The Wrong Man (16 page)

Not if, but when.

Because if all went well with this pregnancy, despite the fear of raising another human being and the inevitable disruption to her life, she wanted to have this baby.

But what would Tomas think?

What would he say?

****

Talia decided to wait until she saw Tomas on Friday to tell him about her pregnancy in person. It gave her time to rehearse the lines in her head, but as the time drew nearer, she became more anxious. She’d left work earlier than usual, her stomach a tangle of nerves. They’d never said ‘I love you,’ but she didn’t doubt he cared for her.

The doorbell rang while she packed a bag for the weekend, but she ignored it because Tomas had a key and would come right in. Chances were some group or another was soliciting and had ignored the No Solicitation sign at the front of the complex. They loved to come by, which was extremely annoying.

The doorbell rang again, two more times and more insistently. Exasperated, she ran downstairs, ready to give the person a piece of her mind. She yanked open the door and Maybeth’s scowling face greeted her.

“You kept me waiting long enough.” Her grandmother traipsed in wearing a pencil skirt, a green blouse, and a bouclé jacket with three-quarter length sleeves. The jasmine notes of Chanel No. 5 whisked in with her. Maybeth’s sharp gaze swept her from head to toe. “My goodness, what is the matter with you? Do you need a new hairdresser? And what are you wearing?”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Talia patted her hair, which Tomas had loved but Maybeth clearly saw as inappropriate.

Straightening her spine, she remembered all the reprimands she’d received as a child about the importance of good posture. She tugged on her oversized T-shirt—Tomas’s actually—in a pointless attempt to hide the cut-off jeans she wore.

Maybeth sighed. “‘I wasn’t expecting you’ is not an acceptable answer. One must always be prepared for company, Talia.” She stood in the middle of the room with her purse hanging from the crook of an arm. Her critical eye assessed the condo. “Good heavens, what have you done to the place?”

Red passion paint covered the accent wall in the living room and one in the kitchen, and Talia had purchased furnishings and pillows in the same vibrant hue. In addition, Tomas had painted the bathrooms tan and forest green, and she’d bought a slew of towels and bathroom accessories to match.

“I’ve done a little redecorating,” Talia said softly, suddenly regretful about changes that had brought her joy for months.

“Red is rather garish, don’t you think?” Maybeth said, and Talia braced herself for more criticism. But to her surprise, her grandmother asked, “How are things?” A simple enough question, but it sounded loaded.

“Fine.”

Maybeth went to the grouping of chairs in the living room and sat in the middle of the sofa. She crossed her legs. “I would like a glass of water if it’s not too much to ask.”

In the kitchen Talia gave herself a pep talk. She was a grown woman and the senior vice president of creative services at a successful marketing firm. She could handle this. An unexpected visit from Maybeth wouldn’t throw her off.

The entire conversation in her head was all for naught, because when she handed the glass to Maybeth, she felt as small and insignificant as she always did. She wished she could make the feeling go away, but it remained unshakable.

“You’re dating again.” Maybeth took a sip of the water and placed the glass on the table in front of her. “When you’re done staring like a deer in headlights, maybe you can tell me about him.”

“I—”

“Have a seat.” Maybeth gestured at the chair across from her.

Talia sat down and folded her hands in her lap. Tension tightened her shoulders and would leave her muscles sore after Maybeth left.

She caught the fault-finding look her grandmother gave her attire yet again. Maybeth didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. She insisted a lady should always be well-dressed, even at home, and her expression of distaste spoke volumes.

“You were saying?”

Talia swallowed. “Yes, I’m dating again.”

“It wasn’t a question, my dear, but a statement. I already know you’re seeing someone, you see, because I overhead the cook telling the housekeeper she saw you leaving the supermarket hanging on the arm of a young man with long hair who—in her words—was absolutely delicious. So are you going to tell me about him, or do I need to hire a private investigator?”

Talia’s fingers tightened in her lap. “He’s…” Where to begin? How much to share?

“I see I’ll have to lead with questions,” Maybeth said, her face pinched and annoyed. “What does he do?”

“He’s um…” Talia’s voice shook and she paused to organize her thoughts. “He’s a foreman. For a construction company.”

“So he’s a day laborer?”

“No, he’s a foreman.”

“How is that different?” Maybeth lifted a brow. “Never mind. What else?” She rolled her hand impatiently, an indication Talia should continue, but hurry.

“There’s not much else to tell. I met him through mutual friends.”

“Does he have a name?”

She hesitated, worried that telling Maybeth his name would somehow tear a gash in the shield she’d erected to protect the happiness she’d found. “Tomas Molina,” she said quietly, reluctantly.

“You mean Thomas.”

“No. Tomas.”

“What kind of name is that?”

Talia swallowed. Dread building in her stomach. “He’s Hispanic. From Cuba.”

“That’s different.” Maybeth paused. “Is this serious?”

“We’re…”

“
Speak up
.”

“No,” Talia said quickly. “We’re more friends than anything else.”

That must have been the right answer because Maybeth gave her one of her smiles. A sight so rare Talia stared in amazement. The brief moment of acceptance softened the pang of guilt that nicked her conscience for not acknowledging her relationship with Tomas. She justified the untruth by reminding herself her grandmother wouldn’t understand.

“Good. When you start dating again, you should date someone of your same ilk. Someone knowledgeable about the social graces and who can speak intellectually about politics and a variety of issues. Carter was a good start, but I was never completely satisfied with him. This Tomas person might be fine for someone else, but not for my granddaughter. Frankly, Talia, you should be more careful of these foreigners.”

Maybeth stood and Talia did, too. “We need to get you back out there, visible, so the right man can find you. You don’t need a man, mind you, but it wouldn’t hurt to meet someone with good connections—someone equally interested in upward mobility or the relationship won’t work, and then you’d be better off alone. Sunday night I’m having a small soirée at my house for a couple of people running for state office. We’re going to feel them out, get to know them before my friends and I offer financial support. I know it’s short notice but I expect you to be there. Please do something with your hair.

“One of the candidates is a young man who might be right for you. Hard to say, but at least the right people will be there, so even if he’s not, you’re sure to rub elbows with someone who is. At any rate, this is only the beginning of many more of these events. Your social calendar will be full this fall. I’ll be at quite a few gatherings where important people will be in attendance, and I expect you to accompany me. Oh, I almost forgot. How silly of me. There’s another young man I want you to meet who will be at the party. His grandfather marched with Dr. King and was very influential in the Civil Rights Movement…”

Sickened with feelings of powerlessness, Talia shut down as Maybeth droned on. She couldn’t hear her anymore. The walls closed in and reminded her of how her life used to be growing up, and even after she’d married Carter. Her grandmother had backed off somewhat once she married, but she’d still expected Talia, and her husband, to attend high profile events and network for Maybeth’s causes.

Even in college, Maybeth had controlled every aspect of her life. Talia hadn’t been allowed to live on campus. Instead, she stayed at home, missing out on the usual freshman activities. She used to eavesdrop on conversations, jealous as classmates bragged about their drinking binges, complained about having to share communal bathrooms, and joked about cramming for finals hours after coming in from frat parties and local clubs. She’d envied their freedom and longed for her own, only managing to gain some semblance of independence when she married Carter.

He’d become her rock and confidante. Maybeth grudgingly approved of him after a thorough background check and a sit-down conversation reminiscent of a job interview for the Secret Service. Their courtship graduated quickly to an engagement and then marriage.

“I’ll have my assistant send you the details right away,” Maybeth was saying.

“Okay.” She’d learned a long time ago to simply agree and not say much. It made her life much easier.

They walked to the door, and Talia heard the key in the lock.

No!

Her belly quivered with fear. The one thing she didn’t want, couldn’t allow to happen because she simply wasn’t ready, would take place in a few seconds and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The door swung open and in walked Tomas, and he and Maybeth came face to face with each other.

Chapter Twenty

Tomas stared at the older woman next to Talia, right away guessing they must be related. The stylish clothes and similar features gave away the relationship. Silence reigned in the entryway as he and the woman examined each other, but he sent an inquisitive look in Talia’s direction when the standoff stretched into an awkward length of time.

“This is Tomas,” Talia said.

“Oh. The Cuban.” She said it like he was a newly discovered species of animal. “I’m Maybeth Livingstone, Talia’s grandmother. I’m sure she’s told you all about me.” So this was Talia’s grandmother, the woman who with one phone call could spoil Talia’s entire day and send her spiraling into semi-depression.

Tomas set down the plastic bag he brought in. He’d put off patching a couple of holes in the bathroom wall and Talia had said she wanted to paint her office. He intended to complete those small projects today and had stopped at the Home Depot to purchase spackling paste and paint.

Maybeth offered him her hand, and as he took it he searched Talia’s face, silently willing her to tell him how to proceed with this woman, but her face gave him pause. She appeared…the word petrified came to mind. Her brow wrinkled into a frown of worry and he’d never seen such tension in her body before.

After two hard pumps of his hand, Maybeth glanced at the items he’d placed on the floor. “It’s good to have a friend who’s handy,” she remarked. “And goodness knows she needs to do some work around here.”

She looked him over and he wondered if the comment about needing to do work applied not only to the walls but him, as well. Her Royal Highness held her head at a haughty angle, and he had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t meet her specifications.

“Well, I must be running. Talia, don’t forget the party Sunday night.”

“I won’t.”

After her grandmother left, Talia went into the living room and he followed. “Is everything all right?” he asked. He could tell it wasn’t.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You’re off.” No stranger to the swings her grandmother created in her moods, he knew she’d shut down like she always did, but he sensed she’d shut down even more than normal.

“I’m fine.” She waved off his concern.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, stared at the back of her head, and tried another tactic to get her to open up. “So, what party was she talking about?”

“Some silly political thing she’s hosting at her house. It’s nothing serious.” She picked up a half-empty glass of water from the table in the living room. Oddly, she never turned in his direction once.

“But we’re going?” He followed her into the kitchen where she set the glass in the sink.

“I’m going,” she said, her voice sounding odd. “You’re not. It’s boring stuff. Boring political stuff.”

“Maybe I want to go to a boring political party. Don’t you need an escort?”

Talia turned from the kitchen sink and passed by him, continuing to avoid his eyes. “We’ll see. I’m going upstairs to finish packing for the weekend.”

He was no fool. He watched her run up the stairs and knew she was hiding something. Her answers didn’t satisfy him, so he followed right after her.

“What does that mean? ‘We’ll see?’”

“Nothing.” The flat tone concerned him.

“Why haven’t I met your grandmother before?”

“No reason,” she said. She sounded annoyed, which he couldn’t understand. Why would his questions annoy her?

“She’s a busy woman,” Talia continued, walking to the closet. She still hadn’t looked at him, probably the most disturbing part of the conversation. “She’s always running here and there and everywhere.”

The vague answer and tone of her voice sparked his curiosity. He trailed her into the bedroom closet.

“Let’s go straight to your place, okay?” She finally lifted her gaze to him, and the overly bright smile didn’t fool him. The desperate plea in her eyes increased his concern. “We can leave the painting for another time. I want to get out of here.”

Tomas braced a hand on each side of the door. “Why haven’t I met your grandmother before today? You’ve met all my friends and been to Manny’s restaurant, attended my friend’s daughter’s
quinces
and other parties with me. You know my friends, but I don’t know yours.”

She pulled a shirt from the hanger and took a deep breath before turning to face him. “Don’t do this, Tomas. It’s not important.”

Her answer didn’t sit well with him. “What’s not important?”

“We don’t need to have this conversation. It’s just a stupid party!” Her voice raised a full octave.

“Obviously this isn’t a stupid party,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you want me to go?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to go,” she said, her voice sounding more conciliatory. “But you’ll probably feel out of place and uncomfortable. It’s one party, Tomas, and really not a big deal.”