Mommy Tracked (31 page)

“What’s that?”

“We won the motion for summary judgment in the dead-baby case. Or I should say
you
won, since it was your motion. The decision came down yesterday, and the defense has already responded by making a sizable settlement offer today,” Alex said.

Despite everything, Juliet felt a thrill of pleasure at this news. It
had
been a good motion. She’d worked damned hard on it.

“That’s great,” she said. “Really, really great. Our client will be relieved.”

“Wait, there’s more.” Alex’s voice dropped even lower. “You’re making partner. It’s official. We decided this afternoon. The announcement will be made next week.”

“Partner?” Juliet echoed. Suddenly, her legs felt shaky, and she sat down in one of the visitors’ chairs that faced her desk.

Partner…I’ve made partner.

Alex grinned at her and ripped her resignation letter in two. “So unpack your stuff. As far as I’m concerned, this past week has been a well-deserved, long-overdue vacation.”

“Alex, that’s just…,” Juliet began, but the words left her, and for a long moment she stared down at her hands. Finally, she looked back up at him, at his pale eyes and sexy smile, and there it was, the familiar desire, plucking at her. Less intense than before, but it was still there. Maybe her feelings for him would go away in time.

Then again, maybe they wouldn’t.

“Thank you,” Juliet said. “But no.”

Alex’s smile faded. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked softly.

Juliet looked down then, at the photos of her family. At Emma and Izzy, joyful, as if they were lit up from inside. At Patrick’s sweet smile. She touched the photo of him gently, her finger smudging the glass, and decided.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”

Juliet did not sleep well that night. First the room was too hot, so she got up and turned up the air conditioner, and then five minutes later she was freezing. Then, just when she was getting comfortable temperature-wise, she had to get up to pee. Once back in bed, she tossed from one side to the other, the sheets tangling uncomfortably around her legs. And, worst of all, every time she turned to face Patrick’s empty side of the bed, she felt a fresh stab of pain at his absence.

When Juliet woke, much later than usual, the sun was already fragmented through the blinds. She showered, dressed, and poured a bowl of cereal, although she was so nervous, she didn’t have much of an appetite.

She had decided: She was going to get her family back.

Patrick had asked her for some space, and she’d given it to him. A whole week in which to decide whether they had a future together. Now it was up to her to change his mind and talk him into coming home.

On the drive down to Boca, Juliet rehearsed what she was going to say to Patrick when she saw him. But thinking about it, and how he might respond, made her too nervous—Christ, she could hardly believe she was nervous about seeing her family—so Juliet tried to think about work instead. And then she remembered she didn’t have a job anymore to think about. She finally just switched on the radio and tried not to think about anything at all. Which, oddly enough, worked—or, at least it did until Bill Withers’s “Ain’t No Sunshine (When She’s Gone)” came on, with its sappy breakup lyrics, and Juliet abruptly turned the radio off.

It was eleven by the time Juliet pulled up in front of the security gate that spanned the entrance to her in-laws’ subdivision. She gave her name to the security guard, who called to the house. There was a tense moment during which the guard hesitated over whether he should allow her in, and Juliet wondered if her in-laws had instructed him to keep her out. But he finally waved her through.

Just as Juliet pulled into the driveway of her in-laws’ peach stucco home, the front door opened and Emma and Izzy spilled out of it. Juliet was out of her car in a flash, and she opened her arms to her daughters. A second later she was hugging them, pulling them close to her.

“Hi,” Juliet said, kissing them each on the top of the head. They were wearing matching floral tank bathing suits—Patrick’s mother, Trish, always insisted on dressing them alike—and their hair smelled like sunshine and chlorine. The girls stumbled over each other to talk.

“We just got out of the pool, but we can go back in if you want to swim with us,” Izzy offered.

“Ooh, yes, come swim with us!” Emma said.

“Pops was playing Polo Marco with us,” Izzy said.

“Marco Polo,” Emma corrected her.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Izzy giggled.

“Look, Mama, I got earrings!” Emma announced.

“We both did! I have emeralds, and Emma has rubies.”

“What?” Juliet asked. She pulled back to look at her daughters—and at the earrings glinting in their newly pierced ears. “Who took you to get your ears pierced? Daddy?”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Patrick said. Juliet looked up, startled. She’d been so caught up in her reunion with the twins, she hadn’t heard him approach. Now, seeing him there, squinting into the sun, his dark hair a little too long on his neck, his skin glowing with a tan he hadn’t had a week earlier, Juliet was overcome with the urge to stand up and wrap her arms around him. But she didn’t. She continued to kneel next to the twins, who were turning their heads from side to side, gleefully preening as they showed off their new earrings.

“Gran said she needed a way to tell us apart,” Izzy announced.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve already given my mom hell about it,” Patrick said.

“Daddy told Gran that she crossed a line,” Emma informed Juliet.

“He said that we were too young to wear earrings,” Izzy continued.

“And Gran told Daddy that we were becoming young ladies, and that he can’t keep us babies forever,” Emma said.

“Then she said that it was a good thing she was there to do these things for us, because God knows you won’t,” Izzy finished.

“Izzy!” Patrick said sharply. “That’s enough.”

“I was just saying what Gran said,” Izzy grumbled.

But the words hit Juliet like a sucker punch to the gut. She stood slowly while she tried to regain her composure and not give in to the impulse to storm into the house and shake Trish until her teeth rattled out of her silly, vapid head.

Instead, Juliet smiled down at her daughters and then grabbed on to each girl’s hand. “How would you two like to go out to lunch with Mommy? Just the three of us?”

“Well…” Izzy hesitated. “Gran was going to take us to get manicures today.”

“Manicures?” Juliet asked. She looked up at Patrick, who had the grace to flush.

“I swear I didn’t know anything about it,” he said. “Come on, girls. Go in and get dressed. You can go get manicures with Gran another time.”

“Oh,” Emma said, disappointed. “But she said that I could have my nails painted red.”

“How about if I take you to get your nails painted after lunch,” Juliet suggested, and the twins immediately brightened. “Go on in, get dressed, and we’ll go when you’re ready.”

The twins scurried back in the house, jabbering happily. Juliet watched them go.

“I’ve missed them,” she said simply. She glanced back at Patrick, who was now staring at her with his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“You? In a nail salon? I’m having a hard time picturing that,” he said.

“I’ve had my nails done before,” Juliet said defensively.

“When?”

Juliet tried to remember, and when she finally did, she smiled. “In Vegas. The day we got married. I had a manicure in the casino beauty parlor. Remember? It was part of the package that we bought. It included a ‘day of beauty,’ which roughly translated to a twenty-minute manicure.”

Patrick grinned too, and Juliet knew he was also remembering that day, which had seemed so magical and glamorous despite the hot, tacky surroundings of downtown Las Vegas and the crowds of glum senior citizens milling about in track suits and visors.

“That’s right. I remember,” he said. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

Juliet had always loved his eyes, which were a clear, steady blue, loved the contrast they made with his pink cheeks and dark hair. Now, looking at him, she felt a swelling in her throat and had to swallow several times.

“Patrick…,” Juliet began.

“I know. We need to talk,” he said. The smile left his face, and he folded his arms over his chest. But before he could say anything else, the twins were running back out of the house, wearing cotton sundresses over their swimsuits. Izzy had a little denim purse slung over one wrist, and a naked Barbie doll with teased-up hair was sticking out of it.

“Ready!” they shrieked.

Despite the cold fear clutching at her from Patrick’s
we need to talk
—words that had never, ever, in the course of human existence preceded good news—Juliet couldn’t help but smile down at her daughters. How had she, of all people, managed to produce such girly girls? Barbies and manicures? And yet she loved it, adored the sweet silliness of her daughters. When she was with them, they made her laugh and got her out of her own head. They were good for her, Juliet knew. Probably better for her than she had been for them.

But from now on
, she thought,
that’s all going to change
.

“We’ll talk later?” Patrick asked quietly.

“Later,” Juliet agreed. “Come on, girls. Let’s go get our nails painted red.”

“I don’t want red. I want pink,” Izzy said, as they turned away from Patrick and walked to Juliet’s car.

“Then pink it is,” Juliet promised.

“What color are you going to have your nails painted, Mommy?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you two pick out a color for me? You can surprise me.”

The twins squealed with excitement at this idea. And although Juliet didn’t glance back, she had the distinct feeling that Patrick was smiling again as he watched them leave.

When Juliet and the twins returned from their outing, Juliet was sporting purple nail polish, the color of a grape lollipop.

“Don’t laugh,” Juliet said warningly to Patrick, who had greeted them at the front door of his parents’ house. She held up her hands, fanning them out to show off her manicure.

“I think it suits you,” he said, as he stepped aside so that Juliet and the twins could enter. “Purple is clearly your color. It reminds me of…” He stopped, trying to remember.

“Disco Barbie,” Juliet said. “They picked it because it’s the exact same color that Disco Barbie wears on her nails.”

“Disco Barbie,” Patrick repeated, grinning.

“Hi, Gran,” Emma sang out.

“We got our nails done!” Izzy said.

Juliet turned and saw Trish lurking by the kitchen door.

Probably trying to eavesdrop
, Juliet thought resentfully. She still hadn’t forgiven Trish for the newly pierced ears or the bitchy comment to go along with them.

“Hello, Juliet,” Trish said, smiling but looking a little ill at ease, as though she thought Juliet was at any minute going to make a scene.

Trish darted forward to kiss Juliet on the cheek, which Juliet did her best to endure without flinching. She even bent down to receive the kiss. Her mother-in-law was a surprisingly petite woman—especially considering how tall Patrick was—and although she’d been beautiful when she was younger, she hadn’t aged well. Trish compensated for her pouching eyes and puckering lips with a vast battalion of cosmetics. If the cosmetician at the Chanel counter in Neiman Marcus worked on commission, Trish was probably single-handedly supporting the woman.

In fact, Juliet had never seen her mother-in-law without makeup on and had long suspected that Trish even slept fully done up. Today, Trish had dusted her face with bronzer, giving her a weird, seventies-television-star glow. And then there was the tattooed-on eyeliner, three shades of blue eye shadow, navy mascara, brown lip liner, and matte brown lipstick. She wore her hair short and dark, with heavy blond highlights on the crown.

Oh, my God
, Juliet thought, as she suddenly realized who Trish reminded her of.
She looks like David Bowie in his
Ziggy Stardust
phase!

Juliet had to swallow several times to keep from laughing out loud.

“Will you be joining us for dinner?” Trish asked solicitously. “I made a roast chicken.”

“What she means is that she bought an already roasted chicken,” Sean Cole said, following her out of the kitchen. He was as tall as his wife was short, making them a strikingly mismatched couple. When he slung his arm around her shoulder, the top of her head didn’t even reach his armpit. “Hi, Juliet.”

“Hello, Sean.”

“I made the side dishes,” Trish protested.

Sean grinned down at her. He always delighted in teasing his wife. “Rice and salad?” he asked.

“Oh, stop,” Trish said, flapping a hand at him.

“Yuck. I hate salad,” Izzy said darkly.

“Iz,” Juliet said warningly.

“That’s why I made you fruit salad, princess,” Trish said.

“Me too?” Emma asked, her forehead creasing with worry.

“You too,” Trish assured her with a smile. She looked back at Juliet. “So you’ll stay?”

“Thanks, Mom, but I think Juliet and I are going to go out for a little while. I’m not sure if we’ll be back in time for dinner,” Patrick said.

Juliet glanced up at him, wondering where they were going. But Patrick’s expression was inscrutable. For all she could tell, he could be taking her to a divorce attorney.

“Do you mind watching the twins?” Patrick asked his parents.

“Of course not,” Trish said. “Come on, girls, let’s go swimming.”

At this, the twins whooped with delight and raced off toward the pool.

“Wait for me,” Trish called after them. She looked beseechingly up at her husband. “Sean, go watch them. Those little monkeys will be in the water before you know it.”

“I’m on the job,” Sean said, hurrying off after his granddaughters.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Patrick said, jingling his car keys in his hand. He was standing close to Juliet, just behind her, but she could feel him holding himself away from her. He didn’t lay his hand on her back, as he would have once done. Juliet desperately missed that hand.