Chapter Twenty-one
Jordana sits down gratefully in the living room; she didn’t think her legs would be strong enough to support her. She is so nervous she almost stopped the car on the way over here, to throw up.
She wasn’t going to come here, wasn’t planning to come, but she missed Michael so much, knew that if she could only see him, if he could only see her, he would realize how much they had together, how much he was throwing away.
Jordana had been, after all, the most beautiful and popular girl in her town. She was the cheerleader that all the boys wanted to go out with, she was the one who had her pick, was surrounded by the popular girls and the cutest boys.
People didn’t walk away from Jordana. Jordana walked away from people, and rejection was not something she took lightly, was not something, in fact, she had had much experience of at all.
“I’ve missed you,” she says, looking into Michael’s face for a sign of some of the warmth, the love she is convinced is still there, but his face, for the time being, is cold.
“It’s been a few weeks,” Michael says. “It feels longer. How is everything? How’s work?”
“It’s . . . okay.” She shrugs. “Not the same. I found a temporary jeweler to come in and help out. I’m in the city and Jackson’s in Manhasset pretty much permanently.”
“Are you back together?”
“No. He wants to try couples counseling, but I’m certain it’s over.”
Michael looks up and meets her eyes. “Does he know?”
“About us?” Even saying the word “us” makes her feel better. “No.” She shakes her head. “He has no idea.”
“Okay.” Michael sighs, and they sit in awkward silence for a while before he finally asks, “Jordana? Why are you here?”
She takes a deep breath, then stands up and comes over to where he is sitting on the other sofa, sinking down next to him and taking his hands. She has planned this for weeks, knows exactly what she will say, and she gazes into his eyes as she finally gets the opportunity to deliver her well-rehearsed speech for real.
“Michael, I’m here because I love you. Because what we have is special. Because I’ve never known anyone like you before in my life, and because I know, I absolutely know, that we belong together. I also know that you’re a good man, that you have so much guilt because you think of me as a married woman, and you care about Jackson, but my marriage to Jackson was over long before you and I started, and it would have ended anyway.”
“But, Jordana—”
“Wait, let me finish.” She puts up a hand to silence Michael before continuing. “I know that you don’t believe me when I tell you that I am ready to start again, ready to give it all up, and I have realized that you’re scared I’m doing all this for you, that it’s too much of a responsibility for you to take all that on, but I would have reached this point anyway. One of the things I loved about being with you is that we didn’t need expensive restaurants and fast cars and flashy jewelry to be happy. When I am with you I feel completely myself, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone. That’s how I want to live my life from now on: a simple life with none of the trappings, which have never brought me what I really wanted. Happiness.”
Michael looks at the studs glittering in her ears, the eternity ring of emerald-cut diamonds, one carat each, now resting on the fourth finger of her left hand, and decides not to comment.
“What I’ve missed with Jackson is a partnership, and that’s what I feel with you. You are the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, and you make me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before. I came here because I can’t throw this away, it’s too important, and I know that if we do we’ll never find it again in anyone else.”
She lapses into silence, looking expectantly at Michael, who can’t meet her eyes. He is still shocked that she is here, shocked further at how dramatic her words are.
Michael is not someone who finds it easy to express himself, but if he could, he would be tempted to tell her that she’s probably seen one too many romantic movies, and ask if she is completely out of her mind.
“Well?” she says eventually, attempting a smile. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Um, Jordana . . .” He meets her eyes and sighs, unprepared, not knowing how to say it. “I think you’re an amazing woman. I think you’re strong, and beautiful, and incredibly brave for coming here and saying what you just said. Our relationship has been extraordinary, both our friendship over the last twenty years and, obviously, more recent events.” When he pauses, she smiles indulgently at him. He shakes his head. There’s no getting around it. He just has to be firm.
“But,” he says, watching as her face visibly twitches, “however wonderful a woman I think you are, and I do, I don’t think we do belong together. Not because of guilt over Jackson, but because I honestly can’t see a future for us.” He stops, sighing. “I wish I could tell you something else, but it would be a lie, and it would be wrong for me to lead you on in any way.”
“Just because you can’t see a future for us right now, doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” Jordana says quickly. “Of course it’s hard for you to visualize—after all, our worlds are so different, but if we tried, we could see. I’m not saying we have to jump into anything permanent, but we could just take things slowly, see how we go. I could prove to you that I’m right.” She attempts a smile.
“I can’t,” Michael whispers, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Jordana, but I can’t.”
“But why not? I don’t understand, why not?”
“Because I’m not in love with you,” Michael says finally, his voice still a whisper. “Because this isn’t right. This isn’t what I want.”
“But how do you know what you want? How can you know if you haven’t had it?” She is clutching at straws, and they both know it.
“Jordana, you shouldn’t have come all this way. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Please, Michael.” She feels herself close to tears, is almost embarrassed at her behavior but her feelings for him are so strong that she can’t just leave, can’t let him throw this away without a fight. “Just give us a chance. Please. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“I can’t, Jordana. You should go.”
“There’s something else,” she says, standing up.
Michael looks at her wearily, and there is fire in her eyes.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Dad?” Bee holds his hand and strokes it gently, having sat for a while watching her father snore softly. When she first saw him in the hospital she was stunned at how old he looked, but she is getting more used to it now.
He opens his eyes, squinting at the light, then slowly focuses on her.
“Bee?” He smiles and Bee leans forward, hugging him.
“Hi, Dad. How are you feeling today?”
“Not too bad. There’s still some pain, and the doctor says I need lots of rest. But I’m so glad I didn’t need the hip replacement. Not this time.”
“Thank God,” she whispers. “Can you fly?”
“I left my wings at home.” He smiles again. “Why?”
“I want you to come back to Nantucket with me, so I can look after you.”
“Ah. Nantucket. Is it still the most magical place on earth?”
Bee smiles and nods. “How long is it since you’ve been?”
“Many years.” Evan’s eyes close for a moment. “A lifetime or two.”
“So how about it, Dad? You’d love our house. And it means I could look after you properly.”
“Maybe,” Evan says, wincing. “Let me think about it.”
“What’s to think about?” Bee says firmly. “Who else is going to look after you?”
“I could get a nurse,” Evan says.
“That’s ridiculous, when you have me. The girls will love having you there, and I promise I’ll give you a quiet time.”
“How are those darling girls?” Evan smiles at the thought of them.
“They’re great. They’re enjoying some special time with Daniel.”
“What about Daniel? Are you two going to be able to patch things up, do you think? For the sake of the girls?”
She laughs bitterly. “I’d say the chances of us getting back together are slim to none. It’s a long story, Dad. One I’ll save for when you’re feeling stronger. God knows I don’t want to give you a heart attack.”
“Why not? At least I’m in the right place for it. What’s the story? Did he come out of the closet at last?”
Bee turns white. “What? How did you know?”
“Oh Beezy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I just always had a feeling. How are you? Are you okay?”
“Oh Dad,” she says. She takes a deep breath and looks out of the window, trying to compose herself. Bee is trying so hard to be strong for her dad, to be the one to look after him, to be the grown-up, and she doesn’t mean to, but she bursts into tears.
“Ssssh.” Her dad puts his arms around her and wishes it wasn’t so painful, seeing someone you love hurt as much as this. “It’s okay, Beezy. Ssssh. Daddy’s here.”
And finally, in her father’s arms, at a hospital bedside in Stamford, Connecticut, she feels, for the first time in a long while, that someone is looking after her.
Daff wants to enjoy herself, to lose herself in the party, but every time someone new walks into the garden she looks up expectantly, hoping it will be Michael. It never is.
She was standing with Nan for a time, left to get a glass of punch, came back to find Nan being swept onto the dance floor by Jack. She smiles as she watches her, thinking what a lovely party it is, the lanterns glimmering among the trees, pretty people wandering up and down the lawns, and thinking how much better it would be if Michael were here.
“Hello.”
She turns to see a man smiling at her, extending a hand. “I’m Mark.”
“I’m Daff.”
“Daff short for Daphne?”
“It should be. That’s what everyone thinks, but it’s Delphine.
My mother was French, and when I was young my little brother couldn’t pronounce it and he called me Daff. It stuck.”
“It’s cute. So how do you know Jack?”
“I don’t. I’m here with a friend.”
“I saw you with Nan earlier.”
“Yes. Actually, she’s my landlady.”
“Ah-ha, you’re one of the tenants I heard about.”
“Oh? You know Nan, then?”
“Not really. We’ve met. She came to look at one of the houses I built and I’m desperate to get my hands on Windermere.”
“You’re a developer?”
“I am and Nan’s sitting on one of the best properties on the island. Has she talked to you at all about selling?”
Daff turns and looks at Mark. He is smiling and he seems pleasant, but there is something in his eyes that is steely, something that she instantly doesn’t trust, and she knows that the less she says, the less information she gives him, the better.
“I’m just a tenant.” Daff laughs lightly, turning away. “Why would she talk to me about anything like that?”
“It’s worth an awful lot of money, you know,” Mark says. “The prices here are extortionate.”
“I’ve heard.”
“So what about you?” Mark changes the subject. “What do you do when you’re not being a tenant in Nantucket?”
“I’m actually a realtor,” she says with a laugh. “In Westchester.”
“Ah. So we’re both on the same team, then.” He grins. “Are you here with your husband and kids?”
“No.” Daff shakes her head, wondering when she will get used to these presumptions, when she will be able to tell people she is divorced without feeling like a failure somehow. “I’m . . . divorced. My daughter’s with her father at the moment.”
“So did you get into real estate after your divorce?”
“After the separation. Yes.”
“It’s a tough business right now. Nantucket’s different. It’s an island so the prices will always hold, but I know the rest of the country is really suffering. How are things where you are?”
“Not great.” Daff is trying to think of a way to get away. She knows she should be polite, but this is not a comfortable conversation for her: he wants to know too much and it feels like he has an agenda. But she doesn’t know how to extricate herself.
“There should be some new activity in the fall,” she says, looking over to the drinks table, about to excuse herself. “You know how it is, summer’s always hard.”
“Well,” Mark leans closer, “between you and me, if Nan were to agree to sell to me this summer, I’d make sure there was something in it for you.” He winks. “Just business. I know you understand. We could do a deal privately, no agent, and I’d give you a percentage. Here—” he slips a card into her hand and she gazes at it numbly—“give me a call and we can talk some numbers. Between you and me,” he says again, looking at her intently.
“Mark Stephenson!” Nan appears, her elegant red crepe gown swishing around her ankles.
“Nan Powell! You look as beautiful as ever.” He kisses Nan on each cheek as Daff shudders. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to have this dance?”
“Seeing as you asked so nicely, how can I possibly resist?” Nan giggles, and the two of them walk across the lawn, leaving Daff standing there looking at the card pressed into her palm.
A percentage. Of what? What could the house be worth? Millions, she knows, but how many? Six million? Seven? Eight? More? And what kind of percentage? Her mind quickly tumbles some numbers around. Three percent, say, of six million would be one hundred and eighty thousand dollars. That’s a fortune. She wouldn’t have to worry for ages.
Oh God! What is she thinking? She couldn’t possibly do that to Nan, couldn’t possibly get involved in anything so shady, so underhanded and so, well, sleazy. She is tempted to rip the card up, feeling dirty just having had a conversation with that man, but she pushes it into her purse and covers it up with tissues, pretending that if she can’t see it, it isn’t there and will just go away.
Michael is sitting on the porch, glass of whiskey in hand; he’s lost count of how many he has had. Daniel came to see him earlier, asked if he was okay, but Michael couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.
In some ways he feels like he’s been waiting for this moment all these years. He has spent his life astounded that none of his girlfriends, his lovers, his past conquests has ever become pregnant, and now finally it is as if this was always supposed to be— his past has caught up with him at last.
He feels numb. Shocked. Scared. Once the words were out, he looked at Jordana in fear, feeling his chest tighten up, his breath coming out in short, sharp bursts as he struggled to breathe, hoped that somehow he had misheard, that he was about to wake up from this nightmare.
Jordana had left, had stormed out in a whirlwind of tears and drama, announcing that she was staying at the Wauwinet, that she was having this baby, that if she had to do it alone, she would, and that she was stunned by his reaction, his inability to speak, let alone breathe.
A baby. With Jordana of all people. Every time he thinks about it he feels like he wants to crawl under a blanket and never come out. How can his life have spun so wildly out of control? How can he be responsible for another human being when he seems to have messed up his own life so badly?
He can’t think of anything worse than having their lives entwined, because of a shared child, until the end of their days.
It is almost as if, he reflects grimly, he was having an out-of-body experience. After just seeing her tonight, her highlighted, over-made-up, desperate, obsessive, sparkly self, he kept thinking, what the hell was I thinking? What the hell was I thinking? A friend, yes. But a partner for the rest of my life? Hell, no.
If only he had ignored that chemistry, kept Jordana as the distant friend she had always been, gone out with her that night, that first night, and headed home to the Upper West Side. Alone.
And Jordana, how will she cope with this? With an illegitimate child by a man who doesn’t feel the slightest bit equipped to cope with it himself, a man who just can’t be there in the way Jordana wants, can’t be the husband or partner she needs.
Tonight he didn’t see her as vulnerable, as being in need of a knight in shining armor, someone to rescue her and make it all better. Tonight he saw her as damaged. Insecure.
And perhaps just a little bit crazy.
“Michael? Is that you?”
He looks up, seeing Daff standing in the darkness, so beautiful in that dress, so fresh, and clean, and different from Jordana, and as he looks up, unsure what to say, he realizes that his shoulders are shaking, and that tears are streaming down his face.
“Sssh.” She glides over, puts her arms around him, strokes his back, kissing the top of his head and soothing him as she would a child. “It’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing wide circles on his back as he leans into her and cries. “It’s okay.”
Slowly the tears subside, and he is still in her arms, and she has stopped rubbing his back, and it’s not quite so comfortable. He pulls her down gently so she is on his lap, never taking his arms from her, nor hers from him, then he is kissing her, and oh my Lord, this is not what he should be doing when he has just discovered he is going to be a father, but this is Daff, this feels like a safety net in the most awful storm he has ever known. And more than that, as he kisses Daff and feels her arms wrapped around him, he feels, finally, right.
“What’s that?” Minutes later, a buzzing.
“Oh God.” Daff jumps up guiltily, embarrassed, and reaches into her handbag for her cell phone. “Who would be calling me this late?” She looks at the number and her heart stops. It’s Richard’s number. There is something wrong. Jess. She flips the phone open as terror flutters across her chest.
Jess sobbing down the phone. Like a little girl.
“Jess? What is it? Jess? What’s the matter?” Fear is making her shout, desperate to know that Jess is okay.
“I miss you, Mommy,” Jess says, gulping for air through the tears. “I need you, Mommy.”
Daff immediately goes into mother mode. “I miss you too, Jess. I love you. But tell me what’s wrong. What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
“Daddy’s going to call you,” she says, the sobs starting again. “But I want to come and live with you. I hate it here. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Jess?” Daff’s voice is firm, even though her heart is not. “What’s going on? Let me talk to your father.”