Blueprints: A Novel (6 page)

Jamie started the swing with her heel. “It started innocently enough. He said kind of what you just did about my needing to pick a date. When he kept pushing, I lost it a little. I feel like he’s harping on it.”

“Maybe he feels like you’re avoiding it.”

“That’s what he said, and he started looking all wounded and dejected, which upsets me every time, because I know where it’s coming from. He was a lonely little boy whose parents were always there but never
there
. He never felt loved.” She watched a robin fly in and perch on the corner rail.

“She has a nest in the Andromeda,” Caroline explained and, fully prepared to protect four helpless hatchlings, eyed Master. But the cat remained blissfully asleep under Jamie’s touch. “Go on,” she urged.

“He’s such a nice person.”

“So are you.”

Jamie put her thumb to the underside of her ring. “I don’t feel like it right now. I feel like a traitor.” Her eyes shot to Caroline’s.

Caroline wasn’t about to judge her daughter. “Sweet people can approach things differently.”

“Maybe.” She focused on finger-combing Master’s fur. “He says it’s a matter of priorities and that if I love him, the wedding would be at the top of my list. But picking a venue isn’t easy. Dad is adamant about it being a
big
wedding, which limits our options. I have to speak with people at each of the venues, but I just can’t do it right now. That’s driving Brad nuts.”

“He’s afraid you’ll get away.”

“I’m not
going
anywhere,” she protested, still stroking the cat. “I keep telling him that. I text him all the time. I share my thoughts and show him my designs and ask his opinion, because I care what he thinks, and we talk about his work, too. I make his favorite dinner—well, pick it up at Whole Foods, but he’s good with that.” Her eyes rose. “Then he says,
You’re too old to be afraid to commit
. Me, afraid to commit, like he has no idea where
I’m
coming from?”

Apparently not,
Caroline mused. Jamie had learned commitment with a tennis racquet in her hand, playing at five, competing at eight. She had given her all to coaches, team sponsors, and opponents, and after discovering architecture in college had attacked that with the same fervor. Advanced courses, summer seminars, internships—she had front-loaded on all counts.

“Have I ever been afraid to commit, Mom?”

“No, baby.”

“If I haven’t had time to plan a wedding, it isn’t because I’m afraid to commit but because I’m
busy,
and as for the too-old part, I’m only twenty-nine. I don’t call that too old for much. How old is too old?”

Certainly not twenty-nine, Caroline knew. Women were getting married later and later, in part to establish careers, in part to be make sure they got the right guy. “Age isn’t the issue,” she replied, to which Jamie shot her a stricken look but said nothing. “You know commitment better than most.” Her phone dinged. She glanced at the screen to read the text. “Taylor Huff … asking about my
wrist
?” She sliced Jamie a narrow look. “How did Taylor know about my wrist?”

“Uh, I may have let it slip. Inadvertently.”

“Do I believe that last word?”

“People care, Mom. They
love
you.”

Yes. Caroline knew that. And knew how lucky she was to be surrounded by people who cared. “Which brings us back to Brad,” she said, returning the phone to her lap. “Your thumb keeps going to the backside of that ring, like you’re either making sure it’s there or it’s irritating you. Are you worried Brad’s right? Do you think there might be reasons why you haven’t wanted to plan the wedding?”

“What, like subconscious ones?” Jamie separated her thumb from the ring. “Like what? Brad is perfect for me. He’s smart. He works hard. He’s our top lawyer at thirty-three,
thirty-three,
which means Theo has total faith in his talent. He’s considerate and good-looking, and he adores me. Why wouldn’t I be able to commit?”

“Maybe because your father and I committed and failed?”

The creak of the swing resumed at the bidding of Jamie’s heel. “Your situation was different. You got married because (A) you were pregnant and (B) Granddad wouldn’t hear of my being born out of wedlock. And you loved Dad back then.”

It was a question without the question mark, but Caroline had known it would come. It always did. Her parents’ relationship was Jamie’s personal Achilles’ heel.

“I loved him,” Caroline assured her again.

“And you’d have loved him forever if he’d been a forever guy.
He
was the one who was antsy. But Brad isn’t Dad.”

“True.”

Though Roy thought Brad hung the moon.

Which might be what bothered Caroline.

Which was certainly not a
rational
reason for Caroline’s doubts.

Jamie pulled her cell from the waistband of her skirt. She flipped through messages, looking discouraged, then startled. She sat straighter, heels stopping the swing. “Oh, cripes, look at the time. I have to go. There’s a problem that I have to work out before my eleven o’clock, and a couple of important phone calls.”

“Think about it,” Caroline said.

“About?”

“Commitment.”

“Mom,” Jamie said with audible frustration, “I do commitment better than anyone I know.”

“Commitment to Brad,” Caroline specified.

“I love Brad,” Jamie vowed.

“Then there you go. That’s it. You’ll get through the rest.” Caroline couldn’t fight love.

But Jamie seemed upset at that, like she wanted more reassurance, like she wanted Caroline to tell her that Brad was the best thing to walk into her life. Lord knew, Roy said it enough. Well, Caroline couldn’t gush over something she didn’t feel. Besides, her focus was always on Jamie. If Jamie wanted to marry Brad, she was for it.

With a jingle of chains, Jamie shifted the cat so that she could shimmy herself out and push up from the swing. “Brad and I should elope.”

“Your father would never forgive you.”

“Would you?”

Caroline caught her hand and gave it a jiggle. “Absolutely, if it’s what you want. I want you happy. Oh, baby,” she said in alarm when Jamie teared up. “You’ll get through this.” She held out her arm and, when Jamie bent down, folded her in. “There’s a reason why planning a wedding is so stressful. It separates the wheat from the chaff. Do you know how many couples don’t make it?”

“No,” Jamie whispered against her ear. “How many?”

“I have no clue, but there must be lots. It stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

There was a soft snort. “You just made that up, then?”

“No. The Bible talks about separating the wheat from the chaff.”

“I mean, the part about wedding stress.”

“I’m sure I read it somewhere,” Caroline said and gave Jamie a final hug before holding her at arm’s length and thumbing away an unshed tear.

Jamie took a deep breath and smiled. “You’re the best, Mom, know that?”

I’m only as good as you,
Caroline thought. She hated that Jamie was upset, but loved that she was willing to share worries with her mother.

“It’s weird seeing you doing nothing,” Jamie remarked.

Caroline gave a facetious
ha.
“Enjoy it while it lasts. I’m not sure how much more idleness I can take. When I close my eyes, I’m in the garage working on that oak railing for the Millers’ house.”

“Don’t even think it,” her daughter warned and glanced at the books on the porch table. “You can read.”

“Yes. I can read.”

“Got something sexy and hot?” When Caroline shot her a look, she sang, “Your loss.” But she was suddenly earnest. “Can I get you anything before I leave? Eggs? Cereal?”

“No thanks, baby. I’m good.”

“Remember,” she said as she edged toward the stairs, “I’m bringing dinner tonight. Lobster lazy-man style in honor of a one-handed birthday girl. Can I bring you more Tylenol?”

Caroline laughed. “It’s only my wrist. I can walk.” To prove the point, she stood and, taking Jamie’s arm, escorted her down the steps, but they were barely at the bottom when they wobbled as a pair. “Maybe not.”

“Oh please,” Jamie muttered. “That’s me.” Reaching down, she freed her heel from the tiny crack between step and stone where it had caught, the front access being one more thing Jamie would have fixed had Caroline allowed it. “You’re steady as a rock. Not that I wouldn’t love to cancel everything else and stay here today.”

“Don’t you dare. You’re behind already. Go. Really. I’m calling Annie back. She’ll be here by ten. Then Theo’s administrative assistant Allison’s coming, then the LaVall
e
s, Rob and Diana, then Dean. I’m good.”

*   *   *

Jamie started the car only when Caroline was back on the swing. Once on the street, she crawled forward to blow her mother a handful of kisses before giving the car gas. Seconds after the mint-on-teal Victorian was out of sight, though, she pulled over, picked up her phone, and tried Claire. When the call went to voice mail again, she tried Brian. Same thing.

This time, she redialed Claire and left a message.
Call when you can, and please, please, please, don’t call Caroline yet. And don’t mention the hosting issue to anyone else, please?

Wondering how many other people already knew and, if the list went beyond three or four or five, whether it would be possible to put a lid on the secret at all, she headed for MacAfee Homes.

*   *   *

The MacAfee Building was several blocks from the center of town. A regal brick structure, it was designed to honor the Georgian Colonial style of the earliest homes built by the company. Its front door, which was oversized and paneled, had the requisite crown and columns, and its windows had multiple panes, but its six-story height had called for creativity. Though side gables and chimneys still rose at the top, its facade was a pastiche of those tall multipaned windows, with cornices, moldings, and pillared balconies strategically placed for visual appeal.

Jamie worked on the top floor, though not at the front of the building. That front, with its sunny southern exposure, housed executive offices that were spacious, one large desk per office and an assistant outside each door. At the other end, facing north, was the design team. Here, skylights allowed for available light, but none hit the computer screens so crucial to an architect’s work. The floor space was open, broken by large L-shaped desks that were arranged in three-person pods to maximize the sharing of ideas and advice.

Jamie shared a pod with her about-to-retire mentor and an architect-intern. The latter was already at her desk, struggling with an egress issue as she moved tracing paper over one of Jamie’s plans. Normally, Jamie would have leaned over her shoulder to see where she was headed and perhaps move the translucent paper around herself, but she didn’t have time now for that. Waking up her computer, she checked for e-mail from Brian or Claire. Finding nothing, she set off to see Brad.

His office was on the floor below. The central area here held desks for a receptionist and secretaries, as well as comfortable chairs for guests. Glassed-in offices ran along either side, housing Brad, his paralegal, a one-person billing department, the MacAfee in-house real estate agent, and a resident computer nerd. Dean and two other general contractors, who were in the field more often than not but loyal enough to MacAfee Homes to merit dedicated desks, shared a large office at the end of the hall, as well as a conference room nearby for meetings with subcontractors, suppliers, and clients.

“Hey, Miranda,” Jamie said, nearly beside the receptionist before the woman’s eyes flew up.

Startled, she pushed the book she was reading out of sight. “Jamie,” she said, blushing. “Hi. I didn’t hear the elevator.”

“I took the stairs,” Jamie explained, but kept on walking to minimize the woman’s embarrassment at having been caught reading on the job, much less reading a book with as recognizable a cover as that one. Miranda was as good a receptionist as MacAfee Homes had. She was attractive, personable, and efficient. She was also happily married and had three children in various stages of daycare and school.

Jamie might have wondered why she was reading erotica, if her mind hadn’t been on Brad. She knew his schedule and had hoped to find him alone, but his clients had arrived early and were seated in leather club chairs while Brad reviewed their agreement with MacAfee Homes.

Her steps slowed. He was leaning against the front of his desk, his wire-rims on his nose, and he was a calming sight. Tall and rangy, he had short, side-parted brown hair. His blazer, slacks, and loafers were sedate and well tailored; they were nowhere near as expensive as Roy’s clothes, but Brad wasn’t about money or show. He was about competence. As he turned from one page to the next, he had his clients’ undivided attention.

Then he spotted her, and she felt a moment’s doubt. This wasn’t the time to talk through the argument they’d had, certainly not to discuss Caroline. But his face lit with pleasure seconds before he waved her in. Yes, pleasure. Hard feelings from earlier? Gone, at least for now. She was barely through the door when he held out an arm, inviting her over in a gesture that might have been inappropriate in another place of business, but MacAfee Homes was about family.
Family Builds.
The words were on every piece of stationery, every contract, every bit of marketing the company used. It was hokey, perhaps, but Theo MacAfee couldn’t say it enough.

Brad had become family. When he took her hand and drew her close, she felt safe. Not that clients intimidated her; she was with them all the time. Brad was particularly good with them, though. Content to socialize in ways she was not, he was the glove that fit her MacAfee life.

It had taken her a while to see that. He had already been with the company for several years when she joined it fresh from RISD—the Rhode Island School of Design—and there were no instant sparks. Jamie wasn’t looking for a lover, much less a husband. She was focused on work. They became friends joking about everyone who
wanted
them to be more, only in time discovering that they shared other things as well. Once they started to date, sly smiles were rife, and when they became engaged, the celebration was office-wide.