cycle before the water heater gave up the ghost. Rinsing conditioner from her hair with increasingly cold water, she decided PJ must not have been exaggerating about his sister’s bathroom schedule. Just how long had Neve been in the shower? As Kate wrapped herself in a towel, a strange buzzing drew her attention to the bathroom counter. Her phone, in vibrate mode, was pulsing across the cultured-marble surface.
Bangs dripping into her eyes, she answered. “Hello?”
“Kate—wonderful.” Delia’s voice was strained. “Please get down here and tell these kids to let me in.”
“You’re at the house?” When Kate had retired to her room last night, she’d been unable to sleep. She’d called her friend, but Delia hadn’t said anything about coming by today. “I can’t even believe you’re up this early.” Normally the other woman slept in on the weekends—called it powering up for her sixty-hour workweek.
“I’ve been awake since the crack of where-the-hell’s-the-sun. I could come in and tell you about it or I could stand on your front porch all morning using my cell phone minutes.”
Kate laughed, knowing perfectly well her friend had unlimited calling for keeping in touch with clients and property managers. “Give me just a second.” Once she’d shimmied into a pair of slacks and a cardigan, she hurried down the stairs. “Neve? PJ? Open the front door.”
“We’re not supposed to let strangers in,” Neve called from the kitchen.
PJ, engrossed in a cartoon where a sports car was talking to a bear, barely glanced in Kate’s direction.
“It’s not a stranger. She’s my friend—I’m giving you permission.” Since Kate was closer to the door than either of the kids, she opened it herself.
Delia raised her eyebrows. “New bouncers, huh? They’re effective.”
“Maybe you should have tried a cash bribe.”
“Don’t have much on me, but I did bring this.” She held up a bottle of champagne. “How do you feel about mimosas?”
Kate loved Delia but occasionally thought Patti might have a point about their friend’s fondness for alcohol. “Under the circumstances, that’s probably inappropriate.”
“Well, you know me.”
Kate swung the door wide. “You can join us for waffles.”
Or pools of batter, which were what Neve had managed to create.
“Oh, snap,” the girl was muttering in exasperation, trying to sop up the worst of the mess. She shot a sheepish glance over her shoulder. “I think I poured too much. It overflowed and steam went everywhere, so I unplugged it before I set off the smoke alarm.”
Who was Kate to criticize? She hadn’t done much better. “You go talk PJ into cereal, and I’ll clean this up.”
“I’ll try,” the young woman promised.
“Nice shirt,” Delia said as Neve left the room. “What? I liked it.”
That figured.
Delia set the bottle of champagne on the island. “You should put this away for some other occasion. I actually brought it over as a…gift. I won’t be drinking much for a while.”
“Oh?” Had she and Alexander fought about alcohol?
Her friend chose not to elaborate. “So what are you doing with them tomorrow?”
“With who?” Duh. “Good Lord. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.” What would the kids do Monday while she was at work?
She’d been alternately looking into affordable afternoon help and wondering if Neve was old enough to babysit her brother a few hours a day after school. She’d even planned to take off the week before school, to smooth the transition, but now she needed a more immediate course of action. She couldn’t take off both weeks and she was supposed to be finishing up an important project this week.
The ability to meet deadlines—even when they changed last-minute if production was moved up—was critical. The manuals that accompanied each technological product had to be carefully written and proofed. What kind of example was Kate setting for those she supervised if she couldn’t meet her schedules?
Where could she find help, someone to watch the kids tomorrow while she set something up for the rest of the week? Patti didn’t have an outside job, per se, but the woman was on so many community and charity boards she worked nearly the same number of hours as her corporate counterparts. Maybe Lily… She’d certainly made it clear she would be available to help. Kate just worried how it would look that she needed to be bailed out so soon.
Mulling over her options, she ran a washcloth across the batter-smeared countertop. She frowned at the open cookbook. Neve had obviously used Kate’s absence to sneak a peek.
A sarcastic observation forming on her tongue, she turned toward Delia but was struck anew by the shadows under her friend’s eyes. Kate had been too easily side-tracked by her own problems. It was time to find out what was wrong with Delia.
“You want to talk about it?”
“It’s nothing major.” The normally indomitable Delia fidgeted, glancing toward the other room where the kids were quietly watching television. “Actually, it is. But still not the end of the world, right?”
Somewhere beyond minor but shy of apocalyptic—that narrowed it down. “Whatever ‘it’ is has obviously been worrying you. Those bags you’ve got going on aren’t exactly Fendi.”
Delia bent her knees, peering at her blurred facial reflection in the microwave door. “Just a little exhaustion a decent eye cream should take care of. Like I said, I’ve been up for hours.”
“Did Alexander wake you leaving for the airport?”
“Nah, his flight’s not until noon. And—” Delia drew a deep breath “—I’m sort of avoiding him.”
Kate pitched her washcloth into the sink. “What’s going on, Dee?”
Delia had said on occasion that she couldn’t see herself staying permanently with one man. Could she be trying to figure out the best way to end things with Alexander? Then again, Delia wasn’t shy. If she wanted a man out, Kate imagined she would simply say so.
“Hell, Kate, I’m forty-three years old.”
So? Delia had hit her professional stride as an executive for a leasing company that oversaw commercial properties, she looked fabulous and, by all accounts, had an enviable sex life with a thirty-seven-year-old man who laughed at her jokes and danced with her at country club events. Unless…was Delia wanting to settle down, and Alexander refused to commit?
“Please don’t tell me forty-three’s a bad age,” Kate joked. “I’m coming up on it fast.”
“Forty-three is great for certain things. But pregnancy?”
“Pregnant!” Kate hadn’t meant to shout. She never raised her voice. In a near whisper she asked, “When did this happen? I mean, when did
