Monday, 6 January
7:32 a.m.
The rest of the weekend flew by without incident. To Bettina’s relief, there had been no additional contact attempted by Art.
But also to her dismay, no further word from Daniel.
To keep her mind off both of them, Bettina spent the weekend finessing her Bum Free App pitch. To pull it off, she knew she couldn’t let a boardroom filled with deep-pocketed investors intimidate her. But, when all was said and done, she decided that it was best to just keep her mouth shut and let Brady and his tech minions do all the talking.
She’d just smile prettily and look supreme—two things she could pull off with aplomb.
Then there was the problem of ditching today’s PHM&T meet-up. All weekend long, she devised—but summarily discarded—several elaborate lies to tell Eleanor and Lorna as to why she’d be skipping it.
Maybe I should just come out with the truth, she thought miserably.
No, that would never do. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to worry about her failing in a business that was tough even for savvy young turks and turkettes with degrees in Computer Engineering from coveted universities.
She doesn’t understand that I can’t forgive myself for bringing Art into this family so that he could rob us blind, Bettina thought. I’m tired of being a burden to her.
Her mother would be relieved if Bettina just married again—
As long as she married well.
That’s just it, Bettina reasoned. How do I know I won’t choose another Art?
And I certainly come with too much baggage for a normal man:
A man like Daniel Warwick.
All the more reason to take today’s venture capital meetings by storm.
By the time she joined Eleanor and Lily for breakfast, she still hadn’t thought of a plausible excuse to ditch the club meeting. She pecked both of them on the cheek before taking her seat. Steam was still rising off the pancakes waiting for her.
Bettina dribbled syrup over one. Then she took a tiny bite. She was resolved to spit it out in order to claim a dyspeptic stomach when Eleanor’s declaration registered in her brain:
“—an eight-thirty meeting with the Symphony board. Afterward, I have lunch with a few old friends, before I head over to meet with the ballet’s development committee,” Eleanor was saying. “So, dearest, you and Lily will have to fend for yourselves for dinner. By the way, would you like me to give Lily a lift to school this morning? That way, you can take your time before heading out to the PHM&T meeting.”
Thank you, God.
Bettina rewarded her mother with an enthusiastic smile. “Yes, Mother, that would be wonderful—I mean, if it doesn’t put you out of your way.”
“Not at all.” Eleanor patted her daughter’s hand. “But, do try to get there a few minutes early. From what Matthew mentioned on the phone the other day, Lorna has a few ideas on how to spread the work around to the other mothers.”
“Oh?” Bettina scowled. “Do tell.”
Realizing her mistake in even mentioning it, her mother looked skyward. “I’ll let the two of you work it out. It’s why you make such a great team in the first place.”
Work it out? Bettina thought. Ha! More like slit each other’s throats.
As in a death match…
Sure, why not? In fact, this little power play of Lorna’s may be the best way to get rid of her once and for all…
Eleanor stood up. “Lily, dearest, grab your school bag, and we’re off.”
Lily gulped down the last sip of milk in her glass. After kissing her mother goodbye, she mused, “Mummy, will the Cherokee man get his room today?”
Bettina frowned. “Who? …Oh, him.” She shrugged. “If he’s lucky, he won’t get arrested.”
“That’s good—I guess,” Lily stated solemnly. “Which is worse—sleeping on the street, or in a jail cell?”
“Let’s hope we never find out,” Bettina muttered.
She waited until they were out the front door before grabbing her brother’s cell phone out of his hand. But before he could say anything, she hissed, “You’re not to tell Lorna, but I need you to pick up Lily from school this afternoon. Three o’clock, promptly. Don’t be late,” she handed him his phone. “Now, put your wife on the line.”
“Well, hello to you, too, dear sister,” Matthew said too sweetly.
He must have covered the phone with his hand before handing it off to Lorna. Bettina could only imagine her sister-in-law’s reluctance to take her call.
But before Lorna could utter a word, Bettina demanded, “What’s this I hear about some plan to turn over even more authority to club members?”
The question must have been loud enough for Matthew to hear it too, because Bettina could hear him snorting.
Lorna must have covered the phone as she hushed him. Finally, she declared, “Good morning to you, too, Bettina.”
“Was that your husband I heard snorting?” Bettina asked.
Lorna sighed. “Yes. He has…a slight cold.”
Liar, Bettina thought. “I assume you know why I’m calling.”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Lorna countered.
Lying again. “Eleanor divulged your little plan,” Bettina snapped.
“I’m sure she did. It was her idea.”
“What? I…I doubt that!” Bettina stuttered.
“You doubt that she’s worried about our health during the last few weeks of our pregnancies?” Lorna laughed. “Put her on. I’d like to hear that from her.”
“You know that wasn’t what I meant, exactly. Of course she’s concerned for us. But I doubt she’d encourage you to turn over control to a gaggle of clueless mothers—”
“In the first place, I have no intention of ceding our control over the club,” Lorna interrupted. “However, I think both of us should encourage our Top Moms to relieve us of some of the more mundane tasks.”
“Such as?”
“Well…like chairing the fundraising activities. And setting the schedules for their meet-ups. And it goes without saying that they should have more of a hand in creating and running the afternoon advanced-placement classes—”
“Whoa! Whoa! That’s going a bit too far—”
“Bettina, no one is suggesting that we give up the final say-so on any of this,” Lorna pleaded. “But by inviting them to step up and own it, we share the burden—as well as the pride of accomplishment.”
Bettina clapped slowly. “You’ve brought tears to my eyes. Let me ask you something, Lorna. What happens when some decision made by one of these mothers puts a child in harm’s way?”
“You mean, like when you threatened to burn down the pumpkin patch?” Lorna asked not-so-innocently.
“Touché! You’ve clubbed me with my worst memory: the one time in which I was distraught over my lost child.” Bettina clucked her tongue. “Such cruelty is so unlike you, my dear sister-in-law.”
“Bettina, please… Look, I’m sorry. Truly I am. I just feel that you’re taking your need to control every little detail of the club a bit too far—”
“Okay! I’m tired of being berated! Have it your way!” Bettina forced a few loud sniffs. Did it sound as if she were crying? She hoped so. “Divvy up the tasks amongst your pliable minions. But be forewarned: if everything goes to hell in a hand basket, you’ll have to own up to the fact that your grand experiment was a pile of mérde.”
“I’ll take full responsibility, mérde and all,” Lorna vowed.
Time to go in for the kill. “In other words, you’ll resign as the Co-CEO of the Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club?” Bettina threw in a few more sniffs as sound effects.
“Well…okay, yes. If for any reason the club or its members are put in any danger and the act was based on a decision I’ve made—”
“This decision,” Bettina reminded her. “And this decision is yours, and yours alone.”
“Okay, yes—this decision,” Lorna snapped. “As I said, I will take full responsibility.”
Bettina bit her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud.
When she calmed down, she gasped, “Well, then, by all means, present your plan to the others today. However, I cannot stomach the thought of it! I am bereft. That being said, I won’t be attending today’s meet-up. Make my excuses for me. You don’t have to tell them the truth: that I’m sick to my stomach with the thought that you’re willing to trust just anyone with the club—”
“Not just anyone,” Lorna pointed out. “I’m talking about the club’s Top Moms, all of whom were chosen by the members at large.”
“Duly noted. Still, I’ll pass. I’m sure Mallory and the others will take copious notes.” Before Lorna could say another word, Bettina clicked off.
Talk about killing two birds with one stone! Not only was she free to present to the VCs, she had succeeded in setting up her sister-in-law to fail.
The day hadn’t even started, and already she was victorious! Yes!
8:10 a.m.
Brady, up early for his run, had left the envelope on Ally’s bedside table.
Handwritten in small block letters were the words:
Paternal Suspect’s Identity
It wasn’t in Brady’s handwriting. Ally realized that it must have belonged to Francesca Upton, the private investigator Brady had hired to find Ally’s biological father.
The envelope was still sealed.
Brady never opened it.
With trembling hands, Ally nudged the flap open.
The only thing inside was a folded sheet of paper. A name and phone number were typed on it.
She stared down at the name:
Garrett Mitchell Hartley
All these years she’d wondered what he called himself. Seeing it in black and white gave her a chill.
Now I know.
When her shock subsided, questions flooded her thoughts. What did he do? Was he still married? Do I have siblings?
She stuck it in her pocket.
She waited until eight-thirty—when Brady was busy making breakfast with Oliver and Zoe—before calling.
The line rang six times before a man’s voice barked, “Yeah?”
“I’m…Ally Thornton,” she declared.
Dead silence.
Except for the slight breeze tickling the ivy outside her window, time seemed to stand still. Finally, she said, “Do you know who I am?”
The man murmured, “Yes.”
Ally took a deep breath. “Are you…my father?”
The man sighed, but said nothing.
Impatiently, Ally added, “Am I supposed to take that as a yes?”
Silence.
Then, from him: “I guess you’d like to meet me?”
It was her turn to let that one sit for a while. Finally: “Only if you make it worth my while.”
His chuckle was more like a cackle. As it flowed over her, so did memories of bear hugs, Old Spice, being tossed high in the air, scratchy kisses—
And her mother’s endless crying jags.
She was about to hang up when he said. “Let me buy you lunch today.”
“I…have a previous engagement.” Had she said it was a mommy meet-up, would he have been disappointed?
Probably, but for the wrong reason: not because she’d have chosen to be with her child instead of him, but because he’d have viewed her choice as mundane.
In his eyes, her mother had been mundane. It was why he’d left her.
He’d thrown down the gauntlet.
She’d made a promise to herself—and to Brady—to pick it up.
“I’ll make it worth your while.” Realizing that he was now using her taunt to him against her, she smiled grudgingly.
“I’ll re-arrange my meeting then. Where should we meet?”
“My home. Saratoga.” He paused. “Twelve-thirty. If need be, I’ll send a helicopter for you.”
Her laugh was mirthless. “How generous. But, no need to go to extremes. I’m in San Francisco, and the traffic isn’t that bad—yet.”
“Yes, I know where you are. I’ve always known.”
Hearing that, she murmured, “What does that say about you?”
He didn’t respond at first. Finally: “Don’t pass judgment yet.”
He was right. She did not know his side of the story. For that matter, she didn’t know her mother’s either. All she had were her scattershot childhood memories.
“Text me the address. I’ll see you at twelve-thirty.”
She hung up before she could change her mind.
A small piece of her was afraid he might change his mind as well.
Now, to break the news to Brady.
No, maybe that wasn’t a great idea after all.
Oliver’s squeal in response to Zoe’s giggle reminded her that she needed coverage for today’s meet-up.
She needed to call Jade.
Suddenly, she was frightened.
Each time she tried Jade’s number, it rolled over to voicemail.
Frustrated, Ally turned to Brady. “Why won’t Jade pick up her phone?”
“She’s not in town, silly. She and Reggie are skiing. His aide, Sam, has a cabin in Tahoe. Remember?”
“What?” Ally stared down at her cell phone. “But I thought they were gone just through the weekend! I mean…doesn’t Reggie have school today?”
Brady snorted. “It’s the U.C. system. Because of budget cuts, classes don’t start for another four days. Besides, he and Jade are taking advantage of the few days he has off before he leaves for London.”
“Oh.” Ally shrugged. “I was going to…you know—meet with…him.”
Brady’s eyes opened wide. “You talked to your dad?”
She nodded. “Just now.”
“Well, that’s a step in the right direction,” he murmured, awed.
“If you say so.” Her tone said it all: she felt she’d made a mistake. “If Jade can’t take them to the meet-up, can I leave them with you?”
Brady winced. “I have two VC meetings lined up today.”
At least that put a smile on Ally’s face. “Your stealth secret project?”
“Yep.” He put his arms around her. “Sorry, hon.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, since Barry and Christian’s honeymoon flight got canceled because of snow, maybe one of them can take the kids for the day.”
She nodded and dialed Barry’s number.
He picked up on the third ring. “Talk fast. I’m on my way into the office.”
Ally groaned. “But—you’re supposed to be on your honeymoon.”
“I might as well go in. It sure beats hanging around here listening to my beloved moan over the fact that he won’t be getting a Caribbean sunburn because every airport is snowed in between Denver and Charlotte.”
Brady grabbed the phone and yelled, “I warned you to choose Cancun.”
Ally pulled the phone away from him.
“Tell him he doesn’t need to rub it in,” Barry muttered.
“Instead of going into the office, why don’t you cover Zoe and Oliver for me so that I can meet my father?”
“For real?” For once, the tease went out of Barry’s voice.
“Yeah, for real.” Ally sighed. “I know you aren’t even supposed to be here. But since you are—”
“Baby, you know I’d do it, but I can’t today. Somehow Jillian’s ex-mother-in-law from hell got the court date for little Scotty’s hearing moved up to today.”
“You’re kidding!” Ally exclaimed. “I guess it’s a good thing, then, that your flight was canceled.” Jillian Frederick, who was Ally’s business partner in their retail bakery shop, Life of Pie, was fighting her deceased ex-husband’s mother for the right to raise his infant son along with their twin toddler daughters, Addison and Amelia.
“Hey, Christian isn’t going into the salon today. Maybe he can watch Zoe.” Barry must have muffled the phone with his hand. Two minutes later, he was back on the line: “Christian said he’d love to look after our little princess.”
Ally winced. “Jade and Reggie are off skiing. That being said, Prince Oliver is also part of the deal.”
Again, the hand went over the phone, but not for long. When Barry came back on the line, he was laughing. “Sure, Christian says bring them both over.”
“Yes! Thank you—I mean, him!” she exclaimed. “Hey, what were you laughing about?”
“Christian bought a couple of princess gowns for Zoe. If Oliver wants to wear one, he was wondering if Brady would mind. The kid’s hair is long enough that he could certainly pass for a little girl—”
“I think we all know the answer to that,” she hissed. “Don’t even go there. Tell Christian that if they’re playing dress-up, a towel held up by a safety pin makes a wonderful Prince Charming cape.”
Barry chuckled. “Duly noted.”
“I’ll drop them off in an hour.” She blew a kiss into the phone before hanging up.
A part of her wished Christian had said no. She had no excuse to back out now.
She wondered, What do you wear when you’re seeing your father for the first time in thirty years?
Her father used to call her his “little princess.”
She had no desire to dress up. In fact, she knew she’d wear black.
“What do you think? Should I wear this?” Jillian Frederick stood before her fiancé, Caleb Martin, arms open to display a white blouse with a long pussy bow, worn under a dark gray suit.
Caleb looked up from the hand he was wiping—Amelia’s, as it were, who had decided that making a mud pie with her oatmeal was much more fun that shoveling it into her mouth with her spoon.
Tilting his head to one side, he frowned. “Isn’t it a bit…oh, I don’t know, business-womanish?”
“Really? Is that what you think?” Jillian threw up her arms in despair. “Then, what should I wear?”
“Watch the girls for a moment.” He kissed Amelia’s hand before trekking upstairs.
Jillian could hear him rummaging around in her closet.
Finally, he reappeared with a dress in hand. “How about this one?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know. I mean, it’s white, and it’s not appropriate for daytime. It’s a cocktail dress.”
“White is virginal,” Caleb countered. “Like a Madonna.”
Jillian frowned. “If we’re trying for a subliminal biblical reference, wouldn’t it be better if I wore something that wasn’t so low cut?”’
“Trust me, if the judge is male, you’ll remind him of his mother.”
“As long as I don’t remind him of his favorite cocktail waitress, I guess it will be okay.” Just in time, she jerked the dress away from Amelia’s oatmeal-coated fingers. Seeing it as a game, Addison squealed with delight. Taking a handful of oatmeal she tossed it in her mother’s direction—
Barely missing the dress too.
“Scotty and I better get out of here before a food fight breaks out,” she declared. “Now, remember, have the girls at the Moscone Community Center for the meet-up no later than ten o’clock.”
Caleb winced. “Are you sure I won’t be chased away with fire and pitchforks when I show up?”
“I’ll text Lorna and tell her to throw herself in front of any angry mobs that want to chase you down,” Jillian promised. “She’s preggers with twins. They’ll show mercy.”
“For her, not for me,” Caleb grumbled. “I hear Scotty stirring. You dress the girls and I’ll get him ready for his court appearance.”
“No stripes,” Jillian warned him. “One attempt at subliminal suggestion is enough.”
“Duly noted,” he promised.
He took the stairs two at a time and reached the fussy infant’s room in no time.
In the meantime, Jillian released her toddler daughters from their high chairs. She let them chase her into their shared bedroom, but she didn’t let them catch her because she knew the dress in her hand would cost a fortune to dry clean.