The Good Wife (19 page)

* * *

A
udrey Lauren Roussel was born at 11:59
P.M.
on Saturday, May 12, arriving into the world with a lusty cry and kicking legs.

She was perfect. She was also beautiful, weighing in at just under eight pounds, her skin a dusky pink and cream, and she had a thatch of dark brown hair and huge brown eyes.

Lauren hadn’t been sure how she’d feel when she first held her new niece, but the moment Matthieu put the swaddled infant into her arms, she felt nothing but joy. And the fiercest rush of love. Unconditional love. She’d do anything for this baby. Anything.

She dipped her head and kissed the top of Audrey’s soft, sweet head. What a gift she was . . . what a blessing for this family . . .

Lifting her head, Lauren looked over at her sister and was startled to discover Lisa crying.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, moving carefully closer to the bed with the newborn in her arms.

“Just so happy you’re here. So happy to see you holding her.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Lauren said, and it was true. Witnessing Audrey’s birth had been nothing but healing and good.

“You’ll be her godmother?” Matthieu asked, stepping toward them, unable to stay away.

Lauren gazed down at the baby and discovered that Audrey was looking up at her, her dark eyes unfocused, and yet there was an intensity in them, a fierce concentration. Lauren kissed her again, in love. “Absolutely.”

* * *

S
unday morning in San Francisco, Sarah had left her phone charging in the kitchen during their homemade brunch, missing the call from Boone.

She’d been waiting impatiently for his call all morning and only discovered the missed call when she was clearing dishes from the table just after noon.

Disappointed, she immediately unplugged the phone and headed for the living room, where it was quiet, to call him back, wondering if he had news. Hoping he had news. Hoping a team—a good team—wanted to pick up his contract.

But Boone didn’t answer when she returned his call and so she left him a message, asking him to call her back as soon as he could.

Hanging up, Sarah dropped onto the couch and tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he had called, hoping it was good news, hoping that he hadn’t played his last game in Major League Baseball. Because his career might make her crazy, but it was also his career, and while she had a love/hate relationship with baseball, she loved that he did something he loved. She loved that he was passionate about his work. She loved that he did something few could do.

Maybe it’s why she’d stayed with him when she found out about his affair. She hated the affair but loved him. She also understood that he wasn’t like your average Joe. He lived in the spotlight. He was paid big money to perform on demand. He was expected to be larger than life. And he had been.

Her phone vibrated in her hands with a text. She grabbed it and read the message. It was from Boone.
On phone with Arnie. Will call as soon as I’m done.

Sarah exhaled. Had to be news . . . had to be good news . . . but what was good news?

Jumping up, she paced the length of the living room and turned around, paced back the other direction, stopping in front of the mantel, which was bare today except for a pair of glass hurricanes and a framed photo of Mom, in gorgeous color.

In the picture, Mom was looking over her shoulder, laughing at the camera, her thick dark hair short and sassy, her brown eyes flecked with bronze, picking up the gold of her shimmering dress.

Sarah reached out, touched Mom’s face through the glass. So pretty.

“I love that picture of Mom,” Tommy said from the doorway. He was wearing one of the expensive Tommy Bahama polo shirts Cass liked to give him, and yet he looked uncomfortable, as if he’d been squeezed into a straitjacket instead of the softest weathered cotton fabric.

Sarah smiled unsteadily. “She’s so beautiful here.”

“She was always beautiful,” he said, moving toward her.

“But in this picture, she looks like a movie star.”

He stood now before the mantel and studied the photo. “I just like that she looks so happy.”

Sarah glanced at her brother and then at the picture. “Definitely happy.”

Tommy hesitated, his brow creasing, his jaw jutting. “She was . . . most of the time, wasn’t she?”

Sarah saw his frown and felt his restlessness. He’d been tense all day, drumming his fingers on the table during the meal or leaning back in his chair and sighing, staring at the ceiling as if he couldn’t wait to get away. “I think Mom always tried to focus on the positives,” she said.

“She never pressured Dad.”

“But she was also no pushover. If there was something she wanted, she spoke up.”

“But she let Dad be Dad. She respected Dad as a man.”

“Absolutely.”

He made a rough, raw sound in the back of his throat. “She was a real woman.”

All of a sudden Sarah knew what they were talking about. They weren’t discussing Mom. They were discussing Cass. Tommy was mad at his wife. They all knew. He’d been a dick to her for much of the day. “Mom wasn’t always happy, Tommy. And Mom loved Dad, but she didn’t let him do whatever he wanted. They had a marriage. A partnership. He’d give on some things, and she’d give on others—”

“But if Dad put his foot down, Mom backed off.”

Sarah arched a brow. “Depended what it was about. If Mom felt strongly, she didn’t accept the whole putting-your-foot-down thing.”

“Yes, she did.”

“Nope. We were there, Tommy, when Mom almost left Dad. It had to do with Brianna and how Dad was handling her. And Dad wouldn’t discuss it with Mom anymore, so Mom packed. She was leaving Dad. And she was serious.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Then you’ve blocked it out, because you were there, we were all there, and I was only eleven, but I remember being at the top of the stairs and crying my eyes out and Kit and Meg were holding me, wouldn’t let me go down.”

Tommy looked away, brow lowering. He remembered. She knew from his expression he remembered. “That was different,” he said gruffly.

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, impatient. “I don’t know, but it had to have been serious.”

“And you don’t think Cass being unhappy is serious?”

“No, it’s serious.”

“You guys are at odds. We can all tell, all feel it, but it doesn’t have to be this way—”

“Tell that to her!”

Sarah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, thinking she needed to take a different tack. “You and Cass will get through this, Tommy. It’s a rough patch, but if you stick together—”

“I can’t force Cass to stay, Sarah.”

“You can go to counseling.”

“Tried that. It didn’t work.”

“How many times did you go?”

“Enough to know I’m not going to sit there and be lectured by some lady I don’t know about how I need to be sensitive to my wife’s needs. I’m not insensitive to Cass’s feelings. I’m fully aware that my wife is grieving. Hell, I’m grieving, but what are we going to do? Fixate on something that’s not going to happen? Obsess about all the things outside our control, or move forward and enjoy what we have together?”

Sarah heard the rawness in his voice. He was in pain. He absolutely doted on Cassidy, and how could he not? She was the sweetest, most gorgeous, loving girl in the whole world. Cass had been raised with an alcoholic mom in a rough part of San Jose, and from the moment she’d met handsome, swaggering Tommy Brennan Jr. she’d been smitten. He was her hero. Her one and only true love. Tommy and Cass were married less than a year after meeting and it was the best decision Tommy had ever made. Everyone in the family loved Cass. Everyone wanted to see her and Tommy happy. “You still love her?”

He glared at her, his expression fierce. “How can you even ask that? I’d do anything for her. Give my life for her—”

“But she needs to feel it, not just know it. Women need words. They need language—”

“And I’ve talked, but I’m talked out. I’ve got nothing else to say.”

“Then that’s the problem.”

“I’m
not
the problem!”

“You are if you can’t see that Cass needs more from you, not less.”

He rolled his eyes. “What about me? What about what I need?”

“You said you loved her.”

“I do. But—”

“Then don’t get all macho. Don’t get into a pissing contest with your wife. She grew up an only child. It’s been her dream her entire life to have kids, be a mom, and now she’s lost babies. Plural. Of course she’s devastated. You even said she’s grieving, which means she needs to keep talking, and she needs you
to keep listening.”

“I’m done with the baby thing. It’s taken over our life and I just want our life back. I want our marriage back—”

“So that’s what you’re grieving.”

“What?”

“You’re grieving your marriage, and she’s grieving the babies.”

He just looked at her.

Sarah reached out to him but he stepped back to avoid her touch. Sarah refused to dwell on it. “You want your marriage back, the same marriage you had before . . . but it’s not the same marriage. It won’t ever be the same as before. You two have been through too much. Have hurt too much. You’ve changed. Both of you.”

He barked a laugh. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Maybe it’ll be better than before.”

“Maybe?”

“If you guys pull it together.”

Cass suddenly stuck her head around the corner, long blond ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. “Hey.” Her smile was tentative and failed to reach her eyes. “Dad said we’re going to have cake soon.”

Tommy nodded curtly.

Cass’s faint smile faded, revealing hurt and pain.

Sarah’s chest squeezed, and though she hated to be disloyal, Tommy was acting like a first-rate jerk.

Slipping her phone into her pocket, she smiled encouragingly at Cass, but her sister-in-law had already averted her gaze and was biting into her lip to keep from bursting into tears.

Jerk,
Sarah silently repeated, wondering why men couldn’t give women the one thing they sometimes needed most—tenderness.

The three of them headed for the dining room, Tommy and Cass walking on either side of her, making Sarah painfully aware that the two of them were not together. Not anywhere close together.

She spotted Meg and the kids already in the dining room with Dad. Tommy was looking the other way, and he paused before entering the room, focused on the family room. Sarah followed his gaze. Jude and Kit were sitting on the sofa, Kit on Jude’s lap. They were kissing.

“Christ,” Tommy muttered.

He hadn’t sworn particularly loudly, but Kit had what they all jokingly called supersonic hearing, probably due to the fact that she was a teacher.

Kit jerked her head up, looked right at her brother. “What was that?”

“You shouldn’t do that here,” Tommy growled. “It’s not right.”

“You kiss Cass all the time,” Kit said, still sitting on Jude’s lap.

“Not like that,” Tommy retorted.

“Like how?”

“Like that,” Tommy growled. “If you’re going to get raunchy, get a room.”

One of Jude’s black eyebrows lifted, but he held his tongue.

Kit jumped up, defiant. “Which room would you suggest, Tommy? Yours? The girls’? Mom and Dad’s?”

“Knock it off,” he snapped.

“You knock it off,” Kit said hotly, smoothing the skirt of her fitted, blue sheath dress, which made the most of her curves. And Kit had curves. She was the most voluptuous Brennan girl. “I remember when you and Cass used to make out all over the house.”

“That was different,” Tommy said.

Kit moved toward him, the light of battle in her blue eyes. “Oh, really? How?”

“Babe,” Jude said, reluctantly swinging his long, leather-clad legs off the coffee table and getting to his feet. “Let it go.”

But Kit ignored him, her attention fixed on Tommy. “I get that you’re not happy, Tommy, and I’m sorry about it. But I
am
happy, and I have a right to be happy without you”—and her gaze swung to include Sarah—“judging me, and criticizing me, and making me feel as if I don’t belong in this family anymore simply because I’m dating someone you don’t approve of.”

“Oh, Kit, no one feels that way,” Cass protested nervously.

“Don’t say that,” Tommy said, contradicting his wife. “Kit’s right. No one approves of Jude and I’m not afraid to say so. I don’t like him.” He looked past Kit to Jude. “Sorry, Knight, but it’s how I feel. You might be a perfectly nice guy—which I actually, seriously doubt—but you’re not good enough for Kit. Not by a long shot.”

Kit made a choking sound.
“Tommy!”

He shrugged, still pissed off from his conversation with Sarah. “It’s the truth. I’m not going to lie and pretend otherwise.”

“You don’t have to pretend anything,” Kit snapped. “Just be polite. Have some manners.”

“Apparently I don’t have any. But then, ask Sarah. I’m an extremely insensitive man.” He glanced at Cass. “I’m leaving. Are you coming with me, or are you going to catch a ride home with Kit and her goon?”

“Tommy!” Kit exploded.

Cassidy paled, blue eyes widening. “We can’t walk out now. Your dad has a cake for your mom—”

“Who happens to be dead.”

“Tommy,”
Kit and Sarah said in unison.

“This is Mother’s Day,” Cass choked, mortified. Cass might have married into this family, but she’d loved Mom dearly. Mom had been more of a mother to her than her own mother and Cass had turned to her often for advice.

But Tommy was beyond caring. He shrugged and drew his keys from his pocket. “Last chance. Going home with me, Cass?”

She didn’t answer, too shocked to speak, and he shrugged again, too angry to compromise. “Whatever,” he said, his big shoulders rolling. “Tell Dad I’ll call him later.”

Tommy didn’t get far. Dad was out the door, hurrying after him, before Tommy had even started his car.

Everyone else just stood around the dining table looking at the cake that had yet to be cut.

“Why is Uncle Tommy so mad?” Gabi asked, glancing from her mom to her aunt Cass.