Some Women (20 page)

“I want chocolate milk too,” Harper agreed.

“What else?” Hudson asked.

“Peanut butter and jelly.”

“Mommy says peanut butter and jelly isn't healthy,” Hudson taunted.

“Oh yeah? You're just saying that because you're allergic to peanut butter. And you're jealous.” Harper scowled at his brother.

“Boys.”
Annabel feigned her best stern expression, which was hardly stern. “First of all, I did not say that, Hudson. Although I don't think peanut butter and jelly is the best dinner.”

“Please, Mommy?” Harper looked up at her with his doelike green eyes, which was just about all it ever took to get her to relent.

“As I was about to say, I'll make an exception this time.”

“Yay! I'm having peanut butter and jelly. And you are no-ot.”

“Hey, just a second there, kiddo. Only if you're well behaved.”

“Okay, Mama.” Once they'd reached the bottom of the steps, Annabel scooped Hudson up into her arms, which prompted Harper to hurl himself at her too. And again Annabel found herself at the bottom of a pile on the ground, this time in the middle of the foyer, where the three of them were tossing, turning, and giggling boisterously just as Henry walked through the front door.

“Hey! What's going on here?” He peered down at them with a wide, genuine smile, as opposed to the awkward ones they'd been exchanging lately.

“Holy crap. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I totally forgot to ring the bell. I guess old habits die hard.” He frowned, and then his lips curled back into an amused grin.

“It's fine, really. You don't need to announce yourself. It's your house too.”

Factually, it was the truth, although they both knew he didn't really live there anymore.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He nodded earnestly.

“The place is a mess. Watch where you step.” Annabel got to her feet and then wound her way through the toys, games, minuscule LEGO pieces, and playing cards scattered across the hardwood floor into the kitchen, which was equally chaotic.

“I don't think I've ever heard you say that before.” He looked puzzled but still amused, only in a different way. “The house is in complete disarray.” He turned his head left and right, visibly mystified, but seemingly pleased at the same time.

“Sorry about that. I didn't feel like cleaning up. What can I say?”

“Don't apologize. It's actually . . .” He searched for the right word.
“Amazing.”

“You think my pigsty is amazing?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” He nodded emphatically and then studied her closely. “Have you lost weight?”

“Maybe a bit. I'm not sure,” she lied. She'd dropped exactly seven and a quarter pounds, not that she was counting.

“You definitely have.” His eyes remained fixed on her. “You look good, Annie. Really good.”

“Thanks.” She smiled appreciatively. And noted his use of her long-abandoned nickname, the one he'd affectionately called her until . . . Come to think of it, when had he stopped? “You're staring at me.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just . . .”

“You just what?”

“Nothing. It's nothing.” It didn't seem like nothing.

“Okay, then. I was going to feed the kids dinner, but if you have other plans . . .”

“No, that sounds great.” He cleared his throat. “I don't want to impose, but do you want to maybe all eat together? We can order Japanese if you want. I know it's your favorite.”

“You hate Japanese.” Annabel cocked her head.

“Not really. I was just sick of it, since we ate it four times a week.”

“We did, didn't we?” She scrunched her nose. Suddenly it felt like another lifetime, even though it had been only a few months ago. “Seriously, whatever you want. Pizza, Chinese—doesn't matter to me.” She shrugged. She'd become accustomed to tossing herself a salad for one most nights.

“Really? You were always so particular.”

“Well, I guess things have changed.”

“I guess so.” Henry sat down on a barstool at the counter, and Annabel did the same. He creased his brow. “Do you ever get lonely here when the kids are with me?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted to him. No one had ever asked her that before, even though it seemed like such an obvious question for someone who was not only going through a divorce but also splitting custody of her children with her soon-to-be ex-husband. “Do you? In your new place?”
Or is Lillian there to keep you company?
She immediately pushed the thought from her head.

“I do.” He sat quietly for a moment. “Don't get me wrong—sometimes it's nice to have time to myself. To be able to do what I want, when I want.”

“I know what you mean. There's a difference between being alone and lonely.”

“
Exactly
. I said practically that very same thing to my sister on the phone yesterday. She didn't really get it.”

“Probably because she's never been either.” For as long as Annabel had known Henry's sister, Lisa, she'd been in a serious relationship either with a boyfriend or her now husband, who never even traveled for work.

“Probably.” This was a side of Henry that she hadn't seen in a long time. A softer, more subdued, more pensive Henry. A Henry she felt like she could talk to about anything. Even Lillian. Like, what were her intentions with him? More to the point, what were his intentions with her? But she stopped herself and instead focused on the wise advice Mackenzie had imparted just that afternoon at lunch. “Annie, do you think . . .” He paused.

“That we should order some food?” She finished his sentence, though she suspected that wasn't where he'd been going with it.

“Huh?”

“I'm starving; aren't you?” She was trying desperately to keep things casual, cool, to ignore the fact that her pulse doubled every time a vision of Lillian and Henry together kidnapped her thoughts.

“Oh yeah, sure.” He smiled reluctantly, as if he had more to say but wasn't sure how to say it. Normally she would have tried to draw it out of him, and if that didn't work she probably would have badgered him until he'd say anything to get her off his back. But not anymore. “I'm in the mood for Japanese.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Sashimi for two?” He knew it was her first choice, but he'd never liked sharing food, always preferring to order his own dish. “Do you want me to call?” he offered.

“Nah, I got it. I believe there are two delicious boys in the living room who'd love a little playtime with Daddy. Go on.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For handling all of this so gracefully.”

“You mean the divorce?” she asked, as if there was any question, and he nodded. “You didn't think I would?”

“Honestly? Not really.”

“Well, I guess I still have the ability to surprise you, even after all these years.”

“I guess you do.”

The arctic chill had lifted at long last—both literally and figuratively. February had given way to March, stripping the ground of its thick layer of snow. The jagged icicles dipping from rooftops had dripped into slushy mud puddles, until the warmth of the midday sun had absorbed the final remaining evidence of an unremittingly frosty winter season.

And Todd had exonerated Piper for leaving him out in the cold.

It had been no easy task convincing him to see her side of things. He'd held strong in his belief that their relationship needed to come first, not ahead of Piper's and Fern's, but certainly in advance of any loyalty she felt toward Max. Not once had she seen him stick to his guns in quite that way. He'd always been so nonchalant about things, so ready to forgive and forget without harboring ill will or resentment. But this time was different. There'd never been another man in the picture before. Another man whom he knew Piper still
had feelings for, whether those feelings were positive in nature or not.

Despite her initial resistance to Max and any bond he was intent on pursuing with either her or Fern, Piper had—to her surprise and everyone else's—let up a bit. She'd started allowing Max to take Fern to dinner without being present to chaperone. She'd even granted him permission to take Fern for the whole day the previous weekend, as long as he checked in every hour or so, fed her three solid meals, kept her safe, and returned her home by eight o'clock and not one minute later. For Max's part, he'd followed Piper's rules in the manner of an obedient minion, most likely out of fear, if not respect.

Piper had sensed, especially over the past few weeks, with Max popping in and out to woo his only child and often lingering longer than was necessary, that Todd was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the current state of affairs. She could tell that he was trying to recapture his place in their lives, now that the father position was no longer vacant. Naturally, he wanted Fern to be happy, and each time she skipped through the front door, beaming, on the heels of another outing with Max, Todd reiterated just how pleased he was to see Fern so full of joy. Still, actions spoke louder than words, and while Piper suspected that Todd wanted to believe what he was saying, it wasn't that simple.

Max had given no indication that he planned to leave Eastport anytime soon, which had compelled Piper to think about what that meant for her, for Todd, and, above all, for Fern. He'd moved from the hotel he'd been staying at into a friend's guest room. A friend who, like Piper, he hadn't seen in more than a decade, but—as luck would have it—had recently split from his girlfriend and was more
than happy to have the company of a temporary roommate. She was surprised Max had yet to mention his own parents and whether they were still living in Hastings-on-Hudson, the village they'd grown up in. If so, they weren't that far away, maybe a little more than an hour. Had he called them? Would he want them to meet Fern?

Piper felt like she was occupying a purgatory of sorts, caught between her old life, where Max had been, if anything, an unwelcome memory to this newer, not entirely improved version of her life, where Max was still unwelcome to a certain degree. Only now he was no longer a distant memory. To the contrary, he was a living, breathing reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead of all of them as they figured out where Max might fit into Fern's life.

She'd promised herself she wasn't going to think about any of that tonight, though, on the second anniversary of the second-happiest day of her life: the first time she'd met Todd. An event subsequent only to Fern's grand entrance into the world.

Todd had made reservations at one of the swankiest restaurants in town, Templeton's. Piper had never been there before, because she'd never had a good enough reason or a hefty enough bank account to do so, but she'd heard from Mackenzie—to whom frequenting such establishments was as routine as brushing her teeth—that they had a sixty-dollar hamburger on the menu. Apparently, it was stuffed with foie gras and topped with a generous ration of black summer truffles, which she'd read were prized for their extraordinary culinary value. In anticipation of such a special evening, Mackenzie had been over after work that afternoon to help Piper select an appropriate outfit and, fortunately, had arrived prepared with a trunk full of her own clothing, which had come in handy once she'd declared that Piper had absolutely nothing
suitable to wear. Of course, Mackenzie was substantially slimmer than Piper, so they'd been forced to settle on a plain black skirt in Piper's closet that Mackenzie had dubbed passable, as long as Piper ironed it and swore to pair it with Mackenzie's snug gold Calvin Klein sweater, which was certainly snugger on Piper than it was on its owner.

Mackenzie had insisted on wrestling Piper's mop of chaotic curls into a sleek and straight blow-out and then helped her apply just the right amount of makeup to highlight all of her best features. She'd snuck out just before Todd had pulled into the driveway to pick up Piper for dinner. Max had suggested hanging out with Fern for the night until they arrived home, and, in turn, Piper had agreed to let him take her out, not to stay with her in their house. It felt too intimate, too soon. She'd been nervous, as she always was, whenever she handed Fern over to Max, but he hadn't done her wrong yet, at least not this time around. And now, staring at her rakishly handsome boyfriend across the table, it was the furthest concern from her mind.

“I feel like an imposter,” Piper whispered, leaning forward so no one could hear her. “Everyone else here looks so fancy . . . and rich.” Suddenly, she wished they were sitting in their sweatpants on the couch, eating Chinese takeout out of the cartons. Or at the casual burger joint around the corner, where the burgers were stuffed with nothing and, if anything, covered with cheese, bacon, and regular, boring old mushrooms.

“We're fancy.” Todd smirked, and then gazed at her dotingly, as he was wont to do. Sometimes, and especially in recent months, she wondered what she'd done to deserve such a kind, honest, and—God only knew—patient man. What had he seen in her? A single mom
with a consuming and unpredictable job. Wouldn't he have been better off with another dentist or a housewife? Maybe someone younger who wanted to have kids with him, even though Todd maintained that having children of his own wasn't important to him. And that Fern was all he needed.

“Okay, if you say so.” She laughed effortlessly. She'd been silly to worry about her relationship with Todd, as it pertained to Max's return. Todd was as solid as ever.
They
were as solid as ever.

“What looks good to you?” He dropped his gaze to study the menu. “Part of me is tempted by the burger, but another part of me says it's a total gimmick.”

“I'm with you.” Piper scanned the list of entrees. There were Maine sea scallops with Marcona almonds and cipollini onions in some sort of vinaigrette she couldn't decipher the name of. So that was out. There was a blue crab simplissime with creamy potatoes. She had no idea what a simplissime was, so she kept searching until she landed on a dry-aged steak with a handful of accompaniments she could both pronounce and understand. Steak it was. “I'm getting this.” She opened the menu to face Todd and pointed at the item. “Because I know what it is.”

“We need to get you out more often.” He smiled. Coming from anyone else, it might have seemed patronizing. But not Todd. It simply wasn't his style. “I think I'm going to go with the Yorkshire pig with yogurt green curry.”

“Pig?” Piper cringed. “You had better not tell Fern, or she'll think you ate Wilbur.”

“For the record, Wilbur would have been delicious.”

“Gross!”

“Fine. I'll have the salmon,” he said, surrendering.

“Good, then I can have a bite.”

“Only if you share your steak.”

“I'll take it under consideration,” she bantered. And they continued back and forth, flirting with each other, which they hadn't done in a long time. The next couple hours passed in a romantic idyll, until they were both properly sated with the most decadent food that had ever passed Piper's lips.

“You're beautiful.” Todd took her hands in his across the table.

“Thank you.”

“You know how much I love you.”

“I do. And I love you too.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” His expression turned sober as he let go of her hands and reached into his jacket pocket, causing Piper to remember that she'd left his present on top of her dresser. Silently she hoped he hadn't splurged on something over-the-top, like an expensive piece of jewelry. All she'd been able to manage was a cashmere sweater from his favorite store, and even that had been a stretch with her income.

“I feel the same way.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” He was smiling again now. “Piper?”

“Yeah?” she answered quickly, before noticing the small velvet ring box he was holding in one hand. And then all at once he was down on bended knee, clasping a sparkling diamond band with an oval-shaped emerald stone as the centerpiece and gazing up at her.

“There's nothing in this world that would make me happier than to have you as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Just as he looked up at her expectantly, her cell phone rang from inside her purse.

A dark cloud of confusion cast across Todd's face as she rummaged in her purse without thinking. “Don't answer that.”

“I have to. It's Max's ringtone, and I'm not sure why he's calling.”

“Then definitely don't answer it.
Please,
” he implored. But his voice wasn't kind. It was firm, intolerant even.

“It could be Fern.” She ignored Todd's plea. “Hello?” She nodded, listening intently to the person on the other end of the line. “Where are you? Is she all right? I'll be right there.” Piper stood up hurriedly and reached for Todd's jacket, where it was draped on the back of his chair, to grab his car keys out of his pocket. “Fern's in the hospital! She slipped and fell. It might be a concussion. I need to get there. Can you get a cab? I . . . I have to go.” And with that, she was racing out of the restaurant without any time to glance back to make sure Todd was all right on his own.

As she searched the crowded parking lot for his car, feeling frantic and powerless, unable to look beyond her own crippling fear, there was one thing she saw that wouldn't register with her until later.

Henry Ford and Lillian Duffy kissing.

•   •   •

“So, let me get this straight. You just left him there? Down on the ground?” Mackenzie was dubious.

“What was I supposed to do? Clearly, I wasn't thinking straight at the time. Max called and said Fern was in the hospital with a
concussion
. That's pretty much any mother's absolute worst nightmare.” Piper turned back toward Fern, who was sleeping peacefully in the sterile bed with a bandage around her head. By the time
she'd arrived, Fern had already been examined from top to bottom, and the doctor had informed Max that she was going to be fine. He'd said he wanted her to stay the night for observation and to make sure there was no internal bleeding, but as long as everything remained status quo, they'd be able to take her home the following day.

“I don't know. It just seems . . .” Mackenzie paused, well aware that she was treading on unfamiliar territory, since she had no kids of her own.

“It just seems what?” Piper snapped. The stress of the past few hours had caught up to her and settled in her neck, shoulders, and chest, causing her muscles to throb.

“Sorry. Nothing.”

“For the record, I would have done the same thing.” This was Annabel. She'd been the first one to get there, even before Piper, who'd called both of them from the car.

“Thank you.” Piper nodded her appreciation in Annabel's direction.

“Have you heard from Todd since?” Annabel asked gingerly.

“He texted me to find out how Fern was doing and I texted back. I feel bad that I didn't have a chance to call him before he texted me to check on her.” She exhaled. “He said he was going to sleep at his house for the next few nights, so we could have some space.”

“He has his own house? Don't you guys live together?” Mackenzie appeared puzzled.

“Yeah. He never stays there. He's been planning to sell it, but I guess he hasn't gotten around to it yet. All of his furniture is still there. It's a process.”

“Sure. Of course.” Mackenzie smiled softly. “So, Max seems nice.”

“I suppose.” Piper shrugged. She'd sent Max to the deli across the street to pick up Fern's favorite treats: Swedish Fish, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and Honey Wheat Braided Pretzel Twists—so she'd have them as soon as she woke up. Piper had yet to see Fern alert, and even though, rationally speaking, she knew her daughter was going to be okay, until she witnessed it with her own two eyes, she'd sit by her bedside, fully attentive.

“He's cute too.” Annabel glared at Mackenzie. “What? I'm not allowed to notice that Piper's ex is hot?”

“She's right; he is,” Piper conceded. “And, frankly, it's really annoying. Why do men always get better-looking with age?”

“It's the same with Henry. He's thirty pounds overweight. Actually, more like fifteen now. He's got half a head of gray hairs. And he's more handsome than he was in his twenties. I, on the other hand, am running to the dermatologist every four months for Botox injections, glycolic peels, and whatever that thing is where they get rid of your dark spots. Yet Henry will be able to grow old gracefully with whomever he chooses to do that with.”

“I thought you said things have been going well with you guys.” Mackenzie took a swig of the iced tea she'd bought from the vending machine.

“They have. I've really been listening to your advice and I think it's been working. Honestly, we're getting along better now than we did when we were married.”