Some Women (23 page)

“Only that obviously wasn't the case. Because when I went in to get her red folder, there they were. On her desk. Kissing.”

“Kissing?” Annabel tried to hide her surprise. For whatever reason, she'd imagined them naked. Doing way more than kissing. It wasn't nearly as bad as she'd thought. Although didn't that make her a bit of a hypocrite? When it had been Henry and Lillian in a lip-lock, she'd completely lost her shit. Yet when it was someone else and she was an outsider looking in, a simple kiss didn't seem like the end of the world. Or, for that matter, like it had to be the end of Mackenzie and Trevor's relationship.

“Yup.” Mackenzie nodded firmly, as if she'd just announced that Trevor and Lucy had been caught in the actual act of unbridled passion.

“And then what?”

“It's all a blur after that. I think Lucy tried to leave. Trevor tried to suggest it wasn't what I thought. I mean, is that insulting or what? I have two working eyes.”

“Maybe he was telling the truth. It could have been an impulse,” Annabel offered, barely believing her own words.

“Annabel, please. He lied to me about where he was. And it didn't look impulsive. It looked . . .” She paused, searching for the right explanation. “Comfortable. Like it wasn't the first time.”

“Jesus.” Annabel shook her head. “I didn't even know they knew each other.”

“Neither did I. This is the girl that was helping us trail Henry, and all the while she's screwing
my
husband?”

“Does Piper know?”

“Yeah. I wasn't going to upset her, with everything she has going on with Todd and Max, but I guess Lucy told her.”

“What did she say?”

“She was horrified. Apologetic. Clearly it's not her fault in any way, but she was trying to take some of the responsibility for her assistant's involvement. She said she was going to fire Lucy, but I told her not to do that.”

“Why?”

“Well, I doubt Trevor will stand for that. What with her being his girlfriend and all.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves here,” Annabel advised. “I'm going to tell you exactly what you told me when I was first going through this. One, you do not know that anything more than one kiss transpired. Two, you don't know the circumstances of that kiss. Not that it's right. In any way, shape, or form. But don't you think you should at least hear him out?”

“I don't know. I'm not really in a ‘hear him out' place at the moment.”

“I can understand that.”

“How can I even think about staying with someone who lied to me and then betrayed me? And do you know the worst part?”

“What?”

“He didn't even run after me! He stayed there. With her.”

“He was probably scared.”

“Who gives a shit if he was scared? I'm his wife.”

“You're right, sweetie. You're right.” Annabel tried to soothe
without placating. There was nothing worse than being placated by someone when you felt completely vindicated in your anger.

“The press is going to have a field day with this. I can already see the headlines. ‘Mead Media Heir Fucks over Wife by Fucking Office Assistant.'”

“You can't think about that.” Annabel hadn't even considered the public ramifications for Mackenzie. Suddenly she felt thankful that her own situation was private.

“How can I not? If even one person outside of you and Piper finds out, I'm totally screwed.” She laughed sardonically. “No pun intended.”

“Well, you know our lips are sealed.”

Mackenzie tilted her head downward and began to weep softly, dabbing the corners of her eyes with the sleeve of her flannel pajama top. “We were trying to have a baby.”

“I know.” Annabel hugged her close, allowing Mackenzie to cry on her shoulder.

“No wonder he didn't want to see the fertility specialist.”

“Oh, sweetie.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Mackenzie looked up with an expression of utter despair. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“We'll work through this.”

“What if I can't?”

“You can. And you will. I promise.” Annabel released Mackenzie from her embrace and held both of Mackenzie's hands in hers. “Do you remember what you told me when I was freaking out about Henry?”

“No.”

“Well, I do. You said, ‘You're stronger than you think.' And now I'm telling you the same. You are so much stronger than you think and so much stronger than I ever was.” Annabel's eyes locked with Mackenzie's and she squeezed her hands. “We'll work through this. Together.”

Finally, spring had sprung. The air was laced with the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and budding flowers with a dash of moist soil for good measure—a potent perfume that no amount of chemical sorcery could replicate. The songbirds had started singing, and the woodpeckers had commenced their incessant drumming, a sound that might have been grating, save for the chirpy season it represented in Piper's mind. Everything around her was vibrant and inviting, but it was all Piper could manage to wade through the motions of her day. To make it from the moment her alarm went off in the morning to the moment her head hit her pillow again that night. With as few nonessential social interactions as possible.

Fern had finally returned to school after the required bed rest prescribed by her doctor on the heels of her concussion. Piper had been forced to juggle work and a child who was home alone and needier than she normally was. She never thought she'd say as
much, but Max had been a godsend while Fern was recovering. He'd spent most days at her house, attending to Fern's every whim, while Piper had been tied to her desk at Mead, attempting to get her job done while stewing about Lucy's betrayal inside her office. They hadn't spoken in depth about it yet. Her fling with Trevor. Or whatever it was. Piper couldn't even look at her. Of course, Lucy had tried to talk to her, to explain, as she'd put it. But Piper had wagged her finger and avoided eye contact. Because as far as she was concerned, there was no explanation. At least not a good one. Nothing she could say would ever be sufficient for Piper to have faith in her again. Beyond Piper being horrified on Mackenzie's behalf, she felt betrayed and even somewhat guilty.

She'd hired Lucy, after all. She'd given her more responsibility than almost any other assistant in the company. She'd trusted her with personal business. For Christ's sake, she'd had her tracking Henry Ford. Piper had also been the one to suggest that Lucy work alongside Trevor when he'd sent a company-wide e-mail asking if anyone could spare an extra helping hand on a big project he'd launched. Had they already been having an affair at that point? If so, she'd fallen right into that open trap. If not, was she in any way responsible for encouraging them to spend time together in close proximity?

And then there was Todd. He still hadn't moved back in, although most of his stuff remained at Piper and Fern's house. The neatly ironed dress shirts that hung in a tight row in her closet—
their
closet. Before she went to bed, she often found herself pressing her nose to those shirts, just so she could recall his distinctive scent—a heady combination of orange, lemon, jasmine, and lavender with warm, musky base notes. His black and brown polished
shoes, in varying designs, were arranged in an ordered fashion on the closet floor below his suit pants. And in the bathroom, his toothbrush remained next to hers by the sink, and their razors lay side by side in the shower, although clearly he had others to spare.

He'd told her he needed time to think. That he loved her more than anything. Fern too. However, he wanted to work out the mechanics of things in his own mind before they could fall back into their old life. An old life that, he'd added, was no longer really possible, given that Max had insinuated himself into their family of three. Piper had thought about begging Todd to return. She'd thought about promising him she'd tell Max to leave and never come back. But Mackenzie had cautioned her. She'd said that Piper had to afford Todd the space he'd requested if she wanted him to be happy. More to the point, if she wanted them all to be happy. The thing was, it wasn't only Mackenzie who'd held her back. It had been nice having Max around at times. Unnerving, but still nice. In so many ways, he felt like home to her. He knew who she was from before she'd become Piper the crime reporter. Or Piper the single mom—even though he'd sort of created that title. He knew her entire family and her old friends, even ones she'd barely spoken to in the past ten years. He knew her in a way that Todd did not.

Of course, in turn, Todd knew things about Piper that Max did not. Like the fact that she hated peanut butter, but loved peanut butter ice cream. Or that she and Fern always spent an hour reading together on Sunday afternoons. Todd also knew that Piper used to be closer with her parents, but that she rarely spoke to them on the phone anymore, because they were both a little hard of hearing. And that it bothered her not to be able to check in with her mother as often as she used to. Todd knew that she liked the idea of skiing,
but that once they hit the slopes, she'd inevitably be too cold to do more than a few runs. And, above all, he knew that the most important thing to her in the world was Fern's happiness. Perhaps Max could have assumed that, but—unlike Todd—he hadn't been around to witness its utmost importance to her firsthand.

Were there romantic sensations lingering between Piper and Max? Annabel had asked that particular question, which was hard for Piper to answer. She certainly didn't want to be with him in that way. Not anymore. But was there still an attraction? Unfortunately, yes. Still, it didn't change her feelings for Todd. Sweet and giving Todd, who'd offered his promise to devote his life to her and her daughter. He was the man she wanted to spend her life with.

When Todd had finally called on Monday to say he'd like to take her to lunch, Piper had replied instantly with an enthusiastic yes. She needed to see him, to touch him, to hold him close, if he'd allow it. Now, though, sitting alone at their favorite table for two in the back left corner of Avery's Grill, Piper couldn't help but feel anxious. What if he'd asked her there to break up with her, to let her down easily in person? That was the kind of man Todd was. He'd never dump her via phone or e-mail or, God forbid, text message. He was far too considerate for that. And there was far too much history at stake.

“Hey.” Todd appeared without warning and Piper stood up, waiting for him to open his arms first, which he did. She practically fell into his soothing embrace. “Easy there. You almost knocked me over.” He smiled, and suddenly any anxiety she'd been experiencing faded away.

“Sorry.” She sat back down across from him. “It's just that I've missed you so much.”

“I've missed you too.” He took her hands in his, and she exhaled for what seemed like the first time in weeks.

“So you'll come home?” She couldn't hold back, even though she was ignoring Mackenzie's advice not to sound desperate.

“I don't know.” He hesitated, as if he were about to say something else, but then he remained quiet.

“What do you mean?” Panic set in. He'd just said he missed her. He'd smiled. He was still holding her hands. All the signs of forgiveness were there. Then why the doubt?

“Piper, I love you. You know that,” he started.

“I love you too.” She nodded impatiently.

“I know.” He took a deep breath. “The thing is, sometimes love isn't enough.”

“It
is
.” Her tone was urgent. “It is enough. Our love is enough. It's more than enough.”

“I hope so.” He spoke more slowly than she was used to from him. It was all she could do not to reach into his mouth and pull the words out.

“I
know
so.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear you say that.”

“You proposed. We were going to get married,” she added, on the off chance he'd forgotten.

“I remember the proposal.” His gaze dropped toward the table.

“I can't apologize enough for how I behaved that night. I have no idea what got into me. The call that Fern had fallen, that she had a concussion, it was just so—”

“Piper, relax.” He cut her off, but not disrespectfully. “What I've realized in these past couple of weeks is that your walking out
on the proposal wasn't the issue. I thought it was at the time. Bit of an ego squelcher there.”

“Todd, truly, I'm so sorry.” After weeks of reliving it in her mind, she knew she still couldn't even begin to understand how he'd felt down on one knee, ring in hand, as she'd raced out of the restaurant. In response to a call from her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child.

“You don't have to say you're sorry anymore. I know it. And I believe you. What I'm trying to say is that ever since Max arrived, things have changed. The dynamic has changed. Between us. Between you and Fern. Between me and Fern. It's affected all of us. We can't continue to ignore that.”

“I'll ask Max to leave.” There—she'd said it. Even though she had no idea if that was actually possible. She'd figure it out.

“You can't do that. As tempting as it sounds. He's here. He cares about Fern, whether we think he has a right to or not. Above all, Fern cares about him. She wants him in her life. Dare I say, she needs him in her life.”

“You're her father.”

“Piper, I wish I were, but I'm not. She's the only daughter I've ever had. But I'm not her father. Not in her mind, which is all that really matters in this case. And I think if we can find a way to define our roles for Fern—for all of us—that will be the only possibility of moving forward.”

“And then you'll come home?”

“Let's take it step by step.”

“I need you to come home.” Piper began crying softly just as the waitress approached.

“We'll need another minute, please,” Todd alerted the waitress, and she retreated immediately. “Don't cry, Piper.”

“I can't help it.” She sniffed and blew her nose into a paper napkin. “Just tell me everything is going to be okay,” she pleaded with him. So much for her pride.

“Oh, Piper, I wish I could.” He squeezed her hands. “I want nothing more than to return to the life we were building together. But that same exact life is not a reality anymore.”

“Then we'll find our new reality. We will. I know it.” Her voice cracked. “We have to.”

•   •   •

“Can someone tell me why it is that the good, healthy people are always the ones who die young?” After Piper's lunch with Todd, which had gone no further toward convincing her that everything would eventually be okay, she'd decided to invite Mackenzie and Annabel over for dinner as a distraction. And for moral support. “I mean, look at this guy. He was forty-eight, a marathon runner, and a father of four. Oh, and he was on the board of about five charitable organizations. Completely awful. Those poor children.”

“I'm pretty sure it's because no one ever writes an obituary that says, ‘Fat asshole kicked the bucket today from eating his way to a heart attack. His funeral will be held Thursday for a group of people who couldn't stand him when he was alive. Flowers welcome,'” Annabel deadpanned.

“You're funny.” Mackenzie laughed and reached for a second slice of pizza. “When I die, you two had better say nice things
about me. But feel free to mention that my ex-husband was a dickhead.”

“You're already calling him
ex
, huh?” Annabel raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. I haven't even gotten there yet with Henry.”

“I guess you're a more forgiving person than I am.” Mackenzie shrugged. “My rule is no tolerance. Thank God we didn't have kids together.” She sighed. “Hey, there's one sentence I never thought I'd say.”

“Would you look at how pathetic we are?” Annabel shook her head. “Two of us have husbands who've cheated on us. And the other one is hanging on to her relationship by a thread.”

“Gee, thanks.” Piper shot her a dirty look. She'd told them about her conversation with Todd at lunch.

“Sorry, my friend, but we're at the point where there's no sugarcoating anything.” Annabel turned to Mackenzie. “How are things with you and Trevor? I take it not so hot?”

“I wouldn't know, since I still haven't spoken to him.” Mackenzie tipped the bottle of Sprite into her glass.

“Wow. You're avoiding him at work too?” Annabel nibbled on a garlic knot.

“He's barely made an appearance at the office since I discovered the affair. I gather it's a smidge complicated, what with his wife, girlfriend, and mother all working there. As far as I know, he's been out of town a lot. I'm assuming he's bought himself new clothing and toiletries, since I haven't let him back in the house.”

“You know you can't go on like this forever,” Piper interjected.

“I know, but right now I'm too pissed off to deal with it.” She groaned. “I don't want to talk about it anymore. What about you?
How are things with Henry? Shouldn't the divorce be final any day?” she asked Annabel.

“It should be. I think we just have to sign the papers.” Annabel was suddenly very quiet.

“What is it?” Piper knew that silence typically meant that there was more to the story. There was always more to every story; she'd learned that day one on the job.

“Okay, so I'm sure this will sound crazy to you, but when he was over the other night, dropping off the kids, we really connected.”

“You'll always be connected,” Piper reassured her. “At the very least through the kids.”

“No, this was different. He confided in me.”

“About what?” Mackenzie smirked. “Sorry—I'm nosy.”

“He said things are going sour with that deal Lillian is supposed to be helping him with. Turns out she's not the superstar he thought she was. Either that or . . .”

“Or what?” Piper watched Annabel's expression grow more thoughtful.

“Or there's something fishy going on.”

“What do you mean?” Mackenzie's voice rose, showing she was intrigued.

“I mean I think there's something weird about this whole thing with Lillian. And please don't assume I'm in denial about the divorce or anything like that. I've come to terms with it. Pretty much. It's just that I know Henry. He's not the type to get romantically involved with someone he's working with. Especially when there's such a big deal at stake. Plus, and this may sound silly, he always wins. Never once in the history of our relationship has he let a deal fall through, much less let one crash and burn.”