Totlandia: Summer (15 page)

That was all she could take. She grabbed Tinder Thirteen’s hand and led him out the door.

To keep him from asking too many questions, she chattered the whole way to her house—about the Giants, and the latest
Fast & Furious
film. She also made it clear that some of the Marina bars “make me uncomfortable. They attract too many nuts who say too many crazy things—like that jerk in there! Boy, he gave me the creeps! I’m glad you came along when you did.”

But by the time they were settled in her place, she’d calmed down. She watched as he flipped though the various works of Shakespeare that Reggie had left on the coffee table.

He’s normal,
she thought.
Maybe this one is a keeper.

She was still warming up to that thought when he said, “Hey, what say you put on one of your films? I’d really dig that.”

She was too stunned to answer him—to tell him to get out of her house, and out of her life.

Before she could tell him to go fuck himself—without her—he added, “I make a mean martini. Where’s your vodka?”

She pointed toward the minibar in the corner.

Maybe he had a redeeming feature after all.

He’s a sweet talker, this one,
she thought to herself.
I like the way he tells me I’m the prettiest girl he’s ever dated. And that he thinks I’m smart, too. I guess not too many of his pickups quote Shakespeare.

And he hasn’t brought up the porn again, thank God.

Wait…why the hell do I feel so weak?

Oh my God…

He slipped a roofie into my drink.

She was too weak to struggle as he eased her down onto the couch. His fingers were cold as they yanked her panties toward her ankles. He cursed when they got tangled on one of her heels, but he didn’t seem to mind the fact that they ripped; instead, he pocketed them. “I wonder how much I’ll get for Jade Pennypacker’s thong on eBay?” he wondered out loud.

Through drowsy eyelids she watched as he unzipped his pants and pulled them off, along with his boxer briefs. Despite being terrified, her arms lay like deadweights while he flipped her over and shoved her up onto the rounded arm of the couch. “Sweet ass,” he muttered. He patted hers as he positioned himself. “Shit, wish there was someone to film us,” he muttered in her ear. “Maybe I can selfie us with my iPhone—”

She was glad he shut up but didn’t figure out why until she heard him topple off. He must have hit his head on the coffee table because she heard a loud thud, and then more banging and scuffling.

A moment later she heard Tinder Thirteen whimper something about his phone, but whatever he said was cut off when the door slammed shut.

The next thing she knew, someone was pulling her up, off the couch. She still had one eye open when Reggie’s face registered in her mind. As he carried her upstairs, she wanted to put her arms around his neck but they hung by her side, like the wings of a crow she’d found on the sidewalk as she’d wheeled Oliver home from the park the other day.

The crow would be dead by now,
she thought.
Probably torn to shreds by a cat. If it weren’t for Reggie, I’d probably be dead, too.

No sound came out of her lips, but she hoped they moved enough that he could tell she was trying to say
, Thank you.

It was nice to feel his warm lips on her forehead.

She was thinking of his lips when she passed out.

When she woke up, he was gone.

There was a note on the bed.

I’m not your babysitter. I’m your friend. As such, I’m only going to tell you this once: GROW UP. — CRP

I do have a friend after all,
she thought.

She didn’t know why she was smiling and crying at the same time.

Tuesday, 16 July

10:34 a.m.

These days, Jillian’s jogs were few and far between.

Between taking care of the twins, making pies for the shop, and her play time with Caleb (not to mention her PHM&T dates) her runs had taken a backseat.

It was Caleb’s idea to take the girls to Alta Plaza Park, so that she had an hour or so to do it—to “just take off,” as he put it.

She took her favorite route: down the hill, to Crissy Field, where she followed the waterfront north and west, to Fort Point, at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge.

That was just a leg-stretcher for the run back up the hill—through Presidio Park and back onto her street, Pacific.

As she winded her way through the park, she realized she was already too hot and sweaty to join Caleb in wrangling with the twins.
I’ll stop at the house first, for a shower,
she thought.

She was just a half block away when she saw him there on her front portico.

Scott.

He was frantically ringing her doorbell.

Oh no,
she thought.
What the heck does he want now?

The last thing she needed was to get into another fight with her hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-husband.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself for battle. She wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. For once, in Scott’s presence, she didn’t care that she looked a mess. This realization was all she needed to steel herself for whatever battle he was there to start.

In fact, he was so intent while knocking furiously on the front door that he didn’t even notice her until she was right behind him and asked, “Why are you here?”

He turned around, surprised.

She expected her presence to be met with a furrowed brow and a frown; with another legal threat, or some sarcastic pronouncement.

She wasn’t expecting his silence, or the look of resignation in his eyes.

Finally, he shrugged. “I came to tell you…” He sighed heavily. “I came to tell you that I’m dropping the paternity issue. In fact, I’m giving you child support. And alimony—”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Was her nightmare with Scott truly over?

“But…Jillian, please bear with me. I want to ask one thing in return.”

She didn’t say a word. Instead, she braced herself.

He stared down at his feet. “I need those client files.”

The pain in his eyes broke her heart. “Scott, be honest with me. Why?”

He crumpled to the ground. “Victoria almost lost the baby.”

“What?” Jillian couldn’t believe her ears.

He nodded, but he couldn’t look her in the eye. “It happened around ten days ago—on my birthday, in fact.” His tears fell freely now, trickling down his chin and onto his button-down shirt. “She almost lost the baby on my birthday, Jillian! On my goddamned birthday, of all days!”

Jillian’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach.
Oh my God, if Victoria had miscarried because of me, I would have never forgiven myself,
she thought. “Scott, did the doctor have any idea what happened?”

His eyes went dark with sadness. “It started because I was being an asshole. I’m under a lot of pressure at work. Anyway, she decided to surprise me with a pie instead of a cake.” He shrugged. “I refused to eat it. I know I was being a prick, but quite frankly…well, it reminded me too much of you.”

“I see,” Jillian said softy.

“She was so pissed that she practically ate the whole thing on her own.” He shook his head in wonder. “Those damn pregnancy cravings, right? Well, anyway, she started cramping, badly. I thought…well, I thought she’d gone into labor, so I got her to the emergency room. Turns out the baby was in stress. The umbilical cord had wrapped itself around my son’s neck. Victoria was so upset over this fund problem that she never noticed the symptoms. The doctors were able to get him out in time. Ironically, if she hadn’t started cramping, we wouldn’t have saved him.”

“Thank God.” Ashamed and thankful, Jillian bowed her head.

“He’s home with us now, but the doctors kept him at the hospital for a week. They were worried about his heart.” Scott dropped his head on his chest. “Her doctor is worried about her, too. She’s lethargic. She cries constantly. She hasn’t been out of bed since his birth.”

Jillian’s heart leaped into her throat. “You mean, he’s still in danger?”

“The baby? No, thank goodness. The doctors say he’s fine now, and she shouldn’t worry.”

“Does she have postpartum depression?”

“No. She’s stressed out.” He shrugged. "Victoria is worried about me because—well, because I may be heading to jail.”

“Jail?” Jillian sat down hard, on one of the portico’s wrought-iron settees. “Scott, how could that be?”

He buried his head in his hands. “Right before Victoria left the company on maternity leave, she did a buy for one of my clients—as my assistant, but in my name, of course. She was told by the fund’s manager that this investment was closing out that afternoon, and the client was insistent that he had to get in on it. I’d left the office early to play golf. Turns out, the fund is a total disaster. We anticipate it will dissolve any day now, taking all its investors down with it.”

She nodded. “It’s Treasure Island Mutuals, isn’t it?”

He looked up at her sharply. “Yes. How did you know?”

She looked away. “I asked a friend to assess the files. She noticed some discrepancies immediately.”

He frowned. “Victoria realized that the client never signed a proxy, and that she’d never gotten him to sign off manually on the buy, either.” He looked up at Jillian. “To cover my ass—or so she thought—she got the client to sign off on a dummy fund report that showed everything was hunky-dory. If anyone finds out, she’ll go to jail.” He laughed hysterically. “That is, I’ll go to jail. The buy is in my name. She wants to take the fall for it, but of course, I’d never let her.”

“Of course not,” Jillian murmured. “You love her too much.”

“I do.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I know how much it hurts you for me to admit it. And I know I’m taking a big chance, coming here. But I’m begging you, Jillian—please find it in your heart to do me this one favor and give me that file. It’s the only way to save her! My attorney is probably talking to yours right now. Everything I promised you will be set in stone. And of course, you can hold on to a copy of the file, so that you can verify that I’ll follow through. But please don’t take it out on Victoria.”

He was sobbing steadily now.

She reached down and patted his head. “It’s okay, Scott. I believe you. I’ll do it. I’ll put a copy of it on a thumb drive, now.”

He pulled her ankles close and held them. “Thank you, Jillian. Thank you. I’ll always remember your kindness.” He tried to smile through his tears. “Want to hear the irony? If Brady Pierce hadn’t suggested it—”

“What…wait!” Jillian grabbed his hand. “Did you say Brady Pierce?”

“Yes, the big tech guy. He’s been my client for a couple of years. He called my office and asked me to buy into the damn fund for him. It wouldn’t have even been on our radar otherwise.”

Oh.

Shit.

Jillian steadied herself. “Wait here. I’ll get the file.”

When she reached the door, she turned back to her ex.

Jillian teared up. “I’m happy for the birth of your son, and that he’s healthy. I’d appreciate it if you’d pass that along to Victoria, too.” She took his hand.

“Thank you, Jillian. I will.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “And with Amelia and Addison, I am twice blessed. I have you to thank for that.” He hesitated, then added, “I look forward to the day that they’ll meet their little brother.”

She nodded and went inside. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

There was no sadness in her heart, just relief that, like her, Scott was now ready to do what was right for their daughters.

After downloading the file onto the thumb drive, Jillian also added the twins’ photo album.

She now knew their father would appreciate it.

She practically flew downstairs. She couldn’t wait to get back to dinner with her family—Amelia and Addison.

And of course, Caleb.

Tonight she’d make his favorite pie.

Saturday, 20 July

10:15 p.m.

“Why are you sitting here alone in the dark?”

Lorna flipped on the light in Matt’s study.

Quickly he turned his head to the side.

She saw what he was hiding. His face was damp. He’d been crying.

Dante.

Lorna sat down beside her husband. She took his hand, but didn’t say a word. They sat together, watching the whiffs of fog drift by the window.

Finally he raised her hand to his lips, kissed it, and said, “What if Dante has to be institutionalized?”

She sat straight up and pulled away from him. “Why do you ask that?”

He dropped her hand. “We have to be prepared to have this conversation at some point—in light of his progress.”

“Why? What has Mandy said to you?” She stood up. “I mean, my God, she hasn’t said anything at all to me—and believe me, I grill her before she walks out the door—”

“Slow down, Lorna, please!” Despairing, Matt tossed his hands in the air. “All she said was that she’s…concerned.”

“That’s vague,” Lorna sneered.

“It wasn’t what she said, but how she said it. Quite seriously.” He pursed his lips. “I just think we should be prepared, you know, for the worst.”

“Matt, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it!”

“You mean, you’ll deal with it.” He buried his head in his hands.

“But of course ‘Lorna will deal with it.’ It’s why you married me, isn’t it?” The laughter rising from her bordered on hysteria. “Great, just great! I have a child who may never be able to take care of himself. And I have a husband who always wants things easy—”

“And I have a wife who will never be satisfied with the truth.” He stood up angrily.

“You know, this isn’t about you!” They said it together.

They stared at each other.

They laughed, until they cried.

She stopped crying first. She wished it had been him instead.

Why must I always be the strong one?
she thought.