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This was when she’d given up. She and Colleen would go on putting down their roots here in St. Paul. They had a great house in a great neighborhood. She had good friends she’d made over the past ten years, and more friends she’d begun to make with other mothers since adopting Colleen. They were both happy at the day-care center, and she’d begun to consider schools for her daughter’s education later on.
Brady was looking at her as if all of this—this failure, this distance, this determined independence—was scrolling across her forehead like a TelePrompTer, and as if it said as much about who she was as did her taste in clothes. It probably did.
Their pizza arrived, along with salad and soda pop for the adults. Brady took a knife, cut a slice of pizza into bite-sized pieces for Scarlett, then used it to lift a second slice onto Libby’s plate, while she was occupied in helping Colleen. He had big hands, but he used them well, with sure, economical movements.
Sliding a third slice onto his own plate, he got some sauce on his forefinger and casually wiped it into his mouth.
“You said you didn’t want to wait before we talked,” he said. “Does that mean you already know what you want to do?”
“It means I know what we have to do,” she corrected him quickly. “As I see it, Brady, there’s no choice.”
She took a small bite of the hot, crisp slice, but her appetite didn’t respond. Her stomach was far too churned up to feel hungry, and she was nauseous. She had a deep, instinctive dread of laying her emotional cards on the table like this, which she could never really understand. It wasn’t fair to blame Glenn and the patterns that had evolved during their marriage.
“Okay, so tell me.” Brady leaned forward a little, his face serious and steady.
“I don’t buy your point about visits and access, like after a divorce,” she began.
“No?” He looked as if he was sincerely ready to listen, and she liked that. Grabbed on to it hard, gritted her teeth, fought back the nausea, and hoped with her whole heart.
“These girls have already lost both their biological parents, whoever they were,” she went on. “During the adoption ceremony in Vietnam, we undertook to keep them in touch with their cultural heritage.”
“Yes, I remember that bit.”
“It’s going to be hard to make that more than a token thing, across a whole, huge ocean. I can’t justify making their relationship with each other only a token thing, as well. The girls are way too young just to put them on a plane and send them back and forth, in any case, and there’s only one way I can see to avoid doing that,” she finished on a rush of words that came out more aggressively than she’d intended.
“Yeah?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. His attitude had changed. He looked skeptical, now, ready to shoot first and ask questions later.
She lifted her chin, took a deep breath and just said it. “One of us is going to have to move.”
Okay, Brady thought.
Hadn’t he known something like that was coming? Wasn’t it the only reasonable solution a sane, feeling person could come up with? It wasn’t so drastic. People moved from one part of the country to another for far less meaningful reasons. And wouldn’t he have said it himself, if she hadn’t?
No, he wouldn’t. Not yet.
He didn’t like the way she’d said “one of us,” and he wasn’t fooled by the apologetic spread of her dainty, pretty hands as soon as she finished speaking, nor by the nervous lapping of her pink tongue against the still-glistening color on her upper lip as she waited for his response.
He took a large bite of pizza, aware that she’d barely touched her own slice.
So one of them was going to have to move? Hanging in the air, unspoken, he could almost hear her corollary, “And I’m happy and set up in St. Paul, so I don’t see why it should be me.”
Well, she was wrong about that.
This was why he hadn’t wanted to discuss it so soon. He’d known that if she really believed in the importance of keeping the girls connected, this was the solution she’d propose. He’d seen it coming, in his own heart and in hers, but he’d wanted to wait, in the hope they’d each manage to build a little trust.
This was why he’d asked her all those questions, just now. He’d wanted to gauge the ties she had here in Minnesota, and whether there was any possible way she could justify asking him to uproot his life. If he moved, he would have to sell his company, deprive Scarlett of a close, loving grandmother, start over in a new state and a new town. When Libby had no family here, and could easily get a job almost anyplace she went, was it unreasonable, on his part, to expect her to make the move?
He didn’t think so, and she might as well know it upfront. He wasn’t going to leave himself open to emotional manipulation.
“Columbus is a great place to raise kids,” he said steadily, not quite smiling. “Housing is affordable. People are friendly. Winters are mild compared to here. You’re going to love it. I’ll even help you with your move.”
He’d made her speechless. That wasn’t a bad thing. She sat there, slowly turning pink, with her pretty mouth dropped open. She looked at Colleen, looked at him, looked at Scarlett. Still didn’t say a word. Closed her mouth eventually, as if she knew it was more polite, and went on saying nothing.
So maybe he should give himself more credit for his powers of speech. He knew that running his own company for the past five years had honed his ability to handle careless sub-contractors and late-paying clients.
State your position up-front and show the opposition how he or she stands to win. Build immediately on your advantage.
It seemed he’d honed his ability to handle personal relationships as well, because even now, after he’d given her plenty of time, she still didn’t speak, and he still had the upper hand.
“I could see you in Upper Arlington,” he went on. “Worthington, or maybe Clintonville, where I live myself. Bexley is beautiful, but that’s on the other side of town from where I’m located.”
“I guess it wouldn’t make sense to move seven hundred miles and have the girls still end up a long drive from each other,” Libby said at last. Her voice shook a little, Brady thought.
Was she trying not to cry? Yeah, he felt a little emotional, too. Both of their lives had turned upside-down today. He was still crossing his fingers that they’d each flipped in the same direction.
He waited once more for her to make some kind of a counter offer, as a potential client might do in response to his company’s cost estimation on a big project.
I’ll move, but not until spring.
I’ll move, but it would seem fair if you covered half the expenses.
I’ll move, but I’ll need somewhere to stay until I can decide where I want to live, and whether I want to rent or buy. And there has to be a fall-back if it doesn’t work out. I don’t want to sell my house in St. Paul, and I want to get back here sometimes to see friends.
She didn’t say any of that. Instead, she poured herself some more pop, and Colleen some more juice. Then she helped with Colleen’s pizza.
Brady saw that her hands were shaking, and he felt an odd and powerful need to take them between his work-hardened palms and say, “Stop. It’s okay. Are you upset at the thought of moving? If you feel that strongly about it, St. Paul looks like a great city, and I’ll love it here.”
Was that what she wanted? Were the shaking hands just a cold-blooded example of the kind of emotional manipulation he couldn’t stomach? Was the silence an opportunity for her to hone her strategy? It wouldn’t surprise him. Some women played their relationships like chess games. He just wished Libby would say what she felt, and say it clearly. But she didn’t.
Instead, she was speaking in a bright tone to her daughter. “Let me cut that piece in half for you, honey. Yes, I know you want to do it yourself, but this bit Mommy has to help with. There you go, beautiful.”
He liked the way she talked to her daughter. Sweet and steady and clear. Plenty of endearments, but not too much fussing. Suddenly he found himself making the counter offers for her. All of them. In the same clipped, confident voice he used when proposing contract terms.
“Wait till spring if you want, and count on me to cover the moving expenses,” he said. “I have a pretty big place. You can stay there, with your own room and bathroom, while you decide on a permanent place. You don’t need to sell your house here right away. Best for both of us if you have some fall-back in case this doesn’t work out.”
“You’ve thought it through, haven’t you?” There was a note of controlled accusation in her voice.
“Didn’t take long,” he answered. “Most of it’s obvious. Makes sense that neither of us burns our bridges. Makes sense for you to have the time you need.”
“And is there a deadline on my decision?”
He shot her a closer look. Was she angry? Her voice was still just as sweet and steady. Her cheeks were still just as pink. He didn’t know what to think, didn’t understand what was going on in her head.
When Mom was angry or upset, she said exactly what was on her mind. Loudly. When she tried some underhanded tactics and he confronted her with them, she confessed at once. He appreciated that.
With Stacey, in contrast, it had been like building a house on quicksand. She’d lied. She’d pretended to have emotions she didn’t feel in order to get her way. She’d played on the beliefs she knew he had about duty and honor. She’d splashed around her emotions—genuine and false—like a one-year-old throwing food.
He waited for a mild, Miss Minnesota Princess version of either Mom or Stacey, but nothing happened, and this left him at a loss. Colleen shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortable. She provided a welcome change of focus. The restaurant was filling fast, and the noise level was rising, along with the smell of pizza in the oven.
“I think she’s working on a diaper,” Brady and Libby both said in unison.
Libby added, “I’ll take her out. Eat all you want of the pizza and salad because I’m done.”
“You haven’t eaten very much,” he pointed out, although this wasn’t the issue he wanted to confront her on. “You haven’t finished a single slice.”
She shrugged and gave a polite smile. “I wasn’t very hungry.”
Holding her daughter’s hand, she walked in the direction of the bathroom, still giving no indication of what she was feeling beyond her well-mannered facade.
Brady watched helplessly after her, wondering whether he’d won tonight’s most important victory, Ohio State Buckeyes over Minnesota Gophers, or whether instead he’d just stared down the barrel of his own defeat.
Chapter Three
Libby shifted her life to Ohio on a Thursday in late October with Colleen, after five weeks of making lists and telephone calls and announcements, of talking to Realtors and moving companies, of packing and sorting and giving away.
Brady had told her back in September that she could “wait until spring” to make the move, as if this was some sort of a concession from him, or as if he were giving her permission, but this was her own decision, and she saw it differently. She hadn’t wanted to wait. It was six months until spring, and that was a long time in a child’s life.
She found all the concerned and curious questioning from friends and co-workers stressful, too, and needed a definite date on which all that would stop.
Mom had been skeptical and discouraging about the move, and had asked Libby over the phone more than once, “Is it really that important to give Colleen a sister?”
“Brady and I both think so,” Libby had told her.
“But you always insisted on how self-sufficient and happy and well-adjusted you were going to be, just the two of you, even though I always thought it would be harder than you expected. Now you’re doing a complete about-face.”
Well, it wasn’t like that, Libby considered, but she didn’t say so.
Her emotional compass was pointing steadily in one direction—toward Ohio, where the girls could be sisters, where they’d have a chance to establish what could be the most enduring relationship of their lives, and where she wouldn’t ever have to just send her daughter off on a plane. She couldn’t predict in advance if the move would succeed or fail. She just had to jump in with both feet and do it.
To give Brady credit, he seemed to understand. “Send your stuff on ahead, and I’ll arrange to be there when it arrives. I’ll have your room ready for you. Let’s focus on the practical things. The rest can wait.”
She and Colleen took two days to make the drive from Minnesota, staying in a motel in Bloomington, Illinois, on Thursday night. Colleen awoke early the next morning, and Libby dressed her in the cute outfit she’d packed specially—a long-sleeved cotton knit dress in pink and white, high-waisted and full in the skirt, with matching leggings.
After a breakfast stop just outside Champaign, Colleen napped for three hours in the car and Libby was able to make good time. They hit Columbus midafternoon, with Miss Bright and Beautiful getting bored and fretful in her car seat after so long.
Libby could easily have fretted, also. Her legs were stiff, her head ached, her eyes felt as dry as ash. And she was nervous, with a sinking, queasy stomach and clammy hands.
Brady had given her clear directions to a neighborhood she discovered to be quiet and tree-filled. The day was smoky and cool—undeniably fall, with piles of leaves in rust and tan and orange and gold carpeting the grass beneath the bare trees. It was much milder here than it had been two days ago in St. Paul, however.
As Libby drove down Brady’s street, a middle-aged man worked a leaf blower, and a helmeted child clattered along the sidewalk on a purple bicycle. She was looking for number 1654, and here it was—a house of sand-colored Ohio stone, with pale blue ornamental shutters, a steep slate roof, a sweep of gently sloping lawn out front, shaded by a couple of big trees and a fenced rear yard.
She parked in front of one half of the double garage and walked to the front door at Colleen’s pace, holding her warm little hand. Almost as soon as she rang the bell, she could hear Brady’s heavy footsteps, and the door opened seconds later.
“Hi.” His eyes met hers for just a second, looking slate-blue and preoccupied, and he lifted a hand in greeting.
She was swamped with memories of the time they’d spent together in St. Paul, and didn’t know what to do with them. She’d forgotten the aura of strength that surrounded him, and the way her body responded to it.
He had a cell phone pressed to his ear, and he was reeling off what sounded like building specifications. Something like that. Figures and quantities and codes. He wore jeans, a black sweatshirt and a waterproof gray jacket, as if he’d just gotten home, or was about to go out. There was no sign of his daughter.
Libby felt cold after the heated car, and she was tired, prickly and ready to find fault. Capping the upheaval of the past six weeks, she’d wanted more than a “hi” and a glance, and she hadn’t wanted the powerful pull Brady seemed to exert on her body without even trying.
Now he was nodding, listening to the voice at the other end of the line, trying to get a word in. “Yes…yes, Nate. I got that. You tell me what you have, okay?”
Libby picked up Colleen.
Still listening and saying, “Yes,” every few seconds, Brady stepped back, reached around to flatten a hand between her shoulder blades, and pulled her inside.
He had big hands, and his touch was warm and heavy on her back. Her shoulder nudged the curve where his arm met his body and she remembered too many moments back in Minnesota when she’d felt this pull and this awareness.
He had that same earthy, resinous smell that she’d first noticed, like fresh-cut wood, and the same faint sheen of reddish beard just beginning to grow out against his rugged skin. As she passed him, moving ahead into the hall, she could easily have reached out and brushed her hand across that strong, square jaw.
She wasn’t usually so conscious of how her body shaped itself near a man’s, and of how the air moved between them. And she couldn’t remember when she’d last wanted to inhale a man’s scent like inhaling the fresh air of spring. But then, there weren’t many men in her life that she ever got this close to. Under the circumstances, it was hardly surprising if she felt jittery and hypersensitive.
He kicked the door shut behind him and said, as an aside from his phone conversation, “Stairs. Go on up, Libby. All the way to the end.” To her new, temporary room.
He followed her, still absorbed in his call, and he didn’t end it until they reached the room’s closed door, when his firm footsteps stopped just behind her.
“Sorry about that,” he said at last, flipping the phone shut and sliding it into his back pocket. “I took today off to get the house ready for you, but they can’t leave me alone. We have a big project that’s running behind schedule. It’s not important.”
“Sounds like it is.” She stepped sideways, with Colleen still in her arms, and angled herself so that Brady wasn’t looming over her shoulder.
He gave a rueful smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes and showed straight white teeth. “Well, it’s not important important.”
Libby smiled, too. “A subtle yet critical difference, I guess. Where’s Scarlett?” she added on a rush.
She felt a fluttery anticipation about seeing Colleen’s twin that she tried to dampen down. It didn’t feel safe to start to care so soon and so much.
“Mom has her on Fridays,” Brady answered.
He flattened a hand against his back pocket, as if to check that his cell phone was there. It was an unnecessary gesture, since he’d put it there just seconds ago. He was on edge, just as she was. His strong shoulders were held tight, and he curled his hands into fists then let them go again.
“She works Monday through Thursday,” he went on. “So on those days Scarlett’s in day care. You’re earlier than I was expecting. I was just about to go pick her up from Mom’s. Here…” He opened the door.
It was a big room, built over the whole area of the double garage, and it was lit by large windows on three sides. The white drapes looked new. Libby recognized her own queen-sized oak sleigh bed, with matching tallboy and dresser, her own delicately flower-sprigged sheet set, comforter and pillows, and the oak glider-rocker she’d bought last year, for sitting in to feed a bottle to Colleen.
Brady had angled the rocker so that it would get bathed in southern winter sun, and the matching oak crib was right next to it, made up with Colleen’s white broderie anglaise bed linen.
Finally, on top of the tallboy, sitting on a plastic place-mat, there was a pewter beer tankard stuffed—yes, you’d have to call it stuffed—with a big bunch of supermarket flowers, still swathed in their silver wrapping.
“Anything you want moved,” Brady offered, “just say so.”
“No, it looks good.” Apart from the supermarket sticker on the flowers.
The flowers said a lot. He must have remembered she liked to have them around the house. He’d taken the trouble to buy some. But he didn’t have a clue how to arrange them, and he didn’t even own a proper vase. The mix of thoughtfulness and clumsiness somehow softened her heart to a dangerous level.
They were both trying so hard.
So hard.
