Chapter Seven
“My team’s getting pressure to provide reports faster.” Bethany closed her laptop and pressed her lips together. Her expression exhibited the kind of shared focus and concern Hunter wished his wife would give him. “Jenna’s been unusually critical of the details of the marketing department budgets and projections, too.”
“Of course she has,” Hunter grunted, ignoring the call on his direct line. “Every year she makes our job ten times harder by being uncooperative during strategic planning. Now suddenly she’s going to pressure us to set sky-high projections to make the company look like it’s poised for rapid growth. She’ll be getting this in response,” he said, flashing his middle finger.
When Bethany’s eyes widened, he regretted making her uncomfortable. Like the professional he counted on, she brushed it off. “She won’t make it easy. And I suspect even your dad will gripe about the capex estimate you’re floating.”
“You and I both know that the Idaho plant has been held together by rubber bands and bubble gum these past two years. It’s past time we invested serious capital there to bring it up to code. Don’t let Jenna bully you.” When Bethany’s obvious discomfort didn’t subside, Hunter added, “I’ll handle her and my dad.”
Alec’s warning from the other night drifted through his thoughts. He didn’t enjoy opposing his dad, but it couldn’t be helped. For the first time since the early months following his parents’ divorce, he felt cast aside—adrift. Like then, he buried his unease beneath determination and a good plan. It had worked for him in the past, but now he and his dad no longer shared the same goal.
“What else can we do to stop the sale?” Bethany was smart enough to know it would take more than aggressive accounting to put Pure Foods off if it truly wanted CTC.
Every time he thought about how he’d handle losing, his body flushed with heat. He glanced around his large office. The saltwater tank bubbling in the corner, which housed a handful of colorful fish, had a soothing effect on him, reminding him of one of his and Sara’s first-ever vacations, when they’d gone to the Cayman Islands. His diploma and CPA certification hung on one wall, and the fine art Sara had bought him for their fifth anniversary—an abstract in the tradition of Jackson Pollack—hung over the small conference table in the corner. Handsome navy leather chairs, worn from use, flanked his desk.
This single, spacious room—one that contained decades of memories and hopes—was as much his home as the one he shared with Sara. He wouldn’t give it up without a fight.
“I’ve got an idea, but sussing it out will be tricky,” he said. “I want to bring my ready-made bottled tea idea to fruition. If we can produce our most popular flavored teas as ready-mades and take advantage of a national bottler’s expertise and distribution channels, revenues will soar, and the value of the company will significantly increase. If I can get a major bottler to agree to a joint venture and convince my family of that potential for growth, they might not sell.”
“I can’t believe that idea hasn’t been pursued sooner.”
“My dad’s wedded to our core business, and Jenna hates anything that I propose. Or maybe she wasn’t up to the challenge of marketing a new product line.”
“Really?” Bethany wrinkled her nose. “I know you two don’t get along, but she’s got a vested interest in making the company profitable. She’s never come across as lazy, either. Would she honestly block your idea just for the sake of getting one over on you?”
“Who the hell knows?” Hunter raised his hand in question. “Maybe she’s not as smart as she pretends to be and didn’t see the merits. She’s never taken the time to understand the growth levers from a financial perspective.”
A knock at his door interrupted them.
“Come in,” Hunter called.
His reed-thin assistant, Haru, came in. She’d worked for him for only seven months, but she’d made herself indispensable. Like him, she didn’t socialize much at work or smile. Of course, there wasn’t much to smile about around here these days. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try.
Haru met his gaze. “Your father wants to see you in his office right away.”
“Thanks. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Hunter forced an awkward smile, which only appeared to fluster her. He’d be better off sticking to what he knew.
Once she closed the door behind her, he returned his attention to Bethany. “I’ll catch up with you later, and we’ll figure out which reports we can send over to Pure Foods and which we should ‘double-check’ for a while longer.”
Bethany grinned. “Sounds good.”
Hunter followed her out and then ambled down the hall to his dad’s corner office. Given the update from Bethany, he anticipated backlash from Jenna and his dad. If they were wise, they’d back off. He had enough pressure bearing down on him. Sara had scheduled the SAFE home inspection with the foster care people for tomorrow morning, and then they had the doctor’s appointment after lunch to determine whether the IVF had resulted in a viable pregnancy.
Unlike last time, Sara refused to take a home pregnancy test first. She wanted the blood test with all the numbers. Hunter didn’t know if that was the best course, but things between them were frayed enough without adding another argument. If things went well, by this time tomorrow, he might be a father of triplets.
That thought literally stopped him in his tracks, which drew a raised eyebrow from his dad’s assistant.
“They’re waiting for you,” she said.
Hunter nodded, closing the curtain on his personal life for the moment, and then entered the office. His father was seated at his desk, and Jenna had taken one of the seats opposite him. Hunter casually made his way to the other chair, sat down, and crossed one foot over his knee. “You summoned?”
“I want to talk about some of these numbers I’m seeing go out the door.” His father’s typically genial expression had hardened into something Hunter might describe as stern disapproval.
“Fire away.” Hunter slouched back, linking his hands behind his head.
“Twelve million in capex improvements?” His dad leaned forward.
Hunter counted to five in his head to prolong the pause in conversation. Finally, he asked, “Is there a question?”
Jenna rolled her eyes and groaned. “We’re not stupid, Hunter. There’s no way Idaho needs all those improvements to function.”
“Oh, really?” Hunter twisted in his seat to face her. “And when, exactly, is the last time you went there, or spoke with the environmental compliance manager, or bothered to read the footnotes in any of the reports Bethany generates?” He raised his index finger. “Wait, I know. Never.”
Jenna’s nostrils flared, but his dad jumped into the fray before she replied.
“Hunter, don’t tell me that every single one of the upgrades you’re noting is an emergency or priority. You’re running up the expense estimates in order to make the business less attractive.”
“I’m still the CFO, aren’t I?” Hunter made a show of glancing around the room, then stretching his arms out and looking at them before patting himself down. “I’m the one who has to sign off on all the financial information and attest to the accuracy of all the data. Make warranties as to completeness. Any responsible CFO would err on the side of being conservative so we don’t end up in a lawsuit for misrepresentation after a sale.” Hunter felt pretty damn good about himself at that moment, so he decided to make one last nick with the scalpel. “What, Jenna? No snappy comeback?”
“If it makes you feel better to play your little games, be my guest. You can’t stop the inevitable.” She crossed her ankles and straightened her spine.
“Inevitable?” Hunter felt the flush rising up his neck. He settled a narrowed gaze on his dad. “You said we’d wait on a final offer before you’d bring it to the shareholders.”
“I did, and we will. But you’ve got to cooperate and not purposely screw it up.” His father rubbed his shoulder and winced.
Colby’s concern about their dad’s health tickled Hunter’s conscience. Was there more to this sale than his father was letting on?
“Are you sick?” he blurted out.
“What?” His father shook his head.
“Colby’s concerned about your aches and lethargy. If you’re sick, at least that would explain why you’d trash our plans and sell out now.”
Jenna mocked him. “I never realized how whiny you can be when you don’t get your way.”
“Jenna.” His dad raised a hand to cut her off. Hunter fantasized about dragging her—chair and all—out of the office, then noticed his dad staring at him. “No, son. I’m not sick. Just getting older. I’ve already told you I didn’t go looking for this deal, but I can’t, in good conscience, ignore it. You know what’s happening with climate change and global competition. Pure Foods has more money, more distribution—especially internationally—and more personnel than us. They can weather these problems better than we can.”
“Guess this is one of those ‘agree to disagree’ things.” Hunter had no interest in a sales pitch, so he stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got lots of work on my desk.”
He and his dad engaged in a sixty-second stare-down. Hunter had never lost that kind of contest in his life, and he wouldn’t now. His father finally blinked, but the victory didn’t fill Hunter with his typical sense of triumph. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Another showdown—this time between him and science.
“I’ll be with Sara at the doctor’s office tomorrow.” His stomach tightened, and he avoided eye contact with anyone. He’d been busy enough that he hadn’t had much time to worry about the results. But as the hours ticked by, his anxiety about how Sara would react to bad news increased.
She’d purposely scheduled that foster care home inspection ahead of the doctor’s appointment so she wouldn’t get caught in a state of despondency if the test came back negative. He hated the fact that he couldn’t control the outcome. He dreaded those final minutes when the doctor would walk in and Hunter would try to read his expression before the results were announced.
The only thing he knew for sure was that if Sara wasn’t pregnant, he’d have to comfort her first and deal with his own feelings of loss at some later time . . . on his own.
His father’s expression transformed to concern. “How’s Sara?”
“Anxious,” Hunter admitted, needing to borrow a bit of his dad’s strength in that moment. “Quiet.”
“I know how tough this has been on her. And you.”
Hunter wished things between him and his father weren’t so strained—and that Jenna wasn’t in the room. He could use his old man’s advice but couldn’t form the words. He’d never felt this much uncertainty in his life. One kind—how he’d manage three kids at once—he could handle, and in a way, excited him. The other—how he’d help Sara recover from bad news—only terrified him.
“Give her our love.” His dad tapped his fingers on his desk. “Call me either way.”
“I will.” On that note, Hunter took his leave.
On his way back to his office, his stomach turned over from considering the worst-case scenario at tomorrow’s appointment. From imagining Sara’s disappointed face, her broken heart, and his own desperation to find the words to soothe her.
He stopped at Haru’s desk and gave himself a mental shake. It was way easier to focus on stopping this sale. At least he had some control over the outcome of the CTC negotiations. “Haru, call Bethany back to my office, please.”
Once inside his office, he closed the door and exhaled. The damselfishes, dartfishes, and clown fish swam calmly around the tank. He envied the pristine, controlled environment. No predators. Regulated temperature. Constant food. Beauty and peace. Everything that real life was not.
Abruptly, he picked up the phone and dialed his fraternity brother’s father, Rich Cortland, who sat on the board of King Cola. Time to kick off his discreet inquiries.
“Babe?” Hunter’s voice sounded uncharacteristically small and anxious, even within the small space of the car—the ridiculously expensive car that could drive itself. Scientists and engineers had made amazing breakthroughs this past decade, yet they couldn’t get her pregnant.
Sara squinted at the sunlight pouring in through the windshield, hot tears blurring her vision. She wound the long purse strap in her hands until the skin on her fingers ached. The quiet rage building inside had no voice because her throat had constricted so much that even breathing hurt.
She wasn’t pregnant. None of their perfect embryos had survived or attached or whatever the hell they were supposed to do and didn’t . . . again. Despite enduring another round of drugs and shots and hope, she was going home today empty and bruised, inside and out.
She searched her memory for some terrible wrong she must’ve committed to warrant this punishment. For some mistake she’d made during the cycle that might’ve hurt their chances. Nothing. She could think of nothing. And no reason why she and Hunter had been denied this blessing.
“Sara.” His hand brushed her thigh. “Talk to me, please. What can I do?”
She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t answer, either. The truth was there was nothing her husband could do. No words or deed that would reverse the result or ease the loss. Hunter wanted to help, but he couldn’t. Fair or not, the mere fact that he wasn’t falling apart like she was only fueled her sense of isolation and pain.
Sniffling, she wiped her damp cheeks, wishing there was an escape hatch from reality. Her parents were waiting for a call, as was Hunter’s family. He’d have to make them for her because she couldn’t say the words, much less listen to hushed apologies laden with pity. She just wanted to close her eyes and block out the world.
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized they’d arrived at home until Hunter opened her door.
He crouched to look at her face, his warm hand caressing her cheek. “Help me out, babe. How can I make this better for you?”
Her fixer. He’d always been that way—identify a problem, generate options, execute a solution. That wouldn’t work in this situation. They both had to feel their way out of this tunnel. She was buried more deeply than him, so it would take her longer to see any light.
Her voice sounded tinny and distant when it finally emerged. “You can’t make it better.”
He backed up as she moved to get out of the passenger seat, then he followed her into the mudroom, trailing closely behind her as if he feared she might collapse. The mudroom, where she’d envisioned teaching her children to tie their laces, undressing their muddy clothes after a day spent at the lake, and organizing sports equipment and uniforms. Now it would continue to be little more than a fancy breezeway between Hunter’s high-tech car and the kitchen.
After months of eating healthy food, of avoiding alcohol and other vices, she headed straight into the kitchen to find some wine. Of course, her always-confident husband had bought champagne to celebrate. He didn’t know she’d found it stashed in the basement refrigerator yesterday. Ridiculous as it was, she almost wanted to blame that for jinxing them. In any case, they had no cause to celebrate. Just as well, because today called for something dark and heavy.
Without a word, Hunter stood at the island while she pulled the cork from a bottle of Niepoort Redoma Tinto, poured a large glass, and chugged it.
“Sara!” He reached for the bottle, but she withheld it.
“I need this.” Staring straight at him, she poured herself another glass. Her entire body vibrated as if she’d been plugged in to the wall and turned on. “I’m not like you. I can’t separate my feelings into boxes and keep moving forward. My dream died today, and if I need this bottle and six others to get me through the night, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
He snatched the bottle from her hand on his second attempt. Some of it sloshed over the side and splattered on the counters. He set the bottle in the sink and wiped up the spatter with a paper towel. “You’ll regret it tomorrow and feel even worse than you do now. Trust me. Let’s find another way.”
“Another way? Exactly what way does one make peace with this?” The finality of her situation struck. She wanted to scream and hit him or smash plates or kick the island, but instead her knees weakened from a surge of pain-fueled adrenaline. Hunter must’ve seen the signs, because he wrapped his arms around her. As soon as he’d swaddled her in his embrace, sobs erupted from some bleak corner of her soul.
“Sh, sh, sh,” he cooed, stroking her head and back while gently swaying from side to side.
Her crying wouldn’t be contained, turning into messy, throaty wails before settling into sporadic hiccups.
Without a word, Hunter lifted her, cradling her in his arms and carrying her up the stairs. Exactly like he had the day they’d transferred the embryos, a memory that triggered more tears.
Hunter laid her on the bed and spooned her, holding her close without saying a word. The pendant around her neck and warmth of his body suffocated her, but she didn’t have the energy to complain. He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed that side of her head. Minutes passed, the sedative effects of the large glass of wine she’d chugged taking hold. Her body grew heavier with each breath.
“We need to call our parents,” she said, voice cracking. Today, not even her mom’s loving words and sympathy would help.
“No, we don’t.” He stroked her head again. “They’ll know what happened when we don’t call with good news. I’ll make the calls in the morning.”
She knew he thought that would make her feel better, but the ache in her heart only throbbed harder. When she shuddered, he cocooned her more fiercely.
“Sara, don’t shut me out.” He paused, kissing her head, then her neck. “I’m sad, too. I need you. We need each other.”
When she didn’t answer, he moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. “I miss you. Come back to me.”
She’d always envied the way he could use physical intimacy to make himself feel better, no matter how upset he might be. It reminded her of how her sister Lisa would overcome sadness with a little window-shopping, because looking at pretty things made her happy. It seemed that some people were equipped to cope with loss by using any kind of distraction.
Unfortunately for Sara, she didn’t rebound quite so well. And yet her husband needed her. He was hurting, too, even if she suspected the depth of his pain didn’t quite match her own.
She turned toward him, giving in to his plea, hoping that accepting his love and comfort might help her, too. He caressed her face and looked into her eyes, as if seeking permission to kiss her.
It’d been more than two months since they’d made love, thanks in part to her paranoia during the treatments. In the scheme of fourteen years, that shouldn’t have mattered much, except now their rhythm felt stilted.
Hunter’s eyes darkened with need and want. Set deeply in his striking face, they pressed her for proof that all had not been lost. That this marriage—this love—would withstand its latest test.
She kissed him and raised the hem of his shirt so that her hands stroked the corded muscles of his abdomen and chest. Despite the emotional distance, the familiarity of his body and scent drew her into the moment. “For better or worse,” they’d promised. This day would be remembered as one of the worst, but maybe this act might make it slightly better.
Hunter did nothing in half measures, whether it was exercise, work, or lovemaking. At the first sign of her willingness, he’d deftly begun his passionate assault. He knew her well. Knew where to kiss, stroke, or blow heated breath. Knew when to be rough, then tender, when to murmur her name and “I love yous,” and when to be silent.
Until recent months, sex had not been a problem for Hunter and her. It had never become too predictable. But they’d never before undertaken it at a moment of such profound sadness. Even in his capable arms, today she couldn’t find joy or passion or the bond that had tied them together.
As Hunter spilled himself inside her, her eyes began to burn with tears again at the reminder that they would never need a condom, or any other aid, to avoid getting pregnant.
She knew she should be grateful for this amazing, proud man who loved her regardless of her fertility. For the freedom he’d given her to quit her job, and the patience he’d shown in the face of her inability to cope with disappointments. For his family, who’d treated her like one of their own since the beginning.
She didn’t want to be distant or to lose these people or her marriage, yet she felt herself slipping away little by little, powerless to stop it.
As Hunter’s breathing settled, he propped himself up on his elbows, his expression turning distraught. “Are you crying?”
She turned her face, ashamed.
He withdrew, sitting back on his calves, hands on the mattress. “I thought we were connecting, Sara. That we were helping each other. But it looks like you felt forced. Or you took pity on me. Neither is very flattering.”
“I’m sorry.” Even to her ears, those words sounded weak. Her leaden limbs wouldn’t budge. Absently, she wondered if this was how Colby’s dead husband, Mark, had felt during his depressions.
“So am I. I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’m sorry the IVF failed. I’m sorry I don’t know how to make you happy anymore. But sorry isn’t helping either of us, is it?” He shook his head, and though she’d rarely seen him cry, he looked as if he was fighting back his own tears. “I’m at a loss here. You’ve got to help me. Help me help you . . . help us. Regardless of what happened today, we still have each other.”
“I don’t know what to say. Obviously, you didn’t want the babies as much as I did, or you wouldn’t be so quick to turn the page.”
“That’s unfair. Of course I want a family with you, but I don’t need it. I love you, and I loved our life before baby making became the number one goal. I can still be happy in this marriage without children because I’ve got you. Obviously, you don’t feel the same.”
He slid out of bed.
“Hunter.” She reached for him, but he waved her off.
“I need a minute.” He padded to the bathroom, pausing by the bamboo plant from his mother, and closed the door. Seconds later she heard the shower running.
The setting sun cast a peach glow over the room. It glinted off the mirror and glass surfaces, highlighting the sheen of the silk-satin drapes. The bedroom looked like heaven even though, at the moment, it felt a lot more like hell.
Sara stared at the plant that hadn’t brought them luck or good chi. Closing her eyes, she prayed, even though she didn’t even know what she was praying for. Ultimately, she guessed she was praying that she’d get out of her funk before she destroyed her marriage.
The bathroom door opened. Hunter returned, towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up his discarded clothing and took them to the walk-in closet, presumably to dump them in the hamper. When he reemerged, he was wearing thin sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt.
Sara sat up and reached out again. “Hunter, wait.”
He approached but sat at the end of the bed. “I’m going to make something to eat. Grilled cheese or whatever.”
Greasy, high-carb meals had always been his go-to for comfort. Comfort she ought to be providing. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like this has all been about me and my disappointment. I’m sorry you’ve had to spend all your time comforting me and I haven’t reciprocated. I don’t want to be this way, to feel like this. I don’t want to hurt you, either. I love you.”
He clasped her calf. “I know this is hard, but we need to be able to turn to each other. If we lose that, we’ve got nothing left.”
She nodded, reaching both arms toward him. He edged closer and hugged her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. They sat together in bed for a minute or two, cuddling.
Sara suspected he, like her, wished for some kind of miracle to come fix whatever had broken in their relationship. But miracle fixes were for kids’ dreams, not grown-ups’. Only she and Hunter could knit the cracks back together, but neither seemed to know how.