Amy had already left by the time Nate and the guys arrived on Friday morning. He’d spent last night’s remaining hours of light working off his nervous energy by prepping the outside of his own house for its much-needed paint job. It was a huge undertaking—he knew he should really hire a crew to do it or at least to help—but Nate figured the long-term project would help keep his mind and body gainfully busy and distracted. (Jim would have said, “Forget the paint, read the entire works of John Dos Passos;” Danny would have said—and not for the first time—“Get with that cutie from Starlight Nursery!” Nate chose an electric sander instead.)
The day at Amy’s was productive—they were almost finished with the back and it was looking awesome—if uneventful, that is, in terms of any further revelations about the lady of the house. Danny felt like he was coming down with the cold that Raffi had the week before, and only brought up Amy and her phantom car once.
“You gonna ask her if she was snooping on us that day, or what?” he probed as they filled a line of terracotta pots with bursts of yellow, peach, and purple snapdragons.
“Or what,” Nate answered and ended it there.
Nate hung around again after Danny and the crew made their exit. He told himself it was to inspect the day’s work and determine what was left to do before they could start on the front. But he also knew that, despite trying to keep his curiosity about Amy at bay, it was getting the better of him. What he expected to learn, however, he hadn’t a clue.
“Have you been abandoned?” Startled, he turned and faced Amy, who was standing there in another sleek business suit and pair of spiky heels, hair pulled up in a messy, end-of-the-day half-bun.
“Oh, hi! Sorry, I didn’t hear your car pull in,” Nate said as if he was caught stealing quarters from a change jar.
“Ah. I parked in front. I have to go out again, just wanted to change first.”
Was it Nate’s imagination or were those last few words tinged with a bit of spice? He bent down to pluck a yellowing leaf from one of the new gardenia bushes. “To answer your question: No, not abandoned. Sometimes I like to spend some alone time after the guys leave.”
Amy studied him tending the shrub. “Your answer to therapy?”
“Gives me a chance to think, that’s all,” he answered, eyes still averted.
“What are you thinking about?”
“This and that.” Nate stood, brushing some dirt off his jeans. He wasn’t trying to sound evasive.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Amy looked contrite, her voice softening.
Neither of them moved nor spoke for a few moments. Nate broke the silence. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Amy’s warm smile reappeared. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Do you own this house?” he asked. Amy’s smile faded; her posture stiffened. Nate was instantly sorry he’d gone there. In a flash, Amy seemed to recover, her expression relaxing.
“You’re right, these gardenias are fabulous,” she said, sweeping a hand toward the bright flowers.
He nodded in agreement. “Look, it’s really none of my business,” Nate stumbled. “Anyway, I should get going.” He made a move to exit but Amy put a hand out to stop him. He froze; they watched each other for a few awkward seconds. Amy swallowed, an unmistakable look of anticipation crossing her face.
“Nate, would you go inside with me?”
And there it was: what Nate had tried not to see and Danny saw plain as day. Nate’s pulse quickened; his throat went dry. He knew that the choice he made in that split second could alter his universe. “Amy, I’m flattered but … Well, you are my client and I don’t think I should—”
His clunky rejection was cut short by a burst of laughter from Amy so loud and unbridled he may just have been telling the world’s funniest joke. Nate was thrown, unsure if he should hoot along with her or leave before whatever quicksand he’d stepped into took irrevocable hold. But before he could do either, Amy’s guffaws morphed into tears: the kind of loud, wracking sobs usually reserved for the grimmest moments. How could standing amid Amy’s lovingly designed new garden on this balmy summer day even remotely qualify?
“Amy, what is it? What’s wrong?” Nate asked with urgency. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you in any way.” But she was too overwhelmed to respond and before Nate realized it, he was holding Amy in his arms, taking in the heat of her tears and flushed skin, trying to calm her down. She clutched his shoulder as if it were a life preserver on a sinking ship and they stood like that until her eyes dried and her breathing steadied and Nate’s heartbeat regained its normal rhythm.
Nate and Amy remained silent as they sat at the kitchen table where they’d last chatted over iced teas. Amy, suit jacket off, makeup smudged from her tears, hair set free and grazing her shoulders, looked spent and embarrassed. She traced imaginary shapes on the wooden tabletop with a manicured nail as Nate tried to figure out what to say or do.
“Do you want to talk about it or would you rather be alone?” Nate finally asked. He tried to sound gentle and respectful but was still at a loss.
Amy gazed at Nate through glassy eyes. She sighed. “Nate, how much do you know about your mother?”
Nate had no idea what to expect, but a question about his long-dead mother was about the last thing on the list. “My mother? What does she have to do with anything?”
“Please, just answer me.” Her stare grew urgent, implacable.
He was officially creeped out now. “My mother died thirty years ago. She died giving birth to me. There were complications.”
“And how do you know this?” Amy wondered. She sat up straighter, her composure returning.
Nate stood, his heart starting to hammer again. What the fuck was happening here? “What do you mean, ‘how do I know this’?” he practically spat. “My father told me. Why are we even talking about this?” He paced the length of the long, narrow kitchen. Call it a premonition, but it felt as if an Indiana Jones-sized boulder was hurtling toward him and he was powerless to get out of its way.
Amy rose from the table, crossed to the sink, stared out the window. “It’s not true,” she said in a voice so low, Nate could barely hear her. She turned to him and repeated, more forcefully, “It’s not true.”
“What’s not true?” Amy turned away, speechless. “What’s not true, Amy? What do you mean?”
She spun around, eyes wide. “Nate, your mother didn’t die in childbirth.”
“What? How the hell do you know?” He could feel the blood rise in his face, his head beginning to pound.
Amy spoke quickly now, anxiously, with the force of a dam being unplugged. “She was very young when she had you. She had to give you up. You can’t possibly imagine how difficult it was for her.” Amy studied her hands as Nate stood frozen by the window.
When he finally responded, he sounded calm and firm. “I don’t know where this is going, but I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”
“I’m sorry, Nate, but no, I don’t.” She looked up at him, the tears welling in her eyes.
Nate moved through the adjacent dining room and into the living room. He gazed at the formal, ivory-white couch and two brocade wingback chairs that sat opposite. A vintage-style Persian rug covered most of the hardwood flooring and a caramel-colored spinet piano stood against the picture window that faced out to the street. Nate might as well have been standing in a hall of mirrors for as disoriented as he felt. Why didn’t I go home when I had the chance?
“Nate, for the last thirty years, your father has led you to believe a lie.”
He refused to turn around and dignify her wild assertion. His eyes remained fixed on the pristine couch.
“My father? How do you know?” he finally asked the air.
Amy appeared in front of Nate and took a breath. “Because I’ve been a part of it. I’m as guilty as he was.” Her face was a map of pain. She looked as if she’d aged ten years since they were in the kitchen.
Nate asked, “A part of what?” Amy tried to take his hand. He flinched, backing into a small side table he didn’t realize was there. He whirled around and tried to grab the spindly thing before it fell to the floor, which it did regardless. Nate swung back around and lashed out at Amy. “Who are you, anyway?”
They both froze, mere inches from each other, their heartbeats nearly audible. Amy’s silence spoke volumes. Nate gazed at Amy, stunned, incredulous. He suddenly understood everything—and nothing.