"The road to success is always under construction." —Lilly Tomlin
Wrestling with optimism and trepidation for the entire duration of her train ride home, Claire's insides were in knots as she bounded up the front steps. Just as she reached the front door, Paul burst through it with car keys in hand, presumably on his way to pick up Jonah from school.
Even after he blew by without so much as acknowledging her presence, she called after him, "Do you want me to get him?"
He stopped and, without making eye contact, said quietly, "No, thanks. I gotta…I gotta run some errands anyway." And he was off.
Trepidation, one. Optimism, a big fat zero.
On the kitchen table, she saw a message he had taken for her. A former colleague of hers, John Coleman, had called. She knew he was working at a small software company in the Loop. And she knew why he had called.
With the house to herself for a few minutes, she called him back.
He answered on the second ring. "Hey, stranger. Tell me you haven't landed a new gig yet."
Claire's whole countenance relaxed at the sound of her old friend's voice. "That depends. What's up?"
"Well, look no more. I've got a short-term assignment to update a set of user manuals. Something you could do in your sleep."
Ding, ding, ding! Tell her what she's just won, Johnny.
"You can name your rate," her friend continued, "but I'd need to you start as soon as possible."
She didn't know what to say. Updating user manuals? She hadn't done that for ages, before she was able to hire a team of writers to do it for her. Still, the pay would make up for shortfall in the Gazette's compensation. Question was, could she do both?
"Wow. Thanks for thinking of me. When do you need an answer?"
"Is an hour ago too soon?"
She laughed into the phone. "No, that's perfect."
She wrote down the details and promised to get back to him with her answer. By the time Jonah burst through the door, she had a PBJ ready and sat him at the kitchen table with his favorite book while Paul put the car keys on the hook by the door and joined them. He looked tired or, for lack of a better word, deflated. And he had gotten a haircut.
"Did you see John called?"
"Yeah. I talked to him." She tried not to sound too enthused. "He's got a position for me. It's a short-term contract, but I can name my rate."
"So, what did you tell him?"
"That I'd get back to him."
He shot her a glance as he poured Jonah a cup of milk.
"And…what about the newspaper thing?"
Before she even stepped foot into Dianne's office, Claire had made up her mind to use every cent she earned to help replenish their nest egg if she got the position. She also made up her mind to not tell Paul, going as far as asking Kate for the routing number of her savings account so he wouldn't see any payments coming through.
And she made another decision—no more railing him to go back to work. Like it or not, she was resigned to treading down the path to career fulfillment solo.
"Look, I'm very sorry about last night. Really. You didn't deserve that."
Paul took a deep breath and relaxed his posture, but he avoided looking directly at her. "I know you've been frustrated. With me." He set the cup in front of Jonah and brushed the hair out of his eyes as the boy gobbled his sandwich.
Eager to change the subject, Claire said, "Hey, well, if I'm gonna work for John, I'd better get a new monthly train pass, right? Want to come with me to the station, Jonah? We can watch the trains go by for a bit."
Looking up at her with a milk mustache, he nodded. Paul handed him a napkin, and said softly, "Wipe your mouth first, buddy."
While Jonah ran to the door, Claire turned to Paul. "Before I call John back, can you give me an idea of what rate I should charge?"
He furrowed his eyebrows and with a quick nod, said, "Sure. I'll take a look at the numbers."
Later that afternoon, Claire accepted John's offer to work for him as a contract technical writer and agreed to start the following Monday.
With little to no time to transform her current business professional suit–heavy wardrobe to business casual, Claire got up extra early on the big day, took a shower, and stood in front of her closet, wondering what to wear.
I hate Mondays.
Feeling crabby and more than a little disappointed over having to once again be the breadwinner, she tightened her towel around her torso with a huff. Her tangled wet hair dripped onto her bare shoulders while she reached, on tippy-toes, for a folded sweater set on the shelf above the clothes rod. She just about had it too, when a low voice behind her asked, "Need a hand?"
With a gasp, she lost her grip on the sweater. And her towel.
Shit.
Apparently back from his morning run, Paul's heated, sweat-covered body did little to keep the goose bumps away.
Her hands flew to her chest, and she stood frozen to the spot.
"Allow me," he offered. She could actually hear the smirk in his voice.
Not daring to turn around while he retrieved it, she let out another gasp when the hair on his head brushed against the back of her upper thigh.
With a quick glance to the floor to make sure he had picked it up, she held a hand over her shoulder and said, "Thanks."
But he didn't hand it over.
What. A. Jerk.
Not sure what to do next, she reached into the closet and yanked out a white button-down shirt of his that he hadn't worn in ages, slipped her arms in, and wrapped it around her naked body like a robe.
She turned to see him standing there, towel in hand, shirt off, smirk on.
I knew it.
Try as she might, she couldn't keep her angry eyes from falling on his chest, then his abdomen, then his—
Coffee. Must get coffee.
She refused to let her guard down. Not until he went back to work. If she gave in now, it would never happen.
Her voice, however, didn't cooperate. Cracking like a prepubescent teenage boy, she announced, "Shower's free."
With that, he reached over her head to pull her sweater set off of the shelf and whispered, "That's too bad."
Half an hour later, Claire boarded her train into the city, still struggling to focus on the day ahead and not on how it had started.
Away from her commute for just a couple of weeks, it was as if she had never left. On the lower level, the same three professionally dressed women of various ages sat in facing seats, contentedly knitting and crocheting, working silently, heads down, focusing on their craft, and exchanging occasional compliments. On the top level were the same businessmen and women, working on laptops or talking on phones, coffee at their sides. Students and young professionals filled in the rest, eyes glued to their phones and listening to their music as they watched the near north neighborhoods of Chicago fly past the windows of the train.
As it approached the station, the commuters turned to face the doors that would open once they came to a complete stop. When they did, everyone lined up to step down and, like sand pouring through a sieve, flow toward the exits that would lead them to their destinations. All except one.
Claire noticed a very pregnant woman standing next to her. Taller by a good four inches, the pretty blonde was struggling to keep her backpack strap on her shoulder while finding a piece of railing to grasp as she attempted to exit the train. Seeing that her girth prevented her from maneuvering down the stairs safely, Claire shot ahead of her, then turned and reflexively held out her hand with a smile.
"Thanks," the expectant, breathless mother said to Claire as she joined her on the platform.
"No problem," she called over her shoulder as she was absorbed into the flow. Some commuters poured down the stairwell to the lower level. Others flowed down the platform to the station doors that led to one of the city's main east-west arteries.
Claire knew to exit through the Madison Street door. On her way, she passed a trim, tightly muscled man in a black short-sleeved T-shirt and black pants with a gun in a holster at his waist. He stood looking out over the crowd, restraining a bomb-sniffing dog on a leash—an unpleasant reality in the post-9/11 world. Nonetheless, she filed the image of the buff middle-aged handler away in the "where to find hunky men" mental list she always maintained for her sister, Kate, placing him right after the paramedics and firemen who frequented her grocery store between eight and ten every Saturday morning.
* * *
Nina Crenshaw hiked the strap of her backpack higher up on her shoulder and started walking slowly down the train platform. With commuters flying by on either side of her, she hoped to God that she would find a cab waiting on the curb outside. One day past her due date, her OB informed her that since her baby was still very high, it wouldn't be coming anytime soon. Since the idea of eating her way through the contents of the fridge while waiting for Lester to return from his business meeting in New York didn't appeal to her, Nina knew she had to get out of the house. Heading into the office to make sure her replacement had everything he needed to take over for her while she was on maternity leave seemed like a perfect idea.
As she settled into the backseat of the first cab she could flag down, she found herself very much looking forward to meeting the man who told her that he had spent the past four years at home raising his boys while his wife worked full time. Something in the tone of his voice told her that she wouldn't be the only one benefiting from the arrangement.
* * *
Arriving ten minutes early to her contract assignment at the corner of Madison and Franklin in Chicago's Loop, Claire was greeted by the receptionist, a cheerful, meticulously groomed woman who gave Claire a temporary ID badge and told her to wait while she notified John Coleman of her arrival. Within minutes, he came bursting through the door, already looking harried, and greeted her with, "I'm so glad you could start today."
"I'm fine, thanks, and how are you?" Claire laughed and off they went. John showed her the cubicle she'd be using, in the corner of which sat a dusty, worn desktop PC and some picked-through office supplies. On the floor opposite sat a few obsolete monitors, computer towers, and keyboards.
"Oh, hey, we'll get that stuff out of here for you this afternoon. Sorry about that." He tried shoving the mess closer to the cube wall with his foot.
"Please. I'm just a contractor," Claire replied. The words sounded like music to her ears. While being a contractor meant no benefits and no paid time off, it also meant no office politics and, best of all, no work after clocking out.
John made sure she could log on, showed her some drafts of user manuals that she'd be tasked with updating, arranged to meet her for lunch, and gave her a quick tour of their floor. After showing her where to find the bathrooms, kitchenette, and copy room, he introduced her to the software development team and the company's lone staff technical writer.
Plopped in her well-worn office chair, Amanda Warden halfheartedly held out her pale hand to Claire as she examined her over her thick, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses.
"Welcome."
"Ok, I gotta get to a meeting," John announced before dashing off to a conference room down the hall, laptop in hand.
Chicken…
After watching him for a moment, Claire turned her attention back to Amanda, who had already turned to face her computer screen.
"Well, hey, nice to meet you."
Back in her cube, Claire spent the remainder of the morning skimming through dusty old drafts of documentation, proofreading as she went. After a long while, she looked up at her cramped, cluttered surroundings. It was a far cry from the spacious office she had at her last job. Still, she was grateful.
Finding a nearby vacant cube, she shoved all of the ancient equipment into it and pulled out her notebook to reread the draft of her first Plate Spinner column. Anything to keep her mind off Paul and that smirk. Her pulse raced every time she thought of it. The jury was still out as to whether lust or loathing was to blame.
"I'm a plate spinner," she read. "No, not the kind you might catch in Vegas or even on a rerun of an old variety show. My 'plates' aren't so much objects, but those elements of my life that get me out of bed in the morning faster than the promise of a hot cup of coffee.
"With four young boys and a full-time job, I have plenty of plates to spin. My 'act,' while not nearly glamorous enough for Vegas (and a little difficult to simulate on a stage), does seem to provoke the same sense of awe in just about anyone I meet who, on hearing that I have four boys, inevitably exclaims, "How do you do it?
"Before responding, I imagine an announcer's voice hushing the eager crowd in the audience. 'And now, ladies and gentleman, the amazing Plate Spinner! Watch as she dazzles you by making four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while checking her office voice mail at the same time. See how she unloads the dishwasher while dictating a shopping list to her husband. And finally, home from a long day at the office, she helps the kids with their homework while making dinner!'
"The crowd roars with applause, the curtain parts, and they watch as I go about spinning through a typical day.
"I sigh at the millions in ticket sales I could be making and then soberly reply, 'Oh, it's easy. They're great kids.'
"Welcome to the heady world of working parents. In some households, both parents work, and in some, just one parent works—in my case, it's me.
"No, I don't feel that this makes me a bad mother. Quite the contrary, it's a testimony to my mother, who worked full time while raising me. She was a plate spinner extraordinaire. The one who taught me that plate spinning, while a stress-inducing and largely underappreciated skill, is done by loving parents the world over, whether they're at home or at work. You don't have to fly to Vegas to catch my act. Just send your questions, stories, tips, or recipes to me at platespinner@gazette.com, and we'll get this party started."
"Ready for lunch?" John asked as he popped into her cube promptly at the agreed upon time.
Startled, Claire stashed her notebook back in her bag, grabbed her wallet, and replied, "Absolutely."
* * *
When the elevators opened on the seventeenth floor of the Gazette building, Paul straightened his tie for the umpteenth time and followed the signs for the Griffin Media office suite. As he approached what he assumed to be the reception desk, he watched as the middle-aged, well-accessorized woman sitting behind it sized him up.
Man, it's hot in here.
When he worked at Creiger Financial, he loved being in a suit. It made him feel sharp, professional, and powerful. Today though, he felt uncomfortable, awkward, and conspicuous.
"May I help you?" the woman asked.
"Uh, yes. I'm here to see Nina Crenshaw…?"
Looking as if she had just been forced to drink sour milk, she stood up and showed him to Nina's cube.
"She should be right in. Have a seat."
He sat as instructed in a chair next to the desk, unable to keep his knee from bouncing while he waited.
This was all happening way too quickly. One minute, he half-jokingly asks Nick if he knows of anyone looking for an accountant, and next thing he knows, he gets a call from the stepmom of one of the other runners.
And now, here he was. In a suit.
While it still fit, he felt painfully overdressed.
In the few minutes before Nina arrived, he almost had himself talked out of pursuing this harebrained idea. Going back to work without telling Claire suddenly seemed spiteful. That he could still smell her body lotion on his collar wasn't helping.
He was about to get up and leave, when a tall, very pregnant blonde waddled into the cube with a huff. She was younger than he expected, and given her trendy haircut and clothes, he wouldn't have pegged her as an accountant. The female finance professionals he had worked with always wore suits, belly bumps notwithstanding.
Doing his best to mask his curiosity with courtesy, he sprang up and held her chair, fearful that she might tip it over. Next, he held out his hand.
"Nina? Nice to meet you. Paul. Paul Mendez."
Returning the smile, Nina shook it vigorously. "Nice to meet you, Paul. Thanks for coming in at such short notice."
She pulled her laptop out of her backpack and pushed it aside while it booted up.
"So, Paul. We talked a bit on the phone about the position. It's basic staff accountant stuff—accounts receivable, accounts payable, month end—the usual. Think you can manage that from your home office? Lester pulled some strings and got you a remote access token."
Opening a desk drawer, she pulled out a small envelope containing a little key-like device with a number flashing on it and an instruction sheet. Holding it midair, she explained, "If you need help with anything—logging on, accessing your email, downloading files, anything at all, there's a number in there you can call for assistance."
When she reached across her desk to hand it to him, her face winced in pain.
Paul's eyebrows shot up. "You ok?"
Nina blew out a breath as she eased back in her chair. She waited a moment before responding, "Yeah. I'm fine."
Despite her assurance, a jolt of alarm shot through Paul when he saw her glance at her watch.
Certain it would fly in the face of proper business etiquette to ask if his interviewer was in labor, he simply held up the envelope and said, "Got it."
Nina pressed her hands down on the edge of her desk and took a deep breath. "Let's see. What else? Oh, you'll have to be sure to dial in each week for the staff meetings. If you could be here in person, that would be even better. At least, at first, so people can put a face to your name."
"Yeah. Sure. Absolutely."
Let's wrap this up.
Waving in the direction of the reception desk, she added, "I've already asked Marie to forward you the meeting invite."
Paul nodded.
Much to his dismay, Nina spent the next few minutes quickly detailing his day-to-day responsibilities.
He just kept nodding, so much so he felt like the Kerry Wood bobblehead doll sitting on top of the printer back at home. In his office. Where he'd much rather be right then.
With the exception of an online tutorial he'd need to take to familiarize himself with the accounting department's new operating system, he assured Nina he could hit the ground running.
Assuming they were done, he asked, "So…how soon did you say I could start?"
"Tomorrow would be good," she replied with an almost-apologetic smile. "You should be getting the paperwork today, and you can drop it off anytime this week. Or better yet, just scan it and get it in to Marie by the fifteenth."
"Ok, I'm on it. Thanks very much." Something told him he'd better be on his way, and fast.
He stood and was about to shake her hand when she asked, "So tell me again, how do you know Lester?"
Against his better judgment, Paul sat back in his chair, pressing his lips together and trying to keep his knee from bouncing while Nina kept talking.
"I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled that we were able to connect, but it seemed pretty random, you know? I've been looking for a qualified replacement for weeks now, and then, poof, here you are."
Paul let out a short laugh. "I know, right? Well, my son is a freshman at Knollwood. Runs cross-country. I happened to mention—"
Nina held up her hand. "Say no more. Nick, right?"
Again, Paul nodded, this time with a smile. "Yep. He's a good guy."
Nina rolled her eyes. "He's the best. If you had met Bobby, that's Lester's son, a year and a half ago, you would've written him off as a spoiled-rotten delinquent. Such a brat." She let a shiver pass through her before continuing. "But once he started cross-country, I'm telling you, he's a different kid. Nothing short of a sweetheart."
"And the team captain," Paul added.
Nina beamed. "That's right."
Their conversation drawing to a close, he watched her sit up, and sucked in a breath. Staring at a spot on her desk in front of her, she pressed both hands to her expansive belly and blew out a long, slow breath.
A familiar panic churned inside of Paul. He knew that look all too well.
With no small amount of concern, he asked, "And when did you say you were due?"
With a white-knuckled grip on the arms of her chair, Nina gasped, "Yesterday."
Holy crap.
Suddenly, every thought about the job, problems with Claire, the boys' schedules, the global economy, the Cubs playoff chances—everything left his mind as he leaned forward and asked, "Contraction?"
Nina shook her head and then nodded as her face twisted with worry. "I thought it would be ok to come in, because my water hasn't broken yet."
Feeling as if his supply of oxygen had suddenly been cut off, Paul loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button. "Doesn't matter. Claire's never did. They had to break it at the hospital all four times."
Nina grabbed her phone, jammed out a text, and stared at it a full minute before whimpering, "Oh no."
With perspiration beading on his forehead, Paul asked a question to which he really didn't want the answer. "What's wrong?"
"Lester's plane is late coming in from New York. Can you come with me to the hospital?"
"Uh, isn't there someone here who you'd rather have take you? A friend maybe?"
Shoving her laptop back into her backpack, Nina whispered, "No one here can stand me."
Waving her hand in the air, she continued, "I'm surrounded by Carlotta's fan club."
"Who's Carlotta?"
"Lester's first wife."
"Any family I can call for you?"
"Well, yeah, but they're all in Texas."
With an imploring look, she asked again. "Please, Paul, I know we just met and this is really awkward and inconvenient, but you're here now, and I need your help."
Paul glanced at his watch. He had to pick up Jonah in an hour.
Jacquie can probably get him.
He nodded and tried to sound as reassuring as possible. "Sure. Of course. Ambulance or cab?"
"Cab. It's quicker."
He helped her out of her chair, hoisted her backpack onto his shoulder, and walked her out of the building, wondering what he had just gotten himself into. His Boy Scout leader emergency preparedness training did not cover how to deliver babies. He wasn't even sure witnessing the birth of his own four sons had prepared him.
After easing her into the back of a cab, she clutched his hand the second another contraction gripped her.
"Ow, ow, ow."
The big greasy driver turned his head. "Hey, lady, please don't have your baby in my cab. I just had it cleaned after a couple of drunks puked back there."
"Oh, Paul," she whined.
Addressing the cab driver from hell, Paul replied, "You'd better step on it then, huh, pal?"
He turned to face Nina. The one thing he remembered from Claire's deliveries was to do whatever it took to keep her calm. Once pain-induced panic set in, he saw for his own eyes there was no going back—not until the doc put the epidural in anyway. After Claire's marathon delivery with Luke, he remembered how they had wished they'd known about the relief it could offer. When she was in labor with Jonah, however, it started so quickly, they were lucky to make it to the hospital in time.
And he so did not want to relive that experience today, especially with a virtual stranger.
With the firm, reassuring voice of a seasoned Lamaze coach, he said, "Ignore him. Concentrate on your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice deep breaths."
Nina did as he instructed. When the contraction had passed, she dug her phone out of her purse and texted to Lester to meet them at the hospital.
Paul texted Jacquie. After she confirmed that she'd get Jonah and hang on to him, he relaxed just a little. That is, until Nina asked him how attached he was to his suit coat.
He looked down at his favorite black Italian-made tailored jacket. "Why?"
"I think my water just broke."
As her next contraction started, she panted, "I'll reimburse you. Just remind Lester. You can write it off. As a work expense."
Paul didn't know whether she was kidding or delirious. "How about I just give the guy a really good tip instead."
This made her laugh. At least he thought it was a laugh. Given the way she was crushing his hand though, it was probably wishful thinking on his part.
"Mr. Crenshaw?" a nurse asked as she wheeled Nina into the emergency room.
Paul did a double take. "Oh. I'm not her husband."
"Family member?"
He shook his head. "Nope."
Frowning, she asked, "Well, who are you then?"
Before he could answer, Nina gripped the nurse's arm and said, "He's my Lamaze coach, and I am not having this baby without him."
Wincing under her grip, the nurse craned her neck and looked back up to Paul. "I'll get you some scrubs."
By the grace of God and all things holy, Lester arrived before Paul had to see way more of Nina than he would ever have wanted to. That he had his first meeting with the publisher of Griffin Media's premier publication while standing next to the guy's wife as she groaned and had her feet up in stirrups was indeed unfortunate.
Thankfully, Lester was too preoccupied with the impending arrival to be anything but, in his words, "eternally grateful."
Rushing home, Paul ditched his suit and was able to pick Marc and Tomas up from practice with ten minutes to spare. After swinging by the Calderon's to pick up Jonah, he made his way to the high school to get Luke. By the time Claire made it home from work, his adventure with Nina was still very fresh in his mind. A wave of relief washed over him when she volunteered to take Jonah to his soccer game. The last thing he wanted was to be surrounded by more screaming females.
* * *
In the fading light of Winnemac Park, Claire unfolded her camp chair and draped a stadium blanket over her legs. She watched as Jonah lined up on the field with his teammates and bent over to tap on their shin guards as the referee walked by in a pregame equipment inspection.
Unlike the older boys' games, during which skill and strategy were both evident, the kindergarten teams were going with the huddle and watch the ball go by routine. As such, she was surprised to hear one mother yell at a referee, "Offsides. That kid was offsides. How could you not see that? What are you, blind?"
Between the kids' laughter and the other parents' sideline coaching, she didn't hear her name being called until Jacquie Calderon was standing right next to her.
"I thought that was you."
Claire looked up at the familiar face.
"Oh, hey, Jacquie. How are you? Is Danny on the team? I didn't see him out there."
"No, he's on the Timberwolves. They're playing over on field B." She waved toward the distant end of the park. "The boys played against each other last week."
"Ah. Gotcha."
With one eye on Jonah as he plowed down the field, chasing after the soccer ball, she heard Jacquie say, "Listen, I just wanted to stop by and see if you'd like us to bring Luke home from the marathon on the third. No sense in us both going down there. Parking's going to be a bear."
Claire frowned at her. "The Chicago Marathon? Luke's not running it. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't allow that during the cross-country season."
Jacquie laughed. "Didn't Paul tell you?"
A knot clenched in her stomach. If there was one thing she disliked more than being in the dark, it was being clued in by someone who seemed to know far more about her family than she did.
"Tell me what?"
"Coach DeRosa asked for a bunch of the boys to volunteer at the water stations along the course. It'll go toward the service hours he wants them to earn."
Perking up, Claire replied, "Oh. What a great idea. Yes, well thanks. That would be great if you could bring him home. I appreciate it."
Jacquie smiled politely. "Ok then. I'm glad I saw you here. I completely forgot to ask Paul earlier when he came to pick up Jonah."
Assuming she meant when Paul picked Jonah up from school, Claire didn't give it a second thought.