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“I wanted to build a life with Tony. You know the expense I went to buying that house. Anyway, I’m sick of the sound of my own voice. What did you want to tell me?”
“I’m asking you to swear to keep this confidential. Don’t even tell Tony.”
“We don’t have pillow talk.”
“Okay, well, I’ve been lying about little Brent’s father. It’s for his own good, but I also don’t want Pam or Lisa to know the truth. I told you we had an affair and then he was murdered before he even knew I was pregnant.”
“Yes, that’s what I know about Brent’s dad, and it was sad enough.”
“Well, that’s not exactly how it happened.”
“Okay, what did happen?”
***
Like it was yesterday, Sandra remembered going to meet Pam at Jack’s Madison Avenue apartment so many years before. To pinpoint the year, she only had to count back to when she became pregnant with Brent.
“Hey, beautiful!”
She heard the voice and recognized it but didn’t react because it was so unlike anything she could imagine happening to her while she was on the streets of Brooklyn.
“Hey, Sandra!”
She turned around and, to her delight, saw Brent Smith sitting in an unfamiliar sports car. Brent was gorgeous, tall and lean, with a shock of blond hair falling across his forehead. There was something about him that reminded her of Jack, but not enough to make her sad.
The following Monday, Brent would come on board at Lang, Smith and Romney, Jack’s company, where Sandra already worked.
“What are you doing in this part of the world?” she said, walking over to the passenger window. “I heard someone but never in a million years thought it would be you.”
“Hop in,” he said.
“Aw, I can’t. I’m meeting your mother at your dad’s old apartment.”
“No way! On Madison?”
“Yep. Where else?”
“Well, get in, and I’ll drive you.”
Sandra opened the door and slid in, just the brake and the gearshift separating them. Unable to control her emotions, she felt like a teenager sneaking out of the house with a boy her parents hated. It both titillated and petrified her. The chemistry was instantaneous, her lips trembling, heat working its way down the length of her body.
Brent talked, and she forced herself to focus. “I was just thinking that I should rent the place from my mother when I start working. It would be closer than commuting from Long Island.”
“Yes, it certainly would be,” Sandra said, thinking it couldn’t be any stranger, the two of them together.
“Have you ever seen it?”
“The day before your father’s funeral, I met your mother there. It didn’t feel like he’d ever lived there,” Sandra confessed.
“No. It’s very 1970s. Too much yellow.”
“Yes, it’s very yellow. When we were there, your mom said he hadn’t changed anything for years. There was an oldHouse Beautifulmagazine on the coffee table that she’d read the last time she visited him.”
“My mom isn’t a big city person,” Brent said.
“No, she’s admitted that to me.”
They drove in silence while he navigated traffic.
