences before but never experienced one until that moment. When the room came back into focus, he noticed that his fingertips had dug into the chair.
Gentry was pregnant? By whom? And for how long? The injustice of the fact that someone so careless became pregnant by accident, when, despite medical intervention, his wife could not, prompted a sudden wave of nausea.
“Son?” Hunter only vaguely registered his father rounding his desk, so he flinched when his father’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”
“No.” He shook his head, wishing Jenna wasn’t there to witness any sign of his weakness. “No, I’m not. This news couldn’t have come at a worse time for Sara.”
“Or you,” his father quietly added.
He’d been suppressing his own feelings for so long it hadn’t occurred to him to consider how he felt about it. Gentry was having a baby. He’d be an uncle in several months. Uncle, not father. Jealousy reared, making him twitch. Would this same hostility crop up if Colby were pregnant? Did that even matter? My God, nothing made sense.
“Sara doesn’t have to know—not if Gentry quietly terminates the pregnancy.” Jenna kept her eyes on her husband. “She’s not ready to be a mother. She can’t even take care of herself.”
“Jenna.” His dad waved, trying to cut her off, but it was too late.
“What?” Hunter turned on her. “Did you actually just say that in front of me?”
She looked perplexed by his snappish tone, so he clued her in.
“Sara’s been curled in a ball for almost three days because her last hope of pregnancy went up in flames, yet here you are, cavalierly suggesting my sister get rid of her baby? Are you kidding me?” He pressed his palms to his temples in order to keep his head from exploding. “I don’t know what Gentry’s planning to do, and she’s your daughter, so I get you having opinions about this situation, but do not encourage abortion in front of Sara.”
He heard his voice rising, but he didn’t care. He imagined that when Sara heard about Gentry’s pregnancy, she might literally lose her mind. And if Gentry terminated it, Sara might never forgive her. He understood that it was Gentry’s choice. Under other circumstances he’d have less judgment about that, but the timing made it impossible for him to feel anything other than disdain and rage for that option now.
He needed to get away from his dad and Jenna before he said something unforgivable, so he turned to go.
“Where are you going?” his dad asked. “Take a seat and let’s talk more until you calm down.”
“No time. Gentry’s on the loose, which means I need to find Sara before she hears about this from someone else.” Hunter almost broke into a sprint to get to his car while simultaneously shooting Bethany a text to postpone their meeting. Sara would be shocked to see him home in the middle of the afternoon, but this conversation needed to take place in person.
Sara smiled at Ty, who sat so close to her today that their legs touched. She wanted to give him a little hug while she read to him but thought at best it would make him uncomfortable and at worst could be crossing a line. She closed Sheep in a Jeep and went to pick out another book.
“Seep!” Ty exclaimed, reaching for the book.
Another word. Hunter had worried that her spending time with Ty would be depressing. When she’d first seen his tiny face that morning, it had shot an ache straight to her heart. But then Ty spoke to her—not once, but three times—and her heart had expanded and floated up like a luminary lantern in a Thai festival. Granted, the sum total of words he’d used had been six, but that was a 600 percent increase over her prior visit. She’d felt proud of herself, and of him. For the first time in days, she gained a little perspective on her broken dreams.
She opened the book again. “Okay, Ty. One more time.”
Sadly, Pam breezed through the front door, chewing gum. Sara admired her for going to meetings and seeking to improve her circumstances, but she had yet to establish any connection with the younger woman.
Pam wandered into the living room, head tilted to the right. “Why are you so into hanging out with my son?”
The unexpected question startled Sara and, like an open window in January, sucked all the warmth out of the room. She handed the book to Ty and stood to avoid giving Pam the advantage of looking down, literally, on her.
“Aside from the fact that he’s adorable?” When Pam didn’t smile, Sara said, “I’m only here to help so that you and your son, and others, can get back on your feet.”
Pam’s eyes roamed Sara’s body, checking out her clothing. Unlike Gentry, Sara never wore couture, but the price tag of her simple slacks and sweater could probably feed Pam and Ty for a month or more. The soft cashmere suddenly seemed as itchy as coarse wool.
“Don’t you got your own kids and family to worry about?” Pam cracked her gum, one hand on her hip.
“Not yet.” Sara paused, surprised by the hopefulness of that answer.
“Ain’t you old not to have no kids?” Absurdly, the forthright observation was less painful than silence or pity would’ve been.
“I’m thirty-four,” Sara countered, but one look in Pam’s heavily made-up eyes proved that had only confirmed Pam’s suspicions. The young woman might be Gentry’s age at most. What kind of life could Pam—a homeless, uneducated recovering addict—realistically build for herself and her son? A renewed sense of despair filled Sara.
“Well . . .” Pam paused, hoisting Ty onto her hip. “Good luck.”
Pam sashayed out of the living room, disappearing up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. One of these weeks, Pam would disappear with Ty altogether. That acknowledgment turned over in Sara’s stomach like sour milk.
Maybe Hunter’s concern about her time here at the Angel House wasn’t completely misplaced. Still, nothing would make her give up another chance to experience the joy she’d felt when Ty spoke or sat so close it had almost constituted a snuggle. He wouldn’t remember her in the future, but if she helped make a few of his days just a little more interesting and bright, it would be enough. That made her smile, inside and out.
<
br /> Instead of returning home to her empty house, she decided to pop in on Colby to persuade her to share a quick lunch. She’d been ignoring her calls for days, preferring not to have her bruises poked by well-intentioned sympathy. Now that she knew she wouldn’t be having a baby, let alone three, Sara would get more involved with the foundation. She could help dozens or hundreds of kids like Ty that way. That would be a legacy worth leaving.
A CertainTea was nestled on a wooded lakeside lot at the end of a long driveway. The renovations gave the old stone-and-glass building a modern facelift. In the distance, a gazebo sat near the water’s edge, where one could gaze upon the homes and activity on the lake.
Inside, the soothing cream-and-gray palette provided a sophisticated environment for fine dining with a twist. The floor-to-ceiling glass wall also afforded patrons year-round views of Lake Sandy.
Sara crossed through the dining room, listening to sounds from the kitchen as she headed toward the back office. She rapped on Colby’s door and then peeked inside, pasting a smile on her face and bracing for Colby’s pity. To her left, Gentry’s yellow tights, red boots, and Moschino dress caught Sara’s attention. “Oh, Gentry! I didn’t expect to see you today, too.”
Gentry’s sober demeanor offered the first hint that something that had nothing to do with her and Hunter was way off. Sara glanced at Colby, whose jaw had gone slack beneath wide eyes.
“Sara!” Colby stood, smoothing her long, straight hair; then she froze, her fingertips pressed to the desktop. Hint number two . . .
The odd reception and subsequent silence waved a red flag in Sara’s subconscious. Questions about what they were hiding—and why—arose, heedless of all warnings.
“I was on my way home from the Angel House and thought I’d see if you were free for lunch. It’s perfect that Gentry’s here, too.” Sensing their hesitation, Sara added, “I’m sorry for hiding out from everyone, but I needed a few days to regroup. I’m feeling better after a wonderful morning with little Ty and am not ready to go sit alone all afternoon. So how about it? Let’s have lunch.”