Maybe Never (12 page)

Brett sat on one of the chairs opposite his desk and opened her notepad.

“Brett, I’m going to transfer you,” he said, cutting to the chase.

Her face fell, and the notepad lowered to her lap. “Mr. Cole . . .”

“When you first started here, you were very candid with me that you wanted to be in a place where new talent was developed and learn how it’s done. This hasn’t been the best office for you to get that exposure. So I’ve arranged for you to work for one of our scouts in . . .”

“Well, I know I said that when I was hired, Mr. Cole. But I’ve really enjoyed working for you and I’ve been learning so mu . . .”

“Brett, let’s level with each other. There’s been a few . . . let’s just call them ‘negative interactions’ between you and my fiancée . . .”

“Yes, but Mr. Cole . . .”

“And I’ve gotten the impression that you don’t care for her too much.”

“No, that’s not . . .”

Brendan held up a hand. “It’s okay. She’s not an easy person to get to know, and it’s a process that’s definitely not for the feint of heart. But she
is
my fiancée. So I’m sure you understand that I can’t have anyone in my inner circle who isn’t committed to that process.”

“I am . . . I can be . . . I. . .” Brett’s shoulders drooped and she let out a defeated sigh, realizing that her efforts would be futile.

“I hope you know there’s no hard feelings,” Brendan said, offering her a smile. “I think you’re going to love your new department and your new boss. And the work is right up your alley. More so than anything I was able to offer you.”

“Well, thank you,” Brett said sounding uncertain. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“That’s all,” Brendan nodded at her. “You’ll start over there tomorrow.”

Brett’s eyes widened slightly. She was obviously surprised by how efficient he’d been about getting rid of her. Well, that made one of them. He was surprised he’d been so
inefficient
about it.

Tracy had revisited the issue of her discomfort with Brett many, many times. And what the hell did he care who his administrative assistant was anyway? Brett was a nice kid, but he just needed someone who would keep the trains running and this new guy he was having moved from Accounting was sure to do that.

Hearing the buzzing sound of his cellphone, Brendan couldn’t decide whether to dive for the damn thing or avoid it. Janice had been calling repeatedly even though he’d been pretty clear with her about what was going on. That day when Tracy had run into them had, ironically, been the day he finally came clean, admitting to Janice that he had no business talking to her on the phone, dropping in on events she was at, or even having that lunch.

I’m engaged to be married, Janice
, he told her baldly.
In less than a month I’m going to be someone’s husband. And even if that weren’t the case, this is precisely the kind of thing that would make her head explode if she knew about it
.

I take it this is the same woman you were reluctant to close the deal with just a couple months ago?
Janice had smiled, taking a sip of her wine.
I hope I didn’t goad you into doing something you shouldn’t do, Brendan
.

And that pissed him off a little. Not a little. A lot. For her to think that she had that much influence—
any
influence—over his life now. And then it all came back to him. Everyone had those moments, when they reconnected with an ex- and thought for a minute that they couldn’t for the life of them remember why they’d let this person go. Well, when Janice made that little comment, he remembered.

Janice was vain.

Always had been. Not the kind of vain where it masked low self-esteem, but earnestly and honestly in love with herself. Everything was, first and foremost, about Janice.

Brendan wished he could say now, with the benefit of hindsight that that was one of the reasons he’d let her go to Paris without him so many years ago. But it really wasn’t. He’d been young and liked having a beautiful girlfriend on his arm. And if she was sometimes a little self-involved to the point of being difficult to stand, that was fine—he just distanced himself for a couple of days. And if he’d had a mind to go with her to Paris, he would have used the same strategy there as he had in New York.

But the truth was, while he was into Janice, he wasn’t
that
into Janice. So letting her go to Paris had stung for a while, but not forever. And if he thought about her over the years, it was probably because she had been the one relationship he’d ever had that had not ended on his terms. Brendan thought about her occasionally because she was the one who got away, never considering for a moment that all things considered, it was probably better that she had.

So looking at her across the table during that lunch, the smug smile on her face, he was annoyed. Annoyed with her for thinking that she was so . . . consequential that she could show up after a decade and still be so powerful as to influence him to change the entire course of his life. But he was annoyed with himself as well, because in sitting in that restaurant, spending all this time with her on the phone, entertaining her walks down memory lane, he almost
had
allowed her to make him alter the course of his life.

Instead of being with Tracy—or having her with him in the apartment, or even in the Brooklyn townhouse, but
home
, both of them together—he was sitting here with this vapid woman who was alone probably because no one could ever love her as much as she loved herself. And from that moment, it became about ending the meal and getting on with his life. But Janice insisted on coming back to his office, to “see where you do that thing you do.” And like a fucking idiot, he’d let her come.

Thankfully, it wasn’t Janice on the other end of the line when he picked up his phone now, but Shawn. Brendan hadn’t been over to the condo since Riley put his ass out that night, and wasn’t planning on going over anytime soon either. The way things stood now between him and Tracy, he was damn sure he wouldn’t be welcome.

“My wife is going to kill me,” Shawn began without first saying hello. “But if I was you, I’d want to know . . .”

Brendan sat upright, knowing what was coming. “Where is she?”

“She’s at our house in Jersey. Been staying there since . . .”

“Shawn all this time she was at your motherfucking house and you didn’t
tell
me?!”

“B, I didn’t know she was there. Riley didn’t tell me shit. Of course I would’ve told you!” Shawn said. “Anyway, the only reason I know now is that she had little emergency last night . . .”

“
What?
”

“Don’t flip out on me, she’s okay, but . . .”

“The baby . . .”Brendan said.

He was suddenly breathless, thinking about the last time he saw Tracy, and how the only moments when she’d looked happy that night was when she talked about the baby . . . feeling her move, and about being ‘ecstatic’ that she was pregnant.

Ecstatic
.

That she could even say that when his reaction—and behavior since—had been too cool to even describe as ‘happy’. . .

“I don’t know about that,” Shawn said apologetically. “I just know Riley said Tracy is fine and she headed out there to be with her. All I know is there was some bleeding or something and . . .”

Even without being intimately familiar with all the nuances of the female reproductive system, Brendan was pretty certain that bleeding during a pregnancy could mean only bad things.

Fuck. If she miscarried . . .

“I have to go,” he said.

He hung up before he heard Shawn’s reply and grabbed all his stuff, racing out of the office without bothering to tell Brett where he was going.

________

The drive that should have taken an hour and a half seemed to go on forever. Every turn, every car ahead of him traveling at less than seventy-five miles an hour, every minor traffic delay seemed to be the work of fate, taunting him, telling him that he was going to be too late. That this time—the time when it might matter more than ever—he would be too late. Either because Tracy would not want him there, or their baby would be dead, or she would have left to go someplace else entirely where he could not find her . . .

But finally, Brendan was pulling up at the guard-post and punching in the security code that Shawn and Riley only shared with a very select few people. Still, there was no way to approach the house unannounced because when the code was entered, a chime inside the main house notified the occupants that the gates had been opened.

Pulling up near the front door, Brendan was surprised not to see one or the other or Shawn and Riley’s cars. Maybe she had come and gone with Tracy already? His heart was pounding in his chest, and he contemplated the drive back to the city, unsure that he would be able to stand it if he had to make his way back, without knowing she was okay.

The front door was also keyless, so Brendan entered that code as well, and pushed it open, heading immediately up the stairs and toward the guest suite where he and Tracy stayed whenever they spent the night. It was unoccupied, but not empty. She had been staying there, because her bag was on the ottoman near the fireplace, and jeans had been tossed on the bed.

But where was she?

Brendan made way down the hall, tearing through room after room. Fucking huge house. . . Finally, he took the stairs again, going down two at a time. Pausing in the foyer, he considered where to look next. It was still warm enough, so maybe . . .

Tracy was reclining on a lounger under the loggia, wearing a sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, thick white socks on her feet. Her face was impassive as she looked out onto the back lawn and her hair had been pulled back, loosely like an afterthought at her nape. On her lap, facedown was a book she seemed to have been trying to get through for months now. Brendan watched her for a moment, wondering how she had managed not to hear him come in. But the loggia was at the far end of the house, overlooking the pool and gardens, a quiet place perfect for reflection. Or recuperation.

In an instant, he remembered why he was there. There had been an “emergency” Shawn had said. But she was here all alone. Tracy suddenly turned and saw him, doing a double-take as though not quite believing her eyes, and then she smiled.

“Brendan.”

She moved as though to get up but Brendan held out a hand to stop her and went over to her, quickly kneeling next to the lounger, finding himself suddenly tongue-tied. Tracy didn’t seem inclined to speak either and twice opened her mouth as though to say something and stopped herself before managing it.

“I’m guessing you heard,” she finally said.

He nodded, feeling his throat beginning to tighten.

“Are
you
. . ?”

Tracy shrugged and then nodded. “Okay? Yes. I guess.” Her voice sounded heavy. “Tired.”

Brendan placed a hand gently, tentatively on her abdomen.

“Now I’m on bed-rest for a couple days just to make sure. I thought I lost her . . .”

His head jerked up and he looked at her. “You didn’t? I thought . . .”

Tracy was shaking her head, and then put a hand at the side of his face. “
No
, Brendan, no . . . I thought you said you heard. It was a false alarm. I didn’t lose the baby.”

And out of nowhere, there was a rush of an emotion the likes of which he had never experienced before, and he was crying and pressing his face into her stomach and Tracy was stroking his head and kissing the side of his face, and Brendan was thanking the God that looked after fools—like him—and children.

________

Sleeping again.

Brendan had never known Tracy to sleep this much, but soon after Riley returned—she’d been out getting food from a local deli—Tracy said she thought she’d go lie down for a little while. As she was about to make her way up the enormous staircase back to the suite Brendan had lifted her off her feet and carried her, even though she protested the entire way, saying that he was overreacting. It didn’t feel like an overreaction. Now, out of nowhere it seemed more important than almost anything that she have this baby and that it be healthy. And he couldn’t pretend anymore that it was only because it was important to Tracy. Without him noticing when or how, it had become important to him, too.

After her nap, Tracy had taken a shower and gone to stand out on the balcony of the suite, looking across the expanse of land surrounding the house. She said nothing, and seemed not just pensive, but a little sad. Brendan watched her from the bedroom, wishing he could think of something to say that would make her smile. Not too long ago, he used to make her smile all the time, and laugh, too. Loud, rip-roaring, roll over and grab her stomach laughs. And nothing in the world was like the sound of Tracy’s laughter.

What used to feel almost burdensome—the ease with which he could alter her moods—he yearned for now. But Tracy was someplace else, far away. Even when he called her name, when Riley came upstairs with something for her to eat, it took her a moment to respond as though she barely heard him.

She’s planning her life without me.

The thought startled and scared him. While Tracy was eating, Brendan went downstairs and called his office, arranging for Brett to have his laptop and some files from his desk brought to the house.

When the sun set, he was still there, but sitting out back when Riley came to join him. She was carrying a beer, already opened, which she handed to him.

“Hungry?” she asked. “There’s plenty of food.”

Brendan took the beer, but shook his head. At the moment, the only striking thing about his appetite was its complete absence.

“You should go home to your husband and kids,” he said. “I think I got this.”

Riley looked at him, her eyebrows raised.

“I got it,” he said.

“You’re just making it harder, don’t you think?” she asked.

“Making what harder?”

“Harder for her to move on.”