Blueprints: A Novel (38 page)

“We could.”

“We could get married in a month or two and have them there. It wouldn’t be so awful.”

“No,” Jamie supposed, though everything in her objected to the idea. “On the afternoon he died, my father called me selfish and shortsighted. He may have been right about selfish, but our eloping wouldn’t be shortsighted. It would give Tad a stable home with an amazing dad and brother, but even aside from that, this is
our life
. There would be something poetic about getting married so fast, given how we first got together. And the boys would be involved in the secret. They’ll love knowing that.”

“We’re already living together,” Chip added. “Done deal there. Do you have any doubts that we’re meant for each other?”

Jamie did not. She had led a studied life, but not once in the shockingly brief time since she’d met Chip at the playground, not once since they’d become lovers, started living together, and talking marriage, had she had a second’s doubt that he was her future. She had never been overly romantic, but if there was such a thing as a soul mate, Chip was hers.

Doubts, he had asked? “None,” she replied and then, knowing that (A) she loved her mother and (B) she might be jeopardizing their already tenuous relationship but that (C) she was finally an adult and had to do her very own thing, on her own initiative, for the first time, she gave a definitive nod. “Let’s book it.”

Chip exhaled. “Consider it done,” he said gallantly and clicked through for the phone number of the inn.

twenty-two

Caroline breezed through an hour with Zoe Michaels. She had done many other interviews, and while none of those media outlets had the prestige of the
Globe,
other reporters had been tougher. Perhaps the newness of Roy’s death weighed on this reporter, or perhaps her age kept her intimidated. Perhaps Caroline was simply adept at answering questions she liked, sidestepping ones she did not, and religiously staying on message—message, in this case, being that while the MacAfee family deeply mourned Roy, he had set them up to succeed, which they would do. Though Caroline confirmed, when asked, that Roy had been one of the founding voices of
Gut It!,
she said that the show would continue on, starting with the fall season, in the manner viewers had come to love.

The interview was held in the courtyard behind the MacAfee Building, otherwise deserted early on a Saturday morning, and as soon as it was done, Caroline met Dean at his country place, where, in work clothes, goggles, and gloves, she sawed, hammered, and shaped wood for the bench that would curve in a corner of his fast-forming sundeck.

At least, she started out doing that, but there was something about Dean in motion that caught her eye and stilled her hand. Too often of late, he managed schedules and crews rather than doing physical work. But he was a skilled builder, not to mention an impressive sight in the midday sun with his shirt off and his skin moist. As always during hands-on moments, he poured himself into the work. This was nothing new to her. His intensity attacking personal projects was what had initially invited her questions, which was how she had first learned of his struggling marriage. Later, in the darkest days of negotiating his divorce and dealing with his increasingly distanced son, he had been most able to articulate his feelings to her when he was pounding nails into wood.

There was something different about him today, though. She saw intensity without darkness, simply a man enjoying his work. Wanting to believe that their relationship was behind his lightened mood, she watched for a while.

He caught her at it, looking up absently, then doing a double take and sliding her a self-conscious smile. “Am I doing it right?”

“Absolutely,” Caroline said and waved a hand. “Go back to it.”

She did the same herself, but before long, she took another break. This one was for a cold drink, which she carried back outside in a single large travel mug. She had thought to bring lemonade but not insulated cups, and since she found only one of those in what could still barely be called a kitchen, they passed it back and forth.

They didn’t have to talk. The companionship was just fine without sound—so fine, in fact, that when Dean returned to hammer and saw, Caroline grabbed her e-reader and sat on the grass nearby.

“Not a real book?” Dean called over at one point.

She held up the device. “A gift from Jamie last Christmas.”

“Ahhh.” His hammering resumed.

At some point it stopped again, which she realized only when his voice came from close by her ear. Hunkered down behind her, he read over her shoulder in a voice that was naughty and low.

“‘I am naked and hot, nearly orgasmic, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.’
Jesus, Caro. What book is this?”

It was the same one the woman on the sidewalk had been reading that day after lunch. Caroline was embarrassed for all of five seconds before realizing how ridiculous that was. Recovering, she said, “If you’re not wearing glasses, how can you see the words?”

“They’re pretty big.” His voice lowered, intimate and teasing. “I take it you don’t want to miss a one?”

“I set the font bigger so that I could read in the sun.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I did,” she insisted, struggling not to smile.

It grew harder when his stubble brushed her cheek. “But you don’t want anyone knowing what you’re reading.”

“Of course not. That would compromise you.”

“Really.”

“Really. I’m only reading this now to find out what the appeal is of these books.”

“You didn’t want to know before.”

“No. I didn’t.” She hadn’t quite analyzed the why of that, only knew that the woman she was back then hadn’t been the least bit curious, while this one was.

He moved a bare shoulder against her back. “And?”

“And what?”

“Is the book as hot as we are?”

“Hotter,” she said, unable to resist, and, laughing, caught the hand that slipped inside her shirt. “I’m just kidding, Dean. It’s a pale imitation—
oh no,
” she cried when he flattened her to the ground and came over on top, “I am not doing this here, not in broad daylight where anyone can see, not with rocks digging into my back and that air compressor going on and off, and both of us sweaty as hell.”

He slid his bottom half to the side but left his bare chest hovering. “Can we read the book together tonight?”

She made a show of considering before saying, “Only if we finish this deck first. Think we can?”

By way of answer, he quickly pushed himself up and went back to his tools. Joining him, she finished her part first and then lent a hand with his. As midday moved into afternoon, though, she wasn’t thinking about sex with Dean. Increasingly, she felt a nagging unease. She hadn’t talked with Jamie again, and yesterday’s call had been too breathy.

No cause for concern,
she told herself.
She’s having fun. This is good.

She kept thinking up reasons why the silence might not be good, though—notably, that Chip wasn’t the great guy Jamie had thought but that she was too embarrassed to tell Caroline that, after the buildup she had given him. Caroline didn’t want her daughter hurt. So she worried.

Dean wanted to cook out for dinner, but she wanted something more distracting, like milling crowds at a sidewalk caf
é
in Boston. They compromised on a suburban restaurant overlooking the Charles River that was popular enough to be packed without requiring a trek through city traffic. The last meant that Dean could take the Harley, which he claimed he badly needed, given the workweek that had been.

Caroline knew about that week. Cell constantly dinging, he had juggled crises ranging from the mundane to the not so, including a shipment of cracked marble, a surprise raccoon den with kits, and a framer suffering a major heart attack on-site. For Dean, working at the country place, where the sounds of their tools were solitary and he was in control, was therapeutic, too, but the Harley was his joy. She couldn’t begrudge him this.

First, though, she was having a pedicure. The nail shop had started to empty when she arrived. Preferring it that way, she and Annie always took the last appointments of the day, customarily on Saturdays to enjoy their toes without work on Sunday. Linda Marshall often joined them, though there was no sign of her today.

For a time, they talked about nothing—a new varietal of peony, a summer salad at Fiona’s—while they sat side by side in pedicure chairs, backs vibrating, feet soaking. Only when the whirlpools went off and their feet were taken over by practicians who spoke little English, ensuring privacy, did Caroline ask about Jordan.

Annie shrugged. “I finished the job Tuesday, so I haven’t seen him much.”

Her voice was predictably high, but something about the way she kept her eyes on her toes made Caroline ask, “You opted for prudence?”

A soft snort. “You could say that.”

“Oh dear. What happened?”

Annie sank deeper in the chair, moving her silver hair against the headrest to stretch her neck. “I think my imagination got the best of me.”

“How so?”

She shot Caroline a look of chagrin before refocusing on the pedicurist’s work. “The last time I was there, I went inside to let him know I was leaving. A crew was installing draperies, so I knew he wasn’t alone, but that made it safe to talk—you know, maybe arrange another time to see each other. I called his name and went looking, and there he was, testing the new Roman shade in the itty-bitty little first-floor powder room with the only female member of the crew. They weren’t doing anything improper, and he wasn’t embarrassed or awkward seeing me. He didn’t take his hand off her arm, just gestured me in with his head. He touched my shoulder when he introduced me to her, and he touched her hair when he introduced her to me. He thumbed my chin when he talked about his shrubs and tapped her cheek when he praised her shade. Apparently, he’s just a toucher.”

“All touch, no action?”

Annie looked wounded. “It isn’t funny, Caroline. I felt desired when he touched me, and I thought it meant something.” She took a self-deprecating breath. “I thought it meant something—because I wanted it to, because I miss being touched.”

Caroline twitched as the pedicurist hit a ticklish spot near the dry skin on her heels. She hadn’t wanted Annie fooling around with Jordan in the first place, but her friend’s disappointment was real.

“I’m sorry,” she soothed.

“I told Byron.”

“About
Jordan
?”

“Yes, because nothing happened, but it made me realize what I need and how badly I need it. If it isn’t Jordan, it’ll be someone else.”

“You told him that?”

“I did,” Annie said in a voice devoid of regret. “Byron needs to know I’m not just blowing off steam when I tell him I’m lonely.”

Okay, Caroline realized. Annie wasn’t giving up on her marriage yet. That was good. “Did he hear you?”

“He heard. Whether he can do anything about it is something else.”

“I’m sure he can.”

“I’m not, but we have to try. We’re going on a ‘date’ this weekend. Overnight.”

“Good move. I know a really romantic place if you want one.” She snickered. “Dean’s country house.”

Annie eyed her curiously. “The house you say you hate but seem to be working on a lot?” She paused, frowned. “Romantic?”

“Well, aside from the ghosts, but if a man can’t protect you from those, what good is he?”

“Romantic,” Annie repeated, clearly suspicious now. “Am I missing something?”

Caroline wouldn’t have chosen this particular time to tell Annie this particular bit of news, but something subconscious must have been at work, a tiny little imp of excitement craving expression. Denying it now would be lying.

Romantic? “Oh yeah.”

“Dean?”

She nodded.

Seeming not in the least jealous or disturbed, Annie angled into the seat to face her more fully. “Oh. My. God. Tell me all.”

“No one else knows.”

“Or will.” Annie’s fingers locked her lips. “Tell me
all
.”

Caroline wasn’t about to do that. Much as she treasured the honesty between her and Annie, some details were too personal to be shared. What she had with Dean was special. She didn’t want to dilute that. “One thing led to another,” she said simply. “It’s been nice.”

“Nice,” Annie echoed.

“Fun.”

“
Fun
? I can’t believe you are talking so calmly about being in bed with Dean Brannick.”

Caroline shushed her with a glance toward the women who were now rubbing cream into their skin. For all she knew, despite assumptions to the contrary, they understood every last word. First names were one thing, but first and last could incriminate.

Annie’s only concession was to lower her voice. “Do you know how many women daydream about that? How many see him on TV and take him to heart? How many women think of him while they’re making love with someone else?”

“You don’t know that,” Caroline chided, though the possibility of it gave her a little thrill. Dean was hers. She still had doubts about her body, but it seemed to please him. He had said it enough—
touched
it enough—that she was starting to believe.

“Is he good?”

“Very good,” Caroline said softly. He deserved that credit.

“And it worked? Everything you were worried wouldn’t?”

Caroline blushed. She remembered their discussion—
so
hard to believe it had been only one week before, given all that had happened since. “He makes it work,” she said now.

“Wow. Atta
girl
. Does Jamie know?”

“No, that’s what I’m saying,” Caroline replied with hushed urgency. “You’re the only one. I don’t know what Jamie’ll say. She has so much else going on in her life right now, what with Tad and all.” She couldn’t mention Chip to Annie without mentioning Brad, and it wasn’t her place to do that. No one at MacAfee Homes even knew the engagement was off. “I worry about her. I can’t help it, Annie. I get nervous when I don’t hear from her.”

“When was the last time you talked?”