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Damn, why had she just said that? Mindy upbraided herself. Jason certainly didn’t want to hear about her life and she certainly didn’t want to talk about it. From the way he was acting, Jason didn’t want to hear about anything that had to do with anything that was outside of the company he ran.
He surprised her by leaning forward. “What do you mean?”
Panic nibbled away at her, followed by a wave of shame. Her husband had cheated on her. Not once, but a number of times. This after she’d tried so hard to please him. Had given up so much to make him happy. That meant there had to be something lacking in her. She didn’t want Jason to think that, didn’t want to see pity in his eyes. “You don’t want to hear.”
“I wouldn’t have asked the question if I didn’t want to hear an answer.” He leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to study Mindy for the first time. Along with the beauty, there were signs of stress that artful applications of makeup didn’t completely manage to hide. What did she have to be stressed about? What had happened to her since the years they walked the same halls together? “What are you doing here, Mindy?”
She raised her chin ever so slightly. Defensiveness rose in her chest. “Working.”
“Besides that.”
She glanced toward the doorway that Nathalie had just vacated. “Trying to go home.”
Jason sighed. What had come over him? Where did he get off, prying? He’d never appreciated probing questions aimed at him. The least he could do was treat her the way he wanted to be treated.
He waved her on her way. “Sorry, didn’t mean to keep you.”
This time the dismissal stung. She hadn’t meant to shut him out. “No, I’m sorry. That wasn’t very polite of me. You asked a question and I gave you a flippant answer.” She squared her shoulders. “The reason I’m not going home to my husband is because I’m divorced, or about to be,” she amended. The divorce was almost final. It couldn’t be fast enough for her.
Divorced. He and Debra would have been divorced by now if she hadn’t been killed. A wave of empathy washed over him. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
Oh no, was that pity in his eyes? She wasn’t about to accept pity, not even from the hunk who’d inhabited her daydreams for so long. If possible, she squared her shoulders even farther. A tiny ache rose instantly in her lower back. A sign of things to come, she thought. But first things first.
“I’m not.” She glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she could just make her five forty-five appointment with her doctor at Manhattan Multiples.
He saw the way she looked at her watch. He was keeping her, he thought, and she was anxious to get away. Jason inclined his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It was her cue to go. Still, she paused one moment longer. She needed to know. “Then it was all right? My work?”
“Your work was fine. Surprisingly so.” He saw her brows narrow. She probably took that as an insult, he realized, and was quick to make himself clear. “I didn’t think this kind of thing was up your alley.”
She was grateful for the presence of mind that had made her take business courses while at Northwestern. “Survival is up everyone’s alley.”
“No argument there.” He closed the folder for the last time that day. No use beating a stalled horse. “And Mindy—”
She turned from the door to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Tomorrow call me Jason. Mr. Mallory makes me feel like my old man.”
There was nothing old about Jason, she thought. Godlike, maybe, but not old. “Fine. Jason, then.”
Mindy smiled to herself. Workplace or not, it felt right calling him that. Like something had just moved closer in sync.
With that she withdrew, unaware that he watched her progress all the way to the front door. Or that he continued to look at the door, lost in thought, for a long while after that.
“You can sit up now.”
Digging her elbows in closer to her body, Mindy pushed herself up from the examination table. She sat up, dangling her legs over the side. She looked at the rugged profile of her doctor, Derek Cross, and realized that she was holding her breath. These days she kept waiting for the shoes to fall and disasters to line themselves up like macabre ducks in a row. His expression gave nothing away, short of the fact that he looked tired.
“Is everything all right, Dr. Cross? With the babies, I mean,” she added when he looked at her.
“Couldn’t be better.” He retired his stethoscope, draping the length of it along his neck while his nurse, Lara Mancini, removed the machine that had allowed Mindy to listen to the heartbeats of the babies she was carrying. They sounded like tiny hoofbeats. Looking at his patient, he smiled. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to prepare yourself to be losing that girlish figure of yours very soon.”
She’d forgotten about that. Mindy bit her lower lip, her thoughts shifting to Jason as if they were on automatic pilot. She wasn’t normally a vain person, but this time it was different. This time she was going to be facing Jason. She wanted at least a little time before she mushroomed.
“Am I going to be huge?”
Derek exchanged glances with Lara and laughed. “Not if you don’t take your condition to mean you have carte blanche at the dinner table. If you eat sensibly and exercise, there’s absolutely no reason for you to gain much more weight than what these babies of yours will come to on their own.”
Exercise. Didn’t Manhattan Multiples have a gym on the premises? “How much exercise?”
Flipping to a new page within her chart, Derek began to make some notes to himself. “Well, I wouldn’t go hang gliding in the desert anytime soon, but within reason you can continue whatever you’re accustomed to.” He glanced up at her. “One of my patients played tennis until the end of her eighth month. Of course, she wasn’t carrying twins. Don’t push yourself but don’t baby yourself, either, no pun intended.”
“Don’t let him kid you,” Lara interjected, grinning as she continued tidying up within the room, “Dr. Cross intended it.”
“A nurse is supposed to back up her doctor.” Derek managed to keep a straight face only long enough to get halfway through his sentence.
Lara laughed shortly. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she cracked.
It still seemed incredible to Mindy that the woman she had seen on the screen in more than one supporting role was now being supportive of her. It was no secret that Lara Mancini had given up a promising movie career to follow her heart’s dream of becoming a nurse.
If Lara could reinvent herself, Mindy thought, if she could walk away from budding fame and gobs of money to do something noble, then what she was trying to do with her own life should be a piece of cake.
After all, it wasn’t as if she had walked away from an actual career. Despite her education and her degree in journalism, Brad hadn’t wanted her to have a career. Her place was at his side while he forged his, he’d told her time and again. Because she loved him, she’d listened. And, she supposed, to his credit, there’d always been money to do whatever she wanted to do.
The trouble was, she always had to ask him for it. It embarrassed her, even though he had always dispensed it. Embarrassed her because she always had to tell him what she wanted the money for. At times, it felt like begging. She certainly never felt it was her money as well as his. He never lost an opportunity to drive the point home that he was the one who had earned the money, not her. When he gave it to her, he always jokingly referred to the money as her “allowance.” As if she were still a child in her parents’ house.
Or worse, just a child. A child who was supposed to stand obediently by as her husband satisfied some inner craving and had affairs.
She clenched her hands on either side of her as she sat on the examination table.
“Is something wrong?” Lara’s soft voice broke into her thoughts.
Mindy shook off the morbid memories that threatened to overwhelm her. All that was behind her, she reminded herself. The best was yet to be. Right? She looked at Lara. “No, why?”
“No reason. You just had a strange look on your face, that’s all.” Lara kept her voice cheerful. A cheerful disposition, Mindy had noticed, seemed to be a prerequisite for working at Manhattan Multiples, from the receptionist on up. “If you have any questions, I’d be happy to sit down with you and answer them. Or just talk.” Lara’s eyes were kind. “You’re the last patient of the day.”
Mindy was touched. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself, she silently ordered. She was around people who genuinely cared about her and her babies. That was the important thing, not if she was going to turn into a whale for a few months.
“Thanks, but no. I was just thinking, that’s all.” She pressed her lips together. The intimate moment emboldened her. “Do you miss it?”
Lara tossed away the used paper from the table. “Miss what?”
Mindy looked to see if the doctor was listening, but he was still busy making notations in her chart. “Your career.”
Lara smiled, as if this wasn’t an original question. “This is my career.”
Mindy didn’t want to give offense, but she was curious. “I meant, do you miss making movies?”
Lara seemed to consider the question, then glanced at Derek, who watched her from hooded eyes. The two obviously were attracted to each other. “Do I miss standing around all day waiting to shoot two minutes of film that might or might not make it to the final cut? No, I like being active and there’s always plenty of activity here.” She grinned, sending another sidelong glance toward the doctor as he finished writing notes in Mindy’s chart.
Derek flipped the chart closed and looked at Mindy. “So, we’ll see you again in two weeks.”
“I thought I was on a monthly schedule.”
“That was just in the beginning,” he told her. “Because you’re carrying more than one baby, we want to be on top of things here, to make sure everything continues going smoothly for you. Besides, you can come here and complain to your heart’s content.” The support portion was the very heart of Manhattan Multiples, and none of them ever lost sight of that. “Everyone will be very sympathetic to what you’re going through. Mothers of multiple babies have their own unique set of…um—” he hunted for the right word “—circumstances.”
More like problems, Mindy thought. And she could readily identify with that. It was all she could do to place one foot in front of the other and deal with the path her life had taken.
Tempting though the thought was, and tempting though Lara’s invitation to stay and talk was, all she wanted to do tonight was fall into her own bed. The thought of sleep was more alluring than food was right now.
“When will I stop being tired?” she wanted to know.
At the door the doctor looked at his watch, then back at her. “In about eighteen and a half years. If you’re lucky.” He glanced toward Lara. “Coming, Nurse?”
Lara brightened slightly at the verbal byplay. “Right behind you, Doctor.”
They had something going, Mindy thought. Or would very soon. The looks that went between the doctor and his nurse were too hot not to generate their own flame, if they hadn’t already.
Mindy couldn’t help the pang of envy that went through her.
Chapter Three
Eloise stood in the hallway before her office, directly in the path of foot traffic and lost in thought.
She’d had no luck yet with getting through to Bill Harper. His aides guarded him like those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.
You’d think that the city of New York would help support an organization that dealt with pregnancies and specialized in multiple births.
Bill’s betrayal still vexed her. How could he hold this grudge against her? And why couldn’t he simply talk to her? It wasn’t as if she was unapproachable, Eloise thought as she nodded at a couple of new members who hurried past her to the ladies’ room. When she died, and if there was need for an autopsy, she was convinced that they would probably find one of the world’s biggest hearts in her chest. She truly cared about what went on here and the people who were involved in Manhattan Multiples.
Caring was one of the reasons she’d started this center in the first place. She’d needed something into which she could channel her energy and her love. She needed something to fill the hole that had appeared when Walter was taken from her.
Even trying to lose herself in her sons’ lives didn’t take care of the problem for her. And as they became older, she knew Carl, Henry and John would have less and less need for her. They’d be going out into the world, testing their wings, forging paths for themselves. As well they should.
But that would leave her with increasingly less to do. She couldn’t very well stay at home counting flowers on the wallpaper. So the idea for the center had been born, and she had taken the helm, dispensing the wisdom of her own experiences, seeking others to add to it, and all the while making a point of being in touch with every single woman who flew or waddled, depending on their state, through those doors.
A people person, she made herself accessible and hoped others would do the same for her.
So why was Bill shutting her out?
With a sigh Eloise shoved her hands into the pockets of her powder-blue skirt.
“You know, if you stand there long enough, someone is going to wind up walking into you.” Allison Baker, her personal assistant, came up to her. “Is anything wrong, Eloise?”
With a shake of her head, Eloise pulled herself out of her trance. For a second she was tempted to share her fears about Manhattan Multiples but then decided against it.
Damn, she wished she knew the answer.
Eloise realized that her prim-and-proper assistant was still waiting for an answer to her question. Eloise said the first thing that came to her mind, lame though it sounded. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
Allison nodded knowingly. “About the mayor’s proposed cutbacks?”
Allison was very intuitive and this shouldn’t have been a surprise. Everyone on the Manhattan Multiples staff was talking about it, wondering if they should start updating their résumés and look for work. No one wanted that to happen. Working here was a joy, even at the worst of times.
“Yes.”
Allison hugged the thick binder she was holding a little closer to her chest. “What do you plan to do?”
Eloise tossed her head. “Fight this, of course.” There’d never been any doubt in her mind that she would. Above all else, she’d been blessed with the courage of her own convictions. She would have thought that had become evident by now to everyone.
“I’m not one of those socialites who likes to sit back and watch her nail polish dry. Manhattan Multiples is a long way off from closing its doors. We have fund-raisers to throw and legal issues to stand on. If Bill Harper thinks that we’re going to ‘go gentle into that good night,’ he definitely has another think coming.”
Twenty-something Josie Tate, Manhattan Multiples’ very own walking, breathing tribute to the sixties hippie era as well as their head receptionist, turned the corner just in time to catch the last part of Eloise’s declaration.
“Dylan Thomas, right?” Josie asked brightly, guessing at the origin of Eloise’s reference.
Glancing her way, Eloise nodded her reply. Josie was wearing a wide, ruffled skirt that contained every bright color known to civilized woman within its fabric. It was offset by a black velvet vest that seemed completely out of sync with the damp, humid July day outside the building. But then, Eloise had long since ceased being surprised by Josie’s choice of clothing. And, in an odd sort of way, the twenty-five-year-old pseudo hippie/poet/receptionist added to the charm that was Manhattan Multiples just as much as the pastel decor and soothing music that was piped in during the day.
Self-taught and pleased with herself, Josie grinned. “Hey, I wrote a new poem.” She held up the piece of paper she’d labored over all last night. It was filled with handwriting only Josie could decipher. “Anyone want to hear it?”
In her off hours, Josie wrote poetry and gave readings all over the city to receptive groups of budding poets and would-be musicians in search of lyrics. Her bright-blue eyes jumped from one woman to the other, as if eagerly waiting for a response.
“Only if it’s something that would inspire a fight rally,” Eloise told her.
Allison was already withdrawing. Although they were friends, they were as different in their approach to life and in their interests outside the center as night was to day. The expression on her heart-shaped face was apologetic. “Maybe later.”
Undaunted, Josie pretended to sigh. “A prophet is never honored in her hometown.”
“You hold that thought,” Eloise advised with a laugh, patting her shoulder. “And in the meantime, see if you can come up with something catchy that we can use to help fry our illustrious mayor’s butt.”
“That seems like a waste,” Josie confided. “The man’s got one hell of a cute butt.”
“Josie!” Allison looked at her friend incredulously. “He’s the mayor.”
“That doesn’t stop him from having a cute butt—although the odds are against it.” She grinned, turning toward Eloise. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.
Spinning on her heel, Josie headed back the way she’d come. Break was almost over and she had a desk to oversee and people to welcome.
It had been five days.
Jason flipped back the pages on his desk calendar. Time to stop trying to find fault with her, he decided. He pushed the calendar back on his desk. That was what he’d been doing, he thought. Consciously and unconsciously he’d been searching for flaws, for ways to get Mindy to give up and quit.
Who would have ever thought that he would one day be trying to push Mindy Conway away?
Mindy Richards, Jason reminded himself. She was Mindy Richards now, and with a husband in her life or not, she had no place in Jason’s.
Nothing and no one had a place in his life except for work. He owed the people who paid him good money for advice 110 percent of his abilities—and the same portion of his mind. They weren’t paying him to spend his time thinking about Mindy. Wondering about Mindy. Yearning for Mindy.
