Everett laughed, thinking of big, lumbering JJ Boyette, the quintessential jock. Everett hadn’t thought about him in years. “Yeah,” he said, thinking of the time JJ had chased him and his friends through the woods by the lake. People said those woods were haunted, and as a child he’d been terrified of going into them. Later, he’d come to love those woods.
He forced himself not to look over at Jencey, not to think of their hideaway. At some point he wanted to talk to her alone, to make sure she wasn’t ever going to mention anything to Bryte, who still had no idea what had happened in New York. He couldn’t afford for anything to knock them off course, not when he’d laid so much groundwork for attempting a second child. Bryte would use any excuse to postpone another round of fertility treatments.
He understood—last time was hell—but he also knew that in the end the treatments had worked. He glanced over at Christopher, whose eyes were growing heavy as he sat on Jencey’s lap. He didn’t want his boy to be an only child. He’d been an only child. His world had been lonely until Jencey and Bryte had come into his life when he moved to Sycamore Glen at ten years old. He’d thought of them like sisters, until he didn’t.
“Have you heard anything?” Jencey piped up. “From Zell?”
Bryte shook her head and shut the dishwasher door with a thud, the glasses inside clinking loudly against one another as she did. “Tell you what, I’ll go call her. I’ve got a neighborhood directory around here somewhere.” She strode out of the room, leaving Jencey and Everett alone.
“I’m sorry.” Jencey waited a moment, then spoke quietly, knowing they had precious few moments alone. “If this is awkward.”
He shrugged as if it were no big deal, not letting on how desperate he’d been to cover his bases, to beg her not to mention anything that could damage his marriage. And yet, with Jencey sitting there, he didn’t want to bring up that awkward and embarrassing night. From the back bedroom they used as an office, he heard Bryte using her telephone voice, slightly louder and more formal than her normal speaking voice.
“It’s just weird,” he brought himself to say. “Seeing you again.” He gestured to Christopher. “Here.”
“I’ll never bring up . . . the past,” she said. She looked over at him and their eyes held. “I wouldn’t do that,” she added.
He looked away, focusing his gaze on Christopher’s face, but he could still feel her eyes on him. “Thanks,” he mumbled as relief flooded his body. Bryte returned to the room, talking a mile a minute.
“So, Cailey is still with Zell, and it looks like she’s going to be there for a while. Terrible situation. Cutter has—hang on, let me make sure I say this right—acute respiratory distress syndrome. He’s in intensive care, and the mom basically can’t miss work because she’s the sole breadwinner for the family. They’re monitoring Cutter for possible brain damage because he was under the water for who knows how long. I’d like to string those lifeguards up for not paying attention!” Bryte said, her voice growing more animated. “I told you, didn’t I, honey?” She didn’t wait for an assent from him before continuing. “I told you how those lifeguards are not doing their jobs. I hope they fire every one of them. I mean, what would’ve happened if Lance didn’t see him and jump in?”
“I shudder to think,” Jencey agreed, nodding vigorously. She took another gulp of wine. Everett noticed she was knocking the wine back. And Bryte, ever the hostess, kept her glass filled. He didn’t exactly blame Jencey. If he didn’t have to get up early for work, he’d definitely get hammered.
Christopher yawned and reached for him. “Come on, buddy,” he said, lifting him into the air as he stood and settled him on his hip. “Let’s get you into the tub.”
“Oh, let me get him some clean pj’s,” Bryte piped up, scuttling back out of the room.
“It looks good on you,” Jencey said to him before he could follow his wife.
He turned back to her. “What does?” he asked.
She held her hands out to indicate the room, the house, the wife, the child. “All of it, Ev.”
He nodded his understanding, then quickly walked away.
BRYTE
She’d had to walk away from the two of them. She’d seen it. Of course she had. The way he couldn’t look at Jencey for very long. The way he snuck glances at her when he thought no one noticed. She’d spent her formative years studying Everett Lewis with the devotion of a scholar. She knew his mannerisms by heart; his face spoke as loudly as his voice. He still thought Jencey was beautiful. Bryte couldn’t blame him. She did, too. And the truth was, she somehow wanted to see them together, wanted to subject herself to the pain of it, as if that would make them even.
But she hadn’t anticipated the intensity of her own pain. The idea of punishing herself had been appealing in concept, but the reality of it was too much to be contained in their small kitchen amid the scraps of the dinner she’d cooked, the scent of barbecue chicken mingling with Dawn dishwashing liquid. She’d run from the room, landing on the first excuse that came to mind. She ran straight to the drawer that, yes, contained the neighborhood directory to look up Zell’s number. But it also contained stray business cards. She’d added that business card to the rest years ago, hidden it in plain sight. As she left Jencey and Everett alone in the kitchen to say whatever it was they needed to say without her around, it was that card—and not the neighborhood directory—she had in mind.
She tugged open the drawer and removed the directory first, just in case Everett followed her back there. But he wouldn’t. He would take the opportunity she’d given him. She rummaged through the haphazard pile, riffling through cards from the electrician and the plumber and the babysitter and, inexplicably, a baby-diaper service when she’d never used anything but disposables. She kept sorting through the cards, hearing the murmur of voices in the next room. She refused to think about what they might be saying. They had their secrets and she had hers.
Her hand fell on the card she was there to find, and the pace of her heart picked up as she eyed the familiar lettering, the swirl and curve of the name printed on it: Trent Miller. She could picture his face as he handed it to her. “Promise me you’ll call if you’re ever in the market for a different position,” he’d said. “Someone like you I could place a thousand times over, for about a thousand times more money than you’re making now.” He’d given her that cocky, confident look. She’d gone to take the card from his hand, and he’d pulled it away, teasing her. “Promise me,” he’d intoned, holding the card out of reach.
She’d promised, never thinking that would be the case. She was happy in the job she had at the time and wasn’t in the market to be recruited elsewhere. She cared about her clients, and they cared about her. She could solve the technical issues while relating to the human ones, making her invaluable in a field where people usually had one skill or the other but not both. In fact, it was at the specific request of a former client that her name had come back up again, causing her employer to come knocking. She thought of the e-mails waiting in her in-box from her old boss and coworker. And yet, maybe Trent knew of other, better opportunities. Could he offer options she hadn’t thought of that would give her more leverage now? Would it be the worst thing for her to call him?