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The November rains showed up right on schedule. It seemed to Molly that she hadn't seen the sun in weeks.
"I don't like you making the drive home in this weather," Rafe said one Monday morning as he walked her outside to her Jeep. "Why don't you stay?"
"You know why," she said, rising up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I'd never get my work done if I stayed here." She'd climb up into that feather bed and never climb back down.
He said he understood, but she wasn't entirely convinced. She wasn't sure she understood the dynamics herself, and they were her dynamics. She felt as if she and Rafe existed someplace apart from the real world: a place where Robert and the progress of her divorce meant nothing to her, where her big beautiful house on
Lilac Hill was only an assemblage of wood and stone and plasterboard, and where they'd elected a governor last week, and she hadn't even realized it was Election Day.
They kissed good-bye three times, and each time she promised she would drive carefully.
"I'm going to drive you from now on," he said as she started the engine.
"We'll talk about it."
"In the car," he said, "when I'm driving you back here."
She smiled all the way home. She was still smiling as she replayed the string of messages on her answering machine. One, in particular, caught her interest, and she returned the call immediately.
"This is Molly Chamberlain, Annie," she said to Spencer's assistant "I'm returning Mr. Mackenzie's call."
"Good morning, Mrs. Chamberlain," Annie said. "Would you be available for a two o'clock meeting today with Mr. Mackenzie?"
In the past Spencer had made these phone calls himself. Molly felt mildly put out as she agreed to the time. Nothing had been the same since the night of the dinner-dance. The casual phone calls had stopped. No more chats about mutual friends and acquaintances. She wasn't sure if he avoided her in order to avoid Jessy or if he realized she was involved with Rafe. Either way, she missed their conversations:
Spencer ushered her into his office at the stroke of two.
"Thanks for coming by on such short notice, Molly."
He looked vaguely uncomfortable, and she noticed he had difficulty meeting her eyes.
Molly took her usual seat and crossed her legs. Another few weeks, and that simple gesture would be a thing of the past. "So what's this about?"
He winced. "You know, don't you?"
"That you and Jessy slept together or that she's pregnant?"
He let out a long, slow breath. "I asked her to marry me."
"She told me that, too."
"Then you know what her answer was."
"She's not a fool, Spencer. She knows you don't love her."
"She told you that?"
"She didn't have to. I saw her face."
Spencer dragged a hand through his perfectly barbered hair. "I wasn't cruel to her, Molly. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"
"You have no idea what I'm thinking, Spencer."
"I don't want to hurt her."
"And I don't want to hear this," she said. "It's between you and Jessy." She stood up. "If this is all you wanted—"
"Sit down," he said.
She arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
"Please sit down," he amended. "This is business."
She didn't like his tone of voice, not one bit. "Let me guess," she said, sitting back down. "Robert's changed his mind about the divorce. He loves me madly and wants me back."
"You're half right."
"What?" Her fingers curved around the arms of the chair.
"He doesn't want you back, but he does want the divorce."
"That's not exactly news, Spencer."
"He wants it now," Spencer said, fiddling with a Montblanc fountain pen. The shiny golden nib twinkled in the lamplight.
"Now?" She sounded like a pregnant parrot.
"As in right now."
"I'm not the one who's been incommunicado," she said, hearing her voice rise in distress. "Robert's the one who's been delaying things."
"Not anymore," Spencer said, watching her closely. "He suggested that the two of you fly down to Santo Domingo and get it over with in a weekend."
Her heart was pounding so fast that it frightened her. "Are you talking about one of those quickie divorces?"
"That's what I'm talking about." He leaned forward and gave her one of those serious-young-attorney looks that Robert had been born wearing. "He wants out right now, Molly, and he's willing to pay for the privilege."
She flinched. "He'll pay for the privilege of getting rid of me faster?"
"If that's the way you want to put it, yes."
The information buzzed around in her skull like a wayward housefly. She waited for a thought, a fragment of a thought, to form, but there was only that damned buzzing fly.
Spencer went on, spitting out information like one of those old ticker-tape machines: Robert was sorry for putting her through such misery. He wanted to make amends. She could keep the house. He would support the baby in every way, share joint custody—
Joint custody.
There it was, the knife hidden inside those sweet promises.
"No," she said, rousing from her stupor. "I won't share custody with him."
Spencer looked shocked. "This is a very generous offer, Molly. He's giving you everything you could possibly want, including a quick divorce. Why won't you share custody?"
"Because he doesn't deserve to be part of the baby's life, that's why. He walked out on us. He made the decision, now he has to live with it."
"He's the child's father, isn't he?"
"That's an accident of biology, nothing more."
Spencer flinched. "That's all you think fatherhood is?"
"That's all I think fatherhood is to him."
"Go home and think about it," Spencer advised in one of those phony soothing voices television announcers used. "I'm sure you'll see that this is the deal we've been waiting for."
"I don't want the house either," she said, her temper rising. "I don't even care about the divorce. I can wait for the State of New Jersey to get around to it."
"You're being irrational."
"You're crossing the line, Spencer," she warned.
"Listen to me," he said "He's the baby's father. You can't cut him out of the child's life."
She was so angry her right lower eyelid began to twitch. "He cut us out of his life. I can return the favor. He's the one who wanted out, not me. He's the one who hasn't so much as asked how my pregnancy is progressing."
"You sound as if you don't want the divorce," Spencer said, "as if you want him back."
"That's not what I said."
"These are dream terms, Molly. Normally I'm wary of taking divorce cases out of the country, but it seems to me you'd benefit greatly from accepting his terms."
She stood up. Adrenaline made it impossible to stay seated. She felt turbocharged. "Yes, I want the divorce, but. I'm not going to barter away my child to get it."
"I think you're making a mistake, Molly. This would solve all of your problems."
"Right," she snapped, almost trembling with anger, "and what would it do for my baby? Do you really think I'm going to give joint custody to a man who walked out on me right after I told him I was pregnant with his child? Think again, Spencer. That's not about to happen."
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She slammed the door so hard that Annie came in to make sure Spencer was okay.
"I'm fine," he said. "Mrs. Chamberlain was a bit upset."
"A bit?" Annie lingered in the doorway.
"No details," he said, "so you might as well go back to your desk."
Annie mumbled something and closed the door softly behind her.
You really blew it this time, Mackenzie. She hates you right now almost as much as she hates her husband.
He swiveled his chair around and watched as she made her way across the street to the parking lot. Pregnant, and she still walked like a dancer. He'd neve
r seen a woman with a more graceful, provocative walk than Molly Chamberlain's. There'd been a time when he'd spent many hours replaying that walk in his mind.
When had he stopped doing. that? He couldn't remember. It seemed as though one morning he woke up and Molly Chamberlain was a client and friend, nothing more. He could finally admit she had never offered more.
Jessy's serious little face popped into his mind. He tried to turn her away, but she had this habit of pushing past his defenses.
Marry me, he'd said to her that day in Molly's living room. We're not a pair of starry-eyed kids. We don't believe in rose-covered cottages and happily-ever-after endings. He'd seen what happened when lovers turned into husbands and wives, and it wasn't pretty. The ones who took it hardest were invariably the ones who'd brought the most to the table, the ones who believed they were special, that they could beat the odds.
Marriage was a business. He'd tried to explain that to Jessy when he proposed. They were two rational, clearheaded professionals. It should be easy for them. The thing to do was approach this whole baby situation with all of the problem-solving techniques at their disposal and make the right choice for the three of them.
Jessy threw a sofa cushion at him when he suggested that.
This isn't 1957, she'd shouted at him. I don't need your help, your name, or your money. I need you.
He'd spent his life coming in second to his brother. Even in death, Owen, Jr.'s star shone brighter than Spencer's ever would.
Except to Jessy.
She loved him. He didn't know why or how, but she did. She'd said it to him the night they made love, and she'd said it to him twice since then, both times in anger, as if she'd change it if she could.
He didn't love her back. He wasn't sure he even knew how to start. Still, there was something about her that touched his heart, The sex had been pretty damn incendiary, but great sex wasn't all that hard to find. It was more than that, something more elusive. She challenged him. He'd never been with a woman, who was so unafraid of her own emotions. Jessy stated her case in no uncertain terms, I love you. She said it plainly, with no flirtation, no guile. I love you. She wasn't looking past him for someone better. To Jessy, he was the best.
There was something pretty damn appealing about that.
He'd felt a momentary sense of relief when she threw that cushion at him. He'd done the right thing and been rejected. What more could a man in his position ask for?
He knew the answer to that. Maybe he'd always known it.
Love, he thought, as he watched Molly Chamberlain drive away. You could ask for love.
Chapter Nineteen
Jessy hesitated in front of the door to Room 627. It sounded easy enough: Go in, say hello, take the patient's history, say good-bye, then leave. She'd done it a thousand times since she started med school and never batted an eye.
"Something wrong, Doctor?" Mrs. Haynes, the head nurse on day shift, appeared at her elbow.
Jessy shook her head. "Just gathering my thoughts."
"Don't forget to stop for supper. You look like you've lost a few pounds."
Mrs. Haynes was right. She'd lost three pounds since finding out she was pregnant. Her mama used to say she was so skinny she could slip between the raindrops. Jo Ellen would have a conniption if she saw her daughter now.
The first time Jessy was pregnant she gained only fifteen pounds, most of it right up front. She hadn't begun to show until late in her sixth month, which was when her mama and daddy shipped her out to Aunt Lula's until after the baby was born.
"You just put it all out of your mind, honey," her mama had said as Jessy tried to settle back into her old routines. "You have a whole big bright future ahead of you. You're going to be someone special."
"Dr. Wyatt." Mrs. Haynes placed a hand on her right forearm. "You don't look well."
"I'm fine," Jessy said, forcing out a smile. "You're right about supper, though. I'll make sure to stop for a sandwich."
Mrs. Haynes nodded then moved off down the hallway.
You can't keep it a secret forever, Jessy. Sooner or later you're going to have to tell them you're pregnant.
She'd deal with that when her belly was too big to fit into scrubs. Right now she was going to concentrate on her patient's problems and put her own aside for a while.
The girl was sleeping. She was so little and skinny she barely formed a bump under the pale blue blanket. Jessy stepped over to the computer terminal next to the bed and pressed in her code and password. The girl's chart came up a second later.
Her name was Lorraine Mills. She was fifteen years old, unmarried, and four months along. She had had undiagnosed stomach pains that finally led her parents to take her to the emergency room late last night. The doctor on call ran the, usual battery of tests. They turned up nothing significant, but be still recommended she stay overnight for observation. Patient won't talk, read one notation. Mother answered all questions.
Jessy moved closer to the side of the bed. "Lorraine?"
The girl didn't stir.
Jessy projected her voice a bit more forcefully. "Lorraine, I'm Dr. Wyatt. I'd like to ask you a few questions. I know you're tired. I promise I won't keep you awake more than five minutes."
The girl's eyelids twitched, .but she didn't say a word. So you're awake, Jessy thought as an odd tug of sensation settled inside her heart. Awake and scared and wishing she were back home in her little-girl room with the stuffed dogs lined up across the skinny single bed, where she'd dreamed so many dreams that would never come true because they weren't her mama's dreams..
She smoothed the blanket over the child's shoulders.
"I'm not in any rush," she said softly. "I'll be right here if you want to talk."
The girl shifted position the tiniest bit, just enough so Jessy would notice.
"I saw some orange juice in the lounge fridge," Jessy said in a conversational tone. "Think you'd like some?" No answer.
"I could go for some tea myself or maybe one of those packets of hot chocolate—"
One eye opened. "I like hot chocolate."
"Terrific," Jessy said. "We'll have some hot chocolate while we talk."
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"Roses," Spencer said to the clerk. "About a dozen of those red ones and maybe a dozen of those white ones, too."
"Cream," the clerk corrected him. "A wonderful choice."
"I'd like you to put them in one of those long shiny boxes," he said, "and tie it with a big red ribbon."
"Of course," the clerk said, looking slightly aggrieved. "That's the way we always present our roses."
He knew that. He'd bought enough roses in his life to decorate a Rose Bowl float. What the hell was he getting so agitated about anyway? Jessy wasn't one of his Ivy League girlfriends. She wouldn't judge him by the size of the satin ribbon on the box or the pedigree of the florist. She'd judge him by tougher standards. She'd judge him by what she believed was in his heart.
Hell, he wasn't sure himself what was going on inside his heart. He'd paced his office after Molly left. He tried to work on a brief, but the words spiraled .up and out of reach. Funny how he'd never thought all that much about divorce before. He worked in the rubble of broken marriages every day and he hadn't given it a thought until he watched Molly walk alone across the parking lot. She was determined to keep Robert away from their baby and she just might get her wish. Chamberlain was eager to marry his paramour, and if Molly applied any kind of pressure, he'd probably drop the quest for custody in return for his quickie divorce. Chamberlain would have his freedom and his new bride, while Molly would have her house and her new baby.
And Spencer would get his fee no matter which way the broken hearts crumbled.
That was the thing about being a divorce lawyer. Fairness didn't matter. Neither did those broken hearts. His job was to push through the divorce with minimal bloodletting and move on to the next one. He made his living promoting the idea that families were basically transient, that playing musical chairs w
ith spouses and children was as American as baseball and apple pie.
He told himself that he didn't cause the divorces any more than he'd caused the marriages that preceded them. Molly and Robert Chamberlain were a bad match, and no amount of counseling or good intentions would ever change that.
Maybe he and Jessy Wyatt were a bad match, too. Maybe they didn't stand a chance in hell of making a go of marriage, but he was willing to take that chance. She made him feel things he'd never felt before, question things that had been absolutes before she came into his life.
And there was the small fact that she was carrying his child. He'd never thought of himself as a traditionalist. He'd seen enough marriages fall apart to have little faith in the institution and even less in, the sanctity of the family. His own family had fallen apart with the death of Owen, Jr., and not even ties of blood and bone had been enough to help him claim a place in his father's heart.
He'd never planned on having Eds. He'd seen it done well and seen it done badly, and he wasn't convinced which side he'd come down on. None of that mattered now. God, fate, destiny—whatever you want to call it, life had other plans for him.
And what about Jessy? You think: she had this in mind when she seduced you?
She'd been at the Med Center for two months. This was going to blow her position there all to holy hell. No wonder she was angry and defensive and pushing him away with both hands.
When she'd first told him she was pregnant, he hadn't known what to say. A brief surge of primitive elation had been instantly replaced with wariness and dismay. She'd stared at ha' n, almost challenging him to say the wrong thing, and damned if he hadn't obliged. What are you going to do? he'd asked. Are you going to have the baby?
It was an honest question. Not every woman these days was happy to be pregnant. Not every pregnancy resulted in a happy, healthy baby. There were options available out there. Decisions a woman could make with the law, if not all of society, on her side.
Not Jessy. She was taking the hard way and she was willing to go it alone. There were few people on earth he respected, and Jessy was now on the top of a very short list.
Once Around Page 21