Birthday Girls (38 page)

Abigail
, she whispered into the reflection of the mess of a woman she barely recognized.
Abigail, what the hell have you done to me?

Suddenly Kris felt someone’s eyes on her. She flinched and looked up. The doorman was staring with unfriendly eyes.
Move along
, he seemed to say.

She glanced back at the window. Yes, Maddie was right. She
was
a mess. She looked like a homeless person. Not like Kris Kensington. The Kris Kensington who had been happy, loving life and having it all.

Quickly she turned and marched back up Fifth Avenue. This was not going to happen to her. She was not going to allow herself to be destroyed by her feelings for any man.

They shared
a wonderful lunch of fresh pasta with basil and oil. Maddie didn’t say much; she was too busy studying Parker as he went on and on about the boys, about
Bobby’s enthusiasm for everything, about Timmy’s quiet talent for photography. But when he talked about
Our World
, a vise gripped her heart.

“For years we’ve been succeeding with the original format,” he said.

She sipped her espresso and tried not to comment that the original format, of course, had been her idea.

“And it’s been great,” he continued. “But I think it’s time for something new, something fresh. I’m thinking of including a section on grand estates of the world.”

“Grand estates?” Maddie asked.

Parker winked. “Something to give our readers goals to aspire to. And something to keep those big-bucks advertisers from jumping ship.”

“Is the magazine having problems?”

“None that I can’t handle.”

When they left the restaurant, he took her arm and guided her down 43rd Street.

“Have I told you how wonderful you’re looking these days?” he asked.

A tingle spread through her. “A few times.”

Parker smiled. “I’d like to stop by the office. Will you come?”

Maddie felt herself gasp. “To
Our World
?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Remember that place?”

She grinned to conceal the churning within her stomach.

They greeted
her warmly, as though Parker had let the staff know in advance that his ex-wife, the founder of
Our World
and the person responsible for them having jobs, was going to accompany him. Despite their efforts, Maddie stood a few feet behind her ex-husband feeling like an interloper.

“Come down the hall,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

She followed him down the long corridor, with walls displaying photos snapped all over the world by freelance photographers whom Parker paid handsomely. Maddie recognized every shot. In fact, she could almost remember each issue of every magazine in which they had appeared, she had studied them so often in the privacy of her studio.

They passed the editorial room, where dozens of small cubicles hummed with chatter and the clack-clack of keyboards. She tried to quiet the soft thumping of her heart and told herself this was real, that she was really here, back where life had been good.

It was, of course, much larger. Parker had expanded the office suite many times over the years. She tried not to let herself think about the fact he’d spared no expense, while she was struggling to keep the boys, and herself, financially afloat.

“In here,” Parker said, opening an office door.

It was, thankfully, not the office that Maddie had once occupied, not the place where she’d nourished her dream only to watch it fall apart. It was a corner office with a twelfth-floor view of the bustle of the city. It was large and bright and completely empty.

“Do you like it?” Parker asked.

“Well, it could use a little decorating.”

He laughed. “However you’d like. It’s yours, Maddie. I want you to come back to
Our World
.”

She grew weak. Lightheaded and weak. She stepped back and leaned against the wall.

“Creative Director,” he continued. “
Vice President
, Creative Director.”

She could not think; she could not speak. That now-too-familiar ache began at the base of her skull.

Parker stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around
her. “I thought you could start by doing a spread on Abigail’s estate. Part of my new idea. It would be a great kick-off for the new approach.”

Maddie frowned. “Abigail’s house?”

“Yeah. What’s it called? Windsor-at-Hudson?”

Standing very still, Maddie replied, “
On
-Hudson. Windsor-on-Hudson.”

“Whatever. You can do it, Maddie. You’re probably the only photographer on earth today who can gain entrance to the estate.”

Her lips went dry; a small taste of pesto rose from her tongue. “Oh, Parker, I don’t think …”

His gray eyes remained on her, his mouth curved into a smile. “I need you, Maddie,” he said, pulling her closer. “Please say yes. Say yes and all this will be ours once again.”

“Can you
trust him?” Cody asked, moving about his apartment with quick-jerk motions, picking up newspapers strewn on the sofa, straightening pictures that did not need straightening.

Maddie had come here directly from the train. The camera shop had closed for the night, but she needed to tell Cody why she hadn’t returned his calls; she needed to tell him the truth, and she needed to tell him now. Before she lost her nerve.

“Of course I trust him,” she said weakly. “I was married to him for ten years. He’s the father of my boys.”

Cody nodded. He pulled the cushions from the sofa and beat them into shape.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Cody,” she said. “I never meant to do that.”

“You expected I’d be the one to hurt you, didn’t you? You expected the young boy wouldn’t stay with an older woman.”

“No,” she lied. “I never really thought about that.”

“Well, it’s probably just as well. We were going nowhere, Maddie. You liked being in my bed, but not enough to integrate me into your life. You never let me meet your mother … or your boys …”

“Cody, I …”

“Never mind. What’s done is done.” He stopped moving and flopped down on the sofa. “It does hurt me though, Maddie. It hurts me a lot.”

She fidgeted with the buttons on her coat, the coat that Parker had bought, wondering how she’d expected Cody to react. Part of her, she knew, had hoped he’d be happy that she was going back to
Our World
, that her life was going to be the way she’d dreamed for so long. And wished for so hard.

“So when’s the wedding?” he asked abruptly.

She laughed nervously. “There’s no date for a wedding.”

“Then it doesn’t sound to me as though your ex-husband has ‘come back’ to you. It sounds more like he’s just offered you a job.”

His comment cut more deeply than she cared to admit. Maddie pushed out a whoosh of embarrassed breath. “It’s a beginning.”

Cody folded his arms. “He has another wife, Maddie. Has he said anything about divorcing her?”

“Well,” Maddie choked, “not yet. Not specifically …”

“And you trust this guy? Christ, I thought when people got older they got smarter.”

Maddie’s head pounded now. This wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair that her wish was about to come true and Cody—an insignificant boy toy—was trying to sabotage her success, to undermine her euphoria.

“He needs me, Cody. He asked me to work out a photo spread on Abigail’s estate. He wants to start incorporating the grand palaces of America.”

“I thought
Our World
was about people.”

“Well, yes. It was. It is.” She was not about to tell him
that Parker had decided to expand the scope of its content, that he’d said the “people” idea had run its course and was being copied by too many competitors, that
Our World
needed a fresh approach. Geared, of course, to the upper crust.

Cody snorted. “Sounds to me like it’s about dead people. And your friend Abigail’s body hasn’t even been found …”

The dizziness overcame Maddie once again. She leaned against a chair. “I can’t listen to this anymore, Cody. I only stopped by because I wanted to give you an explanation. I felt I owed you that, but …”

She spun around to escape from his apartment. As she did, the room swam. Maddie gripped the wall. Her vision blurred; an odd taste rose in her mouth. She twisted her head toward Cody, who watched in alarm. Then Maddie slumped to the floor in slow motion. A muted vision of Cody rising from the sofa and reaching toward her was the last thing she was able to see.

Larry
was dead. Larry was dead and Sondra had walked away from her job, had her baby and was living back at Windsor-on-Hudson with Edmund until the estate was settled and the property could be turned over to the Historical Society.

Abigail tried to assimilate all that Louisa was telling her, then tried to remind herself it had nothing to do with her.

“I suppose this is all my fault,” she said into the phone in her tiny, square room. She looked out the small-paned window at another gray day that pervaded the island. She realized she’d never felt so empty in her life—not when her mother and father had died, not when Betty Ann had died, not even when Kris had told her the news that Abigail never wished to think of again.

“Do you want to go home?”

The voice on the other end was so gentle, so understanding. Abigail realized once again how lucky she was to have Louisa. How lucky she was to have one person in the world who truly loved her, who truly wanted the best for her, no matter at what cost to herself. If it weren’t for the frequent contact with Louisa, Abigail would feel totally, irrevocably lost. She took a deep breath and spoke into the phone.

“I have no home, Louisa. I cannot go back.”

Through the cloudy glass she watched a fishing boat troll through the sound and wondered, for the thousandth time, what she was doing here. Here, where no houses were familiar, no street signs seemed real; where faces belonged to no one but strangers.

“You could come to Phoenix. I told you that in the beginning.”

Abigail shook her head. “It’s too risky. I can’t involve you any more than I already have.” She remembered the night she had told Louisa of her plan. She remembered how the woman had silently wept, then offered to drive her “getaway” car, thereby setting Abigail free.

“I can send you money.”

“Absolutely not. That’s your money, Louisa. I wanted you to have it and I still do. No. I’ll figure something out, It’s just that with no documents …”

“What about at that place you’re staying? Can you work for them?”

Abigail laughed. “I’m afraid the only person they could use is a handyman, which I’m definitely not. It’s a shame, too. It’s a gorgeous old home and it has a lot of possibilities.” She played with the phone cord. “Well, I’ll think of something. I’ll call you next week. Thank you, Louisa. I love you so much.” Abigail hung up and wondered if she’d ever done that before—if she’d ever told the only mother-figure she’d ever known that she loved her.

• • •• • •

A needle
of light invaded her eyeball. “How long have you been having these seizures?” the doctor asked Maddie, his after-lunch breath attacking her nostrils.

“They’re not seizures. I fainted. That’s all. Just give me some estrogen and I’ll be on my way.”

The doctor stood up and flicked on the overhead light. Maddie blinked.

“From your friend’s information, this was more like a seizure than a mere fainting spell.”

Maddie shrugged. “My friend is young. He knows nothing about menopause.”

The doctor laughed. “Show me a man who does, and I’ll show you a modern-day miracle.”

She suspected he was trying to make a joke. It did not work.

Maddie looked down at her knees. She folded her hands in her lap. The manicure was still new, without a chip in her Mostly Mauve polish. Her hands no longer looked the way Kris’s had yesterday. She was a success now; her life was coming back together.

She wished to hell Cody had left her alone; had not carried her to his car, then into the emergency room.

“However,” the doctor continued, with a new note of gravity in his voice, “this kind of episode—fainting spell or not—is not a menopausal symptom. I’d like to run a test.”

“What kind of test?”

“An MRI. It will tell us a lot.”

She sat forward on the gurney. “Can you do it right now?”

“Sorry,” he said. “But I’ll have to schedule it for the morning. I’d like you to stay here the night.”

Maddie laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with me, doctor. And I can’t stay the night. I have an important assignment to take care of. Maybe we could make it next week.”

He scowled. “I don’t want to alarm you, Ms. Daniels, but this should be checked out immediately.”

A vision of Parker came into her mind. “No, doctor,” she said. “I am perfectly fine. I’ll be here next week. Just let me know what day and what time.” She did, after all, have a new job to start. A new life to get on with. No matter how badly her hormones were trying to stop her.

Though it
was long past dark, Abigail bundled herself in a waterproof parka and went to the backyard of the guest house, armed with a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes, her second of the day.