Blueprints: A Novel (13 page)

Stomach churning, she opened the door and released Tad’s harness. “Hi, monkey,” she said and scooped him up for a hug. His arms went around her neck, his legs around her waist. She closed her eyes, savoring. Tad always made her feel loved. Had from infancy.

Having rounded the front of the car, Roy kept the open door between them as he gripped its top. His voice was low to protect the boy, but nothing protected Jamie. The words came at her with a simmering ire.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. You promised you’d tell your mother, and you did not. You went behind my back with Theo and tried to do it with Claire.
She
had to tell Caroline herself, which made it harder for both of them, so if you were trying to protect your mother, you failed. I didn’t ask you to tell Caroline, you offered, and I told Claire that you’d do it, so now I look like a fool and, by extension, so does MacAfee Homes.” He threw up his hands. “What were you waiting for? Did you think I was kidding? That if you waited long enough, this would all just go away?”

Wearing Tad like a shield, Jamie kept her cheek tucked against his hair as she swayed from side to side. When the little boy sang her name, she drew back. His brown eyes held excitement. He babbled something.

“Say it again, monkey,” she urged.

He pointed back. Fallen over on the car seat that it must have been sharing with him was a furry brown moose. “Oh my,” she said in awe. “Is he new?” Indeed. The tag was still attached to its side. “What’s his name?” She studied Tad’s raised brows and caught in a breath. “Oh. No name yet. Should we call him Moose?”

Tad lit up. “My Moose.”

“Absolutely, your Moose,” Jamie said.

“Did you
hear
me, Jamie?” Roy asked, seething. “I’m not sure what your mother said, but Claire was pretty offended, so there’s harm done on many fronts. Do you fully understand the stakes here? The station will go on with this show—don’t ever doubt that—but if we can’t come together and make it work, they’ll remove the MacAfee Homes label from it.”

Jamie burrowed the moose against Tad’s neck. The child giggled and contorted.

“Maybe they should,” she said softly and shot her father a look. His hands were on his hips, knuckles white, and his blue eyes sharp. He had clearly been stewing about this.

Tightly, he said, “I want you to call Claire and apologize. Explain why you didn’t tell your mother on Thursday like you promised me you’d do, and tell her that you talked with your mother today and everything’s settled. Tell her that your mother agrees with the reasoning behind the switch and is totally behind your moving up. Tell her you’ll be
honored
to host the show from here on.” Coming around the door, he reached for Tad. “Come on, boy. We have to go to the store for Mommy, and I want to do it before the rain comes.”

With the child no longer in her arms, Jamie backed away from the car. “Wait,” Roy ordered. After belting Tad in, he stalked her. “You want to feel loyalty to your mother, fine, but now is not the time. This is about loyalty to MacAfee Homes.”

She didn’t want to argue, but he was on a mission. When she stepped back, he followed.

“It’s about business,” he nearly shouted. “It’s about MacAfee prominence. Did you not get it when I pointed out that Barth at Fiona’s? Our competitors don’t like what we have with
Gut It!
and would do most anything to have it fail. If it does, that hurts all of us.” She took another step back, but he followed, hands on his hips now, upper body leaning in. “It’s not just you, Jamie. You have a responsibility to the rest of the cast, too. Some have families to support, what about them? And what about your own future? Has it not occurred to you to get your foot in the door as host before you and Brad have kids? Once you’ve built a following, no one will blink if you’re pregnant, and I’m talking about Brian and Claire, because they’re the ones who count.” He lowered his head so that their eyes were level. “Is anyone home? Can you speak?”

“You’re crowding me,” she murmured and took another step back. This time, when he followed, she held up a hand.

“I need you to speak now, Jamie. Tell me what I want to hear.”

Her insides were knotted up. On a wisp of breath, she tried to be conciliatory with a mild “I think we’re both upset.” Caroline had said it earlier, so the statement couldn’t be without merit.

Roy straightened, drawing up to his full height. “This is about your mother. That’s your bottom line, isn’t it.”

It would be yours, too, if you had an ounce of compassion,
shouted the voice in her head
.
The one that emerged from her mouth was less reckless. “Some things in life are just as important as MacAfee Homes.”

“Like Caroline MacAfee—and hah, she wasn’t so quick to give up my name, not when she was getting mileage from it. So what’s the problem here? She’s had her day in the sun. Now she needs to step aside and let someone younger host the show. Ah, but that’s it, isn’t it? You think for me it’s all about age. You’ve always thought that. Well, let me tell you, it takes two to tango. Your mother was as much at fault for the failure of our marriage as I was. She knew I needed someone with pizzazz, but she refused to even try.”

Jamie waved both hands spasmodically.

“Don’t want to get into that?” Roy goaded. “Not your business? Well, you’ve made it your business with this … this show of misguided loyalty.”

“Mom worked so hard to rebuild after the divorce.”

“Ah, hell. She had lots of help. Theo worships her. But he’s not stepping in on her behalf right now, is he? He knows when to let smarter people make the decisions. Your mother may be good at what she does”—he rolled his eyes—“but she’s just a carpenter.”

“If she’s just a carpenter,” shouted the angry voice in Jamie’s head, “then you’re just a salesman!” Only when his eyes widened did she realize she had actually spoken.

A sound came from the car. Tad.

Jamie was upset enough to ignore it. “I only say that because you did. If we’re boiling it down to one word—”

“The difference being that your mother will always be just a carpenter, but I’m the next head of MacAfee Homes. Your calling me ‘just a salesman’ is not only insulting but ignorant.”

Another sound came from the car.

Roy sent an aggrieved look there before it shot back to her. “Do you hear what I’m saying about all this? You won’t listen to Brad, who is nearly as frustrated as I am, but I want you to listen to me. You’re being selfish and shortsighted.”

“You’re being insensitive and cruel.”

“Excuse me?”

She didn’t apologize. He had insulted Caroline. He had insulted her. He had been pushing and pushing, spoiling for a fight. She was simply stating the truth.

Suddenly, he had a finger in her face. In a low, lethal voice, he said, “I named you my son’s godmother because I thought you would be the most responsible person for the job. But if you can’t behave like a grown-up—if you can’t separate this fixation on your mother from what everyone else knows is for the best—I’ll gladly change that.”

“For what it’s worth,” Jamie burst back, hurt enough to be reckless, “as godmothers go, I’m a totally positive influence. I’ll teach Tad sensitivity and compassion, which is more than you will.”

“
Excuse
me?”

She stood her ground, staring at him in defiance. He seemed stunned, and understandably so. She could count on one hand the number of times she had stood up to him.

Tad began to cry full out. Swearing, Roy simmered for a last minute before he turned on his heel and strode off. Within seconds, the SUV peeled off from the curb, and Jamie began to shake.

*   *   *

She wasn’t sorry, absolutely was not sorry. In a perfect world, she might have used a different tone, so that she sounded less bad-tempered and more adult. But this wasn’t a perfect world, and she didn’t regret the words themselves. They were the absolute, positive truth.

Still, she reran the argument constantly as she showered and dressed. She muttered some lines when her eye shadow was too dark, barked out others in the closet when a hanger wouldn’t release the blouse she wanted. When Brad came to pick her up, though, she didn’t mention Roy’s visit. She was having enough trouble processing it herself. Granted, Roy had goaded her. But now
both
of her parents were upset with her.

Then there was the line that stuck in her throat for a different reason.
You won’t listen to Brad, who is nearly as frustrated as I am.
The implication was that Roy and Brad were talking and in total agreement about her stubbornness. She knew to beware. Roy was perfectly capable of twisting Brad’s words, or worse, hearing in Brad’s reply only what he wanted to hear. It was possible that Brad had in fact argued on her behalf.

But she doubted it.

Add to that the weather, and she felt totally off. The rain began even before Brad picked her up and continued through dinner without bringing a change in temperature, which meant that the very warm air was now also very wet. Her hair curled; her freckles bled through her makeup; her jeans stuck to her thighs despite all manner of shifting in her seat. Their dinner companions were Brad’s law school friends, and she tried to be part of the conversation but didn’t always succeed. Law talk wasn’t exactly small talk, and it could be technical.

Returning from Boston, they drove through steady, heavy rain. By the time they got home, thunder had rolled in and was growing louder by the clap. When lightning joined it with a ferocity that confirmed Brad’s prediction, it was reason enough to snuggle beside him on the sofa watching reruns of
Homeland.
They had to raise the volume. The rain that sheeted against the patio doors drowned out everything but what became near-continual thunder. Mix in a driving wind, with sudden, sharp gusts, and there were times when the condo shook.

Then came a deafening clap, a brilliant flash, and the power went out. Without lights or TV, they went to bed and made love. It seemed the only thing to do that didn’t involve thinking too much.

Brad was happy. Feeling loved, he fell asleep soon after. Jamie wanted to follow, but her body wouldn’t settle. She was on edge. Storm? Her parents? Sex?

She lay against him for a time, listening to the rain on the skylight as the flashes of light weakened and the thunder moved off. Eventually, she put on a robe and went downstairs, but bits of conversation followed—her mother’s distrust, her father’s anger. Groping for a match, she lit the while pillar candle that sat in a clear glass lamp on the kitchen island. The candle flickered. Hoping to be lulled by the dance of the flame, she watched it, but long minutes after, she was as troubled as ever.

Wondering how far the power outage stretched, she opened her front door and leaned out. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, which fell off rooftops and trees to dapple an otherwise eerie silence. The surrounding houses were as dark as hers. She assumed that the problem had already been reported, and was wondering whether she should call herself simply to find out when the power would return, when a pair of headlights turned onto the street.

She didn’t think a neighbor would be driving so late in such bad weather, and this vehicle being a car, rather than a truck, ruled out the power company. Startled, she watched the headlights pull up at her house.

Her first thought was that someone casing the area had seen her open door and that she needed to close it, wake Brad, and call the cops. Before she could, though, both car doors opened, casting enough light into the lingering drizzle to bounce back on itself.

It
was
the cops.

At her house.

At one in the morning.

The strangeness of it made her uneasy, no less as their flashlights made a path to her door. The men wore rain gear. When they were close enough, she recognized the younger as one of the officers who had been leaving Fiona’s when she arrived there Thursday morning. The man in front of him, older, more portly, and plodding forward under the weight of the world, was the chief of police. Paul Logan was a local boy who had left town, learned the ropes of law enforcement elsewhere, and returned. He and Roy were high school buddies, close then and now.

“Paul?” she said uneasily.

He hitched his chin. His voice was rough. “Can we go inside?”

Heart pounding, she held the door open. “What’s wrong?” A dozen thoughts went through her mind as she opened the door wider, but the scariest part was Paul. After he shook the rain off his cap, she got a good look at his eyes. They were filled with sorrow.

“There’s been an accident.”

She barely breathed. “Who?”

“Your father and his wife.”

She was suspended in time. “Bad?”

He nodded, then looked past her as Brad approached, wearing jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. “What’s up?” He was looking at Paul.

“Dad had an accident,” Jamie whispered, terrified. “He and Jess.” She forced her voice into sound. “
How
bad?” When Paul swallowed, she urged, “
Tell
me.”

“Lightning hit a tree. It fell on their car.” He paused briefly before saying, “Your father didn’t make it. They’re rushing Jess to the hospital, but it doesn’t look good.”

“Didn’t make it,” Jamie repeated, needing something more definitive.

“When?” Brad asked. “Where?”

“We’re guessing it was when the last cell hit, but we won’t be sure until forensics looks at the car. It was over on River Run.”

Not heavily traveled, Jamie thought with rising panic. Dark as pitch unless the moon was full, which it wasn’t even behind all those storm clouds.

“What do you mean, didn’t make it?” she asked.

Paul’s tired eyes said it all. “I’m sorry.”

She might have swayed, but Brad was at her shoulder.
“Dead?”
she asked with barely a sound. It didn’t make sense. There had to be a mistake.

But Paul was Roy’s friend—
and
the police chief. Wouldn’t Paul know?

Omigod omigod omigod.
She looked past him to the other officer, but his frightened expression said he hadn’t had to make a visit like this before, which was telling.