“I’m sorry. I can’t stay. I made plans to grab a drink with Laura, since we haven’t caught up in a while.”
“Okay, well, have a good time,” he said, not even getting up to walk me out. I kissed Sadie’s head and just sort of waved at him and left.
At the bar I was halfway down my margarita and done pretending everything was fine. “Do you think he lost feelings for me?”
“That quick? No way.”
“He was acting weird and so was Sadie.”
“Okay, let me be the first to tell you since you don’t seem to know. Men are strange. Get used to it.”
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.
“I’m serious, they’re not gonna sit and analyze our every move. They don’t do that. If he was quiet, it’s because he didn’t want to talk. If Sadie was acting strange, she either didn’t sleep last night or she needs to poop. Trust me. Poop—so many problems go back to that,” she took a drink.
“I know I’m probably reading too much into it but something was really off.”
“I always say trust your gut. In this case, since asking about it didn’t make any difference, I guess do the hardest thing which is wait for him to tell you. I mean, personally, if it was Brody, I’d barricade him in the interrogation room with me, shine a 200-watt bulb in his eyes and demand answers. But that’s just me.”
Laura laughed, and I did too, but I didn’t really feel any better.
“Example,” she said, “you’re acting weird now, all soft-voiced and emotional. Because you had a bad day. Maybe they had a crappy day, and it affected everybody’s mood. It’s probably nothing to do with you.”
“So, it’s probably that they’re both constipated, right?” I said wryly.
“Stranger things have happened. I know if I’m bloated you don’t even wanna try and talk to me.”
I felt better after that, and she told me about Brenna’s latest adventures in potty training and the long weekend trip she and Brody were planning to take for their anniversary. It had been a wild ride for them, and they deserved a romantic weekend.
“We’ll probably sleep. It’s the ugly truth. I’m crazy about him. But I’m so tired. She isn’t a good sleeper and never has been. The last time my mom kept her overnight I slept eleven hours, no joke. I got up and ate lunch and did laundry and took a damn nap after that.”
“Sounds hot,” I teased.
“I’m happy. I’m just exhausted.”
“You could be napping right now. Why didn’t you tell me when I asked you out for drinks?”
“No, I need this more. And besides, this isn’t a one-nap fix. It’s more like a lifestyle, I think at this point,” she grinned. She was beaming, and I knew she was just teasing.
“Anytime you want me to take that precious girl off you hands overnight, I will.”
“And bring her back with a bunch of new toys and full of cupcake frosting?”
“Okay, there was a sale and also she loved my buttercream. Who can blame her?”
“No one, but she’s like a Gremlin on sugar. I don’t trust you for overnight visits at this point.”
“I won’t feed her after midnight?” I offered jokingly.
“Right, whatever I’m getting another drink,” Laura said.
24
Max
I’d been on edge ever since Jenna came to the cabin. I was having security cameras installed there today, ostensibly because I wanted to protect my tools and stuff from theft, because it would get me a break on insurance costs. Really because I wanted footage if Jenna came sniffing around again. I’d have her charged with trespassing if she did.
At the White Birch, I waited at the registration desk while they called.
“You can go right up, sir,” the clerk said, directing me to her room number. I decided this would be a better meeting spot because it was not in public where she could make a scene if she wanted to.
When I knocked, she opened the door, every hair in place, her makeup subtle but perfect. She invited me in and offered to order coffee if I wanted some. I declined.
“What do you want, Jenna?”
“I want my baby,” she said, bursting into tears. She didn’t turn away or cover her face, didn’t try to hide her distress. Because it was theatrical. And it was pissing me off.
“I want the chance to get to know her. I want to hold her and rock her and sing to her,” she sobbed.
“She’s going into first grade. She’s not lullaby and rocking chair age any longer. You need to get lost,” I said matter-of-factly.
“You need to have a heart. She’s my child, Max, whether you like it or not. If you’d bothered to get to know me, to try and work it out—”
“Work what out?” I demanded. “We both knew it was a fling. You sent my calls to voicemail every time. It’s not like you were madly in love and I callously tossed you aside and we both know it.”