Not to mention that, first, she needed to hear her final prognosis.
The next day, Jamison didn’t pick up the call from Cameron. He let it go to voice mail along with the other two-dozen voice mails McInerney had left that day. It was their routine, of sorts. Anything that could wait went to voice mail to be checked at designated times during the day. But when something needed urgent attention, Cameron followed up with a 911 text.
The 911 came in at 2:22, the afternoon after he’d talked to Olivia to make plans for New Year’s Eve. The text read: Have received the background check on Dr. Chance Demetrios. Results require your immediate attention.
Chance Demetrios?
He’d been so busy, he’d put Demetrios out of his mind. Besides, it was just a momentary lapse of reasoning. He trusted his wife. So the message sent a jolt of anxiety through him. Jamison excused himself from the meeting, citing urgent business.
What McInerney had waiting for him when he got back to the office made the anxiety he’d felt earlier seem like a warm bath: photos shot outside the Armstrong Institute. Photos of Olivia in the arms of Chance Demetrios.
Jamison wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to hop on a plane and punch Demetrios. He wanted to look his wife in the eyes and ask, “Why?”
He would ask her, all right. When he saw her in three days. In the meantime, though, he couldn’t talk to her. He needed to keep his distance, keep his cool, so that he didn’t do something he’d regret. Also, if he heard her voice there would be no way he’d be able to keep this to himself. And he needed to see her eyes when he asked her about it.
How the hell was he going to hold this inside for three days?
He ran through the options in his mind. He could cancel his meetings, saying he had a family emergency to attend to.
No, if in fact Olivia was carrying on with Demetrios … though his heart still couldn’t reconcile her betraying him like that—not his Olivia. No, if he left it might draw attention to the situation, and he had to do everything he could to keep this under wraps.
As anger simmered, he felt like a ticking time bomb that he hoped wouldn’t explode before he gave Olivia a chance to explain.
Chapter Seven
Dressed in a cobalt-blue suit and pearls, Olivia drove across the Salt-and-Pepper Bridge, which stretched over the Charles River, connecting Boston with Cambridge.
The formal name of the bridge was actually the Longfellow, but locals had dubbed it “Salt-and-Pepper” because the structure’s central towers resembled salt-and-pepper shakers.
The Children’s Home was located just across the river, not too far from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Olivia had served on the Children’s Home board since the year she and Jamison had married. Before she’d been appointed to the Children’s Home board of directors, she’d volunteered there when she was in college and knew it was such a worthy organization that it deserved as much support as it could get.
In the nearly ten years that she’d been involved, Olivia had been instrumental in helping Pam Wilson, the executive director of The Children’s Home, write grants, raise funds and secure other means of political and community support for the Home.
Other times, she filled in where they needed her. Whether it was answering the phone, taking the kids shopping for school supplies, or rolling up her sleeves and scrubbing toilets when the janitorial service didn’t show, she did what she could. Her favorite task was baking dozens of delicious cookies for the kids to take to school for birthday celebrations or bake sales, or sometimes the cookies were simply for them to enjoy as a special treat.
Olivia’s goal as president of the board was to give the children—many of whom were here because of abuse, neglect or tragedy—as good a childhood as possible. Sometimes that meant singing songs and reading stories. Other times it meant getting her hands dirty. But she was game for whatever the kids needed, because she was passionate about the Children’s Home and the kids they served.
It was never easy, though, when a new resident arrived. Usually the child was scared and skittish, oftentimes suffering emotional trauma after being displaced. Today, Pam needed all hands on deck because not one, but two little boys were arriving.
Danny and Kevin Kelso had lost both of their parents in a nightmarish accident on the day after Christmas. The parents were coming home from a party and were hit head-on by a drunk driver. The boys had been home asleep in their beds, in the care of a babysitter.
Since the boys had no living relatives, Boston’s Department of Children and Families had prevailed upon Pam to take the boys so that they could stay together. The home really didn’t have room, but when Pam called Olivia for special dispensation, Olivia had agreed that the boys should stay together at all costs—even if she had to bring them to her house until the Home could make a place for them.
Keeping them together seemed extra important since three-year-old Danny had recently been diagnosed with autism.
Little had she known when she’d decided to distract herself with baking bread and cookies, that the home would be in need of fare to welcome the new charges.
There was nothing like good, homemade sugar and chocolate chunk cookies to make a child feel welcome.
Olivia had promised Pam that she’d be there to help, because even under the best circumstances, welcoming a new resident wasn’t easy. Given the younger Kelso boy’s situation, today was sure to be doubly challenging.
Shortly after nine o’clock, Olivia arrived at the Georgian-style mansion that housed the Children’s Home. The old home once belonged to the charity’s founder, who left it to the organization in trust to be used for kids left homeless or orphaned by abuse, neglect or tragedy. Olivia parked around back by the carriage house, which served as the nonprofit’s offices, and let herself in the kitchen door. She set the bread and cookies on the counter and went in search of Pam, whom she found in the great room.
“Olivia, thank you so much for coming in today,” Pam said. “It seems like a lot to ask during the holidays.”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m happy to do it. Besides, Jamison had to go back to D.C. and he won’t be back until New Year’s Eve.”
“Big plans?” Pam asked.
Olivia blushed. “We’re staying in and having a nice romantic evening—alone, for a change.”
Over the years, Pam had become a friend—and someone to whom in the beginning, Olivia had confided in when she and Jamison had decided to start trying to get pregnant. But after it became clear that pregnancy wouldn’t come easily—and then with the ensuing bumps in their marriage—Olivia had become a bit more guarded.
“Really?” Pam arched a brow, her blue eyes shining. “Anything you’d care to share?”
For a moment, Olivia was tempted to tell her everything—well, almost everything—not about Derek’s bizarre suggestion that Olivia try to pass off another woman’s child as her own. Because essentially that’s what it would amount to if she allowed Chance to implant another woman’s egg in her body.
The thought made her shudder, and that brought her to her senses. Despite how good it would feel to confide in a friend right now, until she heard the New Year’s Eve prognosis, she needed to keep everything to herself.
“Oh, nothing exciting, but you know I’ll tell you as soon as there’s news.”
Just then the door opened and two of the saddest little boys Olivia had ever seen walked in hand in hand. Both had mops of glossy dark hair and large, haunted brown eyes.
The larger of the two stood slightly in front of his younger brother, in a protective stance.
Karen Cunningham from DCF stood behind them. “Good morning, I have a very special delivery for you.