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“Are you ending up in the hole?”
She leveled a stare at him. “I can’t believe you asked that.”
“I’m a pushy guy.” She didn’t appear to see persistence as the virtue he did.
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny about that?”
“A private thought.”
“You mean, you do understand the concept of privacy?”
He laughed. “Yeah, I do. I just figure it never hurts to ask.”
“It doesn’t hurt you,” Anna said very quietly.
Sobering, he nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Seeing the deliberate way she turned a shoulder to him and joined the kids’ conversation again, he realized he’d stepped in it. Damn it, why had he thought she’d answer a question like that? He rarely surrendered to impulse.
He tuned in to hear Anna asking Molly about her teacher. Josh didn’t seem to be reacting negatively to seeing Molly again, so enrolling her in her old school here in Bellevue shouldn’t be a problem.
Or, hey, Josh and Molly might be as good at hiding what they were really thinking as the two adults were.
They boxed up what pizza was left and took it with them, returning to their two cars. Hers looked even shabbier beside his Lexus.
“Stick close,” he reminded Anna, after being sure Molly was belted in properly.
She was still strapping her own wriggling daughter into the back seat. “With the address, I imagine I could find it.”
He dragged his gaze from her shapely rear end. “It’s tricky knowing which driveway is ours.”
“Fine.”
Pulling out of the parking lot, Nate kept an eye on the rearview mirror. It took him a few blocks to notice that Molly hadn’t said a word.
“You like Josh and Jenna?” he asked.
Anna’s old car was hanging close behind.
“Yes, only—” Molly screwed up her face. “It’s my fault their daddy is gone, so why aren’t they mad?”
Hating the agony he heard in her voice, Nate said, “Maybe they know it’s not your fault. We talked about this.”
“Yes, but...” She bent her head, hiding her expression.
He waited, to no avail. “Anna doesn’t blame you, either, or she wouldn’t have agreed to come live with us until your mom is better and ready to take you back.”
No comment. He hadn’t a clue what Molly thought about her mother’s absence. Living with an alcoholic parent couldn’t be easy at any age. Was she relieved? Desperate for Mommy to take her home? Or justifiably afraid Mommy wouldn’t be better, after all?
Nate made the turn onto Shoreland Drive, satisfied to see Anna still right behind. The private lane wasn’t well marked. At the end, it split into three driveways, his being the right-hand one. The view of the lake opened, and he tapped the remote control to access the garage, driving straight in. Anna parked where she’d have room to make a tight U-turn when it came time to leave.
He got out, circling to help Molly if she needed it, which she didn’t. Anna’s kids huddled close to their mother as they stared at his house, eyes wide.
“Somehow I knew you’d have lakefront,” Anna said drily, her hands resting on her children’s shoulders in reassurance.
Feeling defensive, Nate said, “This isn’t as luxurious as some of the waterfront homes in Medina or Hunts Point.”
“You mean, your house isn’t forty thousand square feet, like Bill Gates’s supposedly is?”
“No, it definitely isn’t.” He tried for a little humor. “I don’t want to get lost in the middle of the night trying to find the bathroom.”
Nobody laughed. The funny part, Nate thought, was that, once upon a time, Sonja had wanted to move. Plenty of celebrities called Yarrow Point or Hunts Point home. She liked the idea of living next to a star pitcher for the Mariners or a big shot in the software world. “You could afford it,” she used to complain. Yes, he could, but he liked where he lived, or had until he lost his family. It was just as well he hadn’t let her wear him down, or he’d be rattling around in an even bigger house now.
“Ah...come on in. We’ll give you the grand tour.”
Her kids moved in step with her when they followed. His Mediterranean style house clearly intimidated them, even though he didn’t consider it ostentatious. The cream-colored stucco exterior was accented by a red-tile roof. Broad, double doors in a dark, carved wood gave an aged feel. Inside, light poured through the vast windows looking out on Lake Washington. The decor was simple—hardwood floors, scattered rugs, leather and brocade upholstered furniture, wood furniture mostly cherry in a modified mission style with clean lines. He’d bought some art he liked for the walls, since Sonja had taken what she considered hers. He’d erased most of the fussier accents that had her stamp, too.
“This is...really nice,” Anna said in a stifled voice.
“Thank you.” He showed her the family room, which was nearest to the front door but having French doors that could be closed to contain noise, then led her to the kitchen, open to the living and dining areas. He didn’t use the room designed to be a home office on this level, preferring one upstairs that had a lake view. There were empty bedrooms upstairs, too. He kept those doors closed to keep the house from feeling any lonelier than it already did.
The tour continued upstairs to Molly’s bedroom. Anna’s discomfiture hadn’t abated, and neither had her kids’. Even Jenna had been struck silent, which he had the impression wasn’t a natural state for her.
Nate’s bedroom was just beyond Molly’s, the door standing open. He saw Anna sneak a peek, and was glad she couldn’t see much from this angle. He surely didn’t want to picture her in his bedroom. Her presence in the house unsettled him enough already, in part because he hadn’t managed to squelch images of her not only in his room, but also in his bed. However, most of his discomfiture was the result of him trying to see his home through her eyes. His guilt revved into a higher gear.
Did she feel like the beggar maid, brought to the palace by King Cophetua? Nice thought. If he’d made a different choice, Anna would still have a husband and her own house.
Assuming, of course, he had made a difference in the day’s outcome instead of paying more attention to texts and emails coming in on his phone than he did to his daughter.
He and Sonja hadn’t split because of his dedication to his job—but it had played a part. Remembering what she’d said about wanting a life still stung, even though he knew damn well she wouldn’t have been happy if he’d decided he could cut back on work and brought home a lower income.
Jenna broke the silence. “I like your bedroom.” Still in the hall, peering into Molly’s room, she sounded wistful. “Can I play with your Barbie house?”
Nate wasn’t sure Molly ever did.
His daughter hesitated. “It’s okay if you’re careful with my stuff.”
“There’s no reason Jenna would be playing in here when she isn’t with you,” Anna said firmly. “Your dad said we’d have our own apartment.”
Molly’s eyes darted to Anna. “But we can play together when I get home from school, can’t we?”
Anna smiled. “Sure.”
“Speaking of the apartment...” he said, sounding like an overenthusiastic tour guide.
Jenna gave a final, lingering look into a pink-and-purple bedroom that was stocked with entirely too many toys. Many Molly had left behind when she moved out with Sonja. He doubted she’d ever touched a lot of the dolls and stuffed animals.
Had he satisfied himself with the notion that if he bought her everything a little girl could want, she wouldn’t notice that Daddy was hardly ever around?
Only one of many uncomfortable realizations he’d been hit with since Molly had come so close to dying.
He wished now he didn’t have to show the Graingers where they’d be staying. The contrast was too stark.
* * *
THE APARTMENT WASN’T BIG, but Anna had sighed in relief when she saw it. It felt...snug. Like a cocoon, a refuge.
Once home, she worked for hours that evening after tucking in Josh and Jenna. She moved room to room, deciding what they’d need and hastily packing it. She’d do the kids’ bedrooms tomorrow morning after getting Josh off to school. Tonight she whizzed through the kitchen first, boxing up the necessities except for what they’d use for breakfast. She tagged bright pink sticky notes onto the furniture she thought would fit into the apartment over the three-car garage on Nate’s estate. That’s all she could think to call a home that should have been in a magazine.
The apartment could be accessed from the outside, but also had a staircase that opened in the main house by the kitchen. Servants stairs, only not as steep and narrow as she knew they’d been in eighteenth-and nineteenth-century homes. Same principle, though.
Currently working in the dining room, she tossed two sets of place mats into a box, but left everything else in the buffet to go to storage. Or get rid of. When had she last used the set of eight crystal goblets that had been a wedding gift?
Her bedroom didn’t take long, either. Everything that had been on the closet shelf was already packed in totes piled in the garage. She retrieved suitcases from the garage and filled the big one with her clothes and shoes. The medium-sized suitcase should handle a basic wardrobe for Josh—his sports stuff could go in the duffel—and Jenna had her own small pink rolling suitcase.
Both of them would want some of their toys, games and books, but they wouldn’t need all. Especially books—they’d visit the library more often.
In front of her dresser, she sank to her butt in sudden exhaustion and leaned against her bed. This was crazy. Why had she agreed to do it?
She looked around her bedroom, both familiar and, weirdly, not. Kyle’s half of the closet was already empty, as was his dresser. During the sleepless night after her discovery that he’d cashed out the life-insurance policy, she’d grabbed garbage bags and gone through all his stuff. She’d dropped most of it at a thrift store the very next day. Part of her was grateful for the anger that had carried her through such a horrible task. She’d packed a single box of his things that she or one of the kids might someday want, including a few shirts that had evoked him so vividly she had pressed the soft fabric to her face and cried.
Her mood was odd tonight, maybe because she was so tired Anna wondered if Kyle would even know her now. She didn’t belong in this bedroom anymore. The bed was going into storage; she’d decide later whether she wanted to replace it. Her dresser could go in the bedroom closet in the apartment. In fact, she’d take over the closet, since the kids didn’t need to hang up any of their clothes. They’d share one dresser—Josh’s, since it was taller—and the coat closet was the perfect place for his sports equipment. She hoped Molly didn’t mind hanging around the soccer field during his practices and games.
Still feeling strange, Anna told herself it was too late for second thoughts. Tomorrow night, she’d sleep on her sofa in that small, bare apartment. She’d work for a man who made her uncomfortable in a thousand ways, starting with his too-perceptive gray eyes and obvious wealth.
No, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t see much of him, anyway. And why get worked up about what was really only going to be an interlude?
* * *
NATE’S CONCENTRATION WASN’T the best Tuesday.
He’d started the day by calling the elementary school in Seattle where Molly had spent only a few weeks to let them know he was withdrawing her. Then he’d driven her to the school she’d attended for kindergarten and first grade, explained the situation and enrolled her. Trying to put her at ease, the principal decided to fit her into Josh’s class. Nate didn’t comment, but wasn’t so sure that would help. Surrounded by his crowd of buddies, Josh might not be willing to speak to a mere girl. Nate reminded himself that she’d probably know some of the other kids in the class.
He and the principal walked Molly to her new second-grade classroom. Absolute silence fell as they entered. Every single student stared as the principal explained quietly to the teacher, a Mrs. Tate, that she had an addition to her class. Molly seemed to become smaller and smaller, looking at her feet as she gripped his hand so tightly he suspected she was cutting off his circulation.
Fortunately, Mrs. Tate was young and immediately friendly, beaming at Molly as she welcomed her and said, “Class, we have a new student. Some of you will remember Molly Kendrick from last year.” Then she looked around her room. “Let’s see. Where shall we put you?”
A girl’s voice rang out. “Molly can sit with us! Put her here.”
Molly sucked in a breath and raised her head. “Arianna?”
He bent to murmur, “Is she a friend?”
“She was one of my bestest friends last year.” Molly dropped his hand, and Mrs. Tate escorted her to a square of four desks put together. One was empty, at least for today.
Grateful to see he was forgotten, Nate had returned to the office to revise the short list of people authorized to pick up his daughter. The list had remained in her file from last year. With Anna’s name added, he’d finally headed for work, arriving only two hours later than usual.
Then, instead of accomplishing anything meaningful, Nate worried about whether yanking Molly out of class and dropping her into a new one several weeks into the year was the right thing to do. He had no trouble imagining what Sonja would have to say about it.
How much change was too much for his little girl? Given that she’d probably have to switch back to the other school four weeks from now, she might have been better off if he’d continued to drive her to the school in Seattle and pick her up. Sonja would accuse him of selfishness and might even be right—but he’d be restricted to six-hour workdays instead of his usual ten or more. He couldn’t ask Anna to do all that driving, especially not in her old car. He could just imagine her response if he offered to buy her a new one. If he had to get Molly to school and pick her up when it let out, he could do some work from home while Anna kept an eye on Molly, but he couldn’t meet with anyone or extend his day for drinks or working dinners. It just wasn’t feasible.
Too late, anyway. Nate consoled himself that Molly hadn’t seemed to like her previous teacher very much. Maybe when she had to return to that school, they’d agree to shift her to another class. Or maybe that would be one too many changes.
He groaned and scrubbed his scalp, glad he was currently alone.
He also called Anna several times, once to be sure the moving truck had shown up, and then again to confirm she was at the house before the end of the school day. Had she remembered to contact the school to let them know which bus Josh was supposed to ride?
“Yes,” she said, almost patiently, “I went by in person so they know our current address. I also picked up some groceries. I’ll put dinner on for you and Molly. If she’s hungry before you get home, she can eat with us and you can reheat your meal.”
Nate opened his mouth to tell her she didn’t have to cook for him—and shut it again. Damn, it would be good to walk in the door to a home-cooked meal. To know Molly would be taken care of if he ran late here at the office, although that was unlikely to happen today. He already itched to get home. So he said only, “Thank you. Josh didn’t have practice today?”
“No, they’re Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Games Saturday.”
“That’s quite a schedule.”
“He loves it.” Her voice became quieter. “He was really mad at me when we thought we’d have to move before the end of the season.”
“When’s that?” Nate asked.
“November. Depending on the weather, those last games are miserable.”
They were conversing. Even though a beep told him he had a call coming in, he didn’t want to end this one.
“Rain and snow, huh?”
“Frozen feet and muddy kid,” she agreed. “Josh plays goalie a lot, and once the weather turns, there’s always a mud hole right in front of the goal.”
Nate grinned. “I played youth football when I wasn’t much older than Josh. Same season. I loved mud.”
She sighed. “So does he. I’ve learned to keep a ratty old towel in the car for him to sit on.”
Nate laughed, but after the conversation ended, he didn’t immediately check missed calls. Instead, he pondered why Molly hadn’t played any sports. Swim lessons in the summer, essential when she’d lived on the lake, and that was it. Did any of her friends play soccer? He wondered if she’d like to try it next year. To his recollection, she’d never participated in any after-school youth activities. And that got him to wondering whether Sonja had had her first glass of white wine a lot earlier in the day than he’d realized, and had developed a problem with booze a lot longer ago than he’d realized, too. With the hours he worked, she could have hidden too much from him.
He called the treatment center only to be politely rebuffed. The first days were always difficult. Patient information was kept confidential. The woman he spoke to wasn’t moved by his explanation that Sonja’s young daughter was scared for her.
Nate returned a few calls before thinking, To hell with it. This day was past resuscitation. He was ready to call it, start anew tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIX (#u26416ed5-13a2-5021-9a99-72c96c0505e0)
HAVING TURNED OFF the lights, he was letting himself out of his office when he came face-to-face with his partner, John Li. John had obviously been about to knock on his door. The two men had been friends since their freshmen year in college, when they’d been paired as roommates.
John had a file in his hand. Looking astonished, he said, “You’re leaving?”
With anyone else, Nate would have claimed to be meeting an investor for predinner drinks. Instead, he said, “Yeah. I told you I found a woman to be there when Molly gets home, and she did start today. But I’d like to make sure the arrangement is working. And, frankly, I’ve had so many distractions, I’m useless, anyway.”
“I understand,” his partner said. He probably did; he was married and had two kids. His wife was an orthopedic surgeon, and somehow they juggled responsibilities with astonishing success. That didn’t mean it was easy or that there weren’t days when their arrangements for the kids failed. “This—” he lifted the folder “—can wait until morning.”
Usually Nate wouldn’t have been able to walk away without knowing what this was, without turning and going back into his office. It was part of the drive that had taken K & L Ventures to the top of the pyramid. Right now, he said, “Thanks,” and continued on his way.
