You Were Meant For Me (19 page)

Coming out of the bathroom, he careened around, looking for his pants, which had ended up under the bed. He fumbled through the pocket, searching for his phone. When it was in his shaking palm, he saw that there were twenty text messages—maybe more—and as many missed calls. He was too freaked out to count any of them. The last one was from Athena, and it had come through just half an hour ago.

WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!!! LILY WAS ALONE ALL NIGHT. YOU'D BETTER GET YOUR ASS HOME RIGHT NOW!

Jared stared at the screen. How had Athena been dragged into this? What happened to Olivia? Was Lily all right? Galvanized by fear and guilt, he started yanking on his clothes. The activity woke Isabel, who let the sheet fall from her body as she rose to look at him. “What's your hurry? Come back to bed.” She patted the place beside her invitingly.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I've got to go.”

“Now? Is it me?”

“Hell no!” He knelt in front of her and traced her lips with his fingers. “You were amazing. You
are
amazing. But I can't stay.”

“Why not?”

“It's my daughter.” He shoved one foot into the shoe he'd found and started looking around for the other.

“Daughter! You didn't tell me you had a daughter.” She sat up and pulled the sheet flat against her chest. “I didn't even know you were married.”

“I'm not.” When he saw her confused expression, he added, “It's a long story. And I'll tell it to you. Just not now.”

She watched him in silence for a few seconds. “When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” he said. “I promise.” Though what the fuck was any promise from him worth? “You go back to sleep. I'll take care of the bill downstairs, so you don't have to worry about that.”

“All right,” she said. “If you say so . . .” She did not close her eyes, but remained propped up against the headboard, following him with her wary, alert gaze.

He left, not even bothering to check his appearance in the mirror. Then he was in the lobby, swiping his credit card before stepping outside to hail a taxi. It was only minutes past dawn, and the just-risen sun had turned the sky a pale, cloud-streaked gold. Copies of the
New York Times
lay neatly coiled in their blue plastic sleeves, sparrows twittered decorously in front of a still-shuttered café, and an elderly woman walked a small white dog on a red leash. Everything seemed hopeful, decent, civilized—everything except Jared himself, a man who'd actually forgotten about his own flesh and blood, a man who'd left his baby girl by herself all night
long.

J
ared told the cabdriver to hurry; he was meeting Supah at the pediatrician's on Ninety-sixth Street. Athena had told him that Lily would not stop hiccupping—or crying—and so Supah had thought it prudent to take her to the doctor. Jared burned to think that this woman whom he paid had shown more concern for his child than he had.

When the cab pulled up in front of the building, Jared fairly shoved a wad of bills at the driver and told him to keep the change. He gave the receptionist his name; he could swear he saw her eyebrows rise right up to meet her hairline. Jesus. He was in for it now.

Inside the office, a tight-lipped Supah was holding Lily; Athena had already left for the office. Good. He knew she was going to rake him over the coals for this, and he was grateful for the reprieve. As it was, he had to listen to the doctor, an older black man with a nimbus of white at the sides of his
mostly bald head, berate him for his conduct. “I can see that apart from that
inexplicable
lapse last night, she's been very well cared for and, I hope, well loved, so I'm not going to report you to the authorities—
this
time. But if there's ever even a whiff of something like this happening again”—he lowered his already deep baritone—“you can kiss your little angel good-bye.”

Jared took his daughter. He was ready to hand Lily over to Supah so he could make amends with his boss; Supah had a different agenda.

“Doctor, he be right. I can no work for you, Mr. Jared,” she said. “Not anymore.” Her look was both stern and contemptuous.

“Lily needs you,” he said. Begged. “Please don't punish her for what I did.”

He sensed her hesitating and so he quickly went on. “I know I was an idiot last night, and I swear, nothing like that will
ever
happen again. But she trusts you. She
needs
you; please don't leave her.”

Supah looked away from Jared at Lily, and he could see her expression soften. “Okay, I stay.” She reached out to take Lily's hands in her own. “For her. For Lily girl.”

Once Jared had sent them back home, he walked slowly to the office. He needed to calm down—he was sweating and his head was throbbing—before he faced the avenging angel that was Athena. He also needed to get in touch with Olivia; at least ten of those text messages had been from her. Hurrying to his apartment, she'd tripped on a curb and broken her ankle; she'd been whisked off to the emergency room, where she'd been stuck for the next several hours. “I tried calling you, Mr. Masters,” she said again and again when they finally
made contact. “But I couldn't reach you.” No, she couldn't because he'd been too busy screwing Isabel Clarke and getting wasted.

Athena was waiting for him when he came in; apparently, Supah had phoned her when she'd gotten to the apartment and been unable to reach Jared. She ushered him right into her office and closed the door with somewhat more force than he thought necessary; the sound made his head throb an extra beat. “You could have lost her over this,” she said. “Child services could have taken her away.”

“I know,” said Jared. “And maybe they'd be right.”

“I hate to say it, Jared, but maybe she would have been better off with that woman who found her. I know I encouraged you to step forward and claim her. But now I'm thinking that the stress of it is too much for you. I mean, who walks out of an apartment and leaves a baby alone for five minutes, let alone the
entire
night
?”

“You think I don't know this?” he said angrily. “You think I haven't thought the same thing myself?”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Mind my p's and q's, as my mama would have said. Straighten up. Fly right. Become a contender for the Dad of the Year award.” The thing he did not say was,
Call Miranda Berenzweig.
He had not told Athena about her message, the one in which she said she wanted to see him and was hoping to see Lily too. Would he get back to her so that they could talk?

Jesus, what piss-poor timing. A month ago, he'd wanted to meet Miranda, wanted her to understand who he was and why he'd come forward; he wanted her not to hate him. He would have let her see Lily; why not? She cared about his daughter, had formed a bond with her. He'd meant to call her
back right away, but he'd just gotten busy. Now he couldn't even think of returning the call. He was too ashamed. So he left the message on his phone; he could not bring himself to delete it, but he couldn't bring himself to answer it either. Instead, he waited until he was out on the street, headed to an appointment, and called Isabel Clarke—he had a bunch of unanswered messages from her too.

“Are you all right?” Isabel picked up after the first ring. “And what about your daughter? That was a total surprise, Jared. I had no idea.”

“Can you meet me?” he said. “I'll tell you everything, but I don't want to go into it on the phone.”

“Brandon's back,” she said. “I have to be . . . discreet.”

“So do I, baby,” he said, thinking of what Athena would say—and do—if she found out he was involved with a married client. “So do I.”

They met several days later, ostensibly to see a penthouse apartment at 125 Central Park North. It was a recently constructed building, so it had plenty of amenities, like a private roof terrace, fitness center, lap pool, indoor parking, and a temperature-controlled wine cellar. The asking price was a hefty $2.049 million, which Jared thought was going to make the apartment too rich for Brandon's blood. But he also knew the guy would be impressed by all the bells and whistles.

Isabel showed up to the apartment wearing big black sunglasses and a broad-brimmed black straw hat that obscured much of her face; was she intentionally trying to assume a disguise? But she appeared as eager to see him as he was to see her, and they had a quickie in the master bedroom, though not, at his insistence, on the bed.

“How will anyone ever know?” she had said. “I'll remake it when we're done.”

Jared was too spooked though, and instead they used the floor, where the sisal matting did a serious number on his knees. When they said good-bye, he pressed several glossy, stapled sheets about the building and the apartment into her hands and insisted she show the material to Brandon. “I'm just covering all our tracks,” he said. “Trust me, okay?” But even though he was single, and ostensibly had less at stake here, he was jumpy for the rest of the day. What the hell was he doing, taking up with her? Like there weren't plenty of bodacious, badass single women out there?

*   *   *

It
was after six o'clock when Jared got home one Friday evening in the waning days of August. He could barely meet Supah's eyes when he paid her and told her to have a nice weekend. After that conversation on the street, she had never again upbraided him or mentioned what had happened. Still, she
knew.

The door closed quietly behind her, and then he was alone with his baby daughter for what promised to be two very long, hot days. Isabel told him she would be away this weekend, and he knew Athena and Gabe were off to Sag Harbor. His other buddies were away too. No one stuck around this late in the month. No one, that is, except him.

Damn. How had his life come to this? He remembered the rush of recognition when he first saw the photograph of Lily; that heady moment had since morphed into an endless treadmill of diapers, laundry, and sleep deprivation. It wasn't that he didn't love her. Of course he did. But he didn't think he could keep doing this. At least not like this and not by himself.
Lily was quiet, occupied by chewing on a teething ring in her crib. He reached for his phone to make the call; Miranda Berenzweig wanted to meet him? Well, he wanted to meet her too. And there was no time like the present.

*   *   *

The
next night, Jared was bustling around his apartment in preparation for Miranda's visit. She'd been so eager to see Lily that she would have come last night, when he called. But he wanted a chance to pull the place—and himself—together. Earlier in the day, he'd buckled Lily into her stroller and walked over to Fairway, where he'd managed to grab a few things he could serve for dinner before Lily got too fussy. Then he spent the next hour at a playground, pushing her back and forth in a baby swing, which at least tired her out enough so that she fell asleep on the way home and stayed asleep for a while once they got there. The respite gave Jared a chance to shower, change, and set the table.

But when Lily woke up, he saw that the diaper had leaked. Damn, what was wrong with those things? They sure cost enough. She needed both a bath and a change of clothes, and the crib sheet had to be stripped and dumped in the wash too. He managed the bath okay. He'd gotten better at it, though when he looked down he saw his own shirt was wet and he'd need to change—again. Plus he had to find something for Lily to wear. He wanted Miranda to think he was taking good care of her.

He pawed through the stash of little dresses and outfits; the ones he thought looked best were in the wash, and when he pulled something out of the pile and attempted to put it on her, he realized it was too small. She was outgrowing her clothes and he'd need to replace them. What the hell did
babies wear, anyway? And where was he supposed to go to get this stuff? He remembered Bedelia's, but he also remembered the price tags on a couple of the things Athena had brought. Sixty bucks for a dress that wasn't even going to fit her in a couple of months? Ridiculous. Anyway, he couldn't deal with any of this now, so he found some pajamas with a pattern of kittens on them—good enough.

The buzzer rang precisely at six p.m., and in his haste to answer it, Jared nearly tripped on Lily's playpen. But he caught himself at the last minute and scooped Lily up. “Here she comes,” he said to her; she was already starting to fuss. “Here we
go.”

M
iranda took the three flights of stairs to Jared Masters's apartment with ease.

Since she had lost Lily, she'd stepped up her routine of jogging the loop around Prospect Park, either very early before she went into the office or in the pastel-colored evenings when she got home.

Her phone buzzed while she was climbing. Evan. They had been missing each other for a couple of days, but she really couldn't talk now. She'd connect with him later. Miranda was nervous about her visit with Masters; would he really consider letting her become a part of Lily's life on a regular basis? So much depended on this meeting. He had to see her as responsible and kind but not overbearing or intrusive. And if he perceived her as a threat, he might withdraw entirely.

The door was open and he was standing there with Lily in his arms. “Glad you could come,” he said, extending one hand for her to shake. “It's really good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too.” Even her eagerness to see Celeste did not prevent Miranda from registering how handsome Jared Masters was. She had seen the picture of him that accompanied Geneva's second piece. But that had not prepared her for the real thing—tall but not overly so, lean and muscled, with smooth brown skin the color of coffee beans or the best dark chocolate, and an intense, probing gaze. And oh, the smile, with those brilliant, lit-from-within white teeth. She actually felt flustered.
Get a grip,
she told herself sternly. This wasn't a date. Though she had the sudden, irrational wish that it was.

Then Lily turned at the sound of her voice and began an almost synchronized series of arm and leg movements. The spell cast by Jared was broken, and Miranda reached for the baby. “Oh, she's grown so much! Can I hold her?”

“Of course.” Jared handed her over. There was an awkward pause, and then he said, “So please, sit down. We'll eat, right? And get to know each other?”

“I'd like that,” she said. “I know how strange this is. . . . But we both have a connection to her. Yours is by blood, mine by pure happenstance.”

She joined him at the table, where the food had been set out. “Has Lily eaten?” Jared shook his head no, and Miranda slid her into the high chair. “I could feed her if you want. Give you a little break.”

“Sure. If you want.” He spooned some pureed beef and sweet potato into a dish and warmed the food in the microwave. Lily opened her mouth wide for every spoonful, and when the food didn't seem to come fast enough, she lightly pounded her fists on the high chair's tray.

“No wonder she's been growing,” Miranda said. “Look at
her eat!” Her own food—some indifferently prepared chicken dish, bland vegetables—was not terribly interesting, and she ate only enough to be polite. She was much more interested in giving Lily her bottle, changing her diaper, and putting her to sleep, all of which Jared allowed with what seemed like relief.

While Miranda was in Lily's pink-and-white room, she could hear him clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. Finally, she went back into the living room, leaving Lily's door ajar. “I think she's down for a while,” she said. “But I wanted to leave the door open just in case.”

“Care for some more wine?” Jared said. He'd poured from a bottle of white with dinner, but Miranda had not even finished her glass.

“That would be very nice. Thank you.” She accepted the goblet and sat down on the couch. Not too near him though. Her own animal reaction to him was making her uncomfortable.

He sat down too and started playing with the stem of his goblet.

“I'm grateful that you agreed to let me come here.” Miranda watched his fingers move up and down the glass stem; maybe he was as uncomfortable as she was, though she assumed the reasons were different.

“You know I offered to meet you early on,” he quickly interjected. “But I get why you didn't want to.”

“I was afraid,” she said. “I couldn't even deal with the possibility that you might take her from me. And then when you did—”

Jared looked into the wine goblet. “I can imagine,” he murmured.

“It was pretty terrible in the beginning—when she first
left. But then a friend pointed out that I was mourning her even though she wasn't dead. That's when I began to think—to hope, I mean—that there might be some way I could be in her life. Not as her parent, of course.” She stopped for a sip of wine and then another. “Or even as family. But as something. Because something really would be better than nothing at all.”

“I don't see why we can't come to some arrangement about that,” he said. “Maybe she could even spend the night with you sometimes. . . .”

“Really?” Did he mean it? That would be so wonderful.

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” He took a sip of his wine. “And I haven't even thanked you yet.” She must have looked puzzled, so he went on. “For finding her. For taking such good, good care of her.”

“Finding her was the most extraordinary thing that's ever happened to me,” said Miranda. “Think of it. In the course of your life, you might find money or jewelry or even a dog or a cat. But a baby? A newborn? What are the odds of that?”

“Not too likely,” he agreed.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“You really didn't know anything about her? You had no idea you had a child?”

“None,” he said.

“I was told that her mother was . . . unstable.” The lawyer's warning had no weight, but she still wanted to be diplomatic.

“That,” said Jared, “would be a serious understatement. I loved Carrie, but I couldn't take it anymore. We parted on bad terms—really bad. I stopped hearing from her, and to be perfectly honest, I was relieved.”

“So you didn't even suspect? Not a clue? Not a hint?”

Jared hesitated. “The last time I saw her, she told me she was pregnant. But I didn't believe her.”

“Oh,” said Miranda. “I see.” The guilt he must have felt when he found out Caroline was telling the truth. And the shame.

“I know it sounds really shitty of me. But she had lied to me so many times. She said she had AIDS. Also cancer. And that she was going blind. So when she played the pregnant card, I thought it was just another ploy.”

“How tragic,” she said. “For her. For you. And for Lily.”

He poured himself another glass of wine and refreshed Miranda's. “I was the one to identify her at the morgue. I don't know if she had family or where to even look for them. She never spoke about it, not even when I asked. When I found out that she might have given birth, I just assumed the baby had drowned with her. I didn't make the connection until I saw Geneva's piece.”

Geneva. Miranda stiffened at the mention of the name. “Have you been in touch with her? Since then?”

“A couple of times, yeah. She said she wanted to keep tabs on us; she even mentioned doing some kind of follow-up.”

Miranda thought about that. “Did you say yes?”

“Not in so many words,” said Jared. “But I didn't say no. I mean, how could it hurt?”

Miranda debated whether she should tell him what she now knew about Geneva. Then she wondered whether he already
knew
—a very upsetting thought.

But if he didn't know, she wasn't ready to share it. At least not yet.

Jared refilled his glass and then leaned over to refill hers
too. Miranda raised a hand in a gesture that said,
stop.
She was feeling a little tipsy but not that tipsy. She knew it was time to go. If she stayed, she might say—or even do—more than she wanted to. “That's enough for me. I'm going to be heading back now.”

“How are you getting home?” he asked.

“Subway.”

“Take a cab,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “I insist.” He handed her two twenties.

Miranda looked down at the bills and then up into his face. “It's not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. Please, just take it.”

Should she? Finally, she took the bills and tucked them into her wallet. Then she stood and smoothed down the front of her skirt. It was an innocent enough gesture; the skirt was wrinkled and sticking to the fronts of her thighs. But she was suddenly aware that he was watching her, and the air now seemed charged with unexpressed longing. Hers? His? She felt her cheeks go very hot. He stood too, and when she gave him a quick good-bye kiss, she wished that he would turn his face and she'd be kissing his lips instead. Oh, but it was really time to get out of here. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.” And then, after a last peek into Lily's room, she left.

As she sat in the taxi heading home, Miranda thought about Jared. She had never thought he was a villain, but she had not expected their meeting to stir such a welter of emotions in her either: tenderness, sympathy, and, yes, desire. She believed him about Geneva; he had not known about her connection to Lily. Did he feel attracted to her? It had certainly seemed that way, especially when she got up to leave; she knew what that kind of look meant. Was this just about the
most improbable wrinkle in an already highly improbable story? Adoptive mother meets biological father and falls madly in lust. . . . What if they actually got together?
What if?
They could be a family, the three of them—Jared, Lily, and Miranda. Wouldn't that be perfect? She allowed herself to linger on this fantasy; how could it hurt?

The cab stopped at a red light, and Miranda looked out the window in surprise. They were in Brooklyn already; she'd be home in a few minutes. She continued to think about Jared as she paid the fare, climbed the stairs to her apartment, and began getting ready for bed. It was only when the lights were out and she was falling sleep that she realized she'd been so preoccupied by her fantasies that she had not called Evan
back.