that Juliette is gone and Jamie needs a mother, he is her opportunity to be the parent she always wanted to be. It’s almost too perfect—Claire gets to be a mother, and I don’t have to deal with a teenager I hardly know.
I can’t be bothered to pick Jamie up and bring him to my house, so instead I send an embarrassingly large limousine. Katherine’s staff will be sure to help him load his belongings into the limo. Of course, I’m hoping to not be home when he pulls up in front of the house on Twenty-First Street. I called home earlier and instructed the housekeeper to welcome Jamie and apologize that I won’t be there. I told her to make up whatever story she wanted about my absence, forgetting that Claire would be home from client meetings by the time Jamie arrived. Claire could have managed a suitable lie with no problem.
As it turns out, I mistime my return home, and I see from the corner of Twenty-First Street that his limo is just pulling up as I’m making my way toward the townhouse. I duck behind a boxwood topiary in front of an apartment building and watch Jamie exit the car. The driver pulls his suitcases one by one from the trunk, arranges them on the curb and carries them up the steps with Jamie lumbering behind.
Claire answers the door almost immediately and embraces him as he stands at the top of the stoop, pinning his arms at his sides. They walk inside, and I decide to head to a bar I go to when I’m not ready to play house.
I never wanted to have children so playing the dad role is always a burden. Juliette had wanted to be a mother, as I find most women do, and she and her father pressured me into it.
It seemed my family-man role mediated my professional reputation; clients often told us that they admired my ability to create a work-life balance. Little did they know I balanced nothing. After Marcus died and Juliette and I got divorced, no one was around to insist I play daddy, and it’s not like I couldn’t afford the child support payments. Jamie existed, and so did I, and until today, I hardly had to know about him.
I check my watch—6:43 p.m. I throw a fifty on the bar and trudge east toward my house. On my way up to my bedroom, I find Jamie and Claire sitting in the living room together, a room I hardly ever go into. They both startle and jump to attention when they notice me in the doorway.
“Don’t leap, I’m not a monster,” I say, attempting to soothe their fright with a joke.
“Hi, honey,” Claire squeals as she walks over to me. Jamie nervously tugs at the hem of his shirt, looking down at his sneakers, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Claire wraps her arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. This isn’t normally how she greets me, and although I’m not sure why she’s chosen to put on a show for Jamie, I’m all the more relieved that she’d rather fake it than face the awkwardness of the situation.
“Did you have a good ride over here?” I ask Jamie, not knowing what to say to him.
“Uh, yeah, thanks for sending the limo.” Jamie peers up at me to respond, and then quickly returns his gaze to the floor.
“Sit down, Jamie. You can relax in my house. I mean, in your house.”
“Our home,” Claire corrects. “You should feel comfortable in our home.” She returns to her seat and makes a display of taking off her shoes and kicking her feet up onto the couch. They both have twitchy, uneasy eyes. They’re looking at me like children with their hands in the cookie jar, and I can’t see any reason for either of them to behave like this.
“Is anything wrong?” I ask, although I couldn’t care less about their responses.
“I thought you’d be home earlier,” Claire softly confesses.
“Yes, so did I, but I got stuck at work. Had to go over a million depositions for this trial I have coming up,” I lie.
Neither of them responds. As I stare hard at Jamie, I see his eyes dart up at me and a flush coming over his cheeks. He knows I’m lying. I look into his face, trying to feel something. Trying to see if the presence of my son in my home will stir up any emotions.
I once again can’t reach down far enough inside myself to pull up anything more than insensitivity. Jamie knows I’m lying, and I just don’t care.
Still early in our relationship, I met Juliette at the carousel in Central Park for an afternoon date. She said it reminded her of her childhood, and she would often come to listen to the music and watch the children playing. We sat together on a bench, just close enough to hear the carousel and bursts of laughter.
“How is everything going with the congressman’s case?” Juliette asked, her voice tenuous.
“It’s going well,” I lied, still fearful that we were making the wrong decision going to trial. “Your father seems very confident that we will come out on top.”
Juliette sighed heavily and intertwined her fingers in mine. “What do you think is going to happen? Are you confident you’ll come out on top?” She squeezed my hand and looked at me with a genuine concern that I had never experienced before.
“Honestly? No. I can’t get into details with you, confidentiality issues, but I’m not really convinced that we’re making the right decision. But Marcus has been in the business far longer than I have. I trust him, and I know he wouldn’t lead me astray.”
“Peter.” She pulled her hand away gently. “How well do you know my father, really?”
“He’s my business partner. I think I know him quite well, why?”
“He’s a very calculating man.” She stalled and stopped herself before saying any more. “Just be careful, please.”
“What do you mean?” I was immediately intrigued. Somehow, I had managed to go on four dates with Juliette before we realized that I was building a partnership with her father, and now she was making dodgy implications that I was in danger. “What do I need to be careful of?”
“I wasn’t totally honest with you when I said I didn’t know you were opening Rhodes & Caine,” she confessed with an apologetic look.
“I figured as much. How could you not have known?”
“No, I didn’t know, my father never told me anything. He really does keep me in the dark with his business dealings. I mean that I had suspected you were talking about my father when we were having dinner after the Eileen Cutler lecture.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You seemed so taken with him, so hell-bent on becoming like him—I didn’t want to ruin your perceptions with the truth.”
“Juliette, what are you saying? What’s the truth?” I wanted to listen to her concerns, but I couldn’t imagine that associating with Marcus could be anything less than advantageous for me.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I know you’re busy preparing for this case, and there’s no reason for me to throw a wrench in it. I don’t want to compromise what we have going on.” She smiled warmly, clearly trying to shift her demeanor. “I’m really enjoying spending time with you.” She grabbed my hand again, this
