The First Time (36 page)

“Jan Stephens tells me you turned down her offer to serve on the Associate Development Committee,” Frank Richardson continued, unaware of Jake’s interior monologue.

“I really don’t have the time right now, Frank.”

“Really? I was given to understand that you have quite a bit of time on your hands, that in the last six months your billable hours have declined considerably, that you are rarely here before nine in the morning, and that you’re often gone by four o’clock, not
to mention it’s been months since anyone’s seen you around the office on weekends. Am I mistaken?”

“I’ve been working out of my office at home.”

“I understand you’re also planning a holiday this April,” Frank Richardson continued, dismissing Jake’s explanation with a slight arching of his eyebrows. “I’d like you to postpone it.”

“Postpone it? Why?”

“As you’re no doubt aware, there’s an international convention of lawyers coming to town this April, and Richardson, Buckley and Lang has agreed to serve as one of the hosts. All the partners will be expected to take on a very active role.”

“But I’ve never been involved—”

“Time to start, wouldn’t you say?”

“With all due resp—” Jake started, stopped, started again. “I’m afraid I can’t change my plans, Frank.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“I haven’t taken a holiday since I joined this firm,” Jake said, hoping this would be enough to satisfy the firm’s most senior partner, knowing it wouldn’t. “I’ve made a promise, Frank. Don’t ask me to break it.”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.”

“You’re putting me in an impossible position.”

“You’re very good in impossible positions,” Frank reminded him, walking to his office door, about to open it. “You’re on the verge of being made a full partner, Jake. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to jeopardize that. Talk to Tom Maclean again. I know he’s most anxious to have you in his son’s corner.”

“Frank—” Jake began, as Frank opened the door. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Frank Richardson immediately reclosed the door, signaled that he was listening with a wary tilt of his head.

“It’s my wife.” Jake paused, released a deep breath. “She’s very sick.”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” Frank conceded, a flush of embarrassment sweeping across his face, settling into the deep creases below his piercing hazel eyes. “Alcoholism is a very insidious disease. Your wife deserves your sympathy and support. But you mustn’t allow her to drag you down. There are many fine clinics where she can go.”

“She’s dying, Frank.” Jake pushed the words angrily from his throat.

“I don’t understand.”

“She doesn’t have a drinking problem. She has something called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

“Dear God.”

“We don’t know how long she’s got—” Jake felt the catch in his voice, like a trigger being cocked, heard the words explode, flying from his mouth like so much shrapnel, as a barrage of tears, like drops of blood, streamed down his cheeks. What was happening to him, for God’s sake? “I’m sorry,” Jake cried, catching the look of horror in Frank Richardson’s eyes as he tried to stanch the flow of unseemly tears. But the tears kept coming, refusing to abate, no matter how violently he pushed them aside. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.…” Was he really breaking down in front of the firm’s most senior partner?

What was the matter with him? Where was his self-control? Why was he so goddamn upset?

True, he and Mattie had grown closer in these last few months since he’d agreed to play her lover. But that’s all it was—playacting. He was just trying to make a dying woman’s last months as pleasant as possible. He didn’t really love her, for God’s sake. What was the matter with him? What was he doing breaking down in public? What was he doing jeopardizing his entire career?

“Look, about the conference in April—” Jake began.

“I’m sure we can work something out, Jake, even if it means putting off the partnership deal for another year.”

“I’m sure I can rearrange my schedule.” Jake cleared his throat, coughed into his hand. “There’s no reason Mattie and I couldn’t take our trip in May or June.”

“Of course, that would be wonderful,” Frank agreed, the muscles in his face relaxing, although his eyes remained on the alert for a renewed outburst.

“And I’ll get in touch with Tom Maclean. I’m sure there’s a way we can work something out.”

“He’s waiting to hear from you,” Frank said, as if there’d never been any doubt.

Jake took a deep breath, forced a smile onto his lips. “Thank you,” he said, although he wasn’t sure what he was thanking the older man for. Probably for putting things back into their proper perspective, he thought, stepping into the corridor.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Frank said. “Please convey our heartfelt good wishes to your wife.”

“Shit, goddamn, son of a bitch, shit!” Jake was muttering as he strode past his secretary. What the hell
was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to tell Mattie their trip was off, even temporarily? Was there anything he could say to soften the blow, to ease her disappointment? What could he tell her? That it was beyond his control? That there were mitigating circumstances? That there was nothing to prevent them from going in May? Surely one month wouldn’t make that much difference. Surely Mattie would understand the impossible predicament she’d put him in. Not that it had been her intention to derail his career. But that’s precisely what was happening. And just because he’d agreed to participate in this continuing pretense of a marriage didn’t mean he’d agreed to forfeit everything he’d worked so hard for all these years. It was time to regain his perspective, time to put his life back on track. Make-believe could only take you so far. Eventually you had to return to the real world. Mattie would simply have to understand.

“Cynthia Broome is waiting—” his secretary said, following after Jake. “In your office,” she continued, as the woman smiled up at Jake from her chair in front of his desk.

Jake felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Can I get you another cup of coffee, Ms. Broome?” the secretary asked.

“No, thank you.”

“I’m right outside if you change your mind.” Jake’s secretary made a quick exit, pulling the door shut after her.

Jake stared at the small woman in front of his large desk as she rose from her chair, her red curls all but
swamping her round face, the collar of her white silk shirt half in, half out of her navy blazer. What was she doing here?

“Planning a trip?” Honey asked, motioning toward the brochures on Jake’s desk. “I’ve heard of the Hotel Danielle. It’s supposed to be quite wonderful.”

“Honey, what the hell is going on? What are you doing here?”

Honey’s face flashed embarrassment, shame, defiance, hope, in quick equal measures. “I wanted to see you. I couldn’t think of any other way.”

“Who the hell is Cynthia Broome?”

“She’s the heroine of my novel.”

Jake smiled, took a step toward her, stopped short, his body swaying into the space between them. “I’m sorry I haven’t called all week.”

“That’s all right.”

“It’s been frantic around here.”

“I understand. I know how busy you are.”

“How’ve you been?” Jake asked.

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

Honey laughed awkwardly. “Listen to us. Next thing you know, we’ll be talking about the weather.”

“Honey—”

“Jason,” she said, smiling self-consciously.

Jake flinched at the sound of his given name. “You look great.”

“I’ve been going to the gym every day, hoping I’d run into you.”

“I haven’t been to the gym in ages. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I think I’ve lost a few pounds.” Honey
tried to laugh, but the weak sound slid into more of a cry. “I’ve missed you so much, Jason.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“Have you?”

Had he? Jake wondered. The truth was, he’d pushed her so far into the recesses of his mind that he’d barely thought of her all week.

Honey brushed her unruly mop of red hair away from her face. “I’ve been thinking of cutting it all off,” she said.

“Don’t do it.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s time for a change.”

“I love your hair.”

“I love
you,”
she told him, tears filling her eyes. “Damn it, I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this.” She pushed the tears aside, took a deep breath, smiled her crooked smile, and stuck a defiant finger up her nose. “How’s that?” she asked.

“Much better.”

They laughed softly. “I could really use a hug,” she said.

“Honey—”

“Just a little one. Just enough to let me know you’re not some figment of my imagination, like Cynthia Broome.”

What would be the harm? Jake wondered, taking her in his arms.

“God, I’ve missed this,” she whispered, lifting her face toward him, her lips begging to be kissed.

She felt so awkward in his arms, Jake realized. Short while Mattie was tall. Round where Mattie was firm. Plump where Mattie was flat. He wasn’t used to holding
her anymore. He wasn’t used to having to contort his body to accommodate hers. Mattie was a much more natural fit, he thought, pulling Honey closer to him, as if trying to squeeze Mattie out of his mind.

“I love you,” Honey said again.

Jake knew she was waiting for him to say the same thing, that her declaration of love was really a request to hear it from him. Why couldn’t he say it? He loved Honey, didn’t he? Hadn’t he left his wife and daughter for her? He’d only returned home because Mattie was gravely ill. He’d only agreed not to see Honey as a way of keeping Mattie happy, because not seeing one allowed him to concentrate on the other. He had every intention of returning to Honey as soon as this whole awful mess was over. Didn’t he?

Didn’t he?

What was the matter with him? Not only had he almost deep-sixed his career, but if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose Honey as well, and all because he’d almost let a little game of let’s-pretend get perilously out of hand. Just as his visit with Frank had been a wake-up call, Honey’s unexpected appearance as Cynthia Broome was a reminder to him of everything he could lose if he allowed the extended charade he’d been playing to get the better of him.

He looked down at Honey, staring at him expectantly through gold-flecked brown eyes, still moist with tears. She’d been so patient, so understanding. And she felt so good, he thought, kissing her firmly on the lips, his hands grasping her buttocks, as he imagined the pliant flesh beneath the harsh denim of her jeans.

“Oh, Jason. Jason,” she was moaning, her hands reaching under his jacket, tugging at his shirt. “Lock the door,” she said, pulling her own blouse free of her blue jeans, planting his hands on her breasts, kissing him again and again, her hungry mouth threatening to swallow him whole. “Lock the door, Jason,” she urged, guiding him toward the sofa at the end of the room.

It would be so easy, Jake thought. Lock the door, tell his secretary he wasn’t to be disturbed for anyone. Not his partners, not his clients, not his wife.

His wife, Jake thought as Honey’s tongue slid between his open lips. Could he really do this to Mattie? Wasn’t it enough he was about to break his promise regarding their trip to Paris? Did he have to break her heart as well?

God, Mattie, it was never my intention to make you feel bad
.

I don’t give a shit about your intentions. What I want is your passion. What I want is your loyalty. What I want is your love
.

How would she ever know? Jake wondered, kissing the tears from Honey’s eyes, then pulling back, seeing Mattie’s eyes staring back at him from Honey’s face.

Mattie would know, he understood. She would know the way she always did.

“I can’t,” he said, his hands falling helplessly to his sides.

“Jason, please—”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Honey said nothing, her lower lip quivering as her eyes restlessly circled the room.

Jake leaned forward, buried his face in Honey’s soft red curls, the texture of her thick hair so different from Mattie’s, whose hair was finer, silkier. The unmistakable odor of stale cigarettes filled his nostrils. “I thought you’d given up smoking,” he said quietly.

“I can only give up so many things at once,” Honey told him, her voice an uneasy mix of resignation and tears. “Besides, I read this report. They took two hundred people, a hundred of whom smoked and a hundred who didn’t. And guess what? They all died.”

Jake smiled. It
was
good to see her. He really
had
missed her.

“Speaking of the dead, how’s Mattie doing?” Honey gasped, closed her eyes, shook her head, jabbed her hands into the air in frustration. “I can’t believe I said that. Please forgive me, Jason. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry. God, that was awful. How could I say such a horrible thing?”

“It’s okay,” Jake tried to reassure her, although his head was spinning. How
could
she have said anything so insensitive? “I know you didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Because to be perfectly honest,” Honey admitted, tears once again filling her large brown eyes, “I’m not so sure.”

“What?”

“I’m scared, Jason. Something awful is happening to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. That’s what scares me.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“This has nothing to do with my health,” Honey snapped. “Not everyone is suffering from a fatal disease, Jason. God, there I go again. Listen to me. I’m turning into some sort of monster.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“No? What am I? I’m spending all my time waiting for someone to die,
praying
for someone to die.”

Jake said nothing. What could he say?

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to go to bed every night hoping you’ll call me in the morning to tell me Mattie is dead? God, sometimes I really hate myself.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so afraid of losing you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Jake said, surprised by how unconvincing he sounded, even to himself.