“In Nashville.”
Claire looked up at her husband, who wore his heart in his eyes right now. She knew that if she said no, said, Our honeymoon won’t be over by then, he’d kiss her and say, Okay, maybe call your Mama back and see if the audition can be rescheduled in a month. Knowing all that made her answer easy.
“I’ve always wanted to see Opryland.”
Bobby pulled her into his arms, gazed down at her. “I’d given up,” he admitted quietly.
“Let that be a lesson,” she answered happily. “Now, hand me that phone. I better let Dad and Meghann know that we’ll probably add a day or two on to the trip.”
The days with Alison settled into a comfortable routine. By the third afternoon, Meghann had let go of her obsessive need to show her niece every child-friendly venue in the city. Instead, they did simple things. They rented movies and made cookies and played Candy Land until Meg cried out for mercy.
Each night Meg slept with Ali tucked in her arms, and each morning she awoke with an unexpected sense of anticipation. She smiled easier, laughed more often. She’d forgotten how good it felt to care for someone else.
When Claire called to extend the length of her honeymoon, Meg knew she’d shocked her sister by offering—gladly—to keep Alison for a few extra days. Unfortunately, the oh-so-important birthday party ruined that option.
When Saturday finally came, Meghann was surprised by the depth of her emotions. All the way to Hayden she had to work to keep smiling, while Ali chattered nonstop and bounced in her seat. At Sam’s house, Ali flew into her grandfather’s arms and started telling him about the week. Meg kissed her niece good-bye and hurried out of the trailer. That night, she hardly slept at all. She couldn’t seem to stave off the loneliness.
On Monday, she went back to work.
The hours stacked on top of one another, growing heavier than usual. By 3:00, she was so tired she could hardly function.
She hoped that Harriet wouldn’t notice.
A useless hope, of course.
“You look bad,” Harriet said when Meghann slumped into the familiar chair.
“Thank you.”
“How did the wedding go?”
“It was nice,” Meg said, looking down at her hands. “Even Mama couldn’t ruin it. I planned the wedding, you know.”
“You?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. I followed your advice and kept my mouth shut. Claire and I … connected again. I even baby-sat my niece during the honeymoon. But now …”
“Now, what?”
Meg shrugged. “The real world is back.” She looked up. “My condo is quiet. I never noticed that before.”
“Your niece was loud?”
“She never stopped talking. Except when she was asleep.” Meg felt a tightening in her chest. She would miss sleeping with Ali, miss having a little girl to care for.
“It reminded you of Claire.”
“Lately, everything reminds me of those days.”
“Why?”
“We were best friends,” Meg said softly.
“And now?”
Meghann sighed. “She’s married. She has her family. It’s just like before. I probably won’t hear from her until my birthday.”
“The phone works both ways.”
“Yeah.” Meghann looked down at her watch. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It hurt too much. “I gotta go, Harriet. Bye.”
Meghann stared at her client, hoping the smile she managed to form wasn’t as plastic as it felt.
Robin O’Houlihan paced in front of the window. Stick-thin and wearing more makeup than Terence Stamp in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, she was the clichéd Hollywood wife. Too thin, too greedy, too everything. Meg wondered why none of these women noticed that at a certain age thin became gaunt. The more weight they lost, the less attractive their faces became, and Robin’s hair had been dyed and redyed blond so often and so long it looked like a straw wig. “It’s not enough. Period. End of story.”
“Robin,” she said, striving for a calm and even voice. “He’s offering twenty-thousand dollars a month, the house on Lake Washington, and the condo in La Jolla. Frankly, for a nine-year marriage that produced no children, I think—”
“I wanted children.” She practically hurled the words at Meg. “He was the one who didn’t. He should have to pay for that, too. He took away the best reproductive years of my life.”
“Robin. You’re forty-nine years old.”
“Are you saying I’m too old to have a child?”
Well, no. But you’ve been married six times and frankly, you have the mental and emotional stability of a two-year-old. Believe me, your never-conceived children thank you. “Of course not, Robin. I’m simply suggesting that the children approach won’t help us. Washington is a no-fault state, you remember. The whys of a divorce don’t matter.”
“I want the dogs.”