God, why had she let that happen? She knew the answer to that one—because she’d been as carried away as he’d been. He wasn’t the only guilty party here.
“Look, I know it was stupid, but I’m clean.” He stood and fastened his jeans. “I promise you that.”
Her blouse hung open, so she tugged it closed. “I wasn’t talking about disease, but for the record, so am I.”
He scrubbed his hand down his face. They might have dodged that particular bullet, but she still had a big bomb to drop. The kind that could possibly have a fallout neither of them were ready for.
He stooped to pick up the file that had fallen. He straightened and looked at her sharply. “You are on birth control, aren’t you?”
Here goes, she thought. Slowly, she shook her head. “Nope. And just to keep it interesting—I’m ovulating.”
Ka-boom!
Chapter 10
By Noon Thursday, Joey still couldn’t believe that two intelligent, educated people could have been so incredibly stupid. For crying out loud, she and Sebastian weren’t a couple of hormonal teenagers, she thought as she made the turn from Chestnut Hill onto Hatherly Road. Obviously, she was doomed to repeat
history, since reckless, impulsive behavior was practically a family trait—at least on the Breckenridge side.
“Talk about the apple not falling far from the tree,” Joey muttered, referring to her mother after having gotten pregnant not once, but twice, by the same guy. At least she had better taste in men than her mother, as Sebastian was nothing at all like Nathan Sprecht, the man who’d fathered both Lindsay and Brooke. Although her own father, John Winfield, had been quite the catch. Maybe her mother hadn’t initially married for love—although according to Reba her father had been head over heels for Daisy—but she had grown to love John Winfield. Growing up, it’d been obvious to her that her parents were very much in love.
If it turned out she was indeed pregnant, Joey felt confident Sebastian would be very much a part of his child’s life. Not that she had any intention of marrying the man in a shotgun wedding—in grand Winfield style, of course—but she’d never deny him his child. That much she did know for certain. Since they were both reasonable, competent adults, much of the time, anyway, they’d figure a way to make raising a child together work.
By the time she pulled up in front of Reba’s house in the quiet suburban neighborhood of Brighton, she was frowning again. A child would greatly complicate her life, but she’d find a way to deal with it. Although she certainly had more choices than her mother had in her day, adoption just wasn’t an option she would consider.
It must’ve broken her mother’s heart, making Joey wonder how on earth Daisy had survived knowing she had another daughter she couldn’t know. At least she now understood those rare occasions when her mother’s mood would turn oddly melancholy. It hadn’t happened all that often, but every now and again, she’d catch her mom staring wistfully out into space, her mind elsewhere. She’d ask her mom what she was thinking about, curious about what could make her mother look so incredibly sad, but her mom would just smile at her and say it was nothing.
Joey knew better now. It hadn’t been nothing. Her mother had been thinking about Lindsay. Daisy Breckenridge Winfield was such a loving parent, the heartbreak alone caused by giving away a child had to have been devastating, and Joey knew deep in her heart, she could never do it. She simply didn’t possess that much courage.
She cut the engine and snagged the bag containing the lunch she’d picked up from the Green Briar Bistro, an Irish pub located right in Brighton not far from Reba’s, along with the shopping bag with the Worthington logo that Brooke had dropped off over the weekend. Katie had called her this morning and said that Reba was feeling a little down in the dumps, so Joey hoped the lunch from the pub would perk her mother’s best friend up a bit. Besides, she’d wanted to get out of the office for a while and what better way to spend an hour or so than talking with her mom’s colorful friend, Reba.
The front door swung open before Joey reached the steps leading up to the front porch. “Move your scrawny behind, Chicken, before my own tuckus freezes and falls off.”
Joey smiled at the nickname Reba had called her for as long as she could remember, one she’d earned because Reba had said when Joey was born, her legs were scrawnier than a chicken’s.
She didn’t know why Reba was complaining. The weather had improved greatly since Monday’s storm, although the temps were still hovering in the mid-to-low twenties. At least the snow had finally stopped falling and the roads were more than passable.
As she climbed the steps to the porch, Joey took in Reba’s outrageous outfit. Reba still had a relatively slim figure for a woman her age, and she took pride in showing it off. Today she wore a pair of figure-hugging black stretch pants tucked into a pair of decade-old, stylish, fur-topped boots. A wide black patent-leather belt cinched her waist, and a black-and-hot-pink geometrically designed top showed off her medically enhanced bust line. A shrug, made from some sort of fuzzy fabric that made Joey sneeze when she leaned in to place a kiss on Reba’s overly made-up cheek, completed the outfit.
“It’s not so bad today,” she said, then lifted the bag with the bistro’s logo on the front. “I brought lunch.”
Reba took the bag containing their lunch and ushered her inside the modest home she shared with her husband, Darwin. The place was a tad too small and cluttered with mementos collected over nearly six decades for Joey’s tastes, but she did enjoy the comfortable, kick-off-your-shoes-and-relax atmosphere of Reba’s home.
“Where’s Darwin?” Joey asked, not seeing the missing link residing on the sofa as Brooke had claimed he’d been doing since retiring last fall. “I hope you didn’t chase him off, because I brought plenty of food for the three of us.”
“He’s supposed to be at the gym,” Reba said with a stern expression. “Doctor said if he didn’t start exercising, he was gonna die. I said if he didn’t do something, I was gonna kill him.”
“It’s good he listens to his doctor. Most men don’t bother.”
“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath. He’s no doubt snuck off to O’Leary’s, choking on a boatload of BS with the other Boston Bocas. I told him if he didn’t start doing something besides watching the Western Channel all day, I was going to trade him in for a pair of thirty-year-olds.”
Joey tried to hide a smile and failed. “I guess he took you seriously.”
“He’d better,” Reba said. “He’s become such a fixture on that damn sofa, I took the feather duster to his balding head the other day.”
Joey laughed. “Retirement requires an adjustment period.” She dropped her purse on the chair beside a coat tree in the foyer, then hung her coat and scarf.
“Oh, Chicken, you don’t know how much. It’s been a stretch of my patience.” Reba looked pointedly at the bag with the Worthington logo. “Whatcha got there?”
“More of Mom’s things Brooke thought you might like to have,” she said and placed the bag on the chair.
Reba handed Joey back the bag containing their lunch and peered inside the one with the things Brooke had sent. She plucked the top item from the bag and carefully unwrapped the tissue, revealing an understated, soft blue cashmere twin set. A wistful expression transformed Reba’s face, momentarily eliminating the harshness of too much makeup used in an attempt to cover up nearly six decades of a hard life. To say that Reba came from modest means was an understatement.
“I was thinking about your mama just this morning.” A note of sadness entered Reba’s voice, rough from too many years of smoking.
Joey figured as much, based on the phone call she’d received from Katie a few hours ago. “I know,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about Mom a lot this week myself.” More than she was willing to admit to Reba, or anyone, at this point.
Reba returned the sweater set to the shopping bag and tossed a quizzical glance at Joey. “Everything okay, Chicken?”
Joey nodded. “I’m fine. Just missing her.”
Reba let out a long sigh. “Losing your mama leaves a big ol’ hole in all of our hearts, baby girl. It’s gonna take time.”
Before they could slip into a maudlin conversation, Joey quickly manufactured a bright smile. Her quest here today was to cheer Reba up, not have them both diving for the tissues. “We should enjoy some of this food before it gets cold.” She aimed for bright, but landed a little too close to brittle instead. “I’m starved. What about you?”
She turned and wound her way through the overcrowded living room to the kitchen, knowing Reba would take the hint and follow her. The kitchen, a bright yellow menagerie of tag-sale tacky meets country charm, wasn’t nearly as crowded as the living room. She set the bag on the round table of indistinguishable wood with a Nevamar top near the window and started removing the take-out containers.
“That sure smells good.” Reba appeared at her side with plates, cutlery and a roll of paper towels to serve as napkins. “Whatcha got there?”
“Enough to feed an army,” Joey said cheerfully. “You won’t have to cook tonight if you don’t feel like it.” She started opening containers and setting them out on the table. “I brought clam chowder.”
“Of course, you did,” Reba said dryly, then went back to the cabinet, returning with two mismatched bowls for the soup. “Did you get those appetizers I like so much? The boxty wedges and Irish sausages? With the cheddar cheese dip?”
Boxty wedges were nothing more than potato cakes, deep-fried and served with a warm cheddar sauce. They were Reba’s favorite so Joey had made sure she’d ordered extra.
“Sure did. I figured Darwin would be joining us, so I picked up their full appetizer platter, too.” Joey put the empty bag near the garbage can by the back door. “And a couple of their triple-decker pub clubs. I thought you and I could share one, since they’re so huge.”
Joey pulled out a chair and sat. Through the open curtains, she looked on at the barren, snow-covered backyard, which was typically Darwin’s domain. For a retired bowling ball salesman, he possessed uncanny gardening skills. During the spring and summer months, he magically transformed the small space into a virtual haven from the sheer urban-ness of the city.
She looked at Reba, who was enthusiastically enjoying a miniature Irish sausage. “Maybe Darwin should consider a part-time job in a flower shop. Or maybe at a green house. Something part-time wouldn’t affect his Social Security benefits.”
Reba popped another sausage into her mouth. “That would require motivation on his part.”
Joey smiled at that. “You could update your threat.”
“To what? Three twenty-year-olds?” Reba laughed and licked a dollop of cheddar cheese dip from her finger. “Baby girl, at my age, I just don’t have enough time left to do all the training it would take to get them where I like them.”
“And how’s that?”
Reba gave her cloud of cotton candy yellow hair a pat. “Out of my hair.”
“It just sounds as if he’s bored,” Joey offered. “And what about you? What are you doing to keep busy?”
She listened while Reba related her latest adventures, a belly-dancing class for seniors she’d begun taking two weeks ago at the local community center. Most women Reba’s age took up knitting or flower arranging, but then Reba was hardly like most women her age, and definitely not the grandmother type. More like the crazy aunt no one talked about at the dinner table.
“Best exercise I’ve had in months,” Reba said, then patted her flat stomach with pride.
While they continued eating lunch, Reba demanded an update on the Winfield sisters, and then Joey mentioned a couple of the cases she was handling that she thought Reba might find interesting.
“Your mama was so proud of you,” Reba told her. “I thought she was gonna bust somethin’ when you got into Harvard.”
Joey couldn’t help but smile at the memory. The day she’d been accepted at Harvard Law School, her mother had been so happy, she’d cried. Both of her parents had been thrilled for her. When Evil-Lyn had attempted to put a damper on their celebration at a family dinner by making a snide comment about Joey’s choice of law school and the Winfield’s long Yale tradition, her mother had practically spit nails.
Finished with lunch, Joey stood and started clearing dishes, then helped cover the leftovers and carried the containers to the refrigerator. Her hand stilled when she noticed a small beige envelope, about the size of a formal invitation, held by a magnetic clip and tacked to the refrigerator door. She read the delicate script on the envelope, addressed to Daisy Breckenridge.
Curious, she set the containers on the counter and pulled the envelope from the holder. “What’s this?” she asked Reba.
The dishes in Reba’s hands clattered in the sink. “Shit,” Reba muttered. She rinsed her hands, then dried them on a dish towel. “Let’s forget you saw that, okay?”
“Let’s not.” Joey reread the return address and frowned. “Why would Elegance Escort Service be sending something to my mother at your address?”
Reba made an attempt to snag the envelope, but Joey, being a good four inches taller, easily held it out of reach. Reba’s laugh was little more than a nervous twitter. “It’s not important.”
“Obviously it is.” Why else would Reba suddenly be so jumpy? “Are you going to tell me or do I open it?”
“Damn,” Reba swore. “I could sure use a cigarette right now.” She opened a nearby drawer, withdrew a blister pack of nicotine gum and popped two pieces into her mouth.
With the envelope still in her hand, Joey quickly stashed the leftovers in the fridge then turned back to Reba. “Talk to me.”
Reba let out a breath so long and slow, the fuzzy threads of her hot pink shrug ruffled as if swept by a summer breeze. “You’d better sit down, Chicken.”
Dread filled Joey. From the way Reba was now wringing her hands, whatever she had to say couldn’t be good.
Hadn’t they had enough surprises since their mother’s death? First their discovery of the daughter their mother had given up for adoption, followed by the truth that Brooke and Lindsay shared the same father, a fact Brooke was still wrestling with to some degree. Who knew so many skeletons could be packed in one woman’s closet?
Joey carried the envelope with her to the table and sat. Once Reba did the same, Joey gave her a pointed look. “I’m waiting.”
“I told you, it’s not important,” Reba said in a rush. “It’s just an invitation. I got one, too.”
“An invitation to what?”
“A reunion…of sorts.”
Joey’s patience was slipping fast. “What sort of reunion?”
“Look, Chicken, your mother left that life behind when she married your father. No little girl grows up dreaming of that kind of life, but it happens. And your mother didn’t have a very good start. Hell, none of us did. It was a different time when we were growing up. There weren’t a bunch of busybody social service people running around trying to save every displaced child. We did what we had to do to survive.”
Joey dropped the invitation on the table as if it burned. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her exasperation evident in the sharp note in her voice.
Reba chewed frantically on her nicotine gum.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d appreciate an explanation, Reba.”
The other woman chewed some more, then turned to look out the window. “Your mother never wanted you girls to know.”
Joey’s patience bottomed out. “Know what?” she demanded more hotly than she’d intended.
Reba appeared even more nervous, if that were possible.
“Reba,” Joey said, softening her tone. “Please. Just tell me. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.” She hoped, but feared otherwise just the same.
Reba turned back to face her with a pained expression in her eyes. Suddenly, she looked every one of her sixty years. “Your mother and I worked for Elegance
Escort Service.”
Joey’s world tilted, then spun. She gripped the edge of the table for support. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. She suspected it just might, too, as she stared at Reba, dumbstruck.
“For a couple of girls from the wrong side of the tracks in Providence,” Reba said, her voice surprisingly steady, “it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“But…why?” Joey asked eventually. She kept her iron grip on the edge of the table out of fear she’d topple out of her chair.
“What can I say?” Reba shrugged. “We were young and honest to God, we didn’t know any better. We were offered a roof over our heads, knew where our next meal was coming from and the money wasn’t half-bad. It sure beat the hell out of standing on a street corner in the middle of winter.”
“Oh my God,” Joey whispered. “You were call girls?”
“No!” Reba reached out and grabbed hold of Joey’s forearm. She gave her a squeeze Joey suspected was supposed to be reassuring, but her body had gone numb. She barely felt Reba’s touch.
“Heavens, no,” Reba said with a shaky laugh. “We never took money for sex. Never. Elegance was a high-class, legitimate operation.”
Joey looked at Reba dubiously. Having known Reba all of her life, she held serious doubts about the class part of it. Reba was tacky and brash, and she loved her to death. Her mother had, too. She’d been Daisy’s best friend, but she secretly suspected her father had merely tolerated Reba’s presence in his wife’s life.
“I swear it, Chicken. Never. Your mama vowed she’d not end up like your grandmother, trading her sorry body for spare change. And she didn’t, neither. Sure, we had some girls who did the deed for cash, but it was on the sly. Betsy Staple would’ve fired them in a Boston second if she’d heard about it, too. That kind of thing was never a part of the services Elegance offered. But your mama, she kept good on her word and did real good for herself, too. Why, she landed your daddy, didn’t she?”
Joey stared at the invitation, afraid to touch it now. What other secrets could it possibly hold?
My Guilty Pleasure Page 10