An Irresistible Bachelor (21 page)

“No, it's fine.” Jack took a deep drink. “Listen, what are the ramifications if I run as an unmarried man?”

There was a pause, as if the question was a surprise. “I don't think it's necessarily a problem. Having a family is an asset, of course, especially considering the stunts you've pulled. Voters like candidates with wives and children; it's that whole illusion-of-stability thing. And having a family also gives you more credibility when it comes to issues like education and health care. But it's moot because you've got Blair.” There was another hesitation. “Right?”

“I'll call you tomorrow.”

“What's going on, Jack?”

“Tomorrow.” He hung up the phone.

He thought about telling Callie he was having feelings for her when he got back from New York. Would she give him a chance if he explained himself? It sure wasn't a slam dunk; his past and his present spoke all too well for themselves. After the way he'd behaved, he wasn't sure she'd want to hear anything he had to say.

And she was also going out with Gray.

Jack picked up his glass and a feeling of unease settled into his bones. He wondered what exactly he had to offer someone like her anyway. All the other women he'd been with had been content with jewels and clothes and trips and parties, things he could supply in spades. Callie wouldn't care about all that.

Except if he stripped away the trimmings, what would she be left with? Just him. A man ruled by his ambitions. Someone who had worked himself into a stupor night after night for the past decade and showed no signs of slowing down. A guy who'd demonstrated a total lack of regard for women's feelings in his twenties and early thirties and was now breaking up with his fiancée of three weeks.

Now, there were some huge selling points.

Jack fell perfectly still.

It was, he thought, entirely possible that Callie wouldn't choose him over Gray or anybody else even if she liked the way he'd kissed her. And who would blame her. He had all the success and sophistication in the world, but that didn't mean there was enough to him for her. Because she would want more from a man than a thick wallet and an old name. Hell, she deserved more.

Rage at himself hit in a dark wave, bringing bile up into his mouth.

Jack looked down at the glass he was holding and tightened his grip. Eyeing the wall directly across from his desk, he stood up and hurled the thing as hard as he could across the room. It shattered on impact, booze and glass shards flying everywhere.

Dragging a hand through his hair, only mildly appeased by the release, he collapsed back down into the chair.

 

The next morning, Callie was at the window seat in her room, looking out the clear windows on either side of the stained glass, when a limousine pulled into the driveway and under the porte cochere. From across the hall, Jack's door opened and closed and then heavy footfalls sounded out and gradually disappeared. Moments later, the limo shot down the drive as if there wasn't a moment to spare.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the leaded glass.

When she was young, she'd spent a lot of time alone because she was an only child with an odd family life. The trend toward solitude had only continued through high school, college, and graduate school. And after the turbulence of her mother's death, Callie had enjoyed the peace and ease of her own company as she readjusted to a life that wasn't all about suffering.

But solitude was not the same thing as being left behind, she thought.

She tried to imagine how Blair would react to the news that Jack had kissed another woman. Of course he'd say it meant nothing, that it was a mistake, that it would never happen again. How else could he possibly explain himself? She wondered whether the woman would cry and throw him out. Or did she have ice in her veins like his mother?

Part of her wanted to blame Jack and get angry at him for putting all three of them in such a bad situation. But she couldn't ignore her own role in the farce. The night before last he had been trying to resist kissing her in the kitchen. She'd been the one pulling him down to her mouth, so she was hardly an injured innocent. She was complicit, and the idea that she'd damaged someone else's relationship made her sick. The adage that there had to be something inherently wrong between two people for infidelity to occur just rang hollow.

There were few things in Callie's life that she truly regretted. But sitting in the clear morning light, surrounded by things that reminded her of Jack, she wished she had never met the man. She could have so easily gone about her life, perfectly happy in her cocoon of seclusion.

Instead, she was torn up.

As she continued to think about Jack, all sorts of scenes came to mind, none of them easy to bear. When she felt as though she'd been sitting forever, she checked the clock. Only half an hour had passed.

How was she going to get through the day? Or worse, the night? Even though she hated herself for it, she knew she was just killing time until Jack returned. And as with the distinction between being by herself and feeling abandoned, there was a tremendous difference between understanding that he had another woman and knowing that he was actually with her.

Callie thought of all those times she'd watched her mother wait for a visit that was canceled. All those evenings that had been spent sitting by a phone that never rang. All of the betrayals, large and small, that came with being number two. Her mother had lived less than half a life as she'd held on to a man who was never truly hers. After so many years of seeing the effects of the relationship, Callie had thought for sure she'd learned by a bad example and would never put herself in such a position.

She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek back against the stained glass, struck by a scene from childhood.

It had been her birthday. She'd just turned nine. Her mother had prepared a vanilla cake with chocolate icing and told her to set their small Formica table with three place settings. Callie had known what that meant and had barely been able to control her excitement.

He was coming. This time, her father was really coming.

In a role reversal, her mother had helped her pick out a dress to wear and they had spent time curling her hair and putting it up into bows. Her mother's mood had been light that day and Callie had taken pains to revel in it, fully aware it wouldn't last.

The good times rarely did.

They'd been sitting in the living room, her mother flipping through the same magazine over and over, Callie forced to play with her stuffed animals on the chair instead of the floor because of her dress, when the phone rang. She'd stopped moving as her mother had picked up and said a few terse words. The frozen smile sent back at Callie had meant that plans had changed and her mother was trying to be good and not yell in front of her.

Her mother had retreated into her bedroom, dragging the phone behind her, and quickly shut the door. As muffled, angry words seeped out, Callie had gone into the kitchen and over to the extra place setting at the table. She'd picked up the napkin she'd so carefully folded, the stainless steel knife, and the mismatching fork and spoon, and put them all away. She hadn't been able to reach high enough to get his plate back in the cupboard, so she'd hidden it under the sink.

Her mother had emerged sometime later, red-eyed and blotchy in the face. The cake had been brought out, the candles lit and extinguished, the presents unwrapped, but it had been no party.

Callie had gone to bed early only to be woken up much later when the door to her room had opened. The light from the hall had sliced across her blankets and her mother had stood in the beam, her slim figure a dark silhouette. The first thing Callie had noticed was that her mother's hair, which had been put up neatly in an elaborate bun earlier in the evening, had fallen into disarray. A halo of errant strands fanned out around her head, making her look like she was wearing a messy crown.

“Get up, Callie.” Her mother's voice had trembled with urgency.

“What's wrong?”

“We've got to go out.” Her mother had gone over to the dresser and started to pull out sweaters and pants, tossing them in disarray onto the floor. “Come on. Hurry. Put something on.”

Callie had known better than to ask any more questions. When her mother was like that, the easiest thing was to do as she was told. And that night, the anger vibrating in the air had been as bad as she'd ever seen it.

Out on the street, in the cold January wind, her mother had hailed a cab. As they squeezed inside, she'd barked out an address that Callie didn't recognize. During the ten-minute trip, the cab surged and halted through traffic lights and she'd wished she was back home. She kept thinking about her warm bed to distract herself from the way the taxi smelled and how her mother was muttering under her breath.

The cab had pulled over in front of a big private home in a neighborhood that was much better than the one they lived in. In this part of town, there was no trash in the gutters and all of the grand houses were decorated for the holidays. Each one had a pretty wreath with a velvet bow on its front door and Christmas trees twinkled through wide, clean windows.

Her mother had grabbed her hand and marched up the stairs of the mansion. When they'd gotten to the glossy front door, her mother had reached for the knocker and Callie had hoped she didn't break it. It was a golden lion's head with a ring in the nose, more majestic than scary.

Her mother had raised the ring and Callie had braced herself for when it was slammed down. But her mother had stopped. She'd just stood there, frozen in time, one hand on the brass knocker raised high, the other gripping Callie's arm.

As the pressure of her mother's grip cut off circulation, Callie had let out a whimper. “Mommy, you're hurting me.”

Her mother had looked down and blinked, as if wondering what Callie was doing there with her. And then the door opened, ripping the knocker from her mother's hand. The ring fell with a sharp sound.

On the other side was a couple like the ones Callie had seen in the newspaper or on the TV. The lady had been wearing a long, dark fur coat and the man had been dressed in a tuxedo with a white scarf around his neck.

They seemed as surprised as her mother did.

“Good evening,” the man had said, bending slightly at the waist. He held the door open even wider and warmth rushed out of the house along with a pool of light. As his wife had stepped onto the stoop, he'd patiently stood to one side. “Madam?”

“We're not . . .” Her mother had paused. “We're not going in.”

The man had frowned and then the woman had prompted him with a tug on his arm. Before the door had closed, Callie had gotten a brief glimpse of some of the people inside. They all looked so beautiful. Like dolls on a wedding cake, she'd thought.

While her mother stared off into the distance, Callie had watched the couple walk two doors down and disappear into another fancy house with a pretty wreath. She would have liked to explore the neighborhood, but the icy wind was cutting through her coat and she'd started to shiver. She'd wondered why her mother wasn't cold. She hadn't even put a coat on over her dress.

“Mommy? Can we go home now?”

“Yes.”

Her mother had started back down to the street, all the while staring through the big windows of the mansion. Before she had followed, Callie had stood on her tiptoes, trying to figure out what her mother was so fascinated by.

And then she'd seen her father.

“That's Daddy!” She'd jumped with excitement. “Let's go see Daddy.”

Her mother had quickly hushed her. “Come on.”

“I want to go to Daddy!”

Her mother had run up the stairs and urged her along. Callie's voice had risen to a whine. “But why can't we see Daddy—”

Suddenly, her mother was down on her level.

“I said no! ” she'd hissed, grabbing onto Callie's shoulders and shaking her. “We are not going in there. Do you understand? He had his chance to see you tonight but he blew it!”

Callie had burst into tears.

“Then why did we come?” she'd sobbed.

Her mother had instantly stopped. With a sad moan, she'd crushed Callie to her chest.

“I'm sorry, baby. I'm so very sorry.”

With a start, Callie came back to the present. Her father never had come to see her on her birthday. He'd had twenty-seven tries at it, but hadn't shown up once.

She let out her breath and pushed the hair from her face.

God, she hated remembering the past. It did awful things to her chest, making her feel like she was breathing through a rag stuffed down her throat.

Hopping off the window seat, she threw on some clothes and headed to the studio. When she got up to the garage, she decided to put on some music and work on the documents. She flipped through the CD collection by the stereo and decided that Norah Jones was not going to be a good call, not unless she wanted to cry all day long. When some big band swing was coming from the rafters, she went to the bin she'd pulled over to the couch and sat down.

She'd started to arrange the papers chronologically and it was a fascinating menagerie. Handwritten receipts for goods from the 1800s. A purchase contract for the tract of land on which Buona Fortuna now stood from 1871. A diploma from Harvard with the name Phillip Constantine Walker and the date 1811 on it. A scrap of paper with a scrawled Walker signature.

Reaching blindly into the box, she pulled out a pile of paper and put it on her lap. The top sheet was the beginning of a household inventory and she smiled as she read down the list of beds, linens, and dressers. The valuations were incredible, twenty dollars for a mahogany bureau and ten cents for a blanket. Going by the handwriting and the kind of paper, which was similar to others she'd seen, she figured it was probably from the late 1800s and was a record of Buona Fortuna. She hoped she found the rest of the document.