The Baby Truce (2 page)

Reggie grabbed the box and opened the top. Enough. She was settling this once and for all.

 

I
T TOOK
T
OM A LONG TIME TO
wake up enough to realize that the constant ringing was not in his head. He pushed himself upright on the sofa, stared at the cell phone he held in his hand, then answered.

“Are you crazy?” Pete barked into his ear, making him wince.

“According to you, I am,” Tom said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat twice, trying to ease the cotton mouth. “Why?”

“Do you recall talking to any reporters lately?”

Tom planted a palm on his forehead, trying to hold in the pressure. “Why in the hell are you calling me about reporters?”

“Because of what greeted me in the paper this morning!” Pete, normally the most patient of men, even when Tom was on a rampage, sounded utterly pissed. “I sent you the link. Take a look once your vision clears enough to read it.” The phone went dead.

Tom let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. Closed his eyes. His head was throbbing. Mescal? Was that what he'd drunk? He remembered demanding something strong to kill the disappointment of having everyone he'd called for a job lead give him a helpful suggestion as to somewhere else he might want to call.

Whatever he'd drunk, it'd been a killer night. But he hadn't talked to any reporters. He was certain of that.

The room spun as he got to his feet and trudged naked to the bathroom. A woman's red sequined top hung on the doorknob by one strap. He stared at it for a moment, then continued into the john, closing the door just in case. When he came back out, he looked around the apartment, which didn't take long since it was only four small yet highly expensive rooms. No woman.

He sat in front of the computer, brought up his email and clicked on the link Pete had sent. Obviously some
tabloid had manufactured a few lies, twisted a few truths.

And that tabloid was called the
New York Times.

Oh, shit.

In a small but clear photo he had one arm draped over a woman wearing a sequined top very similar to the one on his bathroom doorknob. With the other hand he pointed directly at the camera, his mouth open as he obviously expounded.

And how he'd expounded, according to the article beneath the photo. The text wasn't long, but it was colorful and explained exactly what he thought of Jervase Montrose and his restaurants, plus his feelings on all corporately managed eating establishments. The reporter had also helpfully included Tom's insights into the personal habits of several food critics. There were many, many quotation marks.

Tom slammed the laptop shut and jumped to his feet, needing to move.

He sensed the need for some damage control.

He punched Pete's number into his phone. The business manager answered on the first ring. “You read it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you'll understand what I'm about to say next.”

“Which is?”

“I quit. Please seek other management.”

 

R
EGGIE HAD HEARD OF WOMEN IN
denial buying three and four different pregnancy tests, just to make certain the first two or three were correct. She was about to join their ranks. The only thing that stopped her was the
landline ringing as she went for her purse and keys. Ignore her sister or get it over with?

If she ignored her, Eden would show up at her door.

“Well?” Eden said when she answered.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“No!”

“I said I don't want to talk about it.” Reggie planted the palm of her free hand on her throbbing forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “I'm going to buy another test. This one may have been old.”

“Old?”

“Or compromised in some way.”

“Or the reason you're throwing up is because you're pregnant.” Reggie dropped her hand. She couldn't bring herself to respond. “I'll be right over,” Eden added.

“Don't tell Justin,” Reggie said through gritted teeth. Her brother did his best to appear as if nothing bothered him, but it was a front. Justin was the most protective male of her acquaintance, and right now she didn't need protection. She didn't need to hash this through with Eden, either, but better to get it over with now, while she was still numb.

“Wouldn't think of it,” Eden said. “See you in twenty. Just…stay calm.”

Reggie rolled her eyes and hung up. Stay calm. Oh, yeah. She headed for the door. She had just enough time to get to the nearest drugstore and back again.

No. She'd wait for Eden and then go to the drugstore. They could go together. Reggie stopped in the middle of the room and pressed her palms against her abdo
men. How? How could there possibly be a baby growing inside her?

When Eden showed up twenty minutes later, Reggie was sitting on the sofa, holding Mims on her lap and staring at the opposite wall. This was real. She had accidentally become pregnant at the age of thirty.

Unless, of course, the test was wrong. It happened.

Reggie stood as Eden let herself in with her own key. They were dressed almost identically in white T-shirts and jeans…and Eden's jeans were going to fit her in six months. For a moment the two sisters simply stared at each other, then Eden crossed the room to wrap her arms around Reggie and hug her tightly. “You're not alone in this. All right?”

“I know.”

Eden released her and stood back. “It's none of my business—”

“Tom.” No sense being coy.

“Gerard?” Eden's mouth fell open. She waited, as if expecting Reggie to say, “Just kidding.” That didn't happen. “When…where…? Isn't he in New York?”

“Sommelier class. San Francisco. He was staying at the hotel while interviewing for a job. We ran into each other the first day of class.”

“So you slept with him?”

Reggie gave her sister a weary look.
Obviously
.

“You—”

“We used protection,” Reggie said. “It didn't work.”

“But…Tom?”

She wasn't going into the wherefores and the whys—mainly because they sounded lame. And she didn't want
anyone to know that she'd gotten pregnant proving to herself that she was over a guy; that she could walk away, just as he had.

Especially when she'd made the rather startling discovery that physically, at least, she wasn't over him. Regardless of what her very logical brain was telling her. Sleeping with Tom after all these years had been…something. And if it hadn't been for her realization that she still had issues with him, she would have pushed back her departure. Had another night with him.

“Yes, Tom.” She picked up a squirming Mims, who'd had about enough of being used as a security pillow. “And now I have to tell him.”

Eden's expression became closed. “Why?”

Reggie hugged Mims tighter, holding the cat's plump gray body against her chest. “What do you mean, why? Because he's the father. He has a right to know.”

Eden let out a sigh as she reached up to pat Mims, who escaped to the back of the sofa after Reggie released her. “It's just that he made you so damned unhappy when you guys broke up, and now…” She gave a small shrug. “But it isn't like he's going to want to settle down or anything.”

“No.” Again, obviously. He hadn't settled into anything since leaving her, moving from job to job, city to city. Her kid was going to have a normal life, and Tom's life was anything but normal.

Her kid.
What a concept.

“And I guess he should pay support,” Eden added.

“I don't know that I want him to.” Because if he paid support, he'd have a say in the child's upbringing.

But would he want a say?

She'd been officially pregnant for all of an hour and was already drowning in unanswered questions and potential complications.

And she was still grappling with the thought of a tiny being growing inside her. “I guess the smart thing to do, after I go to a doctor and make sure I'm really pregnant, is to see a lawyer.” She sat on the sofa, reaching up to stroke Mims on the cushion next to her head. “It's going to take a while to get used to this idea.”

“For all of us.”

Reggie dropped her hand into her lap and looked up at Eden, who still stood next to the recliner. “I always figured that if one of us got into this mess, it would be Justin.”

Eden's mouth twisted in ironic acknowledgment. “Instead, it's the responsible Tremont. Go figure.”

The responsible Tremont who had no idea what to do next.

R
EGGIE TOOK TWO MORE PREGNANCY
tests early the next morning before work. Just to make sure.

Her body and three different pharmaceutical companies were in agreement. She was pregnant.

After the last test went into the trash, Reggie poured a big glass of orange juice, took two sips before deciding it tasted off, then put the glass on the counter.

She sat at the kitchen table and laid her head on her folded arms. Mims jumped up on the off-limits surface and butted her with her head, trying to remind her that the Salmon Soufflé was still in the can. Reggie shooed her off, then closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep here, shut out the world and all the issues she had to figure out fast.

Issues she didn't think Eden would fully understand, because
she
hadn't understood until she'd found herself in this position.

The questions about her future, the sobering reality of being responsible for a child. The fear that Tom's gypsy lifestyle would forever warp her kid, coupled with the lingering sense of unreality about the entire situation. She wanted nothing more than to slip into denial, pretend none of this was happening—at least until she vomited again.

Mims was having none of being shooed away. She threw her body hard against Reggie's legs and then, when she had her weary owner's attention, raced for the pantry. Reggie got to her feet and followed, wishing she'd thought of picking up the old brand of cat food when she'd gone to the store for more pregnancy tests.

A few minutes later, she took a deep breath, held it as best she could as she opened the can and dished out the food. She tossed the can in the trash on top of the pregnancy tests, then fled the kitchen for the relatively fresh air of the living room.

When she arrived at work twenty minutes later, Justin was there alone, leaning against the counter at the opposite end of the room, not moving at high speed for once in his life…almost as if he was waiting for her.

“Justin.”

“Reggie.”

Oh, yeah. He knew. She didn't know whether to be angry at Eden for spilling the beans, or grateful that she herself didn't have to. The three siblings hadn't kept many secrets from one another while growing up. They'd been in the odd position of practically raising each other while their long-haul trucker father had been on the road, after their mother's death. Oh, Justin had tried to hold secrets, but the neighborhood grapevine was quite effective at keeping Reggie and Eden up to date on his activities.

But this time it wasn't Justin who was in hot water. Nope. Tables turned.

Reggie walked the short distance from the back door into the office as if nothing was wrong, put away her
purse, smoothed her hair, tied on an apron. When she left the office, Justin was right where he'd been when she'd entered the building, leaning against the stainless steel counter, gripping the metal on either side of him. His usually warm expression was cold. Was he ticked because this had happened to her after all the lectures she'd given him?

“Been talking to Eden?” Reggie asked, giving him an opening so they could get this discussion over with fast.

“Yeah.” Still cold. Still closed off.

“Well.” Reggie shrugged, less than comfortable discussing this matter with her younger brother. The one she'd threatened with annihilation as a teen if he wasn't sexually responsible. “I don't know what to say.”

He nodded as he regarded her. “Have you…made any plans?”

“Like…?”

“Keeping the baby?”

Reggie raised her eyebrows. “I'm keeping the baby.” Of course she was keeping the baby. She wasn't a pregnant teen. The thought of giving it up hadn't even crossed her mind.

Her brother's face relaxed an iota, but his voice was still stern when he asked, “Told Tom yet?”

“No.”

“You gotta do that.”

Reggie frowned. “I will.” Justin appeared as if he was on a mission. But what mission? She hadn't a clue. “I'm going to phone him.”

Her brother glanced down at his feet. He was wear
ing flat skateboard shoes. He hadn't changed yet, which meant talking to her had been his first order of business. “I can be there when you make the call.”

Justin was returning to protective form—a good sign.

“I'll handle it.” It wasn't a conversation she wanted anyone to hear. She met her brother's blue eyes. “If I need propping up afterwards, I'll hunt you down.”

He smiled slightly. “Just…don't put it off too long. All right?”

“All right.” Reggie smoothed her hands down the sides of her apron. “Well, I guess I'd better get going on the chops for the dinner tonight.” She started for the cooler, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Will you be here for the interviews this afternoon?”

“I got called in to the lake early.” His mouth tightened. “Sorry about that.”

“No, I understand.” Justin's job at Lake Tahoe brought in a lot of contacts and potential business. “Eden and I will be fine.”

“Don't settle,” he said. “Because, well, there's a chance whoever we hire might end up full time for a while. You know?”

Reggie knew.

 

T
OM GAVE
P
ETE A WEEK TO COOL
off, then phoned. Pete was out of the office. The next time he called, a day later, Pete was once again unavailable. By the third call Tom understood that he was never going to be available. Tom was on his own.

And that sucked, because while he could cook, he knew squat about business.

He'd already called everyone he knew in the city, tried to pull in a few favors, but so far no luck. Even people who said they wanted to help indicated they couldn't. Not right now. Lower-end restaurants were more than willing to take a chance on him, hoping his notoriety would bring in business, but that wasn't a career move Tom was ready to take. He wasn't into notoriety. Not on purpose, anyway. He was into making good food the only way he knew how. His way. The
Times
article had done him some serious damage. He spent an evening writing a blistering rebuttal, but realized after an hour of slamming thoughts onto paper that he wasn't in the most defensible position. In fact, he was pretty much in the juice.

Memories were short, though. Given a month or two, a new scandal, people would forget. He'd be back at the helm of a new restaurant, and this time he'd choose more wisely—choose a place where he approved of the management style, rather than the name. He had savings and investments. Although he knew very little about them, since he'd trusted Pete implicitly.

But what to do now? Continue pounding the pavement, trying to get an interview? Call Lowell and hear the guy rant about how Tom had screwed himself?

Not yet. Lowell Hislop, who'd gotten Tom the job in Spain that had ultimately jump-started his career, was the closest thing to a mentor he had. He was also unpredictable and hard to deal with. A veritable force unto himself, and at the moment as unemployed as Tom was. But in Lowell's case it was by choice, while he hammered out a divorce agreement with his French wife,
Simone. They'd split innumerable times in the past, but this once it appeared to be for real. Lowell had sold his restaurant, dumped his investment properties and quite likely stashed a bunch of cash in odd places. He was nothing if not savvy, but the last Tom had heard he was up to his ass in his wife's lawyers.

Yeah, Tom would call him, but first he'd see what he could do on his own. There were still a couple avenues left to him.

He hoped.

He was halfway up the stairs to his apartment when his phone rang. It wasn't Pete, as he'd hoped, but it wasn't Jervase telling him the town wasn't big enough for the both of them, either. It was a Nevada number.

“Reggie?”

“Hi, Tom.” There was an awkward silence, then she said, “I, uh, have some news for you.”

“All right.” A lead on a job, maybe? The Associated Press had picked up his “interview” with the
Times
and it was all over the country. No doubt she knew he was out of work. He didn't really want a job in Reno, but he'd consider it. For a while.

“Before I start, I just want to tell you that you don't have to be involved in any way. I plan to handle everything myself.”

“Handle what?” He balanced the phone on his shoulder while he dug his keys out of his pocket.

After another short silence, she said, “I'm pregnant.”

He almost said congratulations. Then her meaning struck him. “How pregnant?”

“Almost two months.”

He dropped the keys on the carpet between his feet. “We…used protection.”

“I haven't slept with anyone but you.”

“We…used protection,” Tom repeated. He pressed the heel of his palm into the solid wood door. Blood hammered in his temples, making it damned hard to think.

“Like I said…” She hesitated. “I thought you should know, but…I don't need anything from you.”

“Well, aren't you brave?” he snapped.

“Yes. I am. I lived with you for a year.” The phone went dead.

Tom stood for a moment without moving, then reached down and picked up his keys. It took him two tries to get the right one into the lock, mainly because his hands were shaking.

Pregnant?

Call her back, you jerk.

Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

He needed time in the worst way.

Once inside, he dropped the keys on the table, set the bag of produce beside them.

He was going to be a father.

Out of a job. Living on savings. About to be a dad. This was not the way his life was supposed to work out.

Tom rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Then he went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle, the first one he touched. He didn't even look to see what it was. He poured a healthy amount into a glass and downed it in one swallow.

Bourbon.

He poured another, then went to the window and stared out at the building behind his, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. This time he sipped, allowing the alcohol to warm his throat slowly. The tension started to ease out of the muscles of his neck and shoulders, but his mind was still whirling.

If Reggie was two months pregnant, then he had seven months to figure this all out. He'd be employed by then. Have a new business manager, be able to set up a college fund, or do whatever dads did. His father had done two things—hauled him around the world with him when he could, or sent him off to boarding school when he couldn't. Not the most normal of upbringings. His dad had been more like a friend than a father…when they'd been together.

So what the hell did Tom know about fatherhood?

“Damn.” He tossed the bourbon back, then reached for the bottle and poured another shot.

 

T
WO INTERVIEWS DOWN AND ONE TO
go. So far, not so good.

Eden and Reggie exchanged glances as the second of their three candidates walked out the door. Reggie's stomach was in a tight knot, but this time it had little to do with morning sickness.

The first candidate hadn't known how to hold a knife and, when shown, had preferred to do it her way. That was fine. She could do the wrong thing in her own kitchen, but not the Tremont kitchen. Oh, and she couldn't work on weekends.

The second candidate had skills, but also had a schedule Tremont would have to work around. That kind
of defeated the purpose of having a prep cook, who had to be able to prep when they needed her, not when she was free from her other job.

If these were the top candidates, Reggie didn't hold out much hope for numbers four, five and six.

“If this person can breathe and work our schedule, I say we hire her,” Eden whispered to Reggie as a roundish woman in her mid-forties, with short brown hair and a no-nonsense expression—candidate number three—walked in the door exactly five minutes before her interview.

She approached the desk where Eden and Reggie were sitting and set a bound résumé before them.

“I'm Patty Lloyd. How do you do?” she said. “I'm here for the interview. I realize that I have large gaps in my employment history, but I assure you, I can cook.”

Eden met Reggie's gaze with raised eyebrows as Patty took her seat on the other side of the desk.

The interview went well. Despite her somewhat arrogant, take-charge attitude, she'd been employed at a private care facility kitchen for the past two years and proved to be slow yet meticulous. And part time was fine with her for now. What the woman didn't know they could teach her.

The only problem was that Patty was very, very serious, in her speech, in her dress, in her attitude, which made Reggie wonder if the woman could handle Justin. Justin, when not dealing with pregnant sisters, tended toward irreverence.

Eden obviously had the same concern. She smiled up at Patty and said, “I want you to meet my brother for
a second interview tomorrow, and then we'll have you make a couple standard dishes on our menu. Would that work for you?”

“Certainly. Let's say ten?” Patty stood, extending her hand.

“She scares me a little,” Eden said after the door shut behind her. They watched through the front window as she got into a small blue Ford that had to be twenty years old, yet appeared almost new.

“That,” Reggie said, carefully setting down her pen, “makes two of us. But if we keep her in the kitchen and away from clients, I think she'll do fine.”

“We'll have to tell Justin to behave.”

“That goes without saying. I'll get going on the tapenade,” she added, because Eden had that touch-base-to-see-how-you're-feeling look, and Reggie wasn't in the mood.

She was still recovering from her phone conversation with Tom, would most probably have to have another in the near future, and wanted time to stew. Alone.

 

T
OM WENT TO THE WINDOW OF HIS
apartment and leaned his forehead against the cool glass, watching the people on the sidewalk five stories below. A lot of them were probably going to work. The bastards.