No doubt it would’ve ended there, but then she’d found out she was pregnant and arranged to meet him. When she broke the news about the baby, he’d responded calmly, politely. Except for the sudden tightening of his jaw, he’d been careful not to reveal how upset he was. To his credit, he’d assumed full responsibility and said he’d pay for whatever she chose to do. But when he asked her what that might be, she’d had to face the truth—he was offering her money to fix his mistake. He wasn’t suddenly realizing that he’d loved her all along. Sleeping with him hadn’t changed anything. Being pregnant didn’t change anything, either. He’d never cared about her the way he cared about Francesca, and he never would.
Adriana couldn’t remember anything else in her life ever hurting quite as much as his rejection. It wasn’t that she’d meant to get pregnant. She hadn’t. They’d used protection. But she couldn’t deny that she’d harbored some hope that the baby would bring them together. She’d wanted Jonah badly enough that she’d risked her relationship with Francesca, and would’ve done so again if he’d been the least bit receptive. Which made her feel like the worst person in the world. What kind of woman stabbed her best friend in the back over a guy? It didn’t help to see how heartbroken and regretful he was because of what they’d done. She’d never forget his hollow-eyed, haggard appearance when he met her that night at Starbucks. She remembered thinking at the time that he must not have slept since they’d been together.
She still felt guilty about her role in what had occurred. Nothing would’ve happened if she hadn’t chosen to believe his drunken advances actually meant he had feelings for her. So she was grateful when Francesca had managed to forgive her. Somehow, they’d repaired their friendship and put her actions behind them. She’d thought it was all over, at last.
And now this. Jonah was back. She’d seen him at Francesca’s this morning, and he was on the phone with her right now.
“How’d you get my number?” She glanced into the living room where her two boys had been watching TV but were currently wrestling on the floor. Normally, she would’ve scolded them. She was afraid someone would get hurt or knock over a lamp. But today she let them go. At least they were occupied and didn’t seem to notice that she was suddenly having difficulty breathing.
“You’re listed under your husband’s name,” he said, “which I saw on a picture at Francesca’s.”
Had he felt a little tug when he’d seen that picture? Something had made him memorize her husband’s name….
But that was exactly the type of thinking that’d gotten her into trouble before. None of this meant what she wanted it to. “Why are you calling?”
“I’m sorry. I know this is unexpected and…awkward, at best. I wouldn’t have bothered you, except…I’m looking for Francesca.”
Of course. Why else would he contact her? If she hadn’t been so blinded by desire ten years ago—desire and selfishness—she would’ve been able to see the truth even then. “She’s not here.”
“Have you heard from her today?”
“No.” The rumble of a car engine brought her to the kitchen window. Her husband had just come home from his office downtown, where he ran his medical practice. Hoping it would take him a few minutes to greet the kids before he came looking for her, she dashed up the stairs to their bedroom and closed the door. He knew about Jonah and the baby she’d given up. She’d told him all about it when they were dating. But she was sure he assumed, as she had until this morning, that if she ever met Jonah again he’d have no effect on her.
“Can I give you my number, in case she does get in touch with you?” Jonah asked.
That was it? They’d created a child together but he had nothing more to say to her than “please give my number to Francesca”? He hadn’t asked about her husband, her kids, how she’d been…
She closed her eyes. “I— Sure. Why not?” She had to agree, didn’t she? A refusal might inform him of how she felt—reveal her pounding heart and sweating palms. She loved all she had, but Jonah reminded her of old dreams and what it was like to be young, to experience the kind of bone-melting desire that could burn out of control.
“Thanks. You ready?”
“Yeah.” She jotted his number on the pad her husband kept by the bedside for when he awoke with a thought he didn’t want to forget. Then she ripped off that sheet, folded it into a tiny triangle and slipped it in her back pocket.
“What—what brought you back?” she asked before he could hang up.
She already knew about the cases in Prescott; she was really inquiring about finding him at Francesca’s house, and he seemed to understand that.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess the price we paid wasn’t high enough.”
A click signaled that he’d disconnected just as she heard her husband coming up the stairs. “Adriana? Where are you, babe?”
“I put a clean towel on the back of the toilet, in case you get up before me and want a shower.”
Shifting her attention from her laptop, which was open on the kitchen table, Francesca conjured up a smile for Heather’s sake. Nearly six feet tall and bone thin, her assistant had a pale face and long dark hair with streaks of blond that came from a bottle. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Mi casa es su casa. Such as it is,” she added with a shrug. “You need anything else?”
“No, this is great.” Although she’d tried to infuse her voice with enthusiasm, Francesca considered those words a fairly transparent lie. She’d never felt so out of place, never dreamed it’d be necessary to spend the night with her twenty-two-year-old employee. For one thing, Heather lived in a small apartment and didn’t have room for guests. For another, as a single mother caring for a three-year-old boy, she already had her hands full. Francesca didn’t want to be an imposition.
But she couldn’t face going home. Not tonight. So what if she was doing the exact opposite of what she’d told Jonah she’d do? And so what if a small part of her felt sheepish for wimping out? She was too emotionally and physically spent to deal with returning to the house. It didn’t matter that Heather had met the locksmith and had the locks changed. Francesca no longer felt safe. She needed to get some sleep without having to worry that Butch might pay her another visit as soon as she closed her eyes. It wasn’t as if she could go to a hotel. She’d ordered a new debit card and replacement credit cards before going to the Apple store to get another iPhone, but they were coming in the mail and wouldn’t arrive for several days. Until then, she couldn’t do anything that required a card.