Once and Again (13 page)

Something he really wasn’t doing with Carolyn. He’d been laying into her hard. Maybe too hard. At first he thought it was justified. She and her family had screwed him over fifteen years ago, and she’d skipped off into the sunset without giving him a backward glance.

And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, it still burned.

That night on the beach with her on the sand and under the moonlight should have been the culmination of his fantasy. The unattainable golden girl, finally giving it up to a Gaffney. At the time, he hadn’t thought about much other than the fact that he’d wanted her, she’d offered, and he’d taken. The end.

But it wasn’t the end. He’d hated himself when it was over, but he still wanted more. One taste wasn’t enough—would never be enough. And despite the fact that she’d all but demanded the sex, she still wasn’t over her issues and neither was he. There was a lot she wasn’t saying. So much she was keeping close to her chest. And she was hurting. Once he’d gotten a handle on her situation, he’d actually started to
care,
always a dangerous thing.

Seeing Joe again had thrown him for a loop, too. He’d gone to see his brother out of obligation, just to get it over with. Because the older Joe got, the more he looked like their dad, and that just brought back all sorts of shit he wasn’t prepared to deal with now. Not in the middle of everything else. But he missed Joe. Kristy, too, who had always resembled their mom more than their dad. At least his mom had died before his dad had really gone down the crapper. She hadn’t seen the worst of it—the gambling, the drinking, and the verbal abuse that left marks that were more than skin-deep.

God,
but he had a ton of baggage—baggage he’d been able to skip out on once he’d graduated from college and left Eastbridge for good. And now that he was back, it was finally catching up to him.

He glanced down at his watch. Speaking of baggage, he was going to miss his plane if he didn’t get a move on. He needed some new clothes, and he still had to pack and to overnight those documents to his lawyer, who would want to review everything before any kind of negotiation session.

But when he got back, he knew he’d have to finish what he started. With Briarwood, with his family, and with Carolyn Rivington.

Jane drove down the winding road through the golf course on the way to Briarwood. Every time she came for a job, she had the same reaction: awe. The golf course, beautifully groomed, surrounded by mature tulip and oak trees, looked like something out of a movie. Slowly, she drove by the huge, old Colonial-style clubhouse, where a valet was taking the keys to a high-end Mercedes-Benz just like one she used to own. She continued on, past the member lot. Almost every single car parked there was a luxury vehicle, each worth more than she made in a year.

She parked in the staff lot close to the rear door of the main clubhouse. The place had seen better days, but it still spoke of privilege and power. With its white paint a little chipped in places, the clubhouse had that kind of old-money, shabby-chic vibe so many buildings in Eastbridge were famous for—the vibe that said
We’ve been here for generations. Deal with it.
Even the dogwood trees lining the staff lot seemed stately. They were in full bloom now, their clusters of bright, pinkish-white blossoms superimposed against the gray-blue sky.

She was here today for a last-minute custom engagement party cake. Agreeing to the job was a no-brainer. An extra $800 for a few hours’ worth of work? Well worth it.

A slim, dark-haired man was waiting at the door when she arrived. Jane walked up to him. “Hi, Susumo,” she said.

“Hello, Jane,” he responded, his voice infused with the hint of a Japanese accent. Then he gave her a smile. The man didn’t show a ton of emotion, but he was always warm toward her. “Where is the cake?”

“It’s in the back of the van. I’ll need some help getting it in. Do you have a cart?”

“I have one just inside,” Susumo said. “We’re supposed to confirm we get what we order before accepting delivery, but I’m not inspecting a cake outside where it might get damaged. Hold on for a second.”

“Do you need help?”

“No,” Susumo said, already walking back to the door. “It’s right here.”

Together, they lifted the three tiers of the cake and the vases of roses onto the cart. Then they wheeled the cart gently down the back corridor. Once they’d gotten the cake and the decorations safely to Susumo’s work space in the Briarwood kitchen, the pastry chef began his analysis. It was eleven thirty, and though behind the pastry area the kitchen was bustling, servers running here and there, and that French chef Eric was shouting orders, Jane only had eyes and ears for Susumo.

He walked around the cart for a long while, examining the cake and peering closely at the decorations—some additional candy roses that Jane had prepared to place on each layer.

“This is good work,” he said. “Very good work. Clean and tight.” He pointed to a rose. “Your sugar work is quite fine and getting better. I can’t believe you didn’t have formal training.”

“Evelyn trained me,” Jane responded.

Susumo shook his head. “This is all you.”

Jane stifled a grin at the praise. She was proud of her skills, and had spent a lot of time getting everything just right. Most of her clients weren’t that picky; she did it because it had to be perfect for
her.
But somehow, impressing Susumo seemed more important than anything else she’d done so far.

“This could be smoother,” he said, indicating the edge of the fondant. “Next time check the moisture in the room before you start.”

“Yes. I understand.”
Moisture.
A critique from Susumo was gold, and she was wise enough to know it.

Finally, Susumo stepped back. “The party begins at three. Would you like help with the assembly?”

“Yes, please.”

Susumo nodded and went to wash his hands. Jane did the same. They stacked the tiers slowly and carefully, ensuring each was centered and lay perfectly. Once Jane attached the sugar roses, the cake really started to take shape. With the two of them, the work went quickly, and by the time Jane arranged the fresh flowers around the base of the cake, a mere hour had passed.

Susumo inspected the final product. “I will personally take this into the ballroom before the party. Well done, Jane. You should be very proud of yourself.”

Jane was already hot from the exacting work, but she felt herself flush with pleasure anyway. “Thanks, Susumo. I truly appreciated the opportunity.”

“Thanks are not necessary. I couldn’t get this cake done in time, and I needed your help. I’d like to hire you for a cake next week, if you have the time.”

“Yes, absolutely. Please, just tell me when and I’ll make it happen.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. A beat passed. “Right now, you’re a good pastry chef. You could be great.”

“You’re kind to say it.”

“I’m not being kind. I’m being truthful.” He paused again. “I could train you.”

To apprentice with Susumo Norimoto, a James Beard Award–winning pastry chef, would be a dream come true. But there was one problem. “I appreciate the offer, Susumo, but I don’t have the money to pay you.”

Susumo shook his head. “No money. You could apprentice with me.”

“Full time?”

Susumo nodded.

Jane sighed. “I wish I could, but the time I’d be spending with you would be time that I’m not making money for the bakery or being with my son. I wish I could say yes, but it’s too tough right now. I’m still happy to take one-off assignments, though. I already told Carolyn I’m committed for the new owner’s welcome party, if that helps.”

“What about working
with
me for the next job I send you?”

Jane blinked. “You—you would do that for me? Pay me to learn with you?”

He gave a short nod. “For you? Yes.”

Though she was bone tired, a surge of energy coursed through her. “I’d be an idiot to say no. That’s extremely generous, Susumo.”

Susumo looked pleased. “Good,” he said. “Come next Wednesday for your first assignment.”

An assignment. As if he were already her teacher. “I look forward to it.” She glanced at her watch. “And now I have to run. Evelyn will be wondering where I am, and besides, I promised Andy I’d get off from work a little early tonight.”

“Ah,” Susumo said. “Before you go, I have something for you.” He turned and stepped to the pastry refrigerator and pulled something out. “Here,” he said, placing a tiny, perfect raspberry tart in her hand. “For your son.”

A thoughtful, unexpected treat. “Oh, Andy loves raspberries.”

“They’re my wife’s favorite, too.”

“Thank you. I—” She blinked. “Just, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I trust you can find your way out?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Susumo smiled, then dipped his head before turning back to his workstation.

Jane went back through the kitchen to leave. She was sorry she didn’t have time to stop and say hello to Carolyn, but she’d promised to get back to Evelyn as quickly as possible after her Briarwood trip.

It took about fifteen minutes to drive back to downtown Eastbridge. Jane rolled down the windows of the van and breathed in the fresh spring air.
God,
she loved this time of year. Renewal and rebirth. Those had been her mantras ever since she’d left Dan.

There were way too many days when nothing was going right. When the bakery hadn’t brought in enough to cover its daily nut and she watched Evelyn worry, when Andy was struggling with his reading, when the apartment was a wreck, or maybe even when she had a particularly tough phone call with her mom and second-guessed herself.

But on a day like today—beautiful, clear, perfect—she knew she’d made the right decision.

She parked behind the old brick building right off Main and was about to slip in through the rear entrance of the bakery when her cellphone buzzed in her pocket. Without checking her caller ID, she picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Jane.”

Dan.
Immediately, her skin started to crawl and a sick wave of disgust and impotence washed through her. She’d never know how on earth he knew exactly when to call to bring her down. Yet another disturbing talent of his. “How’d you even get this number?”

“Your mother,” he said, his voice smug.

Jane looked around. Not a person in sight.
Good.
No one needed to hear this.

“If you want to tell me something, call my lawyer,” she said, starting to pull the phone away from her ear.

“Wait—don’t hang up,” she heard Dan say, his disembodied voice coming out of the tinny speaker. Slowly, she put the phone back to her ear. “I thought we could do this without lawyers.” His voice dropped. “To work this out, just the two of us.” It was that used-car-salesman voice—oily and slick—that rubbed her raw. Whatever he wanted to work out, the only person he cared about was himself.

Lucy Thurlow, an older woman who owned Ephemera, the paper store next door to the bakery, passed by and gave Jane a wave. Jane waved back and watched as Lucy walked to her car and got in, oblivious to the fact that Jane was talking to Satan. If she didn’t get to the heart of this now, he’d keep calling and calling. He wouldn’t leave any messages—he was too smart for that—but even seeing his number pop up again and again would make her sick. And if she did pick up, he’d spew filth at her until he got what he wanted.

As soon as Lucy was gone, she snapped into fighting mode. “What do you want?”

Dan’s voice was sharp again. “Andy. For the summer.”

“No. I have custody. Sole custody. You only get one supervised visitation a month, which you aren’t even using now. So you can’t have him.” Why was he calling her about this, anyway? His visits were supposed to be scheduled through Andy’s court-appointed attorney.

He was quiet for a while, and she could almost hear his brain whirring. “I’ve let a lot slide lately—you not letting me have Andy for Christmas, you changing your phone number again—and I’ve been patient. That’s about to change. I can make things very difficult for you, Jane.”

Jane hunched her shoulders, instinctively recognizing the posture as defensive. Dan had laid off of her for the past year. Even his request to see Andy over the Christmas holiday had been made half-heartedly, and without the proper supervision set up for the visitation. So she had no idea what was driving this new zeal.

“If you’re talking about those photographs, the judge said those had to be kept private,” she hissed.

“I have others,” he said, letting those three simple words hang there.

Oh, God, there were more!
She’d trusted the wrong man, and now that mistake was going to haunt her forever.

When she’d first met Dan, she’d been young and naïve and pathetically in love.
Prove yourself to me,
he’d said, so she’d proven it. By allowing him to take pictures of her in every possible explicit position. He thought they were sexy, they made him happy, and she’d done it out of love, so she hadn’t thought anything of it, especially once they’d gotten married.
It’s just our secret, isn’t it, Jane?
And things were all right. For a while.

The first time he hit her, they’d had a fight about her going out with her friends. He’d been insanely jealous, accusing her of infidelity, and then his hand was smacking her cheek, a giant crack that reverberated in her skull. She was too stunned to do anything, so she just lay there on the floor when she’d fallen.
I’m sorry. I love you. I don’t want to lose you,
he’d said later. Of course he loved her. She was his wife, the mother of his child.

The second time he hit her, she fought back. He hadn’t liked that. She hadn’t been able to leave the house for a week, her bruises were so bad. Andy was only three, but he noticed and it horrified her. After that, she stopped fighting. Started tiptoeing around and hiding the bruises. Started lying to everyone, including her mother. Until one day, she’d gotten brave enough to leave and to take Andy with her.

By the grace of God, she’d found a good attorney who specialized in family law, specifically domestic abuse cases. Dan had tried every dirty trick in the book at the divorce proceedings, but ultimately, she’d gotten sole custody of Andy with supervised visitations for Dan, one of the best possible outcomes. Dan wasn’t happy. As a top Fairfield County realtor, his appearance was everything, and the lack of joint custody did not make him look good. But Jane had gotten what she wanted—Andy, and freedom.

To this day, her mother had no idea why Jane had left him.

“Just imagine how it would look if other people saw them,” Dan’s voice cut into the line. “It might impact your ability to work. Maybe even mess up your lease. Mr. Underhill’s a friend, by the way.”

Patrick Underhill was a real estate agent in town who managed the building Jane both lived and worked in, which was owned by an older woman named Claudia Garlen. Patrick was a good man, but conservative, and Mrs. Garlen followed his advice. And this was the problem: before Dan began using the photos as a shaming tactic, she hadn’t even cared. Yet she realized there were many others who did and who would judge her accordingly. If Patrick got wind of those photos, he’d tell Mrs. Garlen to boot her out for sure. It might even affect Evelyn’s lease just through guilt by association. Worse yet, it might screw up her apprenticeship with Susumo.

“You can’t release them.”

“Oh,
I
wouldn’t do anything like that,” he said, “but accidents happen. And you know what they say about the Internet being forever.”

“No,” she said, willing her voice not to quaver. “Your threats won’t work. Like I told you, if you have something to say, talk to my lawyer. Forget you have this number. And don’t ever call me again.”

Then she hung up the phone.

She took a moment to compose herself, taking a few big, deep breaths and blinking her eyes to stem the impending tears.
Do not let him get to you, Jane.

Finally, when she was calm enough, she opened the door and carefully, deliberately, went back to work.

Yes, everything was just fine.

It had to be.