Maybe Baby Page 2

  Nick chuckled as he placed the espresso in front of her. “And she comes out swinging.”

  “I mean, is it so unreasonable that I would simply want to have a nice visit before you hop a flight and leave me forever?”

  “I’m going to San Diego,” Nick said for what felt like the zillionth time, “not Siberia.”

  “Oh, pooh.” Babs waved her hand dismissively and pouted. “I can’t imagine anything you can get in California that you can’t get right here in Manhattan.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Clean air. Ocean breezes. Personal space.” He shot her a grim smile. “How much time you got?”

  Babs held her hand up. “No need. It’s all a bunch of poppycock, anyway.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Poppy-what?”

  She placed her elbows on the bar and leaned forward, her face full of knowing accusation. “You can spout off all you want about clean ocean personal space blah blah blah. I know why you’re really going to California, and I don’t mind telling you, I think it’s just foolish.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. Here we go. “I can put that espresso in a to-go cup, you know.”

  “I still can’t believe you took a job working for Melanie Biggs,” she said, pointedly ignoring him. “The woman is the Antichrist, you know. That’s why she never wears her hair up.”

  “What?”

  Babs motioned toward the back of her head. “Mark of the beast, right there at the nape of her neck. I’ve seen it.”

  “That’s a birthmark,” Nick said.

  “In the shape of the three sixes?”

  Nick heaved a rough sigh, knowing where the conversation was going and knowing also that once Babs got on a riff about Melanie Biggs, there was no stopping her.

  “You know she just wants to take you from Dana.”

  “Kinda hard to take me from someone I haven’t spoken to in six years.”

  “She’s always had it in for Dana, ever since you all were in high school together. You’re the one thing she could never take away, and she’s obsessed. She always has been.”

  “Is my hearing going, or did you just bring up high school?”

  “A woman can hold a grudge for a very long time.”

  “You don’t say,” Nick responded flatly.

  “You can’t trust her to keep up her end of this bargain,” Babs continued. “We don’t know if that nonsense about taking over Dana’s winery is even true. It’s not exactly like Melanie has a history of telling the truth.”

  “Drop it, Babs.”

  “Remember when she told Dana you two had slept together after the wedding? Big fat lie.”

  Nick grabbed a bar towel and clenched it in his fist. “Which Dana was quick to believe, as I recall.”

  “Only because you let her believe it.”

  “I was already out of town,” Nick said. “I didn’t even know what Melanie said until you told me about it. And why exactly are we having this conversation again?”

  Babs tossed one arm up in the air dramatically. “Because apparently we need to. You seem to have entirely blotted out the Antichrist portion of the program.”

  Nick started wiping down the bar, even though it was clean. “No, I got it. Hair down. Mark of the beast.”

  “Did I mention the toads that fall out of the sky when she walks down the sidewalk?”

  He tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Not today.”

  “And this latest manipulation about taking over Dana’s winery is just nonsense. Dana hasn’t said anything to me about being in trouble.”

  “Dana hasn’t said much to you about anything.”

  Babs picked up her espresso cup and balanced it between the fingertips of each hand, but didn’t drink. Nick instantly regretted what he’d said. This was one of many reasons he didn’t like talking about Dana with Babs. Too many land mines, for both of them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Babs sighed and put the cup down. “Not your fault. I know Dana and I aren’t exactly close. But still, if it were true—”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s true,” Nick said, cutting her off. “I didn’t accept the job just to keep Melanie away from Dana.”

  Babs narrowed her eyes at him. “Then why?”

  “It’s just time for me to move on,” he said abruptly, leaning back against the wall as the all-too-familiar guilt washed over him. He’d had enough of the guilt. Guilt over not listening to Dana closely enough before the wedding, not fully understanding her qualms about marriage, not giving her more time, not waiting for her to really be ready. Guilt over being so angry that he’d let Dana believe he’d slept with Melanie that night. Guilt that by the time he’d gotten over the anger, he’d been too much of a coward to go see her and tell her the truth. It was guilt that prompted him to spend six years looking after Babs in some subconscious attempt to make it up to Dana, and now that he knew it wasn’t ever going to be right, he had guilt over abandoning Babs. Now, he was so desperate to get it all behind him that he’d made a flimsy deal with Melanie Biggs just to get out. As noble as it might have seemed on the surface to accept the job in exchange for Melanie’s solemn vow to keep her mitts off Dana’s winery, the reality was, he wasn’t doing it to save Dana.

  He was doing it to save himself.

  “Well, of all the people to move on with,” Babs said after a thick silence, “I don’t see why it has to be her.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. It just is,” Nick said, suddenly operating under a strong desire to change the subject. “So, you gonna tell me why you called me or what?”

  Babs’s mouth screwed up to the side in a small smile. “Like I said, I wanted to have a quality visit before you run off and—”

  “Babs,” Nick said in a warning tone.

  “Oh, fine,” Babs huffed. “I don’t mind telling you, Nick, you’re not as much fun as you used to be.”

  “Probably because I’m not as stupid as I used to be,” Nick said, relieved finally to be moving the topic away from Melanie Biggs, although he was wary of what was coming next. “Now, out with it, lady.”

  Babs opened her purse and began digging inside. “It’s my friend Vivian—”

  Nick sighed. He knew it. “Another favor?”

  Babs pulled out a piece of paper and smiled up at Nick. “She needs her bird picked up.”

  “Then she can pick it up.”

  “She needs you to get it at midnight, at this address.” She stuffed the paper into his hands. He glanced at the scribble, which indicated a ritzy neighborhood on the Upper East Side. He pushed the paper back at her.

  “Can’t. Stuff to do. Thanks for stopping by. Don’t let the door hit you in your big fluffy hat on the way out.”

  Babs ignored him with a bravado he had to respect, even if it drove him nuts.

  “You’ll need to damage the windows,” she said. “Make a bit of a mess. It should look like a robbery.”

  Nick watched her for a moment. “Christ, Babs. Where do you find these people?”

  “They find me. They need me. I help them, and you help me.”

  Nick shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m out of the favor game. I already told you. Whatever sticky situation your little society friends get into is not your problem, and it’s sure as hell not mine.”

  “Come on, Nick,” she said, leaning forward and giving him puppy dog eyes. “It’ll be fun. You’ll be helping someone too crazy to help herself, and I’ll have something to do. I’m bored, Nick.”

  “Take up knitting.”

  “Oh, please. Old ladies knit.” She took a sip of her espresso, then daintily set the tiny cup back on the saucer and smiled up at Nick. “So, midnight then?”

  “I said no, Babs. I have stuff to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…” He searched his mind for an excuse. “Work. I have my shift tonight.”

  “It’s your last day Surely you can leave early. That nice Grady is all trained and ready to t
ake over for you.”

  “I have to pack.”

  “You have five days to pack.”

  “Babs,” he said, leaning over the bar and looking her direct in the face so she’d know he meant it. “No.”

  “How can you say no?”

  “Easy. I think it, then I say it. No. See? Like that.”

  “Oh, fine. Killjoy.” She picked up the piece of paper and glanced at it. “I’ll just have to do it myself then.”

  Nick eyed her as she played innocent, reading the information on the paper.

  “I know what you’re doing, Babs,” Nick said, “and it’s not going to work.”

  “Oh?” She blinked at him innocently. “What am I doing?”

  “Trying to manipulate me into stealing that bird.”

  “Not steal. Pick up.”

  “Semantics. And I revisit my no.” Nick watched her for a moment suspiciously. “Why are you so insistent about this, anyway?”

  “Because I’m so bored I could spit. Do you know I spent an entire evening last night watching reality television? It’s insupportable. And that stupid bachelor chose the absolute wrong girl.” Babs looked at him and sighed. “They’re fun, these favors. I like helping people solve their problems.”

  “Babs…” Nick began, but she held up her hand.

  “Nick, there are only so many charity benefit luncheons one can organize before one wants to chop off one’s own hand and stick it in a centerpiece. Now I came up with a solution for Vivian, but I need your help. It’ll just be this one last time.”

  She reached over and patted his hand. “Vivian is going to make a substantial donation to St. Jude’s for this.”

  Nick closed his eyes. Here it comes.

  “All those sick little children,” Babs said, her voice plaintive. “This donation will get them teddy bears, and Nintendos, and crucial medication—”

  “Enough,” Nick said, holding up his hand. He tapped his fingers roughly on the bar. Babs had been suckering him into doing these whacked-out favors for years, and he always caved when she brought up the sick kids. The woman had absolutely no shame. He let out a rough exhale.

  “What kind of bird is it?”

  Babs straightened up in her seat. “I’m sorry?”

  “Is it big? Little? What color is it?”

  “It’s a Kakapo,” she said, her words flowing fast in her excitement, “that’s all I know, and I don’t know exactly what that means. It’s from New Zealand, I think. But it’ll be the only bird in the room.”

  “Fine.” He nodded toward the paper in her hand. “One more, but that’s it. Saturday I get on that plane, and it’s over. I mean it.”

  He held his hand out. She happily tucked the piece of paper into his palm. He opened it and stared at the address, then turned back to face Babs.

  “So, that’s it? I just get the bird and… what?”

  Babs waved her hand vaguely. “Vivian will give you the check for St. Jude’s, you bring it to me in the morning, then you can do whatever you want with the bird. It might be nice for you to have a pet, don’t you think? I don’t think it’s good for you to live alone. It makes you cranky.”

  “I don’t need a pet,” Nick said. “You take the bird.”

  “I can’t bring a pet into that building without jumping through hoops that would make a tiger at the Cirque de Soleil shudder in abject horror.”

  Nick shot her a look. “You need to move out of that place.”

  Babs lowered her eyes. “Bryson’s partners at the firm worked so hard to save the penthouse. It would be an insult to them if I left.”

  Nick sighed. Babs’s second husband, real estate mogul Bryson McGregor, had died practically penniless almost ten years ago. Babs had been taken by surprise by the news that she was suddenly broke, but his partners had managed to save the penthouse apartment that had been in Bryson’s family for generations while keeping the scandal out of the papers. As far as Nick knew, Bryson’s lack of solvency was still a secret; Nick himself hadn’t even known until a couple of years ago. A life insurance policy doled out a monthly stipend that covered everything Babs wanted for, which wasn’t much, but the entire subject was still a sore one for Babs.

  She looked up at him. “Please, Nick. You’ll only have to keep it for a little while until I figure something out.”

  “By Saturday?”

  She blinked innocence at him. “Why? What’s Saturday?”

  “I get on the plane,” Nick said, leaning forward and giving her the I-mean-it stare. “And I won’t be staying because of a bird.”

  “Of course not,” Babs said, smiling triumphantly. “Don’t worry. I will have a solution by Saturday.”

  “Fine.” Nick tucked the paper in his pocket, hoping the bird would be small, quiet, and sleep a lot. Chances were slim, but a guy could hope.

  Three

  Hand shaking, Dana plunged her key into the lock at Wiley Wines. She’d spent the entire forty-minute drive home from Syracuse reasoning with herself, trying to shake the nagging conviction that she’d ruined her life. Nothing made her feel better, and by the time she got out of her car, she was teetering on the ragged edge of despair.

  Stupid moment of clarity.

  She pushed the door open, walking into the combination gift shop/tasting bar. The old wood floor creaked beneath her feet as it had creaked under the feet of three generations of Wileys. It was a beautiful place, open and bright with floors of smooth golden wood and rough log walls with large windows to let in all the light they could squeeze out of the upstate New York skies, which tended to be stingy with the sunshine. The family home on the other side of the vineyard was built in the same style, and usually when Dana walked in either place she felt calm, at peace.

  Now, she felt like she really needed a glass of wine. She tossed her garment bag on the end of the tasting bar as she ducked behind it, searching for something to match her mood.

  “What goes with despair and blind panic?” she muttered to herself, pulling out a dusty bottle. “Perhaps a cabernet.”

  “You’re here.”

  Dana glanced up and saw Silla coming out of the office, her strawberry blond hair held precariously off her neck with two pencils and a letter opener. Of all the college-aged bookkeepers who’d answered Dana’s ad promising irregular hours at crappy pay, Silla had been the most intriguing to Dana. She’d brought an umbrella to the interview on the sunniest day in the summer. Just ‘cuz you never know. Dana had hired her on the spot.

  “I’m here,” Dana said, popping open the bottle of wine. “Thought I’d celebrate. Whatcha working on?”

  “Accounts payable,” Silla said. “I hate accounts payable. Have I told you that?”

  “That’s what makes you such a great bookkeeper, your openness about despising what you do.” Dana held up the bottle. “Want some?”

  Silla’s eyebrows knit, and she glanced at her watch. “It’s not even noon.”

  Dana shrugged as she poured herself a glass. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” She stared toward the ceiling, doing the time zone math in her head. “Moscow, you think?”

  Silla shook her head. “No, I mean, shouldn’t you be at work?”

  Dana swirled the wine in the glass, then took a sip. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as the glorious liquid slid down her throat, warming her belly. “Got out early. Time off for good behavior.”

  “Oh, no,” Silla said, her eyes watching Dana warily. “Did that Milo fire you?”

  “No. That Milo enjoys threatening to fire me too much to actually fire me,” Dana said, leaning her elbows on the bar. “Sil, have you ever had a sudden moment of clarity?”

  “A sudden moment of clarity?” Silla thought on it for a moment. “No. Can’t say that I have. Why?”

  “No reason. I just was wondering, you know, if other people have these sudden moments of clarity, like when they suddenly just know something.”

  “Just know something?”

  “Yeah.” Dana shrugge
d. “Like when they just know they’re in love. Or when they just know that something awful has happened to a loved one.” She took a sip of her wine. “Or, you know, when they just know they’ve made a monumental mistake and screwed up their entire lives. Stuff like that.”

  Silla stared at Dana for a moment. “Are you okay?”

  Dana waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She let out an overexuberant laugh. “Fine. Better than fine. Great, as a matter of fact.” She took another sip of her wine to shut herself up. She had crappy poker face. Time to change the subject. “Tell me about those accounts payable.”

  Silla slipped her glasses off her face and rubbed her eyes. “The bank people called.”

  Dana’s stomach turned, and she fought to maintain her smile. “Yeah? When are they signing over that big fat check so we can open up again?”

  Silla went quiet. Dana took another gulp of her wine. “Can’t blame a girl for being optimistic,” she said finally.

  “I’m sorry, Dana,” Silla said. “They don’t think it’s a sound investment, given the state of things.”

  Dana groaned. “Did you tell them what the grape doctor guy said?”

  Silla raised one eyebrow. “You mean the botanist?”

  “Did you tell them that the crops were fine, all disease-free, clean bill of health?”

  Silla sighed. “They don’t care. All they want to look at is the numbers, and the numbers weren’t that great before the grapes got sick. I’m sorry.”

  Dana raised her head and looked out the tiny window above the bar, remembering how her father used to push his open mouth up against the glass and inflate his cheeks as she walked back from the bus stop when she was a kid. Sure, as an adult, she thought it was kinda gross, but at the age of nine she’d never been more charmed.

  “So,” she said, still staring through the window, “what are our options?”

  “Well,” Silla said slowly, “there’s the thing we discussed about asking your mother to co-sign a loan…”

  “Or,” Dana said, snapping her fingers, “I could turn the gift shop into a brothel and sell myself for money all winter until I’ve raised enough to open again in the spring.”