It took Tara a second to realize what ball games he was talking about. Then she remembered the times Herb had left early, mentioning Little League, soccer, or some other kid-related event.
“But don’t you want to be successful? Don’t you want to get ahead?” She’d seen the dumpy car he drove—a Nissan from the early nineties. “Don’t you ever want to go anywhere—besides some field where your kids are playing?” She stepped closer to him, having momentarily forgotten his insults in her desire to understand.
He shook his head and continued to look at her sadly. “Not if success is this . . . you, Gabby—” He looked her way. “Max, Cynthia. If corporate decrees the four of you are the kind of success this company wants, then you don’t need to fire me. I quit.” Herb left the room and walked down the hall, out of sight.
“That went well,” Gabby said.
“Shut up.” Tara returned to her chair and began gathering her things.
Cynthia came back in the room, a stack of papers in her hand. “All in favor of my brilliant idea?”
“Aye.” Gabby waved her arm in the air.
Tara didn’t say anything but hurried to shove her portfolio into her oversized Coach bag.
“Don’t mind her,” Gabby said to Cynthia. “She’s pouting. Herb quit before she could fire him.”
Tara whipped her head around to look at the two women. “Technically I fired him first.”
“What’s it matter?” Cynthia sat on the edge of the table, her legs, bare to mid-thigh, crossed. “He’s gone. One down, how many to go?”
“Don’t you feel just a little bad?” Tara asked, disbelief on her face. “I mean, these people have lives. Some have families. They have their own mortgages to pay.”
“Not my problem,” Gabby said.
It echoed one of Tara’s frequent sentiments and stopped her cold.
One hand held her purse while the other reached for the back of the chair to steady herself. She felt as if a bucket of ice water had just washed over her. Almost like the icy air that had hit when she’d first stepped outside in Salt Lake City.
Not my problem . . . I could kiss up to the boss . . . Have this be my only life . . . If corporate deems you four the best . . . Your name ought to be Tiara . . .You’re such a spoiled little princess . . .
A huge lump formed in her throat, and Tara knew she was going to cry—again. She still wasn’t quite certain why, but tears were imminent. She stared at Gabby—cold, calculating, selfish Gabby. Just like you taught her to be, an inner voice whispered.
And Cynthia? Out to use her body to get whatever she wanted. And I’ve been jealous. Along with the threat of tears, Tara felt nauseated. Angry. Disgusted.
With herself.
“Twenty-seven,” Tara said.
“What?” Cynthia wrinkled her pert little nose.
“Twenty-seven people you have left to fire,” Tara said. “I’ve taken care of two for you.”
“Two?” Gabby asked. “There was just Herb.”
“And me,” Tara said. “I quit.”
Seventeen
Tara walked around her living room, picking up glasses half-full of champagne and plates with half-eaten hors d’oeuvres.
“What a waste,” she mumbled, conscious, for the first time in a long time, of the money she’d thrown away on a party that was . . . pointless.
The people who’d come weren’t really her friends. Sure, they’d go to lunch with her or shopping or to a club, but that was where it ended. As deep as it got. They wouldn’t slow down long enough—take time from their own self-centered, fast-track lives—to listen when she wanted to talk, to care about something she cared about, to help her when she’d practically begged them to. Recommend me to your boss for the job that’s opening in your office. Introduce me to a guy who’s decent. Come over just to hang out and talk. Help me figure out who I am—what I’m doing here.
“What am I doing here?” Tara stopped at one of four vases of red roses scattered throughout the room. She bent over, inhaling their fragrance, and found they didn’t smell sweet to her at all. “Stupid holidays,” she muttered then picked up the vase and dumped it, water, flowers, and all, in the trash.
“Hey, babe.” Doug appeared in the bedroom doorway, his shirttails hanging open above a pair of unbuttoned khakis.
“Oh.” Tara glanced at him then returned to her work. “You’re still here.”
“Well, yeah. It’s Valentine’s. I assumed you’d want me to stay over.”
Do I? Tara examined her thoughts for a moment. She could spend the evening alone, or she could share it with a guy who didn’t really care about her. Some choice. She was tired of pretending, tired of being with people who only used her to get what they wanted.
“Nope. I don’t want you to stay.”
Doug’s mouth opened and he held out his hands, palms up. “Did I do something? Was it because I was talking to Lisa all evening? She and I used to have a thing, but it’s been over for a long time. We’re not—”
“Out.” Tara pointed a polished nail toward her front door. “Just get out.” She dumped another plate full of food in the garbage. So much for the splurge on catering. Better not use that company again. Do I want to do this again?
Behind her, Doug expressed a few choice words about her hospitality then left, slamming the door behind him.
“Love you too,” Tara said bleakly. She dropped the trash bag on the floor and sank onto her plush, white sofa. Grabbing up the nearest flute of champagne, she leaned her head back and drank the entire thing. Added to the alcohol she’d already consumed, she was starting to feel a little light-headed. Not an entirely great feeling, but it was a whole lot better than her usual Valentine’s Day misery.
She found an open bottle and drank some more. The room was beginning to spin a bit now, a little like the Tilt-A-Whirl at Knott’s Berry Farm when it first started going. She’d had a date there last year. She’d been furious at first, when her date—what was his name?—had told her that’s where they were going. But surprisingly she’d had a really good time. Until the end of the evening, that is, when the guy had accidentally let slip that he took his kids to Knott’s Berry Farm a lot. She’d had enough fun and liked him enough by that point that she might have attempted to give the he-has-kids issue a chance, but then she’d discovered he also had a wife to go with the kids—a wife whose season pass Tara happened to be using.
“Jerk,” she muttered then brought the bottle to her lips again. When it was empty, she tossed it toward the trash bag but missed. Instead, the bottle hit the corner of the wall, shattering before it fell in pieces to the floor. What a mess. Like me.
Grabbing up one of the heart throw pillows she’d purchased as part of her decor for the ultimate Valentine party, Tara lay on her side, curling herself around the pillow. Instead of being soft and comforting, like a stuffed animal might have been, it was stiff and unyielding.
Like a real heart. Or the ones I encounter, anyway. She lay there a long time, staring at the empty room, the emptiness surrounding her. For weeks planning this party had been the thing she’d focused on, the thing she’d looked forward to, the thing that kept her going. Now it was over, leaving her feeling emptier and even more alone than she had before.
“It’s over,” she said to herself and knew she was talking about much more than the party. The life she’d planned out for herself, the posh condo, the six-figure income, the social scene in LA. None of it mattered anymore. In fact, she couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being here. She wasn’t sure why it had appealed to her in the first place.
What’s a girl to do? she wondered. According to Fergie, crying wasn’t an option. And she hadn’t cried once since the day she quit. But she was tired—oh so tired—of feeling lost and empty. Tired of being here. There had to be something better. Some place better.
Her eyelids closed in sleep, the last images floating before them—water, a snow-capped mountain, a quaint island, a place she’d once considered home
. . . a friend she’d once considered true.
Spring
“Restlessness is discontent, and discontent is merely the first necessity of progress.”
—Thomas A. Edison
Eighteen
Seattle, Washington
Dr. Chasson adjusted her glasses as she stared at the lines on the hospital monitor. “How much longer will Peter be out of the country?”
“Eleven weeks, four days.” Jane pulled her gaze from the screen to her doctor’s face. “He just left on Monday. We thought he’d make it home in plenty of time for the babies’ birth.”
“He will if I have anything to do with it.” Dr. Chasson glanced at the IV line going down to Jane’s arm. She walked around the side of the bed, checking the bag and adjusting the drip. “Hmmm.”
“Hmmm what?” Jane asked. She pushed the button on the remote, raising the bed, and herself, to more of a sitting position—no easy feat with her bulging stomach and the various things currently attached to it.
Dr. Chasson met her concerned gaze. “You’re going to have to be on strict bed rest. And with your husband gone, I’m thinking that means you need to stay here for a while.”
“But the labor has stopped.”
“But will it stay that way when you’re off the terbutaline?” Dr. Chasson pulled up a chair and sat beside Jane.
Jane looked over at her, trying not to panic and trying not to feel envious of her doctor’s trim figure and stylish outfit. Swollen ankles have a payoff in the end, she reminded herself.
“You’re weeks away from the safe zone, and this was a close call.”
“I know,” Jane said. “But Maddie needs me, and—”
“My point exactly,” the doctor said. “You’re a mom, and from my experience, moms don’t rest when they’re at home with their kids.”
“Kid. Just one,” Jane reminded her. “And she’s a great little helper. Plus I’ve got family who can pitch in.” But even as she spoke the words, doubt filled her mind. Her mom and dad were out of the country too, serving a mission. Her closest sister, Caroline, was in Arizona, trying out a job possibility with her husband. And her other siblings were scattered miles apart up and down the northern coast of Washington. It had been months since they’d gotten together for a family dinner, and Jane knew they each had busy, full lives with their own spouses and children. It wasn’t likely she’d be able to get any of them to stay with Maddie. And the thought of sending Maddie away—when Peter was already gone—was unbearable.
I’ve got to be home. I’ll work something out.
“You do have a big family,” Dr. Chasson said.
Jane could tell she was wavering. “And you’ve delivered how many of their babies? My sisters know a thing or two about being pregnant. They’ll watch out for me.”
“Hmmm,” Dr. Chasson said again, this time writing something on the papers on her clipboard. “You know what complications can happen if you don’t make it to thirty-six weeks?”
“I know,” Jane said. And she did, probably more than any other first-time pregnant mother. The twins she and Peter had adopted five years ago had been born two months premature with a host of health problems. Mark hadn’t been strong enough to withstand them and his heart condition and had died shortly after his first birthday. Though time had softened the constant sorrow she’d felt after his death, she would never forget the precious little boy he’d been and how he had suffered. She would do just about anything to keep these twins from coming early. Even sending Maddie away, if I have to.
“I’ll find a way to stay down, or I’ll check myself back into the hospital,” Jane promised. “I’ll find someone to stay with me, and I can direct things from the couch.”
“Lying down is best,” Dr. Chasson said. “And I’ll want to see you every week. You’ll have to call an ambulance if you have any more spotting or cramping. This isn’t something we can mess around with. First time or not, labor can progress quickly, and we might not be able to stop it next time.”
“I understand,” Jane said, trying her best to stay calm.
The bleeps monitoring her babies’ heartbeats remained steady.
“Of course, all this is based on the next twenty-four hours. Your IV is almost finished, and then we’ll wait and see what happens. If there is no activity tonight or tomorrow, I’ll release you. Though I think it’s best if we keep you on preventative medication for the duration of your pregnancy.”
“Thank you.” Jane waited until Dr. Chasson left the room, then she rested her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. But she wasn’t thinking of sleep. She had twenty-four hours to pray for a solution—a minor miracle. She’d had a few miracles before—big ones—like her husband being found in the Iraqi desert after his helicopter was shot down.
Jane had no doubt her Father in Heaven would hear her prayer again this time. The Relief Society on Bainbridge was mighty, but it was also few in numbers, and Jane knew they could only do so much. It would be taxing on them—and her—to have Maddie farmed out for the next eleven weeks. What she needed was someone who could stay at the cottage with her, someone who could take over the responsibilities of the house and yard while caring for Maddie.
Not much that I’m asking for, she thought with a wry smile. But her parents had taught her that the first step to solving a problem was prayer. It was always the place to start.
Lying there in the quiet room, Jane folded her arms and bowed her head, beginning by thanking her Father in Heaven for the many blessings he’d granted her these past five years. So many times You’ve answered my prayers. And now I ask again. In earnest she pled for the safety of her husband, their babies, and Maddie’s care for the next nearly three months. Tears trickled down her face as she felt overwhelmed with the worry that was hers—the things that could go wrong and all that could be taken from her. But on the heels of that fear, Jane felt a sudden peace wash over her, a comfort that was almost tangible. It filled her mind and heart, carrying away her worry.
It had taken a miracle for her to get pregnant with these babies, and Heavenly Father was going to help her get them safely here. He would provide the care she and Maddie needed. She knew it without a doubt.
Nineteen
Tara put the top down on her convertible and cranked up the radio as she drove onto the Golden Gate Bridge. She’d timed her drive right, and the midday traffic wasn’t bad. The breeze blew her hair from her face and the sun sparkled on the water as she looked out at the ocean below. The morning fog had already burned off, revealing an exceptionally beautiful, clear day for April. The sixty-degree weather was a bit cool for having the top down, but she knew things weren’t going to be any better up north. Best to enjoy what sun she had while she had it.
Glancing behind her, she checked to make sure her various boxes and suitcases were still wedged tightly in the backseat. Goosebumps worked their way up her arms beneath the sleeves of her sweater, the pink one Ben had bought for her in Utah last December. She hadn’t worn it since that ill-fated drive through the Rocky Mountains, but she’d reasoned that it was the perfect attire for moving day. After all, it hadn’t cost a fortune, so it wouldn’t matter too much if something happened and it got ruined.
In the two and a half months since she’d quit her job, she’d decided that much of what she owned didn’t really matter to her. She’d sold her condo at a loss, sold all of her furniture to help cover some of that loss, and given much of her clothing to charity. She’d tried to find a Deseret Industries in Southern California, but they didn’t exist there, so she’d had to settle for taking everything to the Goodwill.
The things she had left were her absolute favorites. Three suitcases of shoes in the trunk, several garment bags full of her best pantsuits and skirts, and two large bags and one box of accessories. Her makeup case took up the front seat. What little else she’d decided to keep she’d shipped to Jane’s house on Bainbridge, a little island near Seattle.
Thinking about those packages she’d maile
d yesterday, Tara felt the only nervousness she had about this move surface. She felt confident she could get her old job back—after all, she’d been one of their top sellers before she left. She also knew she could find a place to rent. Paying off the mortgage on her condo had taken most of her savings, but she had enough to cover first and last month’s rent and a security deposit, so she was probably good there too. But for those first few days, while she found a place, she’d hoped to stay with her old friend Jane.
It used to be—when Jane had been single—no problem to pop in for a night or two. Jane had always said her door was open, and she’d come through with that offer on many occasions.
But what if that isn’t the case now? Tara worried. Marriage and children might have changed that scenario. Might have changed it a lot. I should have called. But she hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t been willing to risk a rejection that might have changed her mind about coming home, or somewhere as close to home as she’d ever had.
Jane might not welcome her with open arms, but Tara really hoped she’d welcome her just a little. More than a night or two on the couch, she needed a friend, someone who would encourage her and help her figure out what to do next. Jane had always been that kind of friend, and above all, Tara hoped that hadn’t changed.
Twenty
Jessica handed her aunt a glass of lemonade. “What if I skipped the backpack trip and hung out with you next week?”
“Absolutely not,” Jane said. “But nice try.” She took a drink and looked out across the backyard, watching Maddie and her cousin climbing on the play set. “Your last year of girls’ camp is the best. Being a youth leader is a lot of fun. You don’t want to miss that. And I know you need this backpack trip to certify.”
“You need me.” Jessica poured lemonade into two miniature pink plastic teacups then set them on a matching tray. “Be right back.” She carried the cups, along with a plate of animal crackers, across the yard to the little girls.
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