Angus sat in the middle of the carpet, watching her, waiting; suddenly, boldness and defiance seemed silly. As always, seeing the cat, she melted. The poor guy was lonely. He wanted someone to love him, just as she did.
“Poor Angus.” Holding the towel closed, she crouched down and held out a hand. “Come here, big guy. Come over here, and let me give you a good morning scratch.” Angus stared at her with unblinking green eyes. She made a clicking sound as Jordan had done. She wiggled her fingers. She wished she had a kitty treat to offer and vowed to find out if Meg kept any in the pantry. “Come here, sweet kitty,” she whispered and inched forward until her toes bumped the threshold.
She remained crouched low to the ground, holding the towel closed, eyes locked with the cat’s until curiosity got the best of her, and she looked around. Behind Angus was the bed. Beside the bed was a nightstand. What she had initially labeled a pair of dressers were actually a pair of armoires standing on opposite sides of the room. The sitting area consisted of a leather sofa and an overstuffed chair. Both looked decidedly worn.
She wondered if they had come from an earlier time in Connie’s life. Maybe she could trace their origin. That would be interesting.
Actually, the whole room was interesting, a gold mine of possibility in the scavenger hunt for who Connie was. If she wanted to find a personal journal or an address book, exploring these closets and drawers was a no-brainer.
But not yet. She had to explore the cartons upstairs first.
That was the plan. Before she got to the boxes, though, she had to drive to the condo and come back with more clothes, see a day’s worth of clients, and handle a raft of administrative chores, all of which demanded her full attention.
She welcomed that. She didn’t want her mind wandering to Caroline, because she had absolutely no control over what would happen there. Nor did she want to think about Jordan, oddly, for much the same reason. Her body had taken over down in the garden. She hadn’t had any say.
Should she have done what she did? Of course not. But prudence had never played a strong role in her life.
It helped that Jordan was gone by the time she finished showering. Had he been wandering through the house tending the indoor plants while it rained, she might have had trouble clearing her mind of what had just happened under the hemlocks.
The only other person in the house now, though, was Meg. On impulse, Casey asked her to come along to the condo. After the fact, she realized that what little space she had in the small Miata was better saved for clothes, but Meg had lit up so with the invitation, that she didn’t have the heart to rescind it.
Meg’s enthusiasm proved to be a godsend in keeping Casey distracted. She loved the small elevator that took them to Casey’s condo, loved Casey’s tiny galley kitchen, loved the cinder blocks that raised Casey’s bed off the floor. She
loved
Casey’s clothes, marveling over a silk blouse, a pair of linen pants, a pair of high-heeled sandals. At one point, when Casey stood at the closet trying to decide what to take, Meg pulled out a pair of linen overalls.
“These are
gor
-geous,” she said breathlessly.
Casey smiled. “They’re yours.”
“Mine?”
“I haven’t worn them in years. They looked neglected, which was why your hand went right to them. They spoke to you, Meg.” She took out the overalls and handed them to Meg, who was grateful and so clearly touched that Casey gave her other things as well— a lace camisole, a tank top to wear under the overalls, three different hair scrunchies.
Meg immediately put one of the scrunchies around her ponytail. Casey thought it was perfect, and told her so. Though the compliment came from the heart, what she got in return, in addition to pleasure, was devotion. Meg couldn’t do enough for her— carrying things down to the car, packing the trunk, then sitting in the passenger’s seat during the ride home with her lap piled high— and
then
insisting that she would unpack, iron what needed ironing, and put everything into Casey’s room in an organized fashion.
Casey wasn’t used to being waited on. By the time they returned to Beacon Hill, though, her first client was about to arrive, so she took Meg up on her offer.
Letting go of that chore was heaven. Clearing her mind of Jordan, of Caroline, of Connie, even of Angus, she focused so intently on work that she was totally sharp. Some days she struggled to find the right questions to ask; other days she didn’t ask questions at all, but just listened. This day she was inspired.
Her ten o’clock client was suffering from postpartum depression. Casey had previously focused on the client’s disdain for her mother, who had apparently grown heavier, more unkempt, and less interesting with each of the six children she had borne. Today, Casey asked what the client’s father had said about her mother’s deterioration. Bingo. The father had not been kind. There had been verbal abuse, emotional neglect, and infidelity. Casey’s client was terrified of suffering her mother’s fate, now that she was a mother herself.
Casey’s twelve o’clock was a woman much her own age who had held three different jobs and done well in each until a promotion was imminent, at which point she committed a blunder that killed the promotion. She was sabotaging herself. She admitted that. She freely discussed her fear of piling more responsibility onto a life that already included juggling children, a household, and a career. This day, Casey asked about her husband— not what he did for a living, because they had been over that, but what his chances of advancement were and what he earned. It turned out that the client’s income already matched that of her husband, that she would earn more than he did if she was promoted, and that she had already felt her husband’s resentment that her career might outshine his.
Casey’s three o’clock, a woman in her seventies, had been emotionally paralyzed since the death of her husband. Through four previous sessions, she had described how much she missed him, how competent and caring he was, how dominant he had been. Casey had assumed that the woman was intimidated by the thought of taking care of herself. Today, though, broaching a subject they had only discussed in passing, she asked about the woman’s children. There were three, all consumed by their own lives— and the floodgate of panic that Casey’s question opened suggested that the woman was doing what she felt was necessary to get their attention and involve them more in her life.
Three breakthroughs in one day was something. Casey didn’t know whether her insights had to do with physical contentment, because that did linger. Much as she tried not to think about Jordan, a move here or there brought a twinge in her thigh muscles or the awareness of tenderness in her breasts.
Then again, her inspiration could have come from Connie whispering hints in her ear. He might have been shocked by what she had done with Jordan, but she did like to think he would have approved of what she had done with her clients.
She rewarded herself with a single butterscotch candy. She took off the wrapper, dropped it in the wastebasket under the desk just as Connie must have done, and popped the candy into her mouth. She sucked it until it was little more than a thin bar. Then, thinking that a man as compulsively neat as Connie probably sucked his until there was absolutely nothing left, she bit hers apart, chewed the pieces, and swallowed.
It was a good end to a good workday, which was why she was feeling buoyant when Brianna arrived. They went right out to the garden; how not to, when it was so lush? Though the rain had stopped, the air remained humid and thick, intensifying the scent of hemlock, lilac, and earth. Meg was gone for the day, but she had left behind a tray of grilled salmon focaccia sandwiches. Brianna carried the tray; Casey carried a towel and soda cans.
Casey toweled off the patio table and two chairs so that Brianna could set down the tray, but Brianna was distracted. She was looking at the flowers, wearing an expression that said she saw not a one.
“Bria?”
Brianna’s eyes snapped to hers.
“Want to put the tray down?”
Brianna did, then sank into a chair.
Casey sat down across from her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Brianna eyed her glumly. “I need to end this.”
Casey knew she was talking about Jamie. There had been one too many little barbs of late. The pattern was starting to feel familiar. “Why?” she asked, popping the top on a can of Coke and passing it to Brianna.
“He wants me to be something I’m not.”
“So you say. He thinks you should be in private practice. For the money?”
“No. He knows I could end up earning less than I am now. He’s not greedy for money, just for me. He wants my time. He wants my company when he travels for business.”
“Some women would die for that.”
“Would you? Of course not. You have a life. You have a career. You value your independence. So do I, but Jamie, bless him, wants a corporate wife.”
“Has he said that?”
“Not in as many words, but he’s thinking it, I know he is. Casey, he talks about kids.
Kids
. And we aren’t even engaged.”
“Whose fault is that?” Casey asked.
“I hate men.”
“You do not.”
“Why do they try to rearrange our lives? I mean, look what Stuart did to you. Stole your money, broke up the group, made you all move. Any news there?”
Casey shook her head. “Marlene called before. No one’s heard a word.”
“Not even his wife?”
“She says not. If she vanishes next week, we’ll be suspicious. The police are investigating, but theft of twenty-eight thousand dollars is low on their list. I doubt they’ll find him.”
“What about your money?”
“Gone. Short of tracking him down myself, there’s nothing I can do. I have to let it go.” She thought of Joyce Lewellen, and tried to apply the lesson to herself. “I can be as angry as I want, but to what end?”
Brianna didn’t answer. She was suddenly more alert, looking past her toward the back of the garden. “What is that?” she whispered.
Jordan had let himself in and was stacking bags of mulch against the potting shed wall.
“My gardener,” Casey whispered back. If she was going to tell anyone about him, Brianna would be the one, but the timing wasn’t right— not for Brianna, in the middle of this particular discussion, and not for Casey. She could feel a flush climbing her body, which said that making love with him hadn’t lessened her desire at all, but other than that, she didn’t know
what
to make of the man.
Sparing them the briefest nod, he went back out to the Jeep for more mulch.
“He is
something,
” Brianna whispered.
“Well, he is a good gardener.”
“You don’t think he’s hot?”
“He’s Connie’s gardener.”
“Is he married?”
“No.” At least, she didn’t think so. Hadn’t he asked
her
if there was a reason they shouldn’t make love, like a
boyfriend
? It followed that
he
had no reason they shouldn’t make love.
“How old is he?” Brianna asked.
“I dunno— late thirties, early forties?”
“Where does he live?”
“Beats me,” Casey replied, now with a touch of pique. She didn’t need Brianna’s questions. They only reminded her of all she didn’t know about this man.
“I’d like to hire him.”
“Marry Jamie, and you can.”
Brianna grew defensive. “Should I agree to marry a guy who isn’t right for me?”
“Are you sure that he isn’t? Would he change his mind about loving you if you refuse to leave your job?”
“No. But I feel like I’m being rushed.”
“
Rushed
. Brianna, you’ve been with him for nearly two years. It’s not like you’re seventeen. You’re both thirty-four. If the relationship’s right, you ought to know it by now.”
Jordan went out the garden door. The latch fell into place.
“Jamie’s a really nice guy,” Casey coaxed. “He’s good-looking. He’s sexy. He’s worked for the same company for— how long now?”
“Twelve years,” Brianna droned. “He went there right from college, and he’ll stay there until they give him a gold watch and boot him out.”
“It’s a good company.”
“Good. But not great.”
“Brianna.”
“He has no ambition, Casey. I mean, there he is telling
me
to change jobs, when he wouldn’t dream of doing it himself. He says there’s stability where he is. He says he can climb all the way to VP.”
“Can he?”
She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Probably.”
Casey picked up a sandwich. She had to open her mouth wide to get it around the bread, salmon, sprouts, lettuce, and whatever else was in it, but the mix in her mouth was wonderful. She chewed and swallowed. Then she put the sandwich on a napkin and said, “By all objective standards, Jamie’s a fabulous guy. He’s clearly in love with you. I thought you loved him, too. Suddenly now you’re getting nervous— like you did with Rick, and before that with Michael, and before that with Sean.”
Brianna didn’t argue, simply looked at her, waiting.
“Jamie’s the best of them,” Casey went on. “He’s really a good guy. Comes from a good family, graduated from good schools, works for a good company. So the company’s good but not great? Great companies have been known to topple without warning. Good companies are often more stable. So.” The million-dollar question, no shot in the dark because Casey knew Brianna’s history. “What would your dad say about Jamie?” Brianna’s father had been the CEO of a
great
company.
“He’d say Jamie could do better.”
“Your dad’s been dead a dozen years. The world was a different place back then.”
“Still, I respect his opinion. He didn’t get to where he was by being shy and restrained.”
“Jamie isn’t shy or restrained.”
“Why are you pushing Jamie?”
“Because,” Casey said, “I know you as well as anyone does, and I think that if any man can make you happy and keep you that way for the next fifty years, it’s him. Really, Bria. When it comes to compatibility with you, on a scale of ten, I’d give him a nine point five.”