Chapter 2

Suzanne was bent over him holding a large mug of steaming coffee in her hand. Jack peered at her through one squinted eye, then swung his feet to the floor and sat up stiffly. The coat from his Santa suit, which had been draped over his upper body like a blanket, slid off and fell to the floor, leaving his bare arms prickled with gooseflesh under the short sleeves of his t-shirt. Suzanne handed Jack the coffee and opened the fist that had held the mug. On her palm were three reddish-brown tablets.

"Ibuprofen," she said.

Jack took the pills from her, tossed them into his mouth, and took a large swallow of the coffee, which burned his mouth and throat. He winced and rubbed a hand over his face. His punishment, he thought, for all his depraved thoughts.

Suzanne picked up his coat and draped it over his shoulders, and then sat close to him on the sofa, turned toward him with one leg bent beneath her.

"Sorry. I should've warned you it was hot," she said, rubbing her hand over the back of his head, her fingernails scraping through the short waves of hair and coming to rest on his back.

"What are you doing here, Suzanne?" Jack mumbled, his voice thick.

"Cleaning up the mess from last night. You know the cleaning crew would just wipe and sweep around it."

"You didn't have to come in. I would've taken care of it."

"Well, you don't seem to be in very good shape, Jack, and it's no big deal," she said. "Why didn't you go home last night?"

Her hand was back, stroking his hair. He wished she would stop.

"I didn't think I should drive," he said.

"Why did you drink so much?"

Jack turned to look at her then through red-rimmed eyes. "What are you, my mother now?"

The fond smile fled her face, and her hand stopped moving in his hair and dropped away.

"No," she said in a soft voice. "Just someone who cares a great deal."

"God," whispered Jack, rubbing both hands over his face. "I'm sorry. I'll be back," he said, rising and patting Suzanne on the knee.

He went into the restroom, took a leak, and then surveyed his face in the mirror under the harsh fluorescent light. He looked like hell, he thought. Jack washed his hands and his face, rinsed his mouth, and ran his wet fingers through his hair. He wished he had some other clothes to put on. The Santa suit felt oppressive, as if he was dragging Margaret's ghost around with him.

Suzanne was still sitting on the sofa waiting for him when he returned. She looked young and fresh in her blue jeans and sweatshirt and scant makeup. Her smile made his heart ache.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Uh, sure," he replied. "Listen, honey. We need to talk."

He reached for his coat and shrugged his arms into it. As he sat down, Suzanne scooted closer and took one of his hands and held it in both of her own.

"Yeah, I guess we do, huh?" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she blew it out, a happy glow suffusing her face. Then, opening her eyes, she said, "Last night was ... wonderful. I'm sorry the kids interrupted us. My timing is horrible, isn't it?" She laughed. "I can't stop thinking about it."

Suzanne's smile faded as she gazed into Jack's eyes, her cheeks flushed pink. She looked down at their entwined hands and then back up to Jack's face.

"Remember when you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do."

Jack made a feeble attempt at disengaging his hand from Suzanne's, dreading what was coming next, but she held on. He watched her swallow and lick her lips.

"Well, this is what I want, Jack. You. I've wanted you for the longest time," she said, leaning in for a kiss.

Jack knew he should stop her, but the ache in his chest was almost paralyzing, and she smelled so sweet, and her lips felt so soft against his. She had let go of his hand and was cupping his face between her hands. He tried not to kiss her back, or at least he thought he did. However, his body seemed to react on its own, his lips and tongue moving of their own accord. Soon, he was lost in lovely womanliness, his traitorous body burning with desire. His hands had found her waist and pulled her against him.

The phone rang, startling Jack and jumpstarting his headache, which he had nearly forgotten.

Suzanne held tight and whispered, "Voice mail."

Jack pushed her away. "No."

"Jack, let it go to voice mail," she said. "The switchboard is set up for the holiday."

"I can't do this, Suzanne."

"Your voicemail will pick it up, I promise," she said, laughing.

"Look, I don't give a goddamn about the phone!"

He stood and faced her, saw the shock on her face. A sharp stab of pain shot down between his eyes, slightly nauseating him. He had to get some distance from her. Moving behind the safety of his desk, he sat down, cradling his head in his hands.

"I can't be involved with you, Suzanne," he said, still holding his head.

Suzanne said nothing for a moment, and Jack lifted his head. She was staring out the window, her expression blank.

"Why?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"Because I'm your boss, honey. I can't take advantage of my position."

She turned her face toward him then, her lips curling up at the edges.

"Is that all?" she asked, but went on without waiting for an answer. "You're right, Jack. You are the boss. That means you can do whatever you want to do. You can be with whoever you want to be with."

Jack shook his head. "I'm old enough to be your father."

Laughter bubbled up from Suzanne's chest.

"What? You're only fifty. I'm thirty-six. I mean, yeah, I guess you could technically be my father, but jeez, Jack, you must've been some kid."

When he said nothing, she continued. "Look, you still have a lot of good years left."

"Yeah, thanks," replied Jack.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's not like I'm some innocent young girl. I'm all grown up, Jack. I'm old enough to know what I want. I'd never accuse you of taking advantage of me. You know that."

Jack folded his arms across his chest and stared down at his desk.

"There's more to it, isn't there?" Suzanne asked. "Is this about Maggie?"

"Don't," whispered Jack, holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack.

"I loved her too, Jack. She was almost like a mother to me."

"Please. Don't." Jack closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tall back of his chair.

"I'm sorry," Suzanne said in a soft voice. "It needs to be said."

"God damn it!" Jack was angry now.

What was it about women that they just couldn't leave things alone? He stood and paced to the window and leaned against the sill, looking out.

"It's been two years, Jack," Suzanne said. "It's time to move on."

Jack turned around, eyes blazing.

"Who the hell are you to tell me when it's time to move on?" he yelled. "I was married to the woman for twenty-five years. We had children together. We went through everything together."

"I know that," said Suzanne.

"So, what do you think I should do? Just forget about all that?"

"Of course not," Suzanne replied. "You need to get on with your life though."

"That's none of your business," Jack snapped. "Stay out of it."

"Fine." Suzanne was angry now as well. "Excuse the hell out of me for caring about you."

She stood up as if to leave, but then turned around.

"Tell me, Jack, what's the real reason you don't want me? Because I don't believe that crap about 'not taking advantage of your position.' It's bullshit. Tell me the real reason."

"I told you the real reasons."

"Well, I don't believe you, Jack."

"Well, that's too goddamn bad, Suzanne."

Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. Jack thought she looked mad as hell and about to burst into tears. He was not too far from that himself and did not know what to do about it.

"You don't think I'm attractive, do you?" Suzanne asked.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Jack slumped back into his chair, rubbing both eyes with the tips of his fingers.

"Just say it, Jack. I can take it."

Tears were threatening to spill over her lower lids, but she stood her ground, her jaw clenched, her mouth an angry, trembling line.

"Look, I told you. I'm too old for you. I'm your boss."

"Yeah, right, Jack. Keep talking."

"Suzanne, you have young children. I'm done with all that. I don't know if I'd want to be a father again."

Suzanne's tears spilled over and ran in twin rivulets down her cheeks.

"Oh, my God!" she sputtered, wiping her face with the palms of her hands. "It's because of my kids? Did I ask you to be a father to my kids? You aren't even a father to your own kids, Jack. My kids have a father, thank you very much!"

Jack's mouth dropped open in shock. "Wait. Just what the fuck do you know about my kids?"

He stood up again with his hands on his hips, the color drained from his face.

"Quite a lot, actually," Suzanne retorted.

"What does that mean?"

"Becky and I have become good friends. We talk on the phone at least once a week. If you weren't so self-absorbed you'd know that."

"You've been talking to my daughter behind my back?" Jack was shaking. He couldn't remember when he'd been so angry.

Suzanne laughed bitterly. "No, not behind your back. You haven't been there for her since Maggie died. She needed to talk to someone. You're always too busy wallowing in self-pity to—"

"That's enough." Jack sat down, leaning his elbows on his desk and covered his face with his hands.

"You know, Maggie would hate what you've become, Jack. She'd hate that nobody can reach you, not even your own children. She'd hate that you died with her."

She had just run a dagger into his heart, Jack thought. The anger bled out of him and was replaced by an overwhelming, weary sadness. He could not let Suzanne see that. He looked up at her. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

"Get out," he said through clenched teeth.

He covered his face with his hands again and heard her run sobbing down the hallway.

"Fuck," he breathed.

Jack ended up clearing the party detritus himself, the congealed cold cuts and potato salad amplifying his queasiness momentarily. The physical activity was good though, he thought, as his mind cleared. Knowing what needed to be done and doing it, even something small, was somehow satisfying.

Afterward, at home in the shower, he let it all come back. He tried to make sense of it, to process it in some logical way. He was a logical man, not an emotional one. He could figure this all out, make some kind of plan, take some action, make things right again. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror as he toweled off, not quite ready to face himself, Jack realized that he would have to talk with Suzanne, apologize, try to somehow undo the hurt. He thought that might best be handled after they'd both had time to cool down. Truthfully, he didn't feel ready to face the whirlwind of emotions she seemed to churn up in him.

First, he would deal with his children. He knew what Suzanne had said was true. He'd always been somewhat emotionally distant, but even more so after Maggie died. Jack, Jr. was like him, not demonstrative, but not uncaring or unfeeling. He just held all his cards very close. Becky, on the other hand, was very like her mother, always with her heart on her sleeve, and a big heart it was.