“We always have choices.”
“I'm a decent man, Susan.”
“Of course you are.” It hurt her to hear him say thatâas if it were something she might not have known otherwise. “But a lot of decent men are divorced, living separate lives from their children.”
“They still provide for them.”
He had her there. And finally, she understood. Her
plan had one little loophole that had turned into a big one. Michael's conscience.
She felt sick to her stomach for the first time in months.
“So.” He sat down on the end of the bed and put on his socks. “The first thing I'm going to do is set up a bank account for their financial needs. I'll get to work on that immediately.”
“Michael.” Susan sat down beside him and stayed his hand as he reached for his shoes. “It's one o'clock in the morning.”
He stopped momentarily, then picked up a shoe. “Well, I can get everything on paper and be ready when the bank opens in the morning.”
“I don't need your money.” She had to get through to him. To make him understand that he wasn't deserting his children. “I have enough put away to pay for college right now.”
“That was when you thought you were having one child.”
“I could put three children through college tomorrow if I had to.”
Nodding, as though not in the least surprised, he sat there, just holding his shoe.
“I have to do something.”
“We don't need you, Michael,” she told him, trying with every ounce of strength she had not to cry. If this was what they meant by tough love, she wasn't sure she was going to make a good parent, after all.
Turning, he looked at her, his eyes filled with understandingâand a hint of hopelessness, as well. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, Sus,” he said, seeing right through her. Or, probably more accurately,
into her. “But even if you don't need me, you can't speak for those babies. One to one, I was trying to justify, but two to one isn't fair odds. Not for you. But also not for them.”
“So what are you saying?” Her cheeks felt like ice. Her whole body was freezing. From the inside out.
“I don't know,” he told her, gazing straight ahead. “That's as far as I've gotten. Exceptâ” He broke off.
“What?” Her stomach clenched.
He stood, turning to face her, his hands on his hips. “I think that for the next couple of weeks, while I'm in town, I should stay here.”
They'd said they'd talk about that. And for a while, she'd been hoping he'd decide to stay. She was used to him coming and going in her life. As untraditional as their relationship might be, it worked for them. Most of the time. But...
“You're always welcome, Michael, you know that, but you don't sound too happy about the idea.” She took a deep breath. “And, under the circumstances, I'm not sure I'm happy about it, either.”
“It's the circumstances that make it the only feasible idea.”
“I don't follow you.” She frowned. “You need some space, some time to work this through in your mind, to figure out what to do, what feels right. What'll make you happy.”
“My happiness isn't the issue at the moment,” he told her, and because she knew he meant every word, her heart started to break. It was too late. She'd done to him the very thing she'd sworn she'd never do.
The thing she was afraid she'd already done. She'd trapped him. Maybe not in her life, maybe not in her home, but in his heart.
“And I've had space,” he continued, pacing from the bed to the closet to the door and back again. “Four months' worth with no answers forthcoming.”
“But you just found out about the twins today!”
“Maybe.” He still paced steadily. “But the issue has been in the forefront of my mind, anyway. It was just a little easier to justify no involvement when there was only one child to consider.” Stopping at the window, he stared out into the night. Feeling helpless, she sat on the edge of the bed and watched him.
“Let me stay here, Susan,” he said, his voice tinged with a note of begging. It was so unlike Michael, it brought the tears rushing to her eyes before she could stop them. “Let me try for these few weeks, see what I can do, what I can live with.”
Let me see how bad it's going to be, this being trapped,
she translated for him.
“Of course you can stay,” she told him. But there wasn't even a spark of excitement, of anticipation, of happiness, in her acquiescence.
She felt as though she'd just ruined the life of the man she loved.
Â
MICHAEL CAUGHT a flight to Chicago Saturday morning. He'd secured an appointment with the Miller family for a week from the following Monday. He wanted to use the time in between to finalize his market analysis and to check in with team members who were experts in various areas of acquisitions. And he wanted to be settled in his personal life before the
new week began. He was going home to catch up on mail, on Mrs. Leets, on his phone messages, to pick up some more clothesâand the Pathfinder. He needed that Pathfinder more than anything, illogically so. As if it represented the only piece of freedom he had left.
While he was home, he called his family, caught up on all the new happenings in Carlisle. They were finally getting a McDonald's. Which was the biggest news Michael had heard from there in a long time.
“How are the twins?” Michael asked when his mother took a turn on the phone.
“Fine. Those babies keep them busy,” she said. The same answer he always got, and yet, his little sisters suddenly seemed much more real to him.
“They're a great support for each other, aren't they?” he asked, only just realizing something everyone else had probably known for twenty years.
“Of course,” his mother said. “Why wouldn't they be?”
“No reason, Mom.” He meant to change the subject then. “Mom?” he asked instead.
“Yeah?”
“How did you feel when you found out you were having twins?”
“Ohhh, I don't know that I remember. Happy, I'm sure.”
“Was it hard, you know, that first little bit?”
“Hard?” She paused. “No, I don't think so.”
“What about when both of them were crying or needed to be changed, or when you had to go somewhere and lug two babies with you?”
“Well, of course,
that
wasn't easy, but I had you boys and your fatherâand besides, Michael, you just
don't think about those things. You're just too busy loving them.”
Right. There was that. Unfortunately, Michael didn't have any idea how to go about it.
Loving them.
“Of course, if you asked your father, I'm sure you'd get a different answer,” Mary Kennedy continued, rattling blissfully on. “He grumbled a lot when the girls were little. âDouble everything, mostly trouble,' he used to say. But he didn't really mean it. He took such pride in them. In all you kids.”
Because they were the only thing he could take pride in? The only thing he had? But it wasn't a question Michael could ask.
He rang off a few minutes later, not telling his family that he'd be staying at Susan's over the next few weeks. He knew exactly what they'd make of thatâadding more pressure that he didn't need. He also didn't want to get their hopes up about something that wasn't happening.
Which was exactly why he also failed to mention the two grandchildren on the way. Until that moment, he'd never even considered the fact that Susan's babies had another entire family who would delight in their existence. Who deserved to have a share of their lives.
With that thought wrapping the chains more tightly around him, Michael phoned his brother Bob. And didn't hang up until he'd secured permission to send Bobbie Jayne to drama camp in August. And then, filled with the need to call his niece back and tell her everything was finalized, he called the director of the campâreaching her at homeâand reserved Bobbie
Jayne one of the last slots. So as the day drew to a close, at least he felt good about something.
He met the new director of finance at Smythe and Westboume for dinner Saturday eveningâas he'd been doing every time he came to town since he'd left the position himself. Melanie Dryson had worked for him for years and was every bit as committed as Michael had been to the continued growth of the investment firm. And while she was very well qualified to do the job, there were still some things she liked to run by him. Sensitive issues relating to employees and to clients.
“I need to give you some new contact numbers,” he told her as soon as he'd finished off the steak and baked potato he'd ordered. Pulling out a business card, he scribbled Susan's number under his own. He'd told Melanie when she agreed to take the position that he'd keep her apprised of his whereabouts for as long as she needed him.
“You're through in Denver?” Melanie asked him. She'd had a salad that made him appreciate Susan's more voracious appetite.
“Last Thursday.” Melanie was a beautiful woman, a brunette with classical features. Everything about her from her dress to the way she wore her short, layered hair was classy, stylish. She reminded him a lot of Susanâespecially the air of confident poise she was never without.
Taking a sip of her tea, she smiled at him. “Have you been to Atlanta yet?”
“Just briefly.” He'd made a couple of weekend trips to familiarize himself with the office he was
hardly ever going to use. To meet his new secretary whom he used a lotâbut only long-distance.
Looking at the card he'd given her, Melanie asked, “So where are you going this time?”
“Cincinnati.”
“Doesn't the travel ever get to you?”
“I like seeing different parts of the country, meeting different people.” He just wished he could come home at night a little more often. And during his few hours off on weekends, too.
“What about living out of hotels?”
“Not my favorite thing.” A bit of an understatement. “As a matter of fact, I won't be in a hotel this trip.”
She looked at the card again. At the number. “Staying with Susan?”
“Yeah.” He glanced around for the waiter.
“Any chance of you two getting back together?”
“It hasn't even been discussed.” He thought of the unrest he'd seen in Susan's eyes when he'd left her that morning, the worry on her brow, remembered the compassion in her kiss. And she was the one going through the real hardship. He was eager to get back to her.
“Maybe it should be.” Melanie dipped a tea bag slowly in and out of her cup.
“Melanie...” he began.
“I know.” She held up one hand. “We don't ever talk about things like this, and most of the time I'm as opposed to bringing up private matters as you are. But I've been working with you for seven years, Michael. I saw how you were when you first came out here, like someone had just shot your best friend.”
He didn't think that was true, but after the night he'd spent, he didn't have the energy to argue with her. So he humored her instead and listened quietly.
“And then when you two started being more than just friends again, you changed. Seemed more at peace. Maybe even happy.”
The only reason Melanie had even known he'd been seeing Susan was that he'd had to leave Susan's number when he'd gone to Cincinnati. He wished now that he'd stayed in a hotel.
Michael checked his watch. “I really thinkâ”
“Just a minute, Michael.” She reached across to grab his arm, but let go immediately when she had his attention. “You've been good to me,” she said. “You gave me a chance in a predominantly male world and offered me fair reward for my accomplishments. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that, but maybe I can help you out for once.”
He shouldn't have bought Melanie that glass of wine with dinner. Not that it had ever affected her like this before.
“Help away,” he said, bracing himself.
“You and Susan belong together, Michael.” He started to protest again, in spite of his recent acquiescence, but she rushed on. “I realize I don't know either of you all that well. Personally, I mean. Hell, I've only met Susan a couple of times, but seeing you together...” She paused and Michael hoped she was done.
“I've heard you talking on the phone to her.” Unfortunately, she continued. “The way you build her up, the way you're always willing to listen, even your tone of voice when you talk to herâit's obvious to
anyone with eyes and ears that you're soul mates. How else could such an unusual relationship last?”