Snow Baby

by Brenda Novak

  “AMANDA MARRIED John Heath.”

  The investigator’s scratchy voice came over the phone the following Wednesday evening while Dillon was putting away groceries. “When?” he asked, losing interest in his task.

  “The weekend they arrived in Vegas.”

  Dillon glanced through the open kitchen into the living room and thanked heaven that Brittney and Sidney were still engrossed in a Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen movie. “Where are they now?”

  “I traced them to Utah. I have their address if you want it.”

  “Just a minute.” Dillon retrieved his day-planner and jotted down an address in Salt Lake City. “Do you have their phone number?”

  “Yeah. It’s not listed, but they weren’t smart enough to know that it can be found other ways.”

  “Like?”

  “They made it easy for me. They gave it to the neighborhood video store.”

  Privacy certainly wasn’t what it used to be, Dillon mused. Not that he planned to contact the happy couple. He already knew what he’d wanted to know. Amanda wasn’t lying dead on the side of the road somewhere. She’d left the girls of her own free will, though why she hadn’t simply given them to him, he had no idea. Maybe because she knew he would have demanded she sign a custody agreement. This way, she probably believed she could come back any time she changed her mind.

  That thought didn’t sit well with him, but it certainly wasn’t Curtis Trumbull’s problem.

  “Do you want me to do anything else?” the investigator asked.

  “No, that’s it. Do I owe you anything more?”

  “There’s a small balance on your account. I’ll bill you.”

  “Thanks.”

  The phone clicked as Trumbull hung up, but Dillon continued to stare at the handset, wondering what he was going to do now. He needed to tell the girls right away, needed to relieve their anxiety. But how did a father face his children with such news? And what about Amanda’s mother, who’d always stood by her, defended her, assisted her?

  Amanda had betrayed them all. For John Heath, whoever he was.

  The phone started beeping from being off the hook and Dillon finally hung up. He squeezed the back of his neck, where the muscles were so tight they were giving him a headache. Then he heard Brittney giggle as she turned off the television set, and he knew their movie was over. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he headed into the living room.

  “Sydney, Brittney, come sit down on the couch with me. I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  WADE STALKED into his bedroom, barely resisting the urge to slam the door. His father was at him again. When was he going to get a real job? When was he going to grow up and act like a man? When was he going to take responsibility for himself, be more like his brothers?

  Slumping onto his bed, he picked up the phone and dialed his agent in New York.

  “How’s that job coming?” he asked the moment Steve’s voice came over the line.

  “Wade? It’s two o’clock in the morning here. What the hell are you doing calling me at home this time of night?”

  “I haven’t heard from you in weeks, man. I need that job. Is it coming through or not?”

  There was a deep sigh on the other end. “It’s not. I would have called you if it was. I told you when I talked to you that it was a long shot.”

  “So that’s it? You don’t have anything for me? What the hell do you expect me to live on?”

  “I’m doing what I can, but the competition’s stiff right now. There’s nothing that really pays, you know what I’m saying? I could probably scrounge up some odd jobs here and there, but they’re for amateurs. You’re way beyond them, and they don’t pay squat. They’re nothing you could live on.”

  Wade ground his teeth. It was the same damn story. He’d always gotten these kinds of answers and nothing but chicken-shit jobs, while Chantel had been vaulted to fame and fortune. And he was the professional! He was the one who could withstand the pressure. Look what had happened to her!

  “It doesn’t have to be the cover of GQ, all right, Steve?” he said, getting desperate. Something had to break. Henry’s patience wouldn’t last much longer. His father would cut him off, and then where would he be?

  “I told you,” Steve said, “the male market is tough. But I’ve got some work here for Chantel that could pull you guys through. Some big stuff. You still bringing her back?”

  Wade had tried and tried to talk to Chantel, but she screened her calls and wouldn’t return his. If he visited her condo, she refused to answer the door. When she’d left him in New York, he’d thought she’d come back to him eventually. He’d never dreamed she could survive without him. Her world had revolved around him since she was nineteen.

  But he was beginning to fear he’d been wrong.

  “Yeah, she’s coming back with me,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

  “Then call me as soon as you’re in town. These people don’t wait long, you know what I’m saying? She’s already missed several golden opportunities. But her look is in. We can still play with the big boys if you guys don’t take forever.”

  “Tell everyone to hold on to their hats. We won’t take forever,” Wade promised, and hung up.

  What now? He had to reach Chantel. She was blowing it, blowing it for both of them. And he was running out of time. If he didn’t do something quick, he’d be shit out of luck and working nine-to-five like every other nobody.

  He dialed her number. After the third ring her answering machine kicked in. Dammit! He knew she was home. Where else would she be at eleven o’clock at night?

  Stacy. She could tell him what was going on—if he could get her to talk to him. He’d tried to call her several times since their night together, but she always hung up on him.

  It took almost six rings for her to finally answer. “Hello?”

  “Stacy, don’t hang up.”

  “You woke me,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know what’s happening with Chantel. I mean, is she seeing that Dillon guy or what?”

  A long pause. Wade assumed she wasn’t going to answer, but then her voice came back across the line. “Not that I know of. I haven’t talked to her for weeks.”

  “Will you call her? Find out why she won’t let me in?”

  “You’re kidding, right? You expect me to help you?”

  “Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “No. As far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell.”

  Wade felt a muscle in his cheek start to twitch. “So that’s the way you want to play it, huh? Then maybe I should mention to Chantel how you invited me over to see your pretty lingerie.”

  She laughed. “You do that, Wade. I doubt she’ll be very impressed with the part you played that night, either.” Then the phone clicked and the dial tone hummed in his ear.

  “Bitch,” he muttered.

  WHEN HER ALARM went off, Chantel groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. She was still tired, and she felt nauseated. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to shake the flu that had plagued her for almost a week. But she couldn’t call in sick again. She’d missed two days already and wasn’t about to miss the staff meeting with the senator this morning.

  She just hoped she didn’t throw up on the conference table.

  Dragging herself out of bed, she went to the kitchen where she had a fresh supply of 7-Up and crackers, which seemed to be the only food her body could tolerate. As a result she’d already lost weight.

  Just what she needed after fighting so hard to get back to normal, she thought.

  Taking her makeshift breakfast with her, she headed into the bathroom to get showered.

  Almost an hour later, she was wearing her blue pinstripe suit and gathering her keys. Another wave of nausea hit as she hurried to her car, but she forced it back, through sheer will, and unlocked the Jag. Setting her purse and briefcase inside, she was about to get behind the wheel when a hand on her arm nearly
cost her the small amount of breakfast she’d managed to get down.

  “Wade! What are you doing here?” she cried. “You nearly scared me to death!”

  Letting go, he jammed his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. “What else was I supposed to do? You screen your calls, you won’t let me in at the door. I need to talk to you.”

  He didn’t look good. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he’d slept in them, and he badly needed a haircut and a shave.

  “What’s wrong with you? You look like I feel,” she said.

  “I can’t eat or sleep anymore. I never dreamed you’d really walk out on me.”

  Wade had walked out on her almost every time she’d ever really needed him, in one way or another, but she wasn’t about to go into all of that again. “What we had died a long time ago,” she said simply.

  “I don’t believe that. You still love me. You’ll always love me.”

  “Whatever. I’m not coming back, Wade. I can’t say it any plainer than that.”

  “But you’re nothing without me. Look at you, heading off to your little secretary’s job.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my job. I’m glad I’ve got it.”

  “But you could be on the cover of Vogue! I just talked to Steve a few days ago. He said it’s not too late.”

  “Wade—”

  “What’s gotten into you, dammit? Doesn’t your career mean anything to you anymore? Don’t I mean anything?”

  Chantel stared at him, dumbfounded. Where was all this emotion coming from? He’d left her in the hospital for months with no more than an occasional visit. “I don’t want another cover, Wade. I want a family.”

  He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I’m ready to go that route, Chantel. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

  She was too sick and weak to hide the pain his words caused her. “It’s too late, Wade. You know that.” Her voice broke. “I can’t have children.”

  She got into her car and tried to shut the door, but he held it. “Then we’ll adopt, okay?”

  “I’m going to be late.”

  “Wait, you know that counseling you were always talking about? We’ll go there. We’ll get some help and make our relationship work. Why throw away ten years, babe? This is me, the man you love, right?”

  Chantel pinched the bridge of her nose. Why now? “This is quite a reversal, Wade, and I really don’t have time to deal with it.”

  “Can I come over tonight, then? Just to talk?”

  She pictured the senator and Maureen and all the field reps gathered around the conference table and knew she had to leave now or risk walking in after they’d started. “Okay,” she said. “Come at six.”

  “CHANTEL, DID YOU FINISH that summary of legislation I gave you to type?” Lee asked, stopping at her desk.

  Chantel cringed inside. Lee had been asking her the same question every day for a week. She should have finished the summary days ago, but she had a list of other priorities, and she just wasn’t running at top speed. It was all she could do to answer the phones and do a little bit of scheduling. “Um, not quite,” she admitted. “I’ve been pretty busy. When do you need it?”

  “Last week,” he said pointedly, and walked away.

  Chantel set the constituent case she’d been working on aside and pulled out the file that held Lee’s handwritten notes. She’d get his typing done now, she decided, but the nausea she’d felt all day reasserted itself, and she couldn’t do anything but lay her head on her desk.

  “What’s wrong?” Maureen asked. “Are you ill?”

  “No!” Chantel jerked her head up and forced a smile. She couldn’t go home sick, not again. They’d be sorry they hired her.

  “You look pale.”

  “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

  “Do you want to take an early lunch?”

  Yes! Please, yes! But Chantel knew she couldn’t take any lunch. She was running too far behind. “Maybe I’ll grab something after I finish this for Lee,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  Chantel pumped more life into her smile. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” Maureen seemed hesitant, but after another searching look, went back to her own desk and Chantel let herself slump. How was she going to succeed here? She wasn’t used to the pressure of an office situation, still had a lot to learn. And she felt so sick….

  Buck up, she ordered herself. She had to perform or she’d lose her job, and she couldn’t afford that. She doubted she could face the failure. Besides, she had very little savings left. She’d spent what money she’d salvaged from Wade’s reckless life-style on her condo and had to have a salary to survive.

  Unless…She thought of Wade and what he’d said this morning. Had he been sincere about marriage and children? She’d fought so hard to escape him and New York, but it felt as if they were both waiting for her to admit defeat and come back.

  Unlike this job, modeling was easy for her. And the life-style in New York was comfortingly familiar. Why fight it anymore? She’d come home to California for Stacy, but Stacy didn’t want a relationship with her, not after what had happened with Dillon.

  Dillon…Chantel felt a lump rise in her throat. She could have loved him. She knew she could. He was everything a man should be—

  Give up, Wade whispered. Look at you. You can’t even hold down a simple job. Why would Dillon want you? You belong with me. We belong together.

  But the anorexia was there, waiting for her, too.

  She was slipping, slipping away, and she was too sick to stop it. “Help me,” she prayed, breaking into a cold sweat, and finally her father’s voice rose above the confusion in her mind.

  You’re my little girl, Chantel. You can do anything….

  SOMEHOW SHE SURVIVED the day. Chantel didn’t know how, but she managed to complete at least some of her work. Then she drove home, hurried into the condo and collapsed on the couch. She knew she should try to eat something so she could get her strength back. But she couldn’t stand the thought of throwing up. It was easier not to eat. She was good at starving herself.

  Sleep came quickly, enveloping her in a dark shroud that eased the nausea. But it felt as if she’d barely closed her eyes when someone started banging on the door.

  “Chantel? Are you there? It’s Maureen.”

  She’d been expecting Wade. What was her boss doing here?”

  Clambering to her feet, Chantel fumbled with the lock and swung the door open, then leaned on it for support.

  “Are you all right?” Maureen asked, concern etched on her face.

  Chantel nodded. “I’m fine. It’s just the flu. I guess I’m not quite over it yet.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to go home sick again. I was afraid—” she drew a ragged breath “—I was afraid I’d lose my job. But I don’t think I’m going to make it in tomorrow.”

  “Of course you’re not working tomorrow. You need to stay home and get well. I guessed something was wrong. That’s why I decided to stop by on my way home from work, but I had trouble finding your address.”

  “I’m sorry, Maureen.” Chantel raised a hand to her aching head. “If I weren’t sick, I could do the job. But I can’t seem to get well. Maybe you should replace me.”

  Maureen took her arm and helped her back to the couch. “That’s a little premature, I’d say. Anyone can come down with the flu.”

  “But you need someone you can depend on—”

  “Chantel?” Wade stood at the open door, gazing in at them. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Maureen answered him. “We don’t know. It might be the flu.”

  “Or some kind of backlash from the anorexia,” he added.

  Chantel wished he was close enough to pinch. She didn’t want anyone at work to know about her anorexia.

  Maureen turned back to her. “Sounds to me like we should call a doctor.”

  “No!” Chantel protested. “I’ve
had enough of doctors and hospitals. It’s the flu. I just need to get into bed.” She made a feeble attempt to stand, but Wade had to half lift her.

  “I knew this would happen if she didn’t have someone to take care of her,” Wade said, helping her down the hall.

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Chantel muttered, but Wade’s implications were the least of her problems. The room was spinning, and she was afraid she might faint, until she felt the softness of her mattress beneath her.

  “Let me help you out of your suit,” he said.

  “No. I don’t care about the suit.” She pulled her goose-down comforter up to her chin, resenting Wade for playing the part of concerned husband. But she didn’t have the strength to argue with him. And Maureen was there.

  Her manager introduced herself to Wade, then put a hand on Chantel’s forehead. “She doesn’t have a fever. Aren’t you supposed to have a fever with the flu?”

  “I don’t know, but I know someone who does,” Wade said, and a moment later, Chantel heard him talking on the phone. “I think you should take a look at her. She’s really sick…Seems she’s lost some weight…She might need a doctor.”

  “Do you have to see a specific doctor for insurance purposes?” he asked her, gently shaking her shoulder.

  Chantel didn’t answer. She just wanted to sleep so she could shut out the nausea. But Maureen took her hand and persisted until she gave them her doctor’s name and insurance information, which Wade repeated into the phone.

  “We’ll be waiting,” he said, and hung up.

  And finally it was quiet enough for Chantel to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  STACY DASHED OUTSIDE just as the sun began to set on what had been a breezy May day and started her car, then ran back inside when she realized she’d forgotten her purse. She should have called Chantel as soon as her anger had died away. Instead, pride had prolonged her stupid stubborn silence. If Wade hadn’t called just minutes ago, she might have let the weeks turn into months with no contact between them. Who knew how long Chantel would have continued feeling sick before she broke down and asked for help? What if Wade hadn’t gone over there?