My One and Only (8 page)

Christopher, born when Nick was ten, was in a different class. Nick loved the little guy, and Chris idolized his long-distance half brother. Christopher was, Nick had once said, the only good thing about those awkward, sad weekends spent as the perpetual outsider, watching his father with his new-and-improved family.

“So how is it, seeing Nick again?” Jason asked now, leaning a little closer. He was awash in Polo, a scent I always associated with irritating tourists.

“Lovely,” I answered.

“I’m so sure.” He raised an anemic eyebrow and leered, sort of a chummy, conspiratorial look.
Poor thing, I understand completely, he’s a total shit, isn’t he?
“So it’s kinda cool we’re related again, don’tcha think?”

“We’re not related, Jason. We’ve never been related. You are my ex-husband’s stepbrother. No relation, biologically or legally.”

“But you’re sort of family. Because of Chris and what’s-her-name.”

“Negative. Willa will be your half sister-in-law, if such a term even exists. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing.” I met his piggy blue eyes with my asshole-lawyer stare, and as ever, it worked.

He sank back into his chair. “Bitch,” he muttered.

“And don’t you forget it,” I returned.

Nick was watching me, and there it was, that quivering hum of electricity. I hoped he had heard me smack down his stepbrother, knew that, in my own way, I’d stuck up for him, but before the thought was even formulated, Nick had turned to the dark-haired Emily, who was laughing at something he said.

“Want some bread, Harp?” Dennis asked.

“Sure. Thanks,” I muttered.

“So, Harper, what do you do for work?” asked one of the Glacier friends.

“I’m a divorce attorney,” I answered. Everyone quieted.

Nick choked. “Are you kidding?” he asked.

“No,” I said coolly. Did Willa tell him nothing? “But I’m available for advice, should the need arise.”

“Never,” Christopher said, gazing sappily at my sister.

“That’s kind of perfect,” Nick said. “You found your calling, Harper.”

I willed myself not to clench. He really didn’t know? He’d never looked me up on Google? Never? In the past twelve years, yes, I’d had a moment of weakness or two (five, actually) in which I’d typed in his name, but before the Internet could torment me with information, I’d had the sense to slap another key and stop my impulse. Apparently, the urge to look me up had never struck Nick.

Whatever. Time to be sociable. “So, Emily, you work with Willa?” I said, favoring the pretty brunette with a smile and taking another bite of bread. “Mmm-hmm.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a drafter.” At my look of confusion, she added, “I draft the architectural plans at Nick’s.” She sent a look of bovine adoration his way.

I stopped chewing. “Nick’s?”

She glanced at Willa. “Um, yeah. We both work for Camden & Lowery. Nick’s firm.”

I looked at my sister. “Really. How nice.”

I sat there for a minute or two, long enough to say, “I’ll have the same thing” when the waitress was done with Dennis, though I had no idea what he’d ordered. Then I excused myself, smiling, kissed Den on the cheek and hightailed it to the ladies’ room. Leaned against the sink and pressed my cold hands to my hot cheeks. The door opened a second or two later, and Willa gave me a cute little grimace.

“You’re working for Nick?” I blurted.

“Okay, calm down,” she said.

“Willa! I—You should’ve—” I took a quick breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is that how you ran into Christopher? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Harper, chill,” she said calmly, scootching up to sit on the counter. “Look. I’d been in the city about a month, not finding any work, okay? Money was running out—”

“Right! Which is why I told you not to leave that stonemasonry program until you had a job! And I also offered to loan you—”

“You already did loan me,” she said. “That’s the thing. I wanted to make it on my own.”

“So you went to him? To
Nick?
To my ex-husband, Wills?” My mouth wobbled, but luckily, the door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman in a sweatshirt that showed a moose dancing over the word
Montana.

“Occupied!” I barked, and she jerked back. But it gave me a much-needed second to get myself under control. I hadn’t cried in years. Wasn’t about to now.

“It was literally an accident,” Willa said. “I had an interview down in SoHo, which just sucked, by the way, they were so mean and it was for, like, a barista at a coffeehouse, you know, and they were grilling me on the growing conditions necessary for organic arabica and whatever. So I didn’t even get that job, I had eight dollars left in the bank, and I’m walking down this little bumpy street, the cobblestones are everywhere in SoHo, you know?”

“Yes, I’ve been there,” I said tightly.

“And I look up and see a sign. Camden & Lowery Architecture. I figured, what are the odds of that being Nick? I remembered him as so nice, you know?”

I gave her a lethal look, which she ignored. “So I went in and there he was, and he was so surprised and happy to see me, and I told him I was looking for work, and guess what?”

“What?”

“His secretary was going on maternity leave. So he hired me.”

My stomach was in a knot. “Willa—”

Once again, the door opened, and Dancing Moose Woman was back. “Still occupied,” I said. “My sister’s sick, okay?”

“Projectile vomiting,” Willa agreed. “Splat. Very disgusting.”

“Well, how long do you think you’ll be?” the woman asked with a frown.

“Long time,” Willa said sweetly. “But there’s another bathroom on the other side of the lobby. Oops, here it comes, more barf. You better go.”

“Feel better, honey,” the lady said, jerking back.

That did the trick. It also reminded me of why Willa got away with what she did. She…well, she was lovable. Good with people, sweet, funny. I could see why Nick would hire her…not just to mess with my head (though one couldn’t rule that out), but simply because Willa was awfully nice.

I cleared my throat. “Willa, did it ever occur to you that I’d like to know something like that?”

She sighed. “Sorry. It’s just…you and he were so long ago. And I really needed the job.”

“So how’d you meet Chris?” I asked.

“He came in on my first day. That’s why it was so…you know. Meant to be.” She reached out and took my hand. “I’m sorry. I was just a little desperate.”

“I would’ve helped you,” I said.

“I didn’t want to be helped.”

“Well, Nick helped you. Why was it okay to ask Nick and not me?”

“Because he actually needed something I could do,” she said gently. “And you never have.”

“What utter crap.” I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror and turned away abruptly.

“It’s not crap. It’s true, Harper. You never need anything from anyone.”

We didn’t say anything for a minute.

“Willard! You still in there? We’re doing a game, honey! Weddin’ night Mad Libs! Come on, sluggo! Is your sister in there with you?”

“We’re here, BeverLee,” I called. “We’ll be out in a sec.”

“Are we okay?” Willa asked me.

I nodded. “Sure.”

“I didn’t mean to keep it a secret…I just wasn’t sure how to handle it.”

“Well, letting me find out at dinner…uncool.”

“Sorry.” She gave me a repentant little grin.

“Willa,” I said, “you know I want you to be happy.”

“I know,” she said, her smile growing.

“We haven’t been able to have a real conversation since you told me the big news. I just want to state for the record that I’m…I’m really worried that rushing into marriage is going to result in another disappointment for you.”

“And I appreciate your concern,” she said calmly.

“When you marry someone you barely know, it doesn’t usually end well. And divorce…sucks.”

“I know, Harper. I’ve been divorced twice as many times as you.”

“So why are you in such a hurry?”

“Why waste time? If you love someone, I think you should go for it. And I’m not getting divorced this time. I really love Christopher.” Her eyes took on a flinty look.

I tried to make my voice gentle. “You loved Raoul and Calvin, too.”

“Christopher doesn’t have a prison record, and he’s definitely not gay. I’m older and wiser now. Okay? Can’t you just be happy for us? I know it’s hard for you to have faith in the world, but I do. And you’re my maid of honor, so you have to stop being so doom and gloom, okay?”

“Willa…”

“And by the way, do you think you could be nice to Nick?”

I sighed. “I’ve been very civilized. We’re even having a drink later on.”

“Oh, that’s great! Thank you, Harper!” She clapped her hands and then hopped down from the counter, adjusted her cleavage so it was higher and more pronounced—she was BeverLee’s daughter, after all. “You’ll see, Sissy. It’ll all work out.” Then she was gone, her face bright and happy despite our conversation.

What would it be like to be so relentlessly optimistic? I couldn’t remember ever having the same lighthearted faith that Willa felt. Not since I was about five, anyway.

I took a hard look at myself in the mirror, almost expecting to see some middle-aged harbinger of doom, Ebenezer Scrooge in drag. Instead, it was just me, the face deemed striking by just about everyone. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection. A few wisps of hair had escaped my clip and were curling, not unattractively, around my face.

My hair was probably my best feature, certainly the one that garnered the most attention. Rich auburn hair shot with coppery highlights from the sun, curling without frizzing, one-in-a-million, pre-Raphaelite hair of an angel which I straightened every day for work. I subdued it once more, secured the clip more tightly and made sure that not one curl escaped.

“Harper, baby doll? You comin’?” BeverLee opened the door. “Oh, sweetie, here. You need a little spray?” She fumbled in her huge vinyl purse for her industrial-sized can of Jhirmack. “Want me to puff you up?”

“I’m good, Bev. Thanks anyway.” With my stepmother chattering away, we went back to join the others.

An eternity later, dinner was over. Dad and BeverLee headed upstairs where, please God, they would have sex and thus relieve me of hearing about their marital woes. The rest of the gang drifted toward the bar. Dennis approached me. “Hey, I’m kinda whipped,” he said. “I’m gonna go upstairs and ice my back, take a few Motrin. We’re going horseback riding tomorrow, I don’t want to miss that.”

“Horseback riding?”

“That’s what they said.”

My stony heart sank a bit more. I was actually a little scared of horses. So dang big, you know? “Well. Do you need anything, Den? Want me to come up, get you settled?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Oh, hey, how you doing?”

I turned to look at the party he was addressing. Great. Some pretty woman giving him the eye.

“Harp, this is Bonnie, she’s a waitress here.”

“Hi, Dennis,” she sighed, practically melting on the spot.

I rolled my eyes. “Lovely to meet you.” I turned back to Dennis. “Feel better, snooky-bear,” I said. “I’ll be up in a little while.”

Dennis grinned. “’Night, Harp.”

“Er. Harp-
er
. You can say it. It’s only two syllables.”

To my surprise, he gave me a rather lovely kiss. “Good night, Harp
er
,” he said. Then he winked at Bonnie and headed up the stairs. I turned around and bumped right into my ex-husband.

CHAPTER SIX

N
ICK SMILED.
“W
ANT TO
get that drink now, snooky-bear?” he asked.

I took a deep breath. “You bet, poopyhead.”

“You still like those sickening cosmos?”

“Sue me. I came of age during
Sex and the City
.”

“There are tables out there,” Nick said, indicating the patio. “Back in a flash.”

I went outside. The sun was setting behind the mountains, and the shadows hung long and blue over the lake, turning the water almost black. The wind had died down, and the flagstones held the moderate warmth of the day. I picked a table—the patio was mostly deserted—wrapped my pashmina a little more tightly around me and stared off at the mountains.

It was so beautiful here, so remote. The quiet was like a palpable force, and I felt my soul unfurl a little. Surely Martha’s Vineyard was one of the loveliest places on earth, but it wasn’t like this—majestic, endless and harsh, a place where you could be killed by nature in a hundred different ways at any given moment. For some reason, the thought was oddly soothing. Out here, you were just part of a bigger plan, one you didn’t get to control. Be eaten by a grizzly, have a glacier fall on your head, drown in an icy river—it wasn’t up to you.

“Makes you feel a little…irrelevant, doesn’t it?” Nick asked, indicating the view as he set down my pink drink. “In a nice way.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said, a little disturbed that he’d just about read my mind.

“So you found out Willa’s working for me.” He took a sip of his beer.

“Yes, I did.”

“She asked me not to tell you.”

“And when would you tell me? During our weekly chats? Don’t worry, I’m not mad.”

“Sure you are.” He flashed his lightning smile.

I looked away. “So Jason’s here, huh? I didn’t picture that.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“How about your father and Lila? Coming in tomorrow?”

Nick’s dark gaze dropped to the table. “No. Dad’s got early onset dementia. He’s pretty out of it.” He began folding the corners of his cocktail napkin.

“Oh, Nick. I’m sorry to hear it.” Without thinking, I reached over and put my hand over his.

“Thanks.” He didn’t look up.

“What about Lila? I can’t imagine she’d want to miss her son’s wedding.”

“Actually, she planned a cruise a while back and didn’t want to cancel.”

That summed up the memory I had of her pretty well. I didn’t know the woman, but I always had the impression there wasn’t a lot to discover.

“So does your dad live near you?”

Nick nodded. “I got him into this pretty nice assisted-living place on the East Side. I can check on him that way.”

“That’s…that’s good.”

I’d met Ted only three times. He was a consultant to large corporations and Republican politicians, though what exactly he consulted on was never fully explained. Very successful, very smug, very oily. After rescheduling four times, he took Nick and me out to dinner when we were engaged. “Harper, call me Ted. You are stunning! I can see my son inherited his old man’s taste in women.” (I know. Nasty.) The next time I saw him was at our wedding, where I was too busy panicking to pay him much attention. The last time was at a Labor Day picnic at his sprawling, soulless McMansion in Westchester County, where Ted invited me to come riding with him sometime. Apparently he was once an alternate on the Olympic equestrian team and said he could tell I had a beautiful seat. (And again…nasty.)

I’d hated the guy, his easy affability with his stepson and younger child, either ignoring Nick altogether or asking him awkward questions that revealed just how little he knew his firstborn. He’d reminisce fondly about Nick’s soccer days when Nick had in fact played baseball. He referred to Nick’s days at UConn when Nick had gone to UMass. Once he mentioned their fishing trip to Maine, as if he’d ever taken Nick anywhere…Jason had been the son on that trip.

Inexplicably, Nick held no rancor toward him; instead, he’d watched his father with hopeful eyes, waiting for something more than a slap on the back and a “Hey, sport, how you doing?” Whatever Nick had waited for never came. At least, not in the time we were together.

I guessed now it never would.

Nick was staring at me.

Oh. I was holding his hand with both of mine, my thumbs stroking his knuckles. I jerked my hands back, then gave his an awkward pat. Took a sip of my cosmo.
Note to self: don’t touch Nick.
The buzz was quite unsettling, and it wasn’t caused by alcohol.

“So. A divorce attorney.” His hands busied themselves with the napkin. A structure was appearing, Nick’s own brand of origami. Sugar packets, toothpicks, asparagus spears—whatever was at hand, Nick would turn into a building, incapable of keeping his hands still.

“That’s right,” I said coolly. God knows I’d heard every joke in the book.

“Why that field?” he asked.

“Well, as you may remember, Nick, divorcing someone you once loved can be difficult, and it’s easy to make a mistake. So I help people get the best result. Hold their hands and shepherd them through a sad time.”

Nick raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I just find it…fitting.”

“I know you’re hoping to insult me, but you’re not. I help people accept in their hearts what their heads already know.” For some reason, my motto sounded hollow tonight.

“Wow. That’s some line.” The napkin had become a tiny house, complete with roof and folded door. Nick set it aside, then angled it to face the lake, ensuring that it had a water view.

“It’s not a line, Nick,” I sighed. “If we’d done that, we might’ve stood a chance or avoided a disaster.”

“That’s how you think of us? A disaster?” The gypsy eyes flashed.

“Well,” I answered thoughtfully, “sitting here with you in this beautiful place, all these years having passed, talking with you again…yes. Disaster covers it pretty well.”

“And here I still think of you as the woman I loved more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

The words had the intended wallop, and my heart shuddered.
Don’t be such a weenie,
I told said organ.
He’s not trying to soften you up…it’s an accusation.
Leaning back in my chair, I gave a half nod. “The past tense is duly noted, Your Honor, as is the soap-opera melodrama. That being said, a simple recounting of the facts would show that you were practically invisible during our brief and unhappy marriage.”

“You certainly made me that way, didn’t you?” His voice was mild.

This was going nowhere. This was, in fact, where negotiations tended to break down. “Okay, Nick, let’s drop it. Ancient history, right?”

“It doesn’t feel that ancient, Harper.”

I took another sip of cosmo to cover my shiver, but he noticed anyway. “Cold?” he asked, instantly shrugging out of his jacket and offering it to me. “I mean, I know your heart is cold, but how about the rest of you?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said. We looked at each other for a minute, twelve years churning between us. I was the first to blink.

“Nick, look. Let’s not fight. We’re here to talk about our siblings, yes?” He nodded, and I continued. “You and I…we were both obviously hurt by our own bad decisions. We were too young and foolish, we didn’t know what to expect, yadda yadda ad infinitum.” His eyes were unreadable. “But this is exactly my point. While Willa and Christopher are in fact older than we were, they’re still basically kids. Well, certainly Willa is. What does Christopher do for work, by the way?”

“He’s…” Nick paused. “He works for me on and off. Well, for my subcontractors, mostly. Finish carpentry, trim, stuff like that.”

My lawyerly instinct told me there was more. “And on the off times, what does he do, Nick?”

Nick gave a little wince.
Here it comes,
I thought. “He’s…he’s an inventor.”

I nodded sagely. “An inventor. Anything good? And by good, I’m envisioning Google, just as an example.”

Nick sighed. “Well, he does have a patent on a couple things.” He hesitated. “The Thumbie.”

“And what is the Thumbie?” I asked. My cosmo was gone. Too bad, since it appeared I’d be needing another.

“The Thumbie is a plastic tip you put over your thumb.”

“To what end?” I asked.

“To scrape gunk that you can’t get up with a sponge.”

I paused. “You’re not really serious, are you, Nick?”

He sighed. “Chris says you always end up using your thumbnail to—okay, so it’s stupid. But maybe no more stupid than the ShamWow.”

“The Sham-what?”

“Never mind. At least he’s trying.”

I took a slow, steadying breath. “And Willa, having quit beauty school, a paralegal course and a stonemasonry apprenticeship, is going to be the breadwinner in this family?”

Nick rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, Harper. It’s not for us to decide. Can’t you just have some faith in the two of them? Let them make their own mistakes, find their own way, trust that they actually love each other?”

I snorted. “Right. Or maybe—just thinking out loud here—we can actually consider the facts and apply a little loving pressure so our siblings don’t end up in the same miserable stew you and I were in.”

“There’s more to a marriage than the facts.”

“Ignoring the facts of a relationship is the reason I have a job, Nick.”

“Well, you know what?” he said, an edge in his voice. “I think they’ll be really happy together.”

“Ah. So I can count on you to pick up the tab for Christopher’s divorce attorney?”

He squinted at me, almost smiling. “Wow. I forgot how stunted you are when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.” My voice was calm, though I could feel my heart armoring itself for battle. “I’m not stunted, Nicky dear. I’m a realist.”

“A realist, huh. Or we could call it…stunted. Yep, that works.” He winked at me and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, I’ll tell you this, babe,” I said softly, leaning forward with a little smile and lowering my voice. His eyes dropped to my cleavage (gotcha, you dopey man, you), then came instantly back to my face. “At least I haven’t had my heart stomped on since you and I broke up.”

Nick tipped his head and smiled. “I wasn’t aware you
had
a heart, sweetums.”

Oh, he was such a pain in the
ass.
My expression may have been—hopefully was—pleasant, but my heart was racing in white-hot fury. That’s how it always had been with Nick—zero to sixty in a nanosecond. Before I did something rash like, I don’t know, kick him in the nuts, I stood up to leave.

“Well, this has been about as productive as I imagined,” I said. “But just for the record, Nick, I do have a heart, you broke it, it mended, the end. Always lovely to see you. Sleep tight.”

“Hold on, Harper,” he said, standing abruptly. “
I
broke
your
heart? See, this is the same problem as it ever was. You never could acknowledge what you did back then.”

“And you never could acknowledge that you played a part, Nick.” My voice was fast and quiet…and furious.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. “You just won’t admit that you were wrong, and it’s really too bad.”

“But I
wasn’t
wrong,” I said. “We were too young, we were not equipped to be playing grown-up, and shockingly,
love
—or whatever you want to call it—just wasn’t enough, was it? I was right, and that’s what drives you crazy.”

With that, I turned and left before he could see that my hands were shaking.

Okay. So that was not productive. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be, should’ve heeded my own advice to avoid being alone with my ex. Striding through the lobby, I spied a pacifier on the floor. Perfect. My random act of kindness for the day, take that, Father Bruce! Picked it up, spotted a mother/child duo and trotted over. “I think this may be yours,” I said sweetly, hoping Nick was watching.

“Oh, thank you!” the mother cried. “Destiny would never have fallen asleep without it.”

“My pleasure,” I cooed. “And she’s just gorgeous.” I started to give the child a pat on the head, remembered something about soft spots, withdrew my hand and gave the mother an awkward smile. Then I went outside to the cool and soothing night.

So. Where did one go to walk off some steam out here in the middle of God’s country? I strode down the road, away from the warm lights of the lodge and the murmur of people, and tried to breathe deeply, hoping to loosen the vise that seemed to be squeezing my heart.

A few yards off, there was a rock with a relatively flat surface. Perfect. I tiptoed over—not easy to walk in heels out here—and sat down, adjusted my skirt, took three calming breaths and flipped open my phone. Thank God, there was a signal.

He answered on the first ring. “Father Bruce here,” he sang.

“Father B., it’s Harper.”

“Ah! How are things?”

“Pretty rotten, Padre.” I swallowed hard.

“Go on, my child.”

“You just love saying that, don’t you?”

“I really do,” he admitted. “But go on. My child.”

“Well, I’ve seen my sister, but she won’t listen to me. I just want her to wait a little bit. That’s all. To be sure. I don’t want her to end up like—” My voice broke off abruptly. “Like you?”

When I answered, my voice was little more than a whisper. “Yes.”

Father Bruce didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “You’re not so bad, my dear.”

“Do I seem stunted to you?”

He laughed. “Well, I’ve never thought of it exactly like that, no. Ah, shall we say ‘guarded’? I like that better.”

“See, I just think I’m a realist. I also think there really should be a law requiring some kind of premarriage boot camp. You guys do it, don’t you?”

“Pre-Cana counseling,” he confirmed.

“Because this is the whole problem. No one thinks anymore. They just assume, hey, I’m in love, everything is sunshine and roses, let’s run to Vegas or Montana or wherever and get married and we’ll deal with reality later on, and then bam, they’re in my office, heartbroken and…stunted.” I swallowed again.

“You have a point, dear,” he said patiently. “A good point. But what if your sister doesn’t get a divorce? What if they make it? Live a long and happy life together?”