Authors: Night Moves
Janelle Taylor (3 page)
“No. This is a nice place.” Phoebe’s gaze flicked around the entry hall with its maroon-and-ivory striped wallpaper and polished hardwood floor.
“Thanks. I just redecorated.”
“I’m afraid we’re dripping on your rug,” Phoebe observed, gesturing at the woven welcome mat under her feet.
“That’s why it’s there.” As she spoke, gazing at her friend, Jordan realized that something was wrong. Not just with Phoebe, but with her son, and with this whole scene.
Phoebe, always on the quiet side—and increasingly so following her marriage—seemed even more subdued than usual. Skittish, even. Jordan saw her friend fumbling with the buttons on her slicker, trying several times to unfasten each closure before succeeding.
And little Spencer just stood there, his wide brown eyes looking almost frightened beneath a sheaf of thick, straight brown bangs.
“What’s wrong, Phoebe?” Jordan’s thoughts were spinning. Had Phoebe left Reno? If so …
Well, it was about time. Jordan had never liked Phoebe’s darkly handsome husband, who had swept her friend off her feet and married her after a whirlwind courtship. Jordan’s feelings for him weren’t based on anything he had ever said or done. After all, she hadn’t spent enough time with him even to feel as though she knew him well enough to judge his character based on anything other than instinct. But sometimes instinct was sufficient.
“Phoebe?” Jordan prodded, watching her friend, who seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. “What happened?”
“I … I can’t really explain it. Not… yet.” Phoebe motioned slightly with her head, gesturing at her son.
Clearly, she didn’t want Spencer to know about whatever it was that had brought them here.
Jordan didn’t press her. She took Phoebe’s coat and watched her remove Spencer’s little slicker. Then she hung them both, along with her own trench, to drip-dry on hangers along the shower-curtain rod over the never-used tub in the full bath off the kitchen.
Jordan ushered her guests into the living room and offered them something to drink.
“Do you have any juice boxes?” Spencer asked.
“Juice boxes?” Jordan echoed the unfamiliar phrase. She crouched to be on the same level with the little boy. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of juice boxes, but I have some nice oranges in the fridge, and I have a juicer that I’ve never even used. I’d love to give it a try.”
“No, don’t do that,” Phoebe said quickly. “He can drink milk.” Seeing Jordan’s expression, she added, “or water.”
“Water, I have.” Jordan led the way to the kitchen, with its white ceramic-tile floor and backsplash with
cornflower-blue accents, and cool slate-colored granite countertops. Several of the white cabinets had glass doors to display Jordan’s collection of cobalt plates and stemware. She had replaced the existing appliances with a six-burner stainless-steel Viking stove and sub-zero refrigerator.
She walked over to the corner that held the spring-water cooler with its upended blue plastic bottle. “Sorry there’s no milk,” she said over her shoulder. “I haven’t bought any in ages, ever since I stopped making coffee at home. Now I just get it from Starbucks on the way to work. It’s so much easier. But… I can make some coffee now if you want some,” she offered Phoebe. “Or wine. I have wine.”
“No, thanks. I’ll just have water, too.” Phoebe helped Spencer climb onto one of the tall wooden stools at the breakfast bar island and sat beside him, watching Jordan take down three glasses.
With her back to them as she filled the pretty blue goblets, Jordan wanted to ask countless questions, finally settling on one that didn’t seem overly nosy. “Are you staying overnight?”
There was a pause.
Jordan turned to see Phoebe wearing that same nervous, troubled expression. “Do you have room for guests?”
“I have nothing but room,” Jordan said. “Look around. It’s just me, and I’ve got plenty of space for company. You can stay as long as you want. I have a guest room upstairs next to mine, and the living room couch pulls out into a bed.”
“Do you have cable TV?” Phoebe asked, glancing at Spencer, who was solemnly looking around the kitchen.
Jordan nodded, smiling. “Yep, I even have cable TV.”
“Spencer likes to watch a program on the Disney Channel at around this time every night,” Phoebe said. “Would you mind if I turned it on for him?”
“No problem. I’ll do it. Come on, Spencer. You can bring your water into the living room, and I’ll try to find some kind of snack for you to have with it.”
“Do you have any plastic cups?” Spencer asked, eyeing the brimming goblet in her hand. “That looks too big. I might spill it.”
“No plastic,” Jordan said ruefully. “Not even paper cups. Don’t worry. If it spills, it spills.”
“It might break,” Spencer told her worriedly.
“If it breaks, it breaks. I have lots of them. Come on. I’ll set you up in front of the TV. I’ll be right back, Phoebe.”
It took her a few minutes to locate the Disney Channel. When she returned to the kitchen, Phoebe was still sitting at the counter, her water glass untouched, her elbow propped on the countertop, chin in one hand, fingers splayed broodingly across her face.
“Tell me what’s going on, Phoebe,” Jordan said quietly, sliding onto the stool Spencer had vacated. “Why are you here? Why isn’t Reno? Did something happen?”
Phoebe nodded, running her hand distractedly through her hair as she met Jordan’s gaze. Her expression was stark, haunted. “Reno’s back at home, in Philadelphia.”
Jordan knew then that her hunch was right. Phoebe had left him. Why? Was he abusive?
Jordan found it frighteningly easy to imagine her friend’s moody husband lashing out at Phoebe, or even at his son. She had noticed, on the few occasions she had seen them together, that Reno frequently seemed to have a protective arm around his wife. Yet Jordan
had witnessed little if any genuine affection in their marriage, let alone between father and son. It was Phoebe who held Spencer as an infant, who changed his diapers and fed him bottles and played with him. Reno seemed detached.
“It’s going to be all right, Phoebe.” Jordan laid a comforting hand on Phoebe’s arm and noticed that it was terribly thin. She could feel the jutting bones beneath her fingers. “You must be a nervous wreck. I know how hard it is to go through something like this, but—”
“No, Jordan, it’s not what you think,” Phoebe said, casting a fretful glance toward the living room, where the television blared reassuringly.
“You and Reno aren’t splitting up?”
“No.”
Disappointment coursed through Jordan. On its heels came fresh concern. Something was obviously terribly wrong. If it wasn’t Phoebe’s marriage, and if Spencer was safely here and Reno back in Philadelphia, then what was it? Both Phoebe’s parents were dead; the only family she had left was her older brother.
“Did something happen to Curt?” Jordan asked, doubting it even as she spoke.
Phoebe had never been close to her only sibling, the product of their father’s brief first marriage and nearly a generation older than Phoebe. Even if Curt had met some tragedy, Jordan tried and failed to imagine that it would be shattering enough to send Phoebe to her doorstep out of the blue, looking like a nervous wreck.
“No, it’s not Curt; it’s …” Again Phoebe trailed off, looking anxious.
Oh, no.
Jordan took in Phoebe’s gaunt appearance,
her skin-and-bones figure, her distressed expression. Was it Phoebe? Was she seriously ill?
“Phoebe, you have to tell me,” she pressed, her stomach flip-flopping in apprehension. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m scared, too, Jordan.” Phoebe’s voice barely hovered above a whisper. “I’m so sorry to drag you into this, but you were the only person I could trust….”
“Of course you can trust me,” Jordan said automatically. Her mind flashed back to sunny summer days, to childhood promises.
How many times had she said those words? They had grown up next door to each other, had played together as soon as they were old enough to toddle back and forth across the yard between their houses. They had shared everything from girlhood confidences to eye makeup to double dates.
Though college had separated them long before Reno came along and Kevin ran off and Jordan moved to Washington, Jordan still considered Phoebe her most cherished friend. There was no secret she wouldn’t entrust to her.
“I have to ask you to do something for me,” Phoebe said, her voice edged with despair. “Something huge. Something you don’t have to do, except… if you don’t say yes, Jordan, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I’ll do anything for you, Phoebe. You know that. Believe me, no favor is too huge.”
“I need you to take Spencer for me.”
Jordan gaped at her. “
Take
Spencer? You mean …” She took a deep breath. “Are you sick, Phoebe? Are you—?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m not sick. And I don’t mean forever. Just … take him. Please.” Her voice wavered. “Keep him here, for as long as I need you to.”
“But… why? It’s not that I don’t want to take him,” Jordan added hastily, her mind cascading with frantic questions that mingled with apprehension and doubt.
Take a four-year-old boy? She had never even talked to a four-year-old boy, had she? No, not since she was a six-year-old girl with a kid brother.
“I can’t really explain it, Jordan. All I can say is that nobody can know he’s here. Nobody. Not your family, and not mine. Not even Reno.”
“Not even Reno? Phoebe, what’s going on?”
“Jordan, just say you’ll do it. Please. It’s …” Phoebe trailed off, wiping at the tears that spilled from her eyes.
“It’s what, Phoebe?”
“It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Jeremy? Did I wake you?”
“Wake me?” Jordan’s partner’s sleepy voice was barely audible on the other end of the line. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost six,” Jordan said, pouring her second cup of coffee from the stainless steel percolator. She had grown pleasantly accustomed to creamy Starbucks lattes, but today she was so exhausted that she didn’t even mind this home-brewed black stuff.
“Six?” Jeremy echoed. “Not even six, but
almost
six? What the hell are you doing up? What
the
hell am
I
doing up?”
“You’re preparing to do me a huge favor, Jeremy.”
On the other end of the phone, she heard the rumble of a male voice and knew it belonged to Paul, who shared Jeremy’s bed, his life, and four cats named Curly, Larry, Mo, and Joe—Joe being a recently adopted stray.
“No, it’s Jordan,” Jeremy told Paul around a yawn. “Go back to sleep. So what kind of favor do you need at this ungodly hour, Jordan?”
“It’s an ongoing favor, actually. You don’t have to do anything right at the moment—”
“Thank God for that.”
“And before I tell you what’s going on, I have to make it clear that I can’t tell you everything, okay?”
“What do you mean by that? You can’t tell me everything? What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Did something happen?
You bet something happened. And I’m still not even sure what,
she thought grimly.
Aloud she said, “Jeremy, I need to take some time off.”
She heard him exhale audibly. “Is that all? You had me thinking
the
worst. It’s about time you took time off. When, how long, and where are you going? I hope you’ve decided to check out that spa I told you about, because the massage therapist there is—”
“Jeremy, it’s not like that. I’m not going on vacation. Something’s come up and I need to take some time.”
“What came up? And how much time?”
“I can’t tell you, and I don’t know.”
There was a pause. “Did somebody die?”
“No!”
“Are you sick?”
“No. I can’t—”
“Okay, I get it. You can’t tell me. God knows you deserve time off, Jordan. Take all you need. I’ll hold down the fort. When are you leaving?”
She hesitated, wondering whether she should let him know that she wasn’t leaving. But maybe it was better if she didn’t even tell him that much. The last thing
she wanted was for him to give in to his curiosity, stop over to see her, and see Spencer. Then she’d have to offer some explanation—and Phoebe had made it clear that she wasn’t to say a word to anybody.
“I’m leaving right away,” she told Jeremy.
“As in … today?”
“As in, consider me gone.”
“What about—”
“The Goff-Anderson wedding? The cold salads are already prepared, the lobsters are being delivered at noon, and the flowers at twelve-thirty. Make sure you’re there by ten, though, because the tables and chairs—”
“I know.” Jeremy yawned again. “The tables and chairs are coming at eleven. The paperwork is in the office, and considering your anal-retentive habit of writing everything down, I’m sure I won’t have any questions. But if I do—”
“Then call me,” Jordan said. “On my cell phone. I’ll have it on.”
“Fine.”
“And the small jars of cherry jelly for the Clark shower favors are—”
“I know.”
“I already tied the gingham fabric around the tops of the jars, so all you have to do is bring them with you. The shower is at—”
“I know, Jordan. I know what you’ve scheduled and when, I know where to go and believe it or not I know what to do and how to do it. For Christ’s sake, just go away and forget about work for a while, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And have a fabulous time.”
“I will.” Could he hear the hollow note in her voice?
She sipped the acrid coffee. She’d made it too strong.
“Jordan?”
“Hmm?”
“I hope I get to meet him when you get back.”
Meet him?
She almost choked on her coffee. “How did you know…?”
“I figured it had to be a man. It’s about time you met somebody.”
A man? She smirked despite herself.
What would Jeremy say if he knew the “man” was three feet tall and wore Winnie the Pooh sneakers?
She sighed. “Jeremy…”
“I know. No details. But I’m filling them in myself. You met someone, you’re wild about him, and he’s whisking you off to some fabulously exotic romantic locale.”
Well, okay. Let Jeremy think whatever he wanted.
“Bon voyage, Jordan,” Jeremy said, making kiss-kiss noises into the phone.
“Good-bye, Jeremy.”
She hung up, pressing a finger on the talk button and then lifting it again to hear the dial tone.
She had to look up the number. It wasn’t one she knew off the top of her head, so seldom had she dialed it these past few years. Regret seeped into her at that realization. Growing up, she knew Phoebe’s phone number better than her own, having called it at least a few times daily for more than a decade. There was a time, around fourth grade, when they went through an open-the-window-and-holler phase, but their parents swiftly nipped that in the bud.
Jordan’s smile at that memory faded quickly as she punched in a Philadelphia area code and the unfamiliar number for Phoebe’s home there.
The line rang four times before an answering machine picked up.
Reno’s monotone announced, “We aren’t here to take your call right now. Please leave a message at the tone.”
Jordan hung up, staring into space.
There were so many things she needed to ask Phoebe.
She would just have to try again later.
Beau got to the gym early for his morning racquetball game, which wasn’t surprising. His mother had taught him that a gentleman was always punctual.
Ed wasn’t there yet. That wasn’t surprising, either.
Ed was late for everything. Beau had noticed long ago that his friend and partner seemed to spend a big chunk of his life on his cell phone, phoning in apologies and making excuses for delays.
He should be used to it by now. After all, he and Ed had known each other since their days as roommates at Rice University’s school of architecture. Back then, Ed managed to go late to some classes and miss others and somehow come out with excellent grades. The guy was a bona fide genius.
After graduation, Beau drifted in Europe before marrying Jeanette, having Tyler, and settling back in his hometown of DeLisle, Louisiana.
His father wanted—no, expected—him to take over Somerville Industries, but Beau was content to work for a local architectural firm, relying less on his paychecks than on his sizable trust fund to support his family. His father, who considered architecture Beau’s “hobby,” always held out hope that Beau would come back to the fold—even now.
These days, Beau’s cousin Redmond was being groomed by Beau’s father to take over the company. But Geoff Somerville frequently let his son know that there was room for him, too. His sister’s son might be willing and capable, but Geoffwanted Beau there, too.
Last winter, the ailing architect for whom Beau had worked for years was slowly running the firm into the ground. On the verge of breaking up with Lisa, Beau realized he needed a fresh start. But he knew that working for his father wasn’t the answer.
There were too many memories in DeLisle. It was time to escape.
He and Ed had kept in touch sporadically over the years. He knew Ed had married a Richmond debutante, whose rich daddy funded the start-up of Ed’s Washington-based firm. Several times, Ed had invited Beau to move up north and come on board. A few months ago, when Ed extended the offer again, Beau realized the time was right.
It was easier than he expected, leaving his family and DeLisle behind. Maybe easier than he wanted it to be.
He was no longer sure whether he had been clinging to the past, or truly longing to escape it.
Now life had settled into a rhythm of work, meals on the run, and working out at the gym.
Even at this early hour on a summer Saturday morning, Capital Fitness was already crowded.
Beau decided to wait for Ed in the exercise room. He found a vacant treadmill, got on, and worked his way up to a warm-up jog.
A few days from now, he thought, he’d be jogging on a sandy beach. He had rented an oceanfront home on North Carolina’s Outer Banks. When he’d made the reservation last fall, he was living in New Orleans with
Lisa and had intended for the two of them to go together. It was her idea, in fact. By the time they broke up, he had already paid for the place, and it seemed a waste not to use it.
Anyway, a solo vacation was fine with him. He would welcome the solitude. So much had happened these past few months—the breakup, the move, the new job—he needed a chance to clear his head.
Actually, he thought, increasing his pace on the treadmill, it wasn’t just this spring. He hadn’t had a chance to get away and sort things through in years. It was as if his life had careened out of control in that one horrible instant that was forever imprinted in his mind, and ever since then, he had let the mad current sweep him along.
Well, he’d had enough. It was time to sort things out. To examine his life. To gain perspective on where he was now and where he wanted to be.
Hell, there’s only one place I want to be,
he thought grimly, closing his eyes, remembering …
He made himself stop. He forced his eyes to open before the tears could flood in.
As he glanced into the mirror in front of the row of machines, he locked gazes with an attractive woman with a blond ponytail and a workout leotard that bared her sculpted, tan abs.
She smiled at him. He smiled back briefly, then shifted his attention away. But he could feel her watching him as he moved through fifteen minutes of cardio, then checked his watch and stepped off the machine.
Ed must be here by now,
he thought, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel.
“Hi, are you a new member?”
He looked down and saw Blond Ponytail standing at his elbow. She was petite, especially next to his six-foot-four
frame. She couldn’t be more than five feet, one or two, he found himself calculating.
Jeanette had only been five-one.
He used to call her Pip. As in Pipsqueak.
He swallowed hard, pushing back the intrusive memory, and focused on the question.
“Yes, pretty new here,” he said. “I joined a few weeks ago.”
“Where are you from? I love your accent.”
“Louisiana.”
“I knew it! I was in New Orleans for Mardi Gras once. It’s such a great city.”
“Yes, it is pretty great,” he agreed.
And it was true. He did think New Orleans was a great city.
Suddenly, he missed home like crazy. But living there was too painful. Everywhere he turned, he saw Jeanette and Tyler. He just couldn’t go on living like that.
“Well, D.C. is a great city, too,” the woman said with a grin. “I should know. I was born and bred just a few blocks away from this very spot.”
“You’re the first person I’ve met here who can make that claim,” Beau said. “Everybody around this town seems to have been transplanted from somewhere else.”
It wasn’t like that back home. In his small hometown, DeLisle, about halfway between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, most families could trace their local roots back for generations. The Somervilles had inhabited their sprawling antebellum plantation-style house for 150 years.
“Yeah, people come and go here. But you’ll get used to it,” the woman told him. He saw her glance down at his hand and realized what she was looking for.
A wedding ring.
He deliberately slid his fingers back beneath his towel, not wanting to see his ringless fourth finger.
He wasn’t used to seeing it that way himself. He found it hard to believe that there was a time when he didn’t think he wanted to wear a ring. He’d never been one to wear much jewelry, other than a watch and the occasional cufflinks. But when they established that they were getting married, Jeanette said she wanted him to wear a ring.
“Why? Don’t you trust me?” he’d drawled, his eyes twinkling at her. They both knew she didn’t have a thing to worry about.
“I trust you. But I’m an old-fashioned girl. I want an old-fashioned husband with an old-fashioned ring on his finger.”
Funny, just when it seemed he’d finally gotten used to the gold band glinting there on his left hand, he had to try to get used to a bare finger again.
You can’t wear that wedding band forever, Beau.
Those were Lisa’s words, about a month into their relationship.
The truth was, he had believed he
could
wear it forever, even after Jeanette was gone….
Just as he had believed he’d be married to her forever.
Forever.
Nothing was forever, he thought bitterly. Nothing but pain.
“So what’s your name?” Blond Ponytail asked in a sultry tone.
He had forgotten all about her.
“Beau,” he said. “Beau Somerville.”
“Nice to meet you, Beau. I’m Suzanne Lancaster. I was just going over to the weight room to lift… Maybe you can spot me?”
“Sorry,” he said, but his tone wasn’t the least bit apologetic. “I have to meet someone on the raquetball court.”
“Maybe another time,” she said with a shrug. “Listen, maybe this is bold, but—maybe we can get together later and I can show you around a little bit. You know, show you some of the local sights that are off the beaten path. There’s more to D.C. than the White House and the Smithsonian.”
“I’m sure there is,” Beau said. “But I’m not…” He hesitated.
“Not interested? Not available?” She was watching him closely. “Maybe a little of both, huh?”
He nodded. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was worth a shot. My divorce was final last week, and I’m feeling kind of lonely.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t the one who wanted it.”
“That must be hard.”
“Yeah, divorce is hard.”
He nodded. “I’m sure it is.”
“How about you? Let me guess. Happily married?”
He felt the old familiar sick churning in his stomach. “Not anymore.”