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And that about summed up the day for her, Susan thought as she dropped the phone back in its cradle. He’d left town on her birthday. He’d left town without telling her. What in hell was the world coming to?
She listened indifferently to the remainder of her messages. Her father had called to wish her happy birthday. No round of golf for her. Only her brothers got that invitation for their birthdays. Julie, her brother Scott’s wife, not only called to wish her happy birthday, but to invite her to little Joey’s second birthday party the following week. Scott was her oldest brother. And her least favorite. He was so much like their dad he made her crazy. But he was a good man and when she was in a normal mood, she had to love him.
Spencer, the doctor in the family and the youngest brother, had called for him and Barbara, his wife, who was also a doctor. What was this? It seemed as if everyone was ganging up on her. Like there was a conspiracy to make her feel better or something. Did they know how miserable she felt? How much she wished the day would just go away?
The thought gave her chills. She didn’t want any of them to guess that she wasn’t just hunky dory and happy-go-lucky with her perfect little life. She’d been defending it to them forever, and she’d bloat up and burst if she suddenly had to eat all those words.
Besides, Stephen and Sean hadn’t called yet. Which meant no conspiracy was afoot. Sean, the brother between Seth and Spencer, was the organizer of mutinies in the family. He’d have been the first to call and gloat if he thought he had a way to get to her. And Stephen? Well, she wouldn’t be surprised to get a birthday call from him sometime in March. If it weren’t for the fact that he was a renowned nuclear scientist, she’d worry about his IQ. The man was about as clueless as they came. He was also closest to Susan in age, being only one year her senior. He was going to hit forty this year.
Snatching the phone back up, Susan buzzed her assistant. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day,” she said the second Jill answered. She didn’t want to enter into any discussions about research and cases on the docket. It was her birthday and she was damn well going to enjoy it. Somehow. She loved birthdays.
“The McArthur boy lost his lawyer,” Jill reported anyway. “I figured you’d want to know.”
That was true. Susan did want to know. Later.
“Any change in his condition?” she asked in spite of herself.
“Still paralyzed.”
“Thanks.” Susan made a mental note to seek out Tricia Halliday the following week. Surely they could find a compromise on this particular case.
She just wondered how much groveling or bribing she’d have to do to get the hard-hearted woman to budge. Tricia cared about being right. Not about being human.
“I’m taking tomorrow off, as well,” she decided out loud. The next day was Friday. She was giving herself a birthday present.
“Heading for Chicago?” Jill asked. Susan could hear the impertinent grin in her assistant’s voice.
“Not that you know about.”
“Don’t worry, Susan, there’ll be no calls from me unless the old lady croaks.”
“Even that can wait until Monday,” Susan muttered as she hung up the phone.
Michael’s secretary had said he’d be back that night. She was going to be there to welcome him home personally. She needed a fix.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d get up the guts to ask for the present she wanted most in the world.
A tiny little life to nurture and love and fill her up again.
She had a feeling she’d have to put forth the most convincing argument of her life if she hoped to win this one. Of course, that was what she’d thought when she’d been set on talking Michael out of their divorce. And look where that had gotten her.
MICHAEL TRIED to reach Susan again when he touched down in Chicago. Not only was he dying to share his news, even if everything was only in the possibility stages, he’d also remembered on the flight home that today was Susan’s birthday. To celebrate, he stopped at the American Airlines counter and bought them both tickets to Hawaii for Easter weekend. It had been too long since either of them had taken a vacation.
The tickets were open-ended, as always. He could change them if Easter wasn’t good for her.
She was out of the office until Monday. Still no answer at the condo. Knowing how much Susan loved birthdays, knowing more than anyone how she did everything to excess, he was sure she’d found some crazy way to celebrate this last birthday in her thirties. Things like that mattered to Susan. Celebrating. And momentous birthdays. Michael usually had to stop and think to even remember how old he was. Age wasn’t anything that had ever mattered to him. He supposed it might be different for women.
Catching sight of a departure board as he walked by, Michael found himself searching for any flights leaving for Cincinnati that evening. He wanted to be with Susan. To share his news. To share her celebration. To make love to her...
He wanted to go home.
And because his wanting threatened to override good sense, Michael went to pick up his forest-green Pathfinder from the airport’s parking garage instead. His home was here for now, in the condo he’d purchased when he’d moved to Chicago seven years ago. He and Susan had made their choices then. Forced to decide between staying together and climbing to the top, neither one had been willing to give up on career success. As great as their marriage had been, their careers had meant more—to both of them.
He had the day’s industrial summaries to go over. Reports to study. He’d catch Susan later when she was all celebrated out.
And maybe he’d be able to talk her into a quick trip to Chicago in the not-too-distant future.
Two DRINKS AT LUNCH. Another one instead of dinner. And peace was as elusive as ever. Seth Carmichael stayed at his desk until his eyes stung from lack of sleep, and he knew he had to pack it in. Go home. He’d been up for more than twenty-four hours. He’d taken the red-eye after last night’s meetings in Alaska to make it back here in time for Susan’s birthday. He’d like to think that meant he’d fall into bed the second he hit his apartment, that he’d sleep the sleep of the just. Or the dead.
