International Player(2)
“Well, you’ll get to catch up at lunch on Sunday.”
Bloody hell, I’d forgotten about lunch. I hadn’t seen Noah since . . . since the night before he went to New York. Since we almost kissed. Had we though? Was my memory playing tricks on me? I just knew that when he’d left, I’d missed him more than I should have, and I didn’t want to put myself back into a position where I was pining after a man so obviously out of my league. I’d fallen into that trap once already. “I’ll see about lunch. I’m really busy.”
“Busy doing what? Anything that’s work related can wait until Monday. And it’s not like you actually have a social life or anything.”
“Give me a break. I enjoy my work. And I’m good at it. And I enjoy being good at it. It’s not like I’m just filling the pockets of corporate Britain. As you say so often in your speeches, the foundation makes a real difference.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just that . . . work can’t be the only thing in your life. I worry about you—I want you to be happy.”
I rolled my eyes and prepared for the increasingly regular lecture I got about my lack of socializing. “I am happy and don’t try to make out like I’m the only workaholic Harbury sister. Are you sure you can make lunch on Sunday? Don’t you have index cards to fill out or something?”
Abigail kept details of everyone she met on small white cards. She had thousands of them listing everything from the ages and genders of donor’s children to what they liked to eat and the places they liked to holiday most. Before she went to an event or a meeting, she’d remind herself of everything she learned about a person. Then when she spoke with them, she’d appear invested and thoughtful, and that person would feel special that such a beautiful woman remembered their previous conversations so clearly.
“Index cards. Funny. At least I’m having sex.”
My sister was way too invested in my love life. Or lack of it.
“I don’t want to hear about you banging Rob.”
“When’s the last time you went on a date even?”
I dated. Not successfully and not for a while, but it happened from time to time. “Mr. Muscle, probably.”
“The fact that you call him by the nickname my husband gave him makes me think that maybe you weren’t that serious about him.”
“You said date. You didn’t mention being serious.”
She sat back. “I just worry. Speaking of which, I need to figure out what we’re going to do when this kid decides to join us. You don’t have any more hours in the day.” The question of who was going to cover Abigail’s maternity leave had been hanging in the air since before she and Rob had even gotten pregnant. There was no one who could do what Abi did. No one who could command a room, give a speech, or tell the compelling stories of the children we helped like she could. Fundraising would stall while she was off, which meant the longer she was off, the fewer people we could help. The foundation wouldn’t survive longer than a few weeks without her.
“You know you can’t call him or her ‘this kid’ forever, right?”
She shrugged and I made a mental note to start a list of possible baby names in case she didn’t. I got the list-making gene when they were dividing them up in the womb. “Rob is going to take three months off, and honestly, I’m good with that. I want to be back at my desk in six weeks. I love this job.”
“I need you back as soon as possible. Six hours will be bad enough.” I was being selfish. I should try to talk her into taking more time off. Six weeks didn’t sound like a long time, but Abigail knew the foundation would falter without her. If I was having a baby, which was as likely as snow falling in July, they could replace me in a heartbeat. But Abigail was the heart of this place.
She was the beautiful, charming twin. The one who could sell ice to Icelanders. She was used to persuading middle-aged men, enamored by her witty conversation and easy charm, to part with their cash.
Thankfully, she wasn’t due to go on maternity leave until mid-December. That meant she’d still be here for the busiest time of year. “Six weeks is manageable in January and the first week of February, since the New Year is always slow. Fundraising will fall through the floor while you’re off, but at least you’ll be around for the lead-up to the end of the year and the winter ball.” What was it about dark, winter nights that made people want to give up their money?
“Yeah, I want to exceed our targets over the next five months. Then I’ll feel better about taking those six weeks off. Especially with the children’s rehab center in the picture.”
The Harbury Foundation researched and picked the recipients of its support carefully. This year, I’d visited a local pediatric spinal injury unit and witnessed what hopelessness looked like. It had been horrifying. What little equipment they had was for adults or broken. The children had no chance, and the expressions on their faces seemed to suggest they knew that and had given up. With our help, it could be transformed from the place dreams go to die into the leading European center for the treatment of pediatric spinal cord injuries. “Twenty-five million is an aggressive goal, but it means we’re going to make a difference to these kids for the rest of their lives. It will be one of the most rewarding things we’ve ever done.” We both grinned like dummies at each other. We might be polar opposites in so many ways, but the foundation united us.