Every Last Secret(7)

I settled into one of the balcony’s chaise lounges, trying to pinpoint the cause of my trepidation. She wouldn’t be the first attractive woman inside WT’s sleek corridors. William had hired more than a dozen female doctors and engineers, seeking the best of the best, regardless of their gender or appearance. Typically, the brighter the mind, the more unattractive the appearance, but every once in a while, there was a unicorn like Allyson Cho, our stunningly beautiful lead researcher. Or Nicole Finnegan, our public relations powerhouse. Both Nicole and Allyson were arguably more attractive than this blonde director of motivation—and what a stupid title that was. So, why were my hackles raised?

There was more movement at the front gate, and I sat up, surprised to see a moving semi attempt the tight turn through the Bakers’ front gate. Unless the moving truck contained a pile of cleaners, it was wasting its time. The truck stopped and reversed, and a beep echoed over the barren lawn. From the pocket of my cardigan sweater, my phone rang.

“Are you watching this?” Kelly’s voice hissed through the receiver, and I smiled, certain she was up on her widow’s walk, in earshot of the Bakers’ gate.

“I don’t think it’s going to make the turn,” I remarked.

“I thought you said the place was in ruins. How could they be bringing in furniture already?” There was a crackle of wind against her mouthpiece. “Oh my God, Cat. There’s a U-Haul coming down Greenoaks. We should call security. Tell them not to let any more in. They’re going to clog up the entire street.”

I didn’t respond, watching as the semi’s front wheels narrowly missed the cherub fountain.

“This is a disaster,” Kelly clipped on. “What if it’s still blocking the road when church gets out? Paul hasn’t left yet to pick the kids up. Paul?” The wind diminished as she made her way inside her home in search of their manny. “Paul!”

“William is calling me,” I lied. “Let me run.”

“Okay. But tennis tomorrow morning, right? Nine o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.” I ended the call and winced as the side of the shipping container scraped along the gate, then broke free, the truck lumbering down the drive. The sun moved behind a cloud, and I shivered at the sudden drop in temperature. Wrapping the cashmere tighter, I decided to abandon the view and move inside.

I found William on his phone in the kitchen and interrupted his call long enough to steal a kiss. I opened the fridge and removed a parcel of wrapped steaks, holding them up so that he could see the butcher’s writing on the front. He nodded, and I placed the package on the counter.

“Look, if you need a break, come up here. You can audit our books.”

I untied the knot on the package and took out the filets, tuning in to the conversation.

“Bring her with you. We’ve got the guesthouse you can stay in. Plus, Cat hasn’t seen Beth since last summer. They’ll enjoy hanging out.”

The clues aligned. Beth. A break. It had to be Mac. I slid the plate toward my husband and grabbed a spatula from the rack, setting it beside the blue china.

“It’s not charity,” William growled. “You’re my brother. And I could use you. I need someone I can trust with these numbers.”

Someone he could trust. I wasn’t sure that Mac fit that bill. I turned away from William and returned to the fridge, opening both sides of the Sub-Zero and staring at the contents. Unless we had specific plans, the chef had the weekends off, and I looked through the shelf of labeled salads. I pulled out a container of avocado and spring mix.

Over the last decade, I’d lost count of the things we’d done for William’s brother. It was like giving leftovers to a stray dog—the half rack of lamb didn’t solve its problems but still gave you the sense that you were doing something to help.

I wasn’t sure that we’d helped him at all. It was hard to help an alcoholic who didn’t want to stop drinking. We’d paid for six rehab stints. Moved him three times. Paid off a gambling debt with some ugly Vegas characters. Pulled strings to get him jobs that he had tanked on. And now William wanted to bring him to Winthorpe Tech? A terrible idea, but I loved the fierce dedication he had to Mac, and I was desperate to grow his limited family to include children of our own.

William moved out onto the veranda, and I popped open a beer, certain that he’d need a drink after he finished with Mac.

The beeping of a truck’s reverse faintly sounded, and I moved to the sink, glancing out the window.

“Mac’s on tilt.” William strode through the opening, pushing his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. “Won’t leave the house. Drunk.”

“Oh God.” I ripped open the salad’s bag and evenly divided the contents onto two plates. “Has he been fired yet?”

He grimaced. “I was afraid to bring it up. Can you call the bank and have them make a deposit into their account? And check with their landlord—”

“Rent’s paid through next year,” I interrupted. “I did that a few months ago.” I slid the beer toward him.

“Good.” He downed half of it in one long gulp. “He doesn’t want to come here.”

I fought to keep the relief from my face. “I’ll talk to Beth and see if there’s a good day for me to drive down for a visit. I’d love to see the baby.”