NOW
It was nearly midnight when Sydney walked into the Low Down Blues. Clay Hawthorne was onstage and the room was filled with customers mesmerized by the passion and heartbreak his nimble fingers teased from the Steinway. She recognized some of his patrons as people who had just been to her place and made a mental note to suggest her publicist craft a press release suggesting that dinner at Hush Money followed by a nightcap and smooth live music at the Low Down Blues would make for a sophisticated Madison night out. She found an open stool at the bar and thanked Francie when she brought her a perfectly chilled glass of pinot grigio.
“What’s this say about me?” she asked Clay’s best bartender. “That I don’t even have to order my drink?”
Francie shrugged. “It tells me you have the good taste to drink in the best damn bar in the state.”
“Ah, but you haven’t tried my places yet. Could be we’ll give you a run for your money.”
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”
“First drink’s on me.”
“Now I’ll definitely stop by.” Francie stepped away to tend to a waitress with a tray of empty glasses and new drink orders.
Clay finished his performance and bowed to the prolonged applause from the audience. “Enough of the backup piano player, huh? Sit back, relax, and Slow Kick will be up in a minute or two and you’ll hear some real music. Right now”—Clay pointed toward Sydney—“I’m going to see if that pretty lady back there has a few minutes she can spare to let me spin my tales of derring-do.”
Some patrons called out good-natured support and Sydney felt a flush of heat as Clay approached her. He grabbed her glass of wine and nodded to his left. “C’mon. Join me.” Francie handed him a tall glass of ice water and he carried both to a table left of the stage. When they were seated, he leaned back. Sydney felt another wave of warmth as he took a long, slow look at her.
“How was night two?” he asked.
“Good. Full. Lots of compliments. Chef Roland’s worth every migraine he brings.”
“How about the Ten-Ten? Second night as good as the opening?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. Roscoe assures me sales were up, but it was…I don’t know…It felt different. More subdued.”
“That’s to be expected, don’t you think? I mean, opening nights are filled with excitement. You’re always going to have a high level of festivity at Hush Money. It’s a special-occasion establishment. Folks walk in with their celebrations in full swing. But Ten-Ten’s more of a neighborhood joint. On the one hand, that means you’re going to develop regulars. Keeps business steady. But it also means they bring their day-to-day lives with them. Warts and all.”
Sydney thought about her target customer. “And since Ten-Ten’s meant to be a cops’ bar, my hunch is their ups and downs are a bit wartier than most.”
“There you go. Can’t be Christmas every day, can it?”
Sydney sipped her wine and listened as Slow Kick opened his next set with a slamming Memphis blues number about music being the only love that lasts. She was aware of Clay’s eyes on her and struggled to keep her attention on the performance. The second song was something about a trip back to Alabama, but she couldn’t have given anyone the details. She could, however, have spoken at great lengths of how Clay’s fingers looked as they held his glass. How his masculinity heated the small space between them. How close his knee was to hers underneath the marble-topped bistro table.
Slow Kick was accepting the applause after his third song when Clay put a hand on the back of her chair, leaned in, and whispered so close she felt his breath on her cheek.
“Let’s go for a walk.” He stood and pulled out her chair. Sydney followed him as he walked to the bar, told Francie he’d be back, and then stepped aside to allow Sydney to lead the way out the door and up the steps to the street.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Let’s stroll.” He held out his hand. She took it and they fell in step with each other, turning right and making their way around Capitol Square. The dramatically lit legislative building dominated the dark sky. Elms and maples and oaks older than the city itself rustled in the late-spring breeze. Sydney relaxed into the peaceful silence between them. They’d walked less than three blocks when they passed Hush Money’s grand facade.
“Ever eaten there?” Clay asked. “Because I’m not about to lay down the kind of money that place costs without a personal recommendation from somebody I trust.”
“I hear it’s all the rage. Everyone who’s anyone and all that.”
“Know how a guy could get a reservation? I’ll bet folks are dying for a table.”
Sydney stuttered a step. Clay stopped.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“It’s nothing. Maybe I’m feeling a bit touchy.”
“About what?”
When she hesitated, he pointed to a bench a few feet away. They sat side by side. Clay rested his arm along the back, his hand touching her left shoulder.
“Tell me,” he said.
“The police have arrested someone for the mayor’s murder.”
“And?” Clay’s tone hinted he was curious what that had to do with her.
“The person they arrested works for me. She’s a server at Hush Money.”
Clay leaned back. “And you’re spooked to know you hired someone capable of that kind of violence?”
She stared at the Capitol and considered his question. “I don’t know. I keep trying to put myself in her shoes. I find myself wondering what Windy is doing right now. At this precise moment. Where is she? Is she scared? Does she have anyone to look after her?”
“Those are intriguing concerns to have for someone who just killed somebody.”
Sydney looked him in the eye. “She’s been arrested, Clay. She hasn’t been convicted.”
He nodded recognition of his mistake. “Tell me about Windy. Are you close?”
Again Sydney cast about for what had her so upset, but she couldn’t pinpoint the source of her discomfort. “No. In fact, I only met her about two months ago. She applied to work. I’d put my mother in charge of hiring and training the servers. She ran her own restaurant for nearly thirty years, you know.”
“Is that where you got the bug? Watching your mother’s business?”
Sydney smiled. “Watching? Clay, you know better than anyone that when there’s a family joint, nobody watches. I remember the bus dropping me off after kindergarten. I’d park myself in the kitchen, eat my favorites off the menu, and spend my afternoons folding napkins and filling salt and pepper shakers. As I grew, so did my chores. By the time I graduated high school there wasn’t a spot I couldn’t fill.” She let out a hearty laugh. “Except for cook. I never got the hang of that. Ordering, scheduling, balancing the books…even long-term business plans. I had everything nailed. But put me in the kitchen and, try as I might, I simply didn’t have it in me.”
“Now you hire chefs.”
“Trust me. It’s for the best.”
“What was your mom’s place?”
“J and N’s. Stood for ‘Joe and Nancy.’ Mom already had it going by the time I came along, so I didn’t get any billing.”
“I remember that place! Off the belt line near Fish Hatchery. Meatloaf Mondays. Man, what I wouldn’t give for that recipe! Closed about, what, four, five years ago?”
“That’s right. I was hoping Mom could relax after all those years of long hours. But she wasn’t built for retirement. She’s been a huge help at Hush Money.”
“Are you upset with her for hiring…What’s the woman’s name again?”
“Windy. Like Chicago. And it was me who hired her. She had no restaurant experience. Mom wanted to take a pass. But I insisted. And she turned out to be our best worker.”
“Good enough to have you this upset about her arrest?”
Sydney sat quietly for a while. Clay didn’t press her. She liked that he seemed to sense she needed to sort out her thoughts.
“I think she needed to catch a break,” she finally answered. “Windy, I mean. She’s a single mother. Only twenty-two. Her daughter, Gabby, is five. Windy told me her high school boyfriend’s family moved to another state after Windy got pregnant. She’s got no family around. And from what I understand, that may be for the best. I hoped she’d find a place with Hush Money. Build some security for her and her daughter, you know?”
He nodded. “Servers in a place like yours can make a nice living. I’m sorry she’s missing the opportunity.”
“I don’t even know where the jail is. Can you believe that? I’ve lived in Madison my whole life and I don’t know where Windy is right now.”
“It’s in the lower level of the City-County Building.” Clay squeezed her shoulder playfully. “We’ll leave how I know that for another conversation.”
“I got her a lawyer.”
“You did? Sydney, do you have any idea what a criminal defense attorney costs? I do. Again, a story for another time. You’re starting a new business. Do you want to saddle yourself with that kind of debt?”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Syd…the Low Down’s a success. Has been for years. But you’ll learn that the big till Hush Money pulls in every night goes straight back into the business. Even the Ten-Ten. The costs of running a restaurant are astronomical. I’d hate for you to lose what you’ve worked so hard for.”
She turned to face him and saw eyes filled with concern. She hesitated to explain. It was a story she, even after five years of living it, found hard to believe. Fewer than a half dozen people knew where Sydney’s money came from.
At least on her side. There was no telling how many unknown people on the other side knew.
She inhaled deeply and took a risk. “I’m adopted.”
Clay’s face shifted from concerned to curious. “You are? You speak of your mother and father so fondly.”
“They deserve every kind word and more. But I always knew I wasn’t their biological child. They never hid it from me. When I was a kid, I got two celebrations every year. My birthday, of course. Then, two days later, we’d celebrate my Gotcha Day.”
“The day your parents first got you?”
“That’s right.”
“Sounds like you had a good childhood.”
“No complaints. Well, there were those early teen years when I was certain my parents woke up each morning intent on devising ways to ruin my life, but I grew out of that. When my dad was killed, I don’t know what I’d have done if I didn’t have Mom.”
“Maybe that’s what you see in Windy.”
Sydney considered his idea. “You mean how close she must be with Gabby?”
“That. And maybe something else, too. Tell me if I’m off base.” He took his time before continuing. “Maybe you’re thinking about your birth parents. I mean, as happy as you were with Nancy and Joe, a kid’s gotta wonder what in the world made the people who gave them life give them up. And to a kid, everything’s about them, right? So maybe a part of you wonders what it was about you that wasn’t enough to make them want you. I know that doesn’t make any logical sense, but kids aren’t rational. They take everything on themselves.”
“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”
“We’re focusing on you tonight.” Clay wore a serious look. “Maybe you see in Windy what a part of you—a part that doesn’t negate one bit the relationship you have with Nancy and Joe—wishes your birth parents would have kept you. Raised you. Maybe it would have been hard, like you see how tough it is for Windy. But Windy accepted the struggle and held on to her child. Maybe you feel close to her in that way. Maybe you want to help ease the struggle a bit. Take her under your wing. Does that make any sense at all?”
As soon as she heard them, Sydney realized Clay had put words to her attraction to Windy that she’d been unable to articulate herself. “There’s more. Want to hear it?”
“I want to hear anything you’re comfortable sharing.”
He held her gaze. She saw in his eyes a promise of confidence. Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed him. Lightly. Quickly. Letting the gentle touching of their lips seal a bargain of trust between them.
“My birth parents didn’t have to struggle. They could have kept me. They decided to toss me aside for other reasons.”
“You’ve met them?”
“No.” Sydney held on to his hand but turned away. She kept her attention riveted on the limestone edifice in front of her, hoping the potency of the principles for which the Capitol stood might infuse her with the strength to tell her story.
“Five years ago I had my thirtieth birthday.”
“And I’m forty. Nice age gap.”
She appreciated his attempt to lighten the moment. “I celebrated with friends, of course, but, like always, had a special time with my mom. We went out for lunch. She gave me gold post earrings. Real gold. She must have saved all year for them. To this day they’re my favorites.”
She paused, not knowing how to continue. She was grateful for his supportive silence.
“After lunch I headed back to my apartment. It was a tiny one-bedroom thing off University Avenue. But I was in my second year as a bookkeeper for a place that’s since gone out of business, and it was all I could afford. When I pulled up, there was a man standing at my front door. Dressed in a fancy suit. Carrying a leather briefcase. He smiled as I walked toward him. Told me he was an attorney and that he had a birthday message for me from my parents. My birth parents.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. That was my reaction, too. I invited him in. After he introduced himself and gave me his card, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a flat box. In it was a soft white blanket and an even softer dressing gown. Cashmere. Sized for an infant. Booties to match. He explained they were mine. That my birth mother brought me home from the hospital wearing them.”
Clay remained silent. She felt him focusing on her face and wondered if he was watching for signs of breakdown.
“Then he handed me a letter. It was four pages long. Handwritten. Blue ink. The stationery wasn’t marked, but it was creamy and thick. It was from my birth mother. She told me how proud she was of who I’d become. She alluded to things in my life, like how I graduated from UW business school with honors and how sorry she was to learn I’d broken my arm when I was twelve.”
“Did your mom keep her informed? Was yours an open adoption?”
“No. My adoption was a surprise for my parents. After they learned they’d never have children of their own, they applied to several agencies. Even hired an attorney to see if he could do anything, but nothing came of it. Infants are hard to come by, you know. After a few years they pretty much gave up. Then, out of nowhere, their attorney calls. A set of birth parents had read their portfolio and selected them to adopt their baby. The attorney told them I was due in a month, so they’d have to make up their minds quickly. Mom says she didn’t have time to open her mouth before Dad told the lawyer to make it happen. They got a call a few weeks later that I was born and I was a girl. Two days after that the lawyer brought me to the house I grew up in. Mom and Dad signed lots of papers and that was that.”
“Then how?”
Sydney shook her head, frowning. “The only thing we can figure is they were keeping track of me somehow. Maybe in person. Maybe via one of their attorneys. Who knows?”
“Did the letter say who they were?”
“Only that my birth mother and father had once loved each other very much. She wrote that while the pregnancy was a surprise, I was very much wanted. She went on to say that circumstances prevented them from keeping me. She wrote that her people and his had joined together to convince them keeping me would cause a scandal of such proportions that dozens of lives would be ruined. Their people. Isn’t that odd? She begged my forgiveness. She said letting me go was the greatest regret of her life.”
“How’d you feel about that?”
“About what she said? Or the fact they were keeping tabs on me?”
“I’ll take either.”
“The easier one is their watching me. At first I thought it was creepy. Now it makes me angry. It’s all so one-sided! I mean, what right do they have to know what’s going on in my life while at the same time withholding any and all information about themselves? Like when my dad was killed. If they knew what was going on, then they knew how devastated I was. Wouldn’t you think they’d step up? Comfort me? But no. They stayed at a safe distance. Denying their connection to me, yet satisfying their curiosity over and over again. Like I’m an exhibition in a zoo. It changed me, you know? Even now. I keep scanning wherever I go, watching to see if I can catch a face in the crowd. Hair as black as mine. Green eyes. Last night? Opening night? I kept wondering if they were there. It’s always like that and I hate it.”
Clay pulled her closer. She leaned against his chest. His lips brushed her hair.
“And as for her reasoning…I look at my mom and dad, how they worked to give me a good life. I try to imagine what kind of circumstances would make them walk away. I come up with nothing. Scandal? Who cares? A president can get blow jobs in the White House and no one blinks an eye. What scandal could warrant throwing me away?”
“I don’t know, Sydney. I don’t know.”
“I asked the attorney for names. I shook that letter in that poor man’s face and demanded to know who’d sent him. He couldn’t tell me. Not because of client privilege. He explained he’d been hired by another firm. From another city. He was tasked to deliver the package to me and that’s it. I asked what firm, what city. Of course, that was privileged information. He handed me one last envelope. In it was a short note. Same creamy vellum. Same handwriting. My birth mother asked that I accept the attached check. She said it was my birthright.” Sydney heard the bitterness in her voice. “Money. That was what she gave me. No names. No history. No explanation. Just cold hard cash to keep the scandal baby quiet.”
“Hush money,” Clay whispered.
“Yeah. Want to know how much it was worth to them to keep my existence a secret?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
She thought for a moment and realized not only did she want to tell him, but somehow she needed to tell him.
“Fifteen million dollars.”
She focused on where her body touched his. Her cheek against his chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat. His arm around her. His breath on her hair.
She felt no physical response to her announcing what to others might have seemed a jaw-dropping number.
“I guess that explains how you can afford to open two restaurants and hire a lawyer for Windy.” He was silent for a moment. “Have you heard from your birth mother since?”
“No. Just that one letter, the check, then nothing. And I’ve spent the last five years trying to put the puzzle together. Mom figures my birth parents must be famous. Politics. Hollywood. Who knows? When I’m particularly stubborn she changes it to royalty. Says I act like everyone should bow to my wishes.”
A small laugh rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her cheek. “Is that something I should be on the lookout for?”
She sat up. Studied his gray eyes. “You know my secrets now.”
He gave a slow nod, keeping his eyes on hers. “And you know none of mine.” He smiled. “There anything I can do?”
“Maybe one thing.”
Despite the shadows of deepest night, she caught a twinkle in his eye. Then he leaned in and gave her a long, slow kiss.