Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

She turned to get her phone. “Let me take a picture of you in it. We can send it to your mom and to Justine.”

“You’re right. They should see.”

“Front and back.” Avery framed in. As she sent the pictures, Hope and the clerk came back with stacks of shoe boxes. And the happy madness began.

*   *   *

On the way home after a long day of dresses, shoes, accessories—with some honeymoon wardrobe added in—Avery stretched out in the backseat of the car and texted Owen.

Stopped for a late dinner and a reprise of the day’s haul. Your soon to be SIL is going to be a beautiful bride—and knock Beck’s socks off. Her attendants aren’t going to suck either. Heading home. Sorry it’s later than I figured.

Clare turned at the signal from Avery’s phone. “What’s Owen have to say?”

“That Beck hasn’t been able to keep his socks on since he first saw you—that’s a knock-his-socks-off reference. And he wants to know if I want to head to his place.”

“Do you?” Hope asked. “I can drop you there.”

“I have to head up to Hagerstown first thing in the morning for supplies, then I have a meeting with Beckett at the new space.” She texted Owen back as she spoke. “Plus I know Owen’s been putting in some time trying to find Billy.”

“Elizabeth’s Billy?”

Avery nodded at Clare. “So far, not much luck. But then it’s a tall order. I should just go home, get some sleep. It’s nearly eleven already. He misses me, he said.”

“Aw.”

“I know, right? Flutter, flutter. I work till four tomorrow, but I can pick up some specific ingredients when I’m out in the morning, then fix another sample menu if he’s up for it. And he is,” she announced. “I have a date tomorrow night, with my boyfriend.”

“I swear you look like you’ve been hit with the cute stick.”

Avery just grinned at Hope. “That’s how I feel. What a great day. Maybe I’ll call Owen when I get settled down in bed.”

“For phone sex?”

Her grin at Hope didn’t diminish. “That may be a portion of the agenda. Any tips?”

“Talk low, talk slow.”

“She’s so wise.” Avery straightened up as Hope pulled in behind Vesta. “God, what a good, good day.” She leaned forward, kissed both her friends. “I loved it. I love you guys. Pop the trunk. I know which bag is mine.”

“Tell Owen . . . hi,” Hope said, making the syllable breathy. “From us.”

“I’ll be too busy telling him hi from me. This was great, absolutely and completely great. See you tomorrow.” She grabbed her bag, slammed the truck. After waving them off, she hurried into the back door.

She’d been sure she’d be back before closing—but she was not, absolutely not going in to look things over. She forced herself to continue past Vesta’s rear, locked door, turned on the stairway.

And saw the woman sitting on the steps.

Avery stopped where she was, instinctively moved the keys in her hand until one jabbed between her fingers. She considered options as the woman pushed to her feet.

Avery was young, strong—and fast, if necessary.

“The restaurant’s closed,” she said calmly.

“I know. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“If you’re looking for work, you can come in tomorrow, during business hours. But right now—”

“Don’t you know me?” She stepped down; Avery braced. “I’m your mother.”

In the wash of security lights, Avery studied the face. She saw it now, of course, she saw it now. But there were so many years between her last look and this one. So much time, so much distance.

She waited for a surge of something—something, but felt numb.

“What do you want?”

“To see you. To talk to you. Can we go inside and talk?”

Saying nothing, Avery walked up the stairs, unlocked her apartment door.

She realized she did feel something after all.

She felt dread.

Avery set her shopping bag aside, took off her coat, her scarf, every movement precise as she draped both over the back of a chair.

She remained silent and standing.

“This is nice.” Her mother’s voice piped out with nervous enthusiasm. “You’ve got a real nice place. I was in your restaurant earlier. It looks great, really great. It’s way professional.”

She needed a root job, Avery noted, and didn’t care if the thought was petty and unkind. Traci MacTavish—or whatever her name was now—wore a bright red coat over tight jeans and a black sweater. Avery’s impression was of a frame more bony than slim, of a narrow face too carefully made up, and short, spiky blond hair against harsh black roots.

Every thought in her head, Avery realized, struck as petty and unkind.

Well, too damn bad.

“What do you want?” she repeated.

“I wanted to see you. God, baby, you’re so pretty! I love your hair. I always worried you’d go around with that Howdy Doody red mop and those awful braces, but look at you! I just—”

“Don’t.” Avery stepped back as Traci started toward her. “Don’t think you’re getting an Oprah moment here.”

Traci dropped her arms, her gaze. “I don’t deserve one. I know it, honey. I do. It’s just seeing you, all grown up, so pretty. I realize what I missed. Can we sit down? Can we just sit for a few minutes?”

“I don’t need to sit.”

“You’re so mad at me.” Like a courageous patriot facing a firing squad, Traci straightened her shoulders. “I don’t blame you. What I did, it was stupid and selfish and wrong. I’m so sorry, Avery.”

“Oh well, you’re sorry.” Letting temper rule, Avery snapped her fingers. “Bang. All better now.”

“It isn’t. I know being sorry doesn’t make it okay. Nothing could, I guess. I did an awful thing, made a terrible mistake. I just—just wanted to see you,” Traci managed as tears shimmered in her eyes. “I thought, maybe, now that you’re grown up, you could understand a little.”

“Understand what?”

“Why I left. I was so unhappy.” She fumbled a tissue out of her purse, then dropped down in a chair and sobbed into it. “Nobody understands what I went through! Nobody can understand how it was for me. You can’t see what’s happening in someone else’s marriage.”

“Oh, I think a kid inside one gets a pretty good picture. You didn’t just walk away from your marriage, you walked away from your daughter.”

“I know. I know, but I couldn’t stay. You were always more your daddy’s girl than mine, so—”

“Be careful what you say about my father.”

“I wouldn’t say anything.” Obviously prepared, Traci pulled out another tissue. “He’s a good man. Maybe he was too good for me. I shouldn’t have married him. I made a mistake.”

“Mistakes seem to be a habit with you.”

“I was so young, honey. Just barely nineteen. And I thought I loved him. I really did. Then I got pregnant, so getting married seemed like the best thing to do. My parents were so hard on me when I told them. You don’t know how scared I was.”

Whatever sympathy she might’ve felt for a young woman in those circumstances evaporated before it fully formed. Avery remembered her grandfather—so kind, so patient, and the sadness in his eyes to the end of his life for the daughter lost to him.

And her grandmother, strong, loving—and always a rock of support for her family.

“Did they kick you out? Threaten to?”

“They . . .”

“Careful,” Avery warned.

“No, but they blamed me. And they said how having a baby meant I had to support it, and—”

“Imagine that. Imagine expecting you to take some responsibility.”

“They were hard on me. They always were. I couldn’t stay home with them picking at me night and day.”

“So getting married was a way out.”

“It’s not like that. I was only nineteen. I thought I wanted to get married and have a family, my own place. And Willy B, he was just so big and handsome, and he took care of things. You know, getting us a place and all. He was real good to me when I was carrying. I tried, I really tried to make a nice house and cook and take care of you when you came. You were a really fussy baby, Avery.”

“Shame on me.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I just— I wasn’t even twenty when you came along, and there was so much to do.”

“I guess my father didn’t do anything.”

Traci sniffled, pressed her lips together. “He did a lot. I’m not going to lie to you. He did a lot around the house and all, and he’d walk the floor with you at night, and rock with you. He was a good daddy.”

“I know he was. He is.”

“I did the best I could, I swear I did.” Eyes drenched, Traci crossed her hands over her heart. “But honest to God, nothing ever got done that I wasn’t doing it all over again. Then you started walking so soon, and you were into everything. I couldn’t keep up. Even when I got a job and got you into day care, there was so much to do, and it was always the same. He even wanted another. Jesus Christ, he wanted more kids, and I couldn’t deal with that. When I had the abortion—”

It was a sudden, sharp slap in the face. “You had an abortion.”

Traci’s tear-splotched face paled. “I thought he’d’ve told you.”

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

“You were three, and my God, Avery, such a handful. I got pregnant again, even though I’d been real careful not to. I couldn’t go through it another time. I just couldn’t, so I took care of it. I wasn’t going to tell him, but we were fighting about something and it came out.”

“You terminated a pregnancy without telling him?”