Chapter Nine
MEETINGS TO UPDATE a research program could be exciting or frustrating. Breakthroughs tended to come in clusters, which meant long periods when there was little to report beyond what hadn’t worked. Stacey firmly believed that failure was as useful as success—not as satisfying, but just as important. Each failure brought the team closer to their ultimate victory.
Her job was to direct, inspire and innovate, as well as manage her team. She enjoyed the variety in her day, although her favorite times were when she was working in the lab. But that was not today. She sat in the conference room with the rest of the team leaders as they brought each other up-to-date. There were six team leaders and their assistants. She and Lexi were the only women.
Karl ran the meetings. While she technically reported to him, he had no control over her research or her results. Those were managed independently to avoid any potential conflict of interest. Four years ago a large bribery scandal had rocked the company when it was discovered that researchers were being paid to consider options that weren’t viable for the general population, but might help a handful of patients. Patients who had access to lots of money.
The researchers involved were fired and Stacey was brought on to take over the MS program. She’d cleaned up her department, reworked the team and was very pleased with their progress. While others sought to find a way to prevent MS from ever happening in the first place, Stacey’s group wanted to improve the lives of those already afflicted with the disease. Lesions in the myelin—the coating that surrounded every nerve—prevented normal communication with the nerves and caused the symptoms. The more lesions, the less communication, the greater the impact on the patient.
That was her area of research: looking at ways to repair or regenerate the myelin. Once the nerves were damaged, the regeneration wouldn’t help, but for those patients with functioning nerves, reducing the lesions would allow motor function to be restored.
Some progress had been made. New medications and treatments were being developed, but Stacey wanted more. Stopping the process wasn’t enough—she wanted to reverse the damage done.
Karl, a big bear of a man, dropped his reading glasses onto the table. “About the travel schedule for the second half of the year. Stacey, you’re in demand as a speaker as always. I want to balance your work schedule with your travel schedule. We’re so close to a breakthrough with your team’s work that I’m concerned about you being gone. Having said that, there’s a symposium in Orlando in July I think you should consider attending.”
Stacey involuntarily glanced at Lexi. Her assistant attended the meetings to take notes and document what was discussed. More of the company’s mandate to be transparent about the research.
Lexi smiled encouragingly at her, as if pointing out that the opportunity to tell Karl about the baby wouldn’t get much better than this.
Stacey cleared her throat. “I won’t be able to attend,” she said firmly. “I’m taking three weeks off in late June. I’ve already cleared it with HR.”
She paused. Lexi mouthed, “Go on.”
“I’m going to be out on maternity leave.”
“You’re adopting a child?” Karl asked. “You never mentioned it.”
“I’m not adopting. I’m pregnant.”
Everyone but Lexi stared at her. Most of them looked down, as if wanting to confirm her growing belly. Something she’d done her best to conceal.
“You’re having a baby?” Max, one of the other team leaders, asked. “In June?”
She nodded, not wanting to say exactly how many days she was pregnant.
“You’re forty,” Karl said, then winced as if he wanted to recall the words.
“I’m aware of the risks of an older mother’s pregnancy,” she told him. “Gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, miscarriage and preterm delivery. As of now, I am perfectly healthy. There’s no reason to assume that will change. I’m going to work up until delivery. I have discussed all this with HR,” she added, in case they hadn’t heard her the first time.
The men looked at each other. Max leaned toward her. “What about after the baby is born? You’ll only be on maternity leave for three weeks?”
“Yes. Kit is going to stay home with the baby. The school year ends in early June, so that works out nicely.”
“Kit’s going to be a stay-at-home dad?” Karl asked. “What about breastfeeding, Stacey?”
She bristled. “That is not an appropriate question, Karl. I don’t ask you if you use Viagra. What decisions my husband and I choose to make about our child are our business. What you need to know is that I will be gone for three weeks and nothing else. I’ve already proven I am more than capable of doing my job while pregnant, which is all that matters for the purposes of our discussion.” She paused and glanced around the table. “If there’s nothing else, can we get back to our meeting?”
Karl glanced down at his notes, then reached for his glasses. “Of course. Ah, congratulations, Stacey. Max, you’re next in line for the symposium. Do you have any scheduling conflicts?”
Stacey looked at Lexi. Her assistant grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. Stacey tried to take comfort in that, but there was little to be had. She was shaking and wasn’t sure what had upset her. She was used to standing up for herself in all sorts of ways. Being a woman in her field of work wasn’t usually an issue, but she’d dealt with it before and not been the least bit bothered.
She wondered if this time was different because she was pregnant. Did she feel vulnerable because of her condition and her biological need to protect her unborn child? She wanted to say no but she knew for a fact that hormones were powerful and the body’s need to pass on its DNA would not be denied.
She told herself she would work on the problem later, then turned her attention back to the meeting. As she listened to Max and Karl talk about the symposium, she tried not to notice the furtive glances from her male colleagues. Even if they were looking at her differently, it wasn’t her problem—it was theirs.
* * *
Calligraphy was one of those weird things that was both simple and difficult at the same time. It was just writing different letters, something Harper had been doing since she was maybe five or six. But there was an element of precision that always made her a little nervous.
She’d already created the name cards, taking a plain white stock and lightly painting it with watercolors that matched the wedding’s colors. After writing all the names, she would glue on tiny fabric hearts in the upper left-hand corner.
The guest list was one hundred and ninety-seven people. Harper had been torn about taking the job. It would require a lot of time and effort and most people didn’t want to cough up the money for something as disposable as a place card. Paula, a far more reasonable party planner than Cathy, had asked her to charge whatever seemed fair. Harper had done a practice card, multiplied by one hundred and ninety-seven, then had added a buffer for fatigue. She’d said she would have to charge five dollars a name card, plus the cost of supplies. Shockingly, the bride had agreed, leaving Harper with yet more work, although this time she was making well above her goal of twenty-five dollars an hour.
She sat at the big desk in her craft room, the wedding guest list on her left, the stack of painted cards on her right. She was up to the Fs when she noticed Becca hovering in the doorway, Jazz at her side.
Harper put down her pen and opened and closed her hand, flexing her sore fingers. “What is it, Becca?” she asked, turning to face her daughter.
Becca pressed her lips together. “Do you, um, want me to help?”
An unexpected offer. “Not with the calligraphy, but maybe later with the gluing. That would be nice. Thank you.” She paused. “Was there something else?”
Becca hesitated, then shook her head. “No. That’s all.”
“Okay. I need to get back to this.”
Harper continued writing out names. She used a ruler to keep track of where she was on the list and checked the spelling both before and after she wrote the card. No one wanted a misspelled place card.
Movement caught her attention. Becca and Jazz were back. She capped her pen and stood. “What is it, honey?”
Her daughter shifted her weight from foot to foot. Never a good sign. Harper ran through the possibilities in her head. Something with school, something with a friend, something with Terence. As far as she knew, Becca was doing fine in her classes. Her last quarter grades had been a little lower than usual, but Becca had a heavy load, academically. Jordan was around plenty, so the friendship should be fine. There hadn’t been a boy that she knew of...
Harper thought about how busy she’d been lately. She was always scrambling to get her work done. Was that the problem? Was she ignoring Becca?
“Come on,” she said with a smile. “I need more coffee. Let’s go raid the kitchen.”
“Okay.”
Harper poured herself coffee while Becca carried the cookie jar over to the island. They settled on stools next to each other. Becca opened the cookie jar and looked inside.
“Frosted sugar cookies, peanut butter, snickerdoodles and oatmeal raisin with chocolate chips.”
In an effort to both help and shame her daughter, Bunny regularly brought over batches of cookies she made in her apartment.
“Oatmeal raisin,” Harper said. “That way I can say I’m getting my whole grains.”
“Cookies don’t count, Mom.”
“Says who?” She took a bite and sighed as the flavors settled on her tongue. Bunny might have unrealistic expectations for Harper, but the woman could bake like nobody’s business.
She sipped her coffee and waited for the combination of sugar and caffeine to heal her. Then she turned to her daughter and said, “Okay, I’m braced. What’s up?”
Becca had picked a peanut butter and a frosted sugar cookie. She put them on a napkin. “Great-Aunt Cheryl left me her car.” She looked up. “It’s in really great shape. Ramon said she’d taken good care of it and the tires are new. I know it’s a big deal, Mom, but I’m sixteen. Now you don’t have to worry about buying me a car.”
“I wasn’t planning on buying you one,” Harper said automatically as she tried to process the information. A car? A car!
A thousand thoughts crowded her head. Everything from “Really, you couldn’t have mentioned this before?” to wanting to yell at her ex-husband for not mentioning it when he and Becca got back from Grass Valley. A car? There would be insurance and upkeep and—
“You don’t even have a license yet.”
“I’m working on it. I’ve passed my class at school and I have my learner’s permit. I only need the practice hours. Lucas is helping with that. He’s a cop, Mom. You can trust him.”
“Detective,” she corrected automatically. “Do you know what the insurance is going to cost? And gas?”
“I’m going to help with that, I swear. I’ll get a job. You’ll see, Mom. It will be great. You won’t have to drive me anywhere.”
A job? Becca was too young for all this to be happening. Only she wasn’t. She was, as she’d pointed out, sixteen, almost seventeen. She would be a senior in the fall and then she would be off to college. But a car.
Harper thought about her monthly budget and nearly began to cry. Putting Becca on her insurance policy would save a little, but still, how was she going to pay for insurance? Even if her daughter did get a job, it wouldn’t be enough. She would have to talk to Terence about him kicking in something. Becca was his daughter, too.
Becca’s phone chirped. She glanced at it, then back at her mom. “That’s the delivery service. They’re here.”
Harper nearly fell off the stool. “The car is here now?”
Becca raced to the front door, Jazz at her heels. “Uh-huh. Come see.”
No wonder her daughter had been hovering, Harper thought grimly. She’d been trying to figure out how to break the news. Harper supposed she should be pleased that Becca hadn’t simply had the guy park it in the driveway and waited for her mother to notice.
A large car carrier was parked in the middle of the street. A man was unchaining a pale blue Toyota Corolla. As she watched, he got in and backed it down the ramp before pulling it into the driveway, where Becca danced impatiently.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” her daughter asked, laughing as she spoke. “Ramon said all the paperwork is in the trunk. It just had an oil change a couple of weeks ago, so I won’t have to worry about that for a while.”
Ramon, Great-Aunt Cheryl’s longtime boyfriend, had obviously done his best to make the car ready for Becca. If only he’d thought to call Harper and give her a heads-up.
“What’s going on?” Bunny asked as she came around the side of the house. “What’s that? Did you sell your car?”
“No. Great-Aunt Cheryl left this to Becca. It was just delivered.”
Bunny looked delighted. “Dogs and a car. What did she leave you, dear? Nothing?”
Harper refused to engage. No matter what Great-Aunt Cheryl had left or not left her, they had been friends and Harper would always treasure that.
The man handed Becca the keys, then walked over to Harper. “You need to sign for delivery.”
She scrawled her name. Becca opened the driver’s door and got behind the wheel, then jumped out and spun in a circle.
“This is the best! I can’t wait to get my license and go driving.” She wrapped her arms around Jazz. “You’ll be my first passenger.”
“Too bad Great-Aunt Cheryl didn’t think to leave money to pay for insurance,” Bunny said.
“It will be fine,” Harper assured her. “At least this way I don’t have to worry about buying her a car.”
Becca opened the trunk and pulled out a box. “Mom, this is for you. Ramon said there were a couple of things Great-Aunt Cheryl wanted you to have.”
Harper did her best not to look smug as she took the good-sized box from her daughter.
“What is it?” Bunny demanded.
“I have no idea.” She turned to Becca. “You are not allowed to move that car one inch until it’s insured. Understood?”
“I swear, Mom. I won’t drive it until you say it’s okay.” She continued to dance around the car, her phone in hand, taking pictures from every angle.
Harper sighed, then went inside. Her mother followed.
She set the box on the kitchen table and opened it. Inside were several smaller boxes, including one that got her heart beating faster.
Bunny moved closer. “Is that...”
“An Hermès Birkin bag? Yes, it is.” Not black. Great-Aunt Cheryl would never waste her time with a boring black bag. No, this one was orange. Harper read the card inside.
“It’s a Togo Birkin bag,” she said, wondering if she sounded smug. “And still in beautiful condition.”
Label-conscious Bunny looked as if she’d eaten a lemon. “That’s ridiculous. You have nothing to wear with that.”
“I know. Even so, I plan to use it with everything.” She opened a smaller box and found three blue boxes with the magical phrase Tiffany & Co. on top. Her heart pounded a little faster.
The first box contained a peach enamel and diamond bracelet. Bunny moved close and gasped. “That’s a Schlumberger bangle! Do you know what those cost?”
“I have no idea.”
“A lot!”
The second box held a sea horse broach, also Schlumberger, according to a miffed Bunny. The last box revealed simple diamond studs, each the size of an M&M candy.
While Bunny fingered the pin, Harper slipped on the bangle. It was heavy and unyielding and looked fabulous. She decided to wait on the earrings until she could see herself in a mirror.
She picked up the last box. It was unmarked and flat. Inside were dozens of photographs, mostly of Great-Aunt Cheryl. They ranged from her nursing days during World War II to just a few years ago. Harper’s chest tightened as she looked through them. The bag and the jewelry were amazing, but these were the best gift of all.
She would sort through them and make an album, she thought. Something special that—
She found a handwritten note at the bottom of the box.
Dear Harper,
We all knew this day would come and here it is. I want you to have these things because I have always loved you. Remember to be brave, strong and happy. That’s what life is all about. And don’t you dare waste a second putting the old pictures in an album. You have better things to do with your time.
Harper laughed, then felt her eyes burn with tears.
“What did she say?” Bunny demanded, snatching the letter from her. She scanned the words, then handed the sheet back. “That car is going to be a problem.”
“I don’t care. I’m letting her keep it.” Because that was what Great-Aunt Cheryl would have wanted.
* * *
“I’m nearly forty-two,” Harper said as she sat on the sofa in Stacey’s living room. “When am I going to stop being manipulated by Mom?”
Stacey wasn’t sure her sister wanted an answer, but decided to provide one anyway. “When you stop caring about what she thinks of you.”
“You care, but you don’t let it interfere with your life. Not that I wouldn’t have let Becca keep the car, but I would have at least thought about it a little longer. Instead I reacted to Mom being bitchy about what Great-Aunt Cheryl left me. I can’t figure out if every family is twisted or just ours.”
“I’m sure it’s all of them.”
Harper laughed. “I hope you’re right. Okay, how’s it going with Ashton?”
“Fine. He’s settling in nicely. It’s only been two days, but we have a routine. He has two classes to finish and he’s going to get a part-time job.”
Her sister nodded. “Didn’t you say he’d been in foster care or living with a friend or something before he moved here?”
“Foster care. Kit’s sister wouldn’t let him live with us, so we had to wait until he was eighteen and aged out of the system. We flew him out the next day.”
“Does he have enough stuff?”
“What do you mean?”
Harper shrugged. “I don’t know much about foster families. On TV they’re usually awful. Does he have clothes and shoes and whatever else he needs?”
“I asked and he said he was fine.”
Harper’s expression turned pitying. “And you believed him?”
“He has no reason to lie to me.”
Her sister stood. “Pride, Stacey. Guilt. Shame. He’s a kid.”
“He’s eighteen.”
“He’s a kid.”
Harper got up suddenly and walked down the hall before tapping on Ashton’s half-open door.
“Come in.”
She went inside. Stacey followed, not sure what she was going to do.
“Hey, Ashton. I’m about to pry, so brace yourself. Can I see your suitcase?”
He glanced from Harper to Stacey, then walked over to his closet and pulled out his ratty suitcase. As Stacey stared at it, she realized it was ridiculously small and it had contained everything he had in the world. She glanced at the battered computer on his desk. A computer that had to be at least four years old. The phrase her heart sank suddenly made too much sense.
“Do you have paper?” Harper asked.
He looked more intrigued than confused as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pad of paper. “Stacey got me a bunch of school supplies, so I’m good.”
“Uh-huh.” Harper sat on the chair and started writing. “Underwear, socks.” She paused to glance at his feet. “Athletic shoes, sandals, jeans, shorts, T-shirts. Do you have a lightweight jacket? June can be cool and foggy by the beach.”
Ashton tensed. “I’m good. I don’t need anything.”
“So that’s a no.” She continued writing. “Deodorant, sunscreen.” She glanced at his face. “Razors or an electric shaver?”
“I use disposable razors.”
Harper turned to Stacey. “Let’s get him one of those nice shavers all the kids love. He can go scruffy and be irresistible to the girls.”
Ashton flushed. “Aunt Harper, I’m fine.”
“Just Harper, please, and don’t even try. I can be so bossy. I get it from my mother.” She put down her pen. “I’m thinking the mall first. Old Navy and Macy’s for clothes, then Target for toiletries.” She grinned. “I haven’t been shopping for a while, so I’m excited. Let’s go.”
Ashton looked more uncomfortable than pleased. Stacey was right there with him. How could she not have noticed he needed pretty much everything and why hadn’t he told her when she asked if he was all right?