have anybody else who might want a say on your time?”
You got a lover? Michael read into the question.
“No.”
He saw women occasionally, but he’d been sleeping with Susan again, on and off, over the past three years, although they’d been divorced for seven. He couldn’t seem to find a passion for anyone else.
“Any dependents at all?”
What is this? Michael shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. He sent a sizable amount of money to his parents and brother and sisters back in Carlisle, but that was nobody’s business except his.
“Why?”
Eyes narrowed, Coppel sat forward. “I’m thinking about offering you a new position, a move from a subsidiary company to Coppel Industries itself.”
Michael didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t breathe.
“But the position I have in mind would require constant travel, and I won’t even consider offering it if that meant you’d be shirking personal commitments. I don’t break up families.”
Coppel had come from a broken family, had his father run out on him, been forced to quit school and provide for his ailing mother. He’d entered high school at nineteen after his mother passed away. He’d put himself through college exterminating bugs, and the rest was history. Not only history, but public knowledge now that Coppel was one of the top businessmen in the country.
“I have no one,” Michael said.
HE MADE HIMSELF WAIT until he was pacing the gate at the airport before calling Susan. Just to keep things in perspective.
Only to find that she wasn’t in her office. A hotshot corporate attorney, Susan was out slaying dragons as often as she was in.
Picturing his ex-wife in her dragon-slaying mode, he grinned as he hung up the phone.
“I WANT to have a baby.”
Seth spit the whiskey he’d been sipping, spraying it across the table. “What?”
Laughing, Susan wiped a couple of drops of Crown Royal from her neck. At least her silk blouse and suit jacket had been spared. “It’s not like you to waste good whiskey,” she admonished. Actually, she was a little concerned on that score. It was still only eleven. A bit early for her brother to be hitting the hard stuff. He’d ordered a drink the last time they’d met for lunch, as well.
Leaning across the table, Seth whispered, “Are you out of your mind?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“Susan.” He sat upright, every inch the imposing engineer who flew all over the country inspecting multimillion-dollar construction sights. “Be serious.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious in my life.” She was still grinning, but mostly because if she didn’t, she might let him intimidate her.
“Why?”
“I’m thirty-nine.” Neither of them touched the sandwiches they’d ordered.
“Yeah. So?”
Susan shrugged. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll have lost the chance.”
“That’s no reason to have a kid. You’re supposed to want it.”
“I do.” Oddly enough.
Picking up a fry, Seth still looked completely overwrought. “Since when?”
“Since I graduated from law school.”
He stared at her, fry suspended in midair. “No kidding?” She’d obviously surprised him.
“I have it all written down.” She spoke quickly, eager to elaborate, to convince him that her decision was a good one. The right one. To win his approval. How could she possibly hope to convince Michael if she couldn’t even get the brother who championed everything she did on her side?
“Before I married Michael, I spent a weekend at a lodge in Kentucky, assessing my life, my goals, my dreams. Life was suddenly looming before me and I was scared.” She warmed beneath Seth’s empathetic gaze. “Frightened that I’d lose myself along the way somehow.” Her brother nodded, looking down at the plate between his elbows.
“By the end of the weekend, I’d mapped out all my goals, both short- and long-term, in chronological order.” Seth was staring at her again, his expression no longer empathetic. Unlike the sophisticated lawyer she was, she rushed on. “It was the only way I could be sure I wouldn’t let myself down, wouldn’t end up sixty years old and regretting what I’d done with my life—when it was too late to do anything about it.” Like their mother, she wanted to add but couldn’t. The boys didn’t know about those last hours she’d spent with their mother before she died. No one knew. Except Michael.
Seth continued to stare silently. “I wrote down career goals first,” she said, then took a sip of her brother’s whiskey. “Where I wanted to be by what time. Financial goals. Work goals. Personnal goals. For instance, I wanted to be able to play the violin by the time I was thirty-five.”
“That’s why you took those lessons?”
“Because I wanted to learn how to play? Yes.”
“But did you still want to play the violin when you got to that stage in your life?” Seth asked, pinning her with a big-brother stare he had no right to bestow on her. “Or did you just take the lessons because you’d written down that you had to?”
“I wanted to learn to play.” She’d just been unusually busy that year, which was the only reason she hadn’t enjoyed the experience as much as she’d thought she would.
“When was the last time you picked up your violin?”
That was beside the point. She’d been too busy these past four years.
“I wanted to travel to Europe by the time I was thirty-six.” She steered Seth back to the original conversation. “And,” she added before he could grill her, “I loved every second of the month I spent there.”
Of course, she’d been with Michael, and as a general rule, she loved every second she’d spent with Michael, period. They’d even made getting divorced fun. They’d rushed straight home afterward, tripped over his packing boxes on the way to their bedroom and made love furiously until dawn.
Seth chomped on a couple of fries. Brooding. His classically golden good looks were broken by the frown he was wearing.
“I’ve always known I’d have a baby by the year 2000,” Susan said softly, seriously, begging her brother to understand.
“Listen to you! Learn to play an instrument, go to Europe, have a baby by the year 2000. It’s ludicrous, Susan.” When his intensity didn’t sway her, he slowed down. “What happens after you have this baby?” he finally asked.
“Then I raise him or her.”
“You can’t just bring a child into the world because some stupid plan tells you to, Susan.”
“Who says I can’t?” Not exactly an answer to be proud of, but he was making her defensive.
“You aren’t mother material, for God’s sake! Can’t you see that?”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. Not one word came out. She just sat there, mouth gaping, staring at him.
Until her eyes filled with tears. “How can you say that?”
“I’m sorry, sis.” He glanced away, took a sip of whiskey. “I love you, you know that.”
She’d thought she did.
“Look at your life, Susan, all mapped out, running right on schedule. The last thing children do is follow your schedule. They shouldn’t have to. They should