Mommy Tracked

by Whitney Gaskell

  “No, I think she was just lonely. She knew her sisters were here with us, and Nat didn’t want to miss out on the fun,” Grace said fondly. Nat gave her mother another gummy smile.

  “I missed you, baby doll,” Grace said softly, kissing her youngest daughter on her downy head. “I missed you like crazy.” Her two older daughters were now both asleep, curled up side by side, their heads close together. “This is sort of nice. Usually when the two of them are together, all hell is breaking loose.”

  And when Grace looked up at her husband, a grin on her face, she saw that he was smiling down at her, at all of them curled up together in the bed. For a moment she could have sworn that there were tears glinting in his eyes. Maybe he, too, was realizing that the days when they’d be together like this, as a family, were finite, and that one day the girls would grow up and move away.

  And what then? Grace wondered. What will our lives be like without them?

  Louis leaned over and kissed Hannah and Molly lightly on the head.

  “Are you okay?” Grace asked. She reached out and touched her husband’s cheek.

  “Better than okay,” he said. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his mouth. “I’m perfect. And really, really glad that you’re home.”

  “Me too,” Grace said, snuggling back against the pillows, Natalie nestled in her arms. “Me too.”

  eighteen

  Juliet

  Ding-dong!

  Juliet ignored the doorbell. It was probably just the UPS man, and anyway, she was too busy painting the upstairs hallway a serene shade of celadon. Grace had recommended the color, insisting it would go nicely with the maple hardwood floor. Juliet hadn’t been at all sure, concerned that the color might be too wishy-washy, but it turned out Grace was right; it was the perfect shade.

  Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Juliet snapped. She rested the roller on its orange plastic pan, marched down the stairs, and yanked the front door open.

  Anna and Chloe, with baby William strapped to Chloe’s chest in a carrier, were standing there. Chloe had her head down, staring at her shoes like a schoolgirl about to be yelled at by the principal. Anna was smiling, although that faltered when she saw Juliet.

  “Jesus,” Anna said. “What happened to you?”

  Chloe looked up at this, and her face registered surprise, her mouth forming an O.

  “What are you talking about?” Juliet asked.

  “You’re a mess,” Anna said bluntly.

  “You’ve got paint on your…,” Chloe began, touching her own cheek, but she trailed off when Juliet glared at her.

  “Well, I was painting, so…” Juliet said impatiently. She glanced down at herself, and her voice trailed away. She was covered in paint. Patches of pink from the girls’ bathroom mixed with the cerulean blue from the kitchen, topped with splotches of white from the downstairs bathroom, and, finally, the celadon.

  “May we come in?” Anna asked gently. Then, without waiting for Juliet’s reply—which was going to be a firm no; she still had lots more painting to do—Anna walked in. Chloe hesitated for a minute and then followed Anna.

  “This actually isn’t a great time for me,” Juliet said.

  “Well, I tried calling, but you haven’t answered any of the eight billion messages I left for you. When was the last time you ate something?” Anna asked.

  “Um…” Juliet tried to remember but couldn’t. There had been some saltines, somewhere between the pink and cerulean blue.

  “I’ll make some tea,” Chloe said, and hurried off toward the kitchen.

  “Why did you bring her with you?” Juliet hissed at Anna.

  “Because she was worried about you too,” Anna said simply. “You haven’t returned her messages either. She’s been wanting to apologize to you.”

  “I don’t want an apology,” Juliet said, knowing that she sounded like a petulant five-year-old but not caring. Maybe it wasn’t entirely Chloe’s fault that Patrick had left, but that damned article certainly hadn’t helped matters.

  “Good. Then we can just move on and spend our time catching up instead,” Anna said. She turned and followed Chloe’s path to the kitchen. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” Juliet called after her.

  When Juliet got to the kitchen, Chloe had already put on the kettle and was searching for tea bags, while Anna rummaged through the freezer, letting out a cry of triumph when she uncovered a bag of frozen muffins. Juliet watched them, her arms crossed indignantly. She didn’t want company, not now, not when she still had so much painting to do, and she sure as hell didn’t want to sit around and chat over tea. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?

  “Sit down,” Anna ordered, as she arranged the muffins on a plate and popped them in the microwave. “Do you have any milk for the tea? Wait, here it is.” Anna sniffed it doubtfully, then checked the sell-by date. “Is it any good?”

  “Anna,” Juliet said, her voice steely. “Why are you in my kitchen sniffing my milk?”

  Anna and Chloe exchanged a meaningful look.

  “Why do you think we’re here?” Anna asked. “We’re worried about you. Louis said you haven’t been at the office all week and that no one there has heard from you either.”

  “Oh,” Juliet said dully. She’d meant to call in to work but somehow kept forgetting. She pulled back one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, belatedly wondering if she’d get paint on the chair, then deciding she didn’t care if she did.

  “And then we get here and find you covered in paint, looking like you haven’t slept or eaten in a month,” Anna continued, setting the plate of warmed muffins on the table in front of Juliet. “So you can imagine we’re a bit worried.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Juliet said defensively.

  “Of course we do,” Chloe said gently, setting a steaming mug of tea down next to the muffins. “You’re our friend.”

  Juliet looked at her, raising her eyebrows skeptically. Chloe colored.

  “Juliet, I am so, so sorry,” Chloe said, sitting down across the table from Juliet. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you. And I never meant to cause trouble in your marriage. I just feel terrible about everything.”

  “Well, obviously our marriage was in serious trouble before that article came out, or else that on its own wouldn’t have been enough to make Patrick leave,” Juliet said grudgingly. In truth, her anger at Chloe had been receding. Maybe it was just that she was suddenly so tired, too exhausted to hold on to it. Or maybe it was that she knew, deep down, Chloe hadn’t really meant any harm.

  “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything to make it up to you?” Chloe asked hopefully.

  “No,” Juliet said dully. “There’s nothing to do.”

  “So—” Chloe began, before stopping. “Are we…are we okay?”

  Juliet sighed, and then nodded once. “We’re okay.”

  “Good,” Anna said. She settled down at the head of the table. “Now that that’s settled, let’s move on to the next matter of business.”

  “Which is?” Juliet asked.

  “What’s going on with you?” Anna asked. “What’s with the painting? And why do you look like a drug addict who’s hit rock bottom?”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Juliet said sarcastically. But then she drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, which were so scratchy, it felt like sand had been rubbed into her corneas. Another wave of exhaustion swept over her. She hadn’t slept in two days, not since she’d started painting on Tuesday afternoon.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw that Chloe and Anna were watching her closely.

  “I just wanted to get the painting finished,” Juliet said, knowing this response sounded feeble.

  “Why?” Chloe asked.

  “Because…because…” And suddenly, Juliet felt tears, hot and salty, stinging at her eyes. When she finally did speak, her voice was a husky whisper. “I want the house to lo
ok nice for when Patrick and the twins come home.”

  “When are they coming back?” Anna asked gently.

  Juliet was immensely grateful that she hadn’t phrased the question as, Are they coming home? Which was, of course, exactly what was scaring the crap out of her.

  “I don’t know,” Juliet said. Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t even know if they will. If they want to.”

  Then Juliet, who had always prided herself on her ability to keep her own counsel, told them everything: How she and Patrick had been fighting for months. The long hours she’d been working in the hope of making partner. The crushing pressure she’d been feeling over money. Her fear that she was missing out on the twins’ childhood. Her flirtation with Alex. And, finally, what had happened between her and Alex at the Sands.

  Juliet had expected her friends to be horrified by her actions, especially Anna, since her marriage had ended over an infidelity. But they didn’t look away, their faces etched with revulsion. They just listened and nodded, and gradually, as Juliet unburdened herself, she felt…well, not better, exactly. But lighter. Like she could draw in a deep breath for the first time in days. When she’d finally talked herself out, she was surprised to see that she’d drained the cup of tea and eaten an entire muffin.

  “Does Patrick know about Alex?” Chloe asked.

  “No. And I don’t want him to find out, so don’t go sticking that in one of your articles,” Juliet said, although she tempered the sharpness of her words with a wan smile.

  Chloe blushed. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said.

  “I know,” Juliet said.

  “And the painting?” Anna asked.

  “And the painting…well, maybe the painting was me hitting rock bottom,” Juliet admitted. “I was just itching for something to do, and I thought—I know this sounds stupid, considering all that’s happened—maybe it would make a difference with Patrick. That he’d see this new domesticated me”—she looked down at her paint-splattered clothes and smiled ruefully—“and want me back.”

  “Juliet. I’m sure Patrick doesn’t want a new you. I think he wants the old you—the you who was, yes, a self-reliant career woman. But the you who was also reachable,” Anna said softly. She leaned forward and rested her hand on Juliet’s. “I don’t think he’s angry that you’ve been working too hard—more that you’ve been working to the exclusion of everything else in your life.”

  “Except when I’m checking in to hotels with my boss,” Juliet said bitterly.

  “Well, okay, that wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had,” Anna said.

  But Chloe cut in. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. I can see how something like that could happen. Sometimes when you’re under a lot of stress and you bottle it all up inside, the pressure just grows and grows until it has to burst out somewhere. I think that’s what Alex was, maybe. A pressure valve. Not,” she hurried to add, “that it was a good decision to go to the hotel with him. Obviously, that was self-destructive. But it was understandable, considering the pressure you’ve been under.”

  But Juliet was not quite so ready to forgive herself. She stared down at her tea mug and said, “I have to quit my job.”

  “Quit?” Anna exclaimed. “But what about partnership? Everything you’ve worked toward?”

  “I can’t work for Alex. Not now. Not after what happened—what almost happened—between us. No.” Juliet shook her head. “My marriage is more important than my job. Besides, I won’t have a problem finding another position.” She smiled wryly. “Alex wouldn’t dare give me a bad reference now.”

  Once Anna and Chloe left—which they did only after Juliet swore up and down that she wouldn’t go back to painting—Juliet stripped off her grimy, paint-splattered clothes and got into the shower. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand and stood with her face turned up, letting the water stream down over her. She washed and conditioned her hair and soaped her body over and over and over again, scrubbing the paint off her skin.

  Finally, when the water started to turn cold, she got out and toweled herself off with a clean, fluffy white towel. And then, with the towel wrapped around her, she climbed into bed and almost instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  It was a long-standing tradition at the law firm of Little & Frost to begin the weekend as soon as the bosses cleared out of the office on Friday afternoons. Paul Little, who was semiretired, rarely even came in on Fridays. Alex usually cut out at around four, as did the other partners—Orson Smith, Gerald Pitt, Steven Spitzer, Farley Robard—and the associates began emptying out of their offices about ten minutes later. (Any earlier and they’d risk running into one of their bosses in the parking garage.) Even Richard, the most dedicated of ass kissers, was out the door by six. Neil usually stayed late but he rarely left his office, so Juliet was reasonably sure that she wouldn’t run into anyone when she showed up at seven o’clock on Friday night to clean out her desk.

  She brought two empty document boxes in with her, and as soon as she got to her office she set about packing up her personal files, calendar, the potted cactus garden Patrick had given her for Valentine’s Day, remembering how he’d joked it was the only plant she couldn’t kill. She took her framed diplomas and license down off the wall and gathered up the detritus of her professional life—the spare black suit jacket she kept at the office, a travel umbrella, allergy medicine—and piled it into a box. She worked quickly but methodically until everything was packed, with the exception of the larger framed items, which would have to be carried down separately.

  It wasn’t until she got to the snapshots of her family in spare silver frames that she felt the first tug of emotion. Juliet looked down at the smiling faces of her husband and two daughters as they mugged for the camera on Christmas morning. A second photo showed the twins frolicking on the beach. In the third, taken on the day Emma and Izzy were born, Patrick was sitting in a chair in the hospital nursery, a tightly swaddled twin in each arm and grinning so broadly it looked like his face would split in two.

  My family, she thought. Suddenly she was missing them so much, it hurt to breathe.

  Then she heard Alex’s voice, and froze.

  “Neil, I want to talk Monday about the Steele Insurance case,” he was saying from out in the hallway. She could tell he was coming this way and, from his jovial tone, seemed to be in a very good mood.

  And then he was there, about to pass by her office, his hands thrust casually into his pants pockets, his face bright, when he saw Juliet and stopped.

  “You’re here,” he said. He looked back over his shoulder—probably checking to make sure that Neil hadn’t ventured out—and then stepped into Juliet’s office. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been at home,” Juliet said.

  Alex’s eyes flickered toward the boxes on her desk. “You’re leaving?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

  “Of course I’m surprised. Why would you leave?”

  Juliet tucked her hair behind her ears. “Because I can’t continue working with you, Alex. Not after—well. You know. Here.” She handed him the letter of resignation she’d typed out. Alex stared down at it.

  “I told you that wouldn’t affect our working relationship,” he said.

  Juliet raised her eyebrows. “How could it not?” she said simply.

  “Look. It was…well, I’m not going to say it was a mistake, because I don’t regret it.” Alex smiled then, looking rather wolfish for a moment. “But if you don’t want to get personally involved with me, I’ll respect your decision. Besides, I have good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We won the motion for summary judgment in the dead-baby case. Or I should say you won, since it was your motion. The decision came down yesterday, and the defense has already responded by making a sizable settlement offer today,” Alex said.

  Despite everything, Juliet felt a thrill of pleasure at this news. It had been a good motion. She’d worke
d damned hard on it.

  “That’s great,” she said. “Really, really great. Our client will be relieved.”

  “Wait, there’s more.” Alex’s voice dropped even lower. “You’re making partner. It’s official. We decided this afternoon. The announcement will be made next week.”

  “Partner?” Juliet echoed. Suddenly, her legs felt shaky, and she sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs that faced her desk.

  Partner…I’ve made partner.

  Alex grinned at her and ripped her resignation letter in two. “So unpack your stuff. As far as I’m concerned, this past week has been a well-deserved, long-overdue vacation.”

  “Alex, that’s just…,” Juliet began, but the words left her, and for a long moment she stared down at her hands. Finally, she looked back up at him, at his pale eyes and sexy smile, and there it was, the familiar desire, plucking at her. Less intense than before, but it was still there. Maybe her feelings for him would go away in time.

  Then again, maybe they wouldn’t.

  “Thank you,” Juliet said. “But no.”

  Alex’s smile faded. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked softly.

  Juliet looked down then, at the photos of her family. At Emma and Izzy, joyful, as if they were lit up from inside. At Patrick’s sweet smile. She touched the photo of him gently, her finger smudging the glass, and decided.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”

  Juliet did not sleep well that night. First the room was too hot, so she got up and turned up the air conditioner, and then five minutes later she was freezing. Then, just when she was getting comfortable temperature-wise, she had to get up to pee. Once back in bed, she tossed from one side to the other, the sheets tangling uncomfortably around her legs. And, worst of all, every time she turned to face Patrick’s empty side of the bed, she felt a fresh stab of pain at his absence.