Part 18 (1/2)

Brooke glanced down at her watch. She'd arranged to meet Marissa and her father at Lenox Square mall at six thirty and reaching Buckhead during rush hour could be a long and agonizing process. ”Okay then,” she said. ”Let's potty up and I'll take you upstairs.”

There were no protests and so at five thirty she closed the apartment door behind them and didn't even scold when the girls raced down the hallway to be the first to push the elevator b.u.t.ton.

On the tenth floor Brooke found herself following the girls who, unlike her, knew exactly which door they were looking for. In front of number 1012 Natalie pressed a finger to the buzzer and went up on her tiptoes to try to see in the peephole.

n.o.body came to the door.

Natalie and Ava turned to Brooke.

”Go ahead and ring again, Natalie. Maybe they didn't hear the bell.”

Natalie rang again, pressing harder this time. Brooke stepped closer and heard the peal of the bell inside. What she didn't hear were footsteps. Or the sound of a hand on the k.n.o.b.

s.h.i.+t. Brooke glanced down at her watch. It was 5:42. ”Let me call Daddy and see what's going on.” Not wanting to upset the girls, she tried not to look as p.i.s.sed-or worried-as she felt. She'd spoken to Zach on Monday to confirm tonight's details and he'd raised no objections or concerns about the timing.

She stood in the hallway, her cell phone pressed to her ear, listening to the hollow ring of Zach's cell phone. Then she listened to his cheerful recorded greeting as she was routed to voicemail. After leaving a terse message to call her right away, she dialed his office, which had apparently already closed for the day.

She debated whether to call the emergency after-hours number, but she had no idea who was on call tonight. She only had a 30 percent possibility of reaching Zachary instead of one of his partners.

Ava tugged on her hand as Brooke tried to figure out her next steps. Both girls were staring at her, waiting for her to do . . . something.

Brooke's watch read five fifty; she'd planned to be in her car and on the road right now. The only thing predictable about Atlanta traffic was that it would be heavy. The rate-or lack of-forward movement was an unknown that would only be discovered when you were in the thick of it with no means of retreat.

s.h.i.+t! She had no idea what to do. Fragments of ideas sprang to mind, none of them helpful. She thought about Claire Walker's offer to watch the girls if she had to work. She'd seemed sincere and had even insisted that Brooke put her number in her cell phone. But how could she just call at the last minute like this and expect her to drop everything to watch her children?

”Mommy,” Ava crooned. ”Where's Daddy?”

Brooke's armpits were damp and the waistband of her slacks dug into her waist. She'd felt obliged to dress as professionally as her wardrobe allowed, but now she regretted the long sleeves of the cotton b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and the too-tight pants.

”I don't know, sweetie, he's probably on his way home right now.” Or not. ”But I need to go to work.” Brooke had intentionally not told the girls that she was taking Marissa Dalton shopping, knowing they'd want to come along. Maybe she should call Bruce Dalton and see if she could bring the girls after all. But he'd be put on the spot and feel compelled to say yes. And how much could she focus on Marissa and make the trip all about her if she had the girls with her?

d.a.m.n Zachary and his girlfriend. They could be anywhere right now, doing anything. Even if she reached them she had no idea how long it might take Zachary to get back here. a.s.suming that he would even drop whatever he was doing.

Ava plopped down on the hall floor. Natalie slumped against the wall.

Should she call Bruce Dalton and at least let him know she was running late? Maybe ask if they could move their time back a bit? She looked down at her wrist.w.a.tch again and knew it was too late for that. He and Marissa would have already left their house. Just as she should have.

Swallowing back an oath, she dialed Claire Walker's number.

”'Lo?”

”Claire? It's Brooke. Brooke Mackenzie.”

”Oh. Hi. What's going on?”

Brooke turned her back in an attempt to keep the girls from hearing. ”I'm, well, I'm . . . you mentioned you might be able to watch the girls if I ever found myself in a pinch.”

There was silence on the other end.

”I've just brought the girls up to Zachary's because I have a job for Private Butler. Only neither Zachary or Barbie, I mean Sarah, are here.”

She felt the girls' eyes on her and turned so that she could see them. Ava dropped her head into her hands. Natalie opened her overnight case and began to paw through it.

”Oh, gosh,” Claire said. ”I'm so sorry, but a friend from my old neighborhood is actually here in Midtown and I'm on my way right now to meet her for dinner. If she weren't already here, I'd cancel so I could keep the girls. Really, I'm . . .”

”No, don't apologize.” Brooke was embarra.s.sed even to be asking, but she didn't know what else to do. The girls looked up at her through eyes that reflected their disappointment. ”That's all right, I'll just . . .” What? Call Bruce Dalton and tell him she wouldn't be able to make it after all? She didn't want to disappoint Marissa. Or Edward Parker, who had a company's reputation for reliability to maintain.

”Why don't you try Samantha?” Claire said interrupting Brooke's thoughts. ”I ran into her in the elevator just a little while ago. I'm pretty sure she's home.”

”Oh, I couldn't possibly . . .”

”I don't think she'd mind at all,” Claire said.

”But it's dinnertime and the girls haven't eaten and-”

”I'm sure the woman has food in her apartment,” Claire said, cutting her off. ”And the worst she can say is no.”

”But . . .”

”It's a job, Brooke. It's important. If Samantha's at home, I'm sure she'll be glad to help you out. Wouldn't you do the same for her?”

The answer, of course, was yes. But unlike Brooke, Samantha had a husband and a social life. Even if she were at home she was probably getting ready to go out.

”Just ask,” Claire said. ”And if she can't, she can't.”

It sounded so logical but Brooke couldn't even imagine asking. Or Samantha agreeing. And how would the girls feel about being left with someone they barely knew? ”Okay. Thanks.”

Brooke hung up without thinking to ask for Samantha's number. She began to punch in Claire's number to ask for it, then caught a look at her watch. It was ten after six.

”Oh, what the h.e.l.l.” Brooke grabbed each of her daughter's hands, pulled them to their feet, and sprinted for the elevator. The Davises only lived two floors up.

AS QUIETLY AS SHE COULD, SAMANTHA PUT THE leftover spaghetti and meatb.a.l.l.s into the refrigerator. With Natalie Mackenzie's help she loaded the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Both of them listened to the rise and fall of Jonathan's voice as he read a bedtime story to Ava on the family room couch.

”Thanks,” Samantha said to Natalie when the kitchen counter had been wiped down. ”Do you want to go lie down until your dad or your mom can get here? We have an extra bedroom with two beds in it.”

Natalie shook her head, a none-too-gentle movement that sent her mushroom cloud of red hair brus.h.i.+ng across her st.u.r.dy shoulders. ”Could I maybe just go listen to the story Mr. Davis is reading Ava?”

”Sure,” Samantha said. ”We'll both listen.”

They moved quietly toward the couch where Jonathan was in the middle of what Samantha thought might be his second time through Ava's dog-eared copy of Stellaluna. Ava's head kept nodding downward and jerking back up as she fought to remain awake.

Each time he stopped, Ava dragged her chin off her chest, opened her eyes, and asked if he'd please read some more.

Each time he complied without so much as a sigh or a word of complaint, her heart did a strange little summersault in her chest. He'd been the perfect host, welcoming the children in when Brooke arrived with them so unexpectedly, entertaining them through dinner, and then readily agreeing to read Ava the book she'd dragged out of her My Little Pony overnight case.