Just Desserts (12 page)

Watching Tommy switch into parental mode always took him by surprise. He knew the rocker, the client, the musician, the friend, the husband, the ex-husband, the boyfriend, the laid-back easygoing superstar, but out of all of them he liked the parent best.

It was after dark when they reached the house. Tommy and the boys disappeared into the office for what Finn assumed would be the punishment heard 'round the world. Tommy didn't play the spin-control game. When his kids screwed up, they paid the price. And if they had to pay that price with the light of public attention shining down on them, then that was how it had to be. He didn't abandon them. But he didn't coddle them either. He guided them and when they made a wrong turn, he stood next to them as they worked their way back to where they were supposed to be.

For a change the house was quiet. Gigi's tricycle was stashed under the table in the entryway. Canned television laughter floated down from one of the upstairs bedrooms, but for the most part the house was dark and still.

He let himself out the front door, set the alarm, then drove home feeling lonelier than he had in a very long time.

For the first time he envied Tommy. He envied him his kids (even Zach and Winston), his ex-wives, his mistresses, the people who loved him. He even envied him Willow, who had the intellectual capacity of an amoeba. The fame, the money, the big house on the water—none of those things had ever made him wish he could trade places with the guy.

Watching Tommy with his sons today had.

Zach and Winston pulled a boneheaded stunt, screwed up, and got busted in Great Neck of all places and suddenly he found himself finally getting what the whole thing was all about. He had always viewed family life from an outsider's perspective. He was the godson who came to stay. Big brother to the Stiles kids…but not really. Sounding board, legal counsel, friend.

Maybe it was time to get a dog, he thought as he unlocked his front door and stepped into the silence. Or a cat. A goldfish even. Someone to share the oxygen with. A living, breathing entity that would be happy to hear his car pull into the driveway.

Hayley didn't have a fraction of Tommy's fame or fortune but her home teemed with energy and life the same as his. Finn had watched the way her employees treated her, seen the affection and respect in their eyes. Her daughter adored her, even if that adoration was tempered by the requisite teenage indifference.

She gathered people into her circle with effortless grace. In the blink of an eye Anton had become her staunchest defender. He could still see the two of them laughing and talking over the real estate agents' cake. She might be expecting the other shoe to drop any minute, but she was still managing to enjoy life while she waited.

He tossed his keys on top of the table in the entryway and headed for the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He was starting to think his whole life was out of whack. He was part of Tommy's family but not really. No matter how important the Stiles clan made him feel, in his heart he knew that he would always be that sixteen-year-old kid who showed up on the doorstep. The kid with no place else to go.

He liked to think things had changed in the twenty-something years since that day but he wasn't entirely sure.

Even the contents of his refrigerator looked like something you would find in a really bad frat house. Pizza. Cartons of half-eaten Chinese and Thai food. Three bottles of Coors and some microbrew.

The pizza looked like it was skidding toward its end date. He quickly shoved two slices into the microwave and pressed the reheat button. He was about to pop the top on a bottle of Coors when his phone vibrated again.

Might as well get it over with. Sloan, Willow's attorney, had left four urgent messages that afternoon and that was before Finn started rolling calls directly into voice mail. His inbox had probably exploded by now.

“Hampton Sloan for Mr. Rafferty at nine twenty a.m. on Friday. Please return the call at your earliest convenience.”

“Hampton Sloan for Mr. Rafferty. It's ten thirty on Friday morning. We await your call at your earliest.”

“Sloan again, Rafferty. It's noon. I'll be at my desk all afternoon. We need to talk.”

“Sloan here. It's two p.m. and it's imperative you return my call. My client is beginning to question this delay and that is something neither of us wants to see happen.”

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Sloan had every right to be seriously pissed. On a normal day he would have returned the first call immediately. He hadn't expected to spend most of it in Nassau County unraveling the mess Tommy's sons had made of things.

“Three fifteen. Sloan here. This is unacceptable.”

Delete.

“Three forty-five. Sloan here.”

Delete.

“Your machine didn't beep. Oh, wait! This isn't a machine, is it? This is your cell number so it's probably—”

Hayley.

A big, stupid smile, the kind you were glad nobody was around to see, spread across his face.

“Sorry. I know I'm starting to sound like a phone stalker but—”

His smile grew bigger and stupider, if there was such a word.

“Okay. It's Hayley. I promise you this is my last phone call—”

Not the last phone call, he hoped. Not even close.

“Sloan here at five-oh-one p.m. in the vain hope that you—”

Delete.

“This is Paula at Michalski Brothers. We completed the background check and are sending the results via both encrypted e-mail and courier. Oh—it's Friday at six-oh-seven p.m., your time.”

Delete

“Okay. It's after eight. I said I wouldn't call again but now I'm thinking maybe something's wrong and you're trying to figure out how to let me down easy. It's okay if I can't give my pass to Michie. Really. We'll live. Wait—that sounds terrible, doesn't it? I mean, we'll be disappointed but we're not going to—Maybe I'd better stop now before I get myself into a deeper mess. I'm kidding. You know that, right? My e-mail is cakes at goldysbakery dot biz if that's easier.”

She answered on the first ring.

“Four messages,” he said. “I just got them.”

“Only four?” He heard the laughter in her voice and the sound of voices behind her. “I left at least seventeen of them.”

“Hang up,” he said. “I'll listen to them and call you back.”

God, he loved her laugh. You would think her life was nothing but roses and hand-dipped chocolates.

“Just a second,” she said. “Lizzie, nuke the chicken and turn the flame down on the potatoes and make sure there's enough iced tea.” Then to him, “Sorry. My aunt Fiona's here for dinner.”

“Nuked chicken?”

“Sounds great, doesn't it?” She laughed again. “I'm compensating with chocolate cheesecake.”

“I can be there in four hours if I break the speed limits.”

She laughed but she didn't issue an invitation. Not that he had expected she would. But he suddenly realized how much he wished she had.

He heard the bustle of family life all around her and, just like Tommy, she was at the center of it all.

“Your sister-in-law can use your pass. I'll need her full name—”

“Michelle Goldstein Rivera.”

“—and she'll have to bring her driver's license or some form of picture ID with her to the venue.”

“What about Lizzie? She doesn't have a driver's license.”

“Photo ID?”

“A school identification card. It has her photo.”

“That'll do it. Why don't I send you a third pass, just in case.”

“I'd love it but, trust me, there's no way I'll be able to take advantage of it. I intend to keep a sharp eye on things until the party starts.”

“Are there a lot of cake saboteurs on the loose?”

“You'd be surprised.”

He was. Every single time she spoke, he found himself surprised and delighted and intrigued by her words, her laughter, her history.

“Did you check your account yet?”

“Lizzie did. Thanks for transferring the money so quickly.” That wonderful laugh. “Actually my creditors thank you since it'll fly out as quickly as it flew in.”

No self-pity. No bitterness. Just life.

“Well,” she said, “I guess I'd better—”

“You have pets, right?”

If she was surprised by his clumsy attempt at prolonging the conversation, she didn't let on. “Five,” she said, then named them all. “How come?”

“I'm thinking about adopting a dog.”

“That's a big responsibility.” A beat pause. “A dog might not be such a great idea.”

“Dogs love me,” he protested. “I'm a dog's best friend.”

“I'm sure they hang your photo over kennels from here to California,” she said, “but that's not what I'm talking about. Dogs are social creatures. They need company and I'll bet you're never home.”

“Okay, then how about a cat? Cats are independent, right?”

“Depends on the cat.”

“I'm not going the hamster route,” he said. “I draw the line at rodents.”

“You need to do your homework,” she told him. “I could send you some links to animal rescue sites. There are some great articles on how to match your lifestyle to the right pet.”

“Mom!” Lizzie called out from somewhere nearby. “The chicken's nuked, the veggies are ready, Aunt Fee says hurry up or she's taking the cheesecake hostage!”

“I should—”

“You should—”

They both laughed.

“Watch your e-mail,” she said and she was gone before he had a chance to say good night.

“I like you, Hayley Goldstein,” he said to the empty room. A New Jersey cake decorator with three cats, one dog, a parrot, and a genius daughter.

Who just might be his boss's long-lost child.

Now what in hell was he supposed to do with that?

 

“Mom?” Lizzie stood in the doorway between living room and kitchen. “Are you okay?”

Aunt Fiona placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. “She's just fine, honey,” she said with a wink in Hayley's direction. “Let's go eat.”

I like him,
Hayley thought as she followed them into the kitchen. A divorced East Hampton lawyer on retainer to a rock superstar.

A guy who wore a suit to work and lace-up shoes and carried file folders around with him.

Now what on earth was she supposed to do with that?

Mumbai, India

Jane was exhausted.

The farewell visits, the parties, the impromptu gatherings of colleagues and former students had taken their toll on her dwindling resources of energy and she spent her last day in Mumbai resting.

She used to thrive on the rigors of travel. There was no place on the planet too remote, too rugged, too dangerous for her and her staff. She was one of those human oddities who thrived on poor conditions and four hours of sleep.

She had sailed through her sixties and most of her seventies with the same boundless energy and unquenchable curiosity as she had enjoyed as a much younger woman and she no doubt would have continued to do so had illness not taken hold.

Jane was a scientist. She understood the part genetics sometimes played in illness but she also understood that fate could be both random and cruel and not even the keenest intellect could find order in the chaos.

Her beloved John had altered their travel plans, making allowances for her increased need for rest. They would leave for home late Sunday, spend a night (or was it two?) in London, then embark on the last leg of their return home.

I am afraid,
she thought as she glanced about the hotel room that had been her home for months. The emotion was new and untried. She and her daughter Hayley were cut from different bolts of cloth but there had always been respect between them, if not total understanding. There was honest warmth between them, as well, and deep love that had carried them over the rough waters of the early years.

Her daughter embodied both rebel and worrier. Over time the worrier had stepped to the forefront but just beneath the surface Jane feared a rebellious soul waited.

“More tea?” John appeared in the doorway to her bedroom.

“I would love some.” She straightened her spine and beamed a smile in his direction. “I'll miss the wonderful teas here.”

“We'll make sure you have your fill both here and in London,” he said.

Perhaps there was something to the notion of reincarnation, she thought, as the man she loved went off to prepare a pot of Earl Grey. Somewhere, in some other distant life, she must have pleased the gods and was now reaping the unexpected reward.

Not even the reality of her illness could destroy the joy she felt each time she looked into his eyes.

Only one thing held enough power over her to cast a shadow across her sun-drenched landscape and that was the prospect of telling Hayley the truth.

She had intended to take the secret with her to the grave and would have if the grave hadn't beckoned to her sooner than expected. There were genetic components at play in her disease that could have an impact on her daughter and granddaughter. That reality opened her mind to the fact that there was another side to her daughter's genetic cocktail, a side that might contain markers Hayley needed to be aware of.

Hayley had a father and that father had a name. And she deserved better than to hear the news in the cold sanctuary of an attorney's office after Jane was gone. What her daughter did with the knowledge was her business, but without that knowledge she would never be her whole, best self.

It seemed so clear now that Jane wondered why she had waited so long. She had spent her life untangling the genetic histories of marine life, determined to shed light on the secrets of the world's oceans, but she had never once addressed the irony of leaving her daughter swimming in the dark.

Lakeside—around noon on Sunday

“We?” Hayley stared at the computer screen, then over at her daughter. “She's royalty now?”

“She is pretty major, Mom.”

“Not major enough for the royal we. I'm glad you told me to read my e-mail. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.”

Lizzie nudged her. “I have to send out some invoices.”

“You really are just like Jane.”

“Thank you.” Lizzie's grin ran from right ear to left ear.

She stifled a yawn. “What day is this? I've been working so hard I've lost track of time.”

“Sunday,” Lizzie said, fingers dancing across the keyboard. “Almost noon.” She scanned the screen. “I sent you the tracking numbers for the gold and silver leaf from Autry Foods and the big drum of fondant from Non Pareil. Both shipments should arrive tomorrow morning but you never know.”

“It's Sunday?” Hayley asked. “Shouldn't you be at Tracy's party?”

“It doesn't start until two.”

“Is Tracy's father picking you up?”

“I'm walking over with Amanda.”

“Will Tracy's father drive you home?”

“I'm spending the night, remember?”

“You know the rules.”

“Don't walk home. Call you for a ride if I decide to leave.”

“Mr. G can repeat the words,” Hayley said, gesturing toward the gorgeous green parrot watching them from his favorite perch. “Do you understand the importance?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “The world can be a dangerous place, blah blah blah.” She pushed her chair back from the desk. “I'm gonna go get ready.”

There must be something in the air, Hayley thought, as she settled down again in front of the computer. Some strange transit of Venus or Mercury gone retrograde, an odd astral occurrence that would explain the bad moods, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings that had been breaking out from one end of the bakery to the other the past few days.

Or maybe it was too much work for too many people in way too small a work space.

Convincing Mercury to quit that retrograde nonsense would be easier than figuring out a way to pay for a larger building. She and Lizzie were still trying to figure out where the money for upgraded ovens was going to come from. Her dream of running the bakery operation separate from the cake-decorating side of the business was still a long way off.

Thank God the orders had been pouring in at a fairly rapid clip. She had three designs that needed to be finalized before she could submit them. Usually she managed a twenty-four-hour turnaround time, but she had been so busy working on the cakes for the after-party that she'd let things slip. She thanked God on a regular basis for Frank and Maureen and Michie and everyone else at the bakery. If they ever tired of picking up her slack, her cake-decorating enterprise would come screeching to a halt.

The bakery was Lizzie's future. Stan had left it in her hands for a reason and that reason was her little girl. He knew his son's faults better than anyone and he was determined to give his granddaughter the security his son would never provide.

Stan hadn't seen a future in fancy decorated cakes. His clientele was perfectly happy with buttercream rosebuds and “Happy Birthday, Tiffany” scrawled across the top layer with a pastry bag. The cake-decorating part of the business was Hayley's baby and, unless she missed her guess, her future. One day she hoped to separate Goldy's from the special-order-cake side of the business, but that was still a long way off. She wasn't about to rock the boat until Lizzie was out of college and the tuition bills had been paid.

Until then she had to continue to find a way to keep Goldy's running smoothly while she poured her creative energies into her creations.

She had worked out a production schedule that would bring her right up to the morning of the concert. Barring unexpected calamities, of course. One of Lizzie's teachers had approached her about designing a cake for an engagement party three weeks out. A flaming red VW bug that would feed one hundred and not rack up more than three Weight Watchers points per serving.

Of course, that meant she had to figure out what constituted a Weight Watchers point before she could promise anybody anything at all.

Not that a new commission was a calamity, but it was time-consuming and right now time was the one thing she needed above everything else.

She brought up the official Weight Watchers site and started reading about core plans and flex plans and points and was deeply immersed in figuring out how she could incorporate a hot fudge sundae into a weight-loss plan when her e-mail alert chimed.

Not another royal missive from Jane, she prayed as she clicked over to her e-mail screen. She hoped her mother got the royal we out of her system before she showed up in Lakeside. This was South Jersey, the place where girls wore rhinestone tiaras with their swimsuits.

Her cell phone rang. Somehow she wasn't surprised.

“I don't know any cats,” Rafferty said. “But what's not to like?”

“The litter box, for one thing,” she said with a smile so wide her face hurt. “If you're looking for tail-wagging devotion, you might want to stick with canines.”

“I'm definitely looking for devotion.” She could hear the answering smile in his voice. “I want someone waiting at the door for me with my slippers in her mouth.”

“Her mouth?”

“Or his mouth.”

“Much better.”

“So cats don't do that?”

“Not quite.” She started to laugh out loud. “Most cats expect you to be waiting at the door when they get home.”

“That's one of the problems,” he said. “The cat would have a long wait. I'm not home that much.”

“How much is not much?”

“We're on the road six or seven months out of the year. And that's a slow year.”

“That's horrible!” She grimaced. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I mean, I really do think it's horrible, but I still should have kept that thought to myself. Not that I keep many thoughts to myself, but this might have been a good place to start.”

“It's not for everyone,” he admitted, “but it has its good points.”

“I'm sure it does.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means what it means. I'm sure being on the road half of every year has some wonderful benefits.”

“You're talking groupies.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You thought it.”

“You don't know what I thought.”

“Lawyers don't have groupies. We have accountants.”

She didn't even try to hold back the laughter. “Do you like being on the road so much?”

“I used to,” he admitted, “but it's gotten old. Or maybe I have.”

“You're a lawyer. Why can't you do your lawyering from East Hampton?”

“Because I'm not just Tommy's lawyer. I fill in on rhythm guitar.”

“You play rhythm guitar?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I'm shocked. What are you, one of those Blues Brothers types?”

He groaned. “Can't get past the suit, huh?”

“You have to admit your tailoring doesn't exactly scream rock star.”

“Come to the concert Thursday night and I'll show you what else I can do.”

A delicious shiver moved up her spine. Now it all made sense. He was a bona fide bad boy in good-guy camouflage. She switched the phone to her other ear to give herself a moment to regroup. This flirting business was unsettling.