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He cocked his head and gave me a small, cold smile. “Don’t worry. My feelings for you are very firmly in the past.”
I felt like I had been punched, but I stood there and forced myself to stay loose, casual. I couldn’t let him see how he affected me.
He stared at me for one long moment and then shook his head and shoved open the car door. As I watched him pull out onto the street, I told myself it was for the best. The burning in my eyes told me otherwise.
37
Andrew
Idrove like a man possessed for an hour, then two, until I passed a cop and slowed down a fraction. Margo’s words from earlier burned in my gut, were like a drumbeat in my blood. It was done.
If anything I deserved it for how I treated her over the years. My mind circled through all the times I had cut her down in front of partners, stolen the best pitches, ignored her, argued with her, and belittled her. But I also remembered all the fun times. Sparring with her over some point of law, her eyes flashing while she defended herself, teasing her until she was bright red with embarrassment, singing with her in her office during our first late nights together, eating dinner on the floor, admiring her brilliance, dancing with her, kissing her.
My breath whooshed out of me.Don’t go down this road.She didn’t want me and I needed to be mature about it.
The worst part of it all was that I had been unstintingly honest with Margo. I couldn’t have made my desire for her more apparent. And she had turned it down. And I, like the idiot I was, had been surprised. Surprised that the one woman who had broken my heart seven years ago was still capable of doing it.
Screw her then. From now on, I was doing being the nice guy. And if my chest ached while I thought about her, I would handle it like I did with everything else. Forget it and move on.
I needed to bring my A game next week, and for that I needed to be free of distractions. Free of distractions that came in the form of dark, serious eyes and soft curves. I clenched my fist on the wheel and forced myself to slow down even more.
Margo Clarke was not ready for this version of me.
* * *
My stomach knottedas I passed the exit before Litchfield. The text from my brother’s message was backlit in my brain. “Going to see mom and dad today. You should come with.” Did I really want to join him in the lion’s den after that last fight? Maybe it would be good for me, for us. I could close the chapter on that relationship with my parents. And with the shit mood I was in, I was spoiling for a fight.
Unfortunately, my arrival at the mansion came all too soon. I pulled up to the imposing gate, which was set off from the road between rows of conifers that provided privacy to the little-used grounds. It wasn’t like the house could be seen from the road. The stupid trees kept dying and my mother kept replacing them instead of finding a more native solution. Just like the massive lawn that rolled past the endless driveway. The car crunched over the gravel drive. I drove slowly, telling myself it was safer, but knowing in my heart that I wanted to delay the inevitable.
The massive Colonial slowly came into view. I may have hated my parents, but I loved this house. She was old and graceful, with creaky waxed wood floors and secret hiding places. There was a a weathered greenhouse with wrought iron casements around ancient glass panes, and a profusion of ivy covering the trellises outside. This was a house for secrets and snowstorms, candles in the windows and roasted chicken on the table, for holidays and family. Too bad mine was poison. I slammed the car door to announce my presence. But when I pushed open the heavy oak door, no one was there to greet me.
Presumably the staff were out running errands, or perhaps hiding from my father, and the house was still and silent. I made my way down the front hall, the marble floors making my footsteps echo back at me and enhancing the tomblike atmosphere. An appropriate analogy for the coldness of my parents’ relationship.
There was no joy in this house. The richly appointed rooms I passed reminded me of awkward childhood encounters with family where my hair was neatly brushed and I was never allowed to put my feet on the furniture. The formal areas of the house gave way to the massive living room and adjoining dining room, each decorated with precision by my mother’s decorator. Massive wingback chairs flanked the wood fireplace, which was laid with logs that would never be lit. The tasteful knickknacks were a coordinating blue and white to match the slipcovers on the sofa and armchairs.
“Anyone here?” I called out as I approached the bottom of the marble stairwell that led to the living quarters. I heard my mother’s fluttering steps coming from upstairs and then she appeared, fur trimmed wrap fluttering around her neck and silk house robe trailing behind her. She was pale and blonde, with a birdlike elegance that spoke of salads for lunch and expensive clothing. She had just enough work to keep up with the other wives at the club and blonde highlights that looked almost natural.
“Darling!” She exclaimed as she hugged, kidding my cheek with her cool lips. She did seem genuinely excited to see me and I felt a stab of guilt at how I had been avoiding her, except for the brief Christmas dinner we had shared. My mother wasn’t cruel, just complicit. She had been raised to be like this, a rich man’s companion, who knew how to host a dinner and never get in the way.
“Mother. Good to see you.”
She stepped back and looked me up and down, her brows pulling together as much as her Botox would allow as she took in my disheveled appearance. “We weren’t expecting you, but your brother said you might come.”
“I had to help a colleague out. I drove her to Vermont this morning.”
“Ah. Well don’t tell your father. I don’t want to hear another word about the firm while you’re here,” she admonished, but didn’t ask which colleague or whether this person was a marital prospect. Huh. Maybe I had gotten through to them.
“Believe me, I’m happy to not think about it for a day or two.” I gave her a half smile, a flag of truce.
“You’re just in time for lunch. Why don’t you join us in the dining room in an hour or so? Your brother is outside with Liam.” At the mention of the baby, her eyes softened.
I nodded and made my way upstairs so I could shuck my coat and drop my bag, deliberately avoiding my father’s study on the left of the stairs. I pushed open my childhood bedroom door and sighed. Coming here was so weird. Squash and rugby trophies lined the shelves, but gone were the posters of musicians and athletes. The twin bed had been removed and in its place, an imposing four-poster queen on which I never failed to hit my shins. No model airplanes, Hess trucks or art supplies. Just sanitized cream colored furniture and navy walls. At least the paint hadn’t changed.
I headed back downstairs and made my way through the back of the house, through the butler’s pantry off the dining room, then the massive professional kitchen, then through the back door into the expansive property. Calling it a “back yard” would have been a misnomer. There was a pool to the right, a bocce court, an outdoor kitchen with seating for 20, and a tennis court in the distance. I spied Schwartz and Liam playing in the sand on the bocce court while Matt took photos. That was a new addition. The pool had been one of the happiest places for Schwartz and me as kids, though.
Liam spotted me first and stopped his playing, trying to figure out who I was. “Hey Liam,” I said. He stared at me with huge dark eyes and my heart squeezed.
“Andrew! I didn’t think you’d make it.” Schwartz gave me a big hug, his giant arms enfolding me. Schwartz was even bigger than I was and he had freaky strength from manipulating his patients all day.
