Push

20. She Heard the Truth

GWEN

I peeked through the doorway of the nursery. Toby knew I was there—I was sure of it—but he didn't turn around. His attention stayed focused on the baby kicking happy legs and squirming to snatch at everything not nailed down on the change table.

I darted to the crib and grabbed Noah's giraffe.

"Here." I held out the toy and gave it a jiggle. "Sometimes it's easier if he's busy."

Wordless and still without even a glance, Toby took the giraffe and passed it to Noah's chubby hands. "Okay." He nodded. "Got it."

The irritated edge to Toby's voice surprised me. I shrunk back. This wasn't like him. He usually laughed away all the bad times. His emotional meter was always dialed to 'Chill.'

One of the few times I saw him truly upset was when his mother had accidentally—but probably on purpose—spilled her glass of shiraz on my wedding dress. I'd barely blinked when it had happened. I'd refused to let Sarah Sullivan have another victory over me. Marnie had to get creative with bobby pins, and even though the dress was a write-off, the night hadn't been completely ruined.

Toby hadn't seen it that way.

He'd ranted and raved and shoved his mother in a taxi with a promise she'd never see us again. He was a man of his word. He'd only faltered because she knew how to manipulate his guilt. The ten months of peace we had before his father's heart attack were some of our happiest.

That said a lot, really.

An awkward silence hung over the nursery. Toby gently tugged off Noah's stained clothes and tossed them in the hamper, but there were none of the usual tickles or jokes or silly songs. His jaw was clenched firmly shut.

Something was bothering him.

Or someone.

I shuffled closer to him. My stomach was swirling. It was strange to feel so uncomfortable around someone I'd known for so long.

"I haven't taken Noah to the sandpit yet," I said. "Did he have fun?"

"Yeah."

No stories. No details. Just 'yeah.' I fidgeted with the top of my yoga pants, eyes darting everywhere, unsure where to look. If we weren't playing nice—if this was going to be the world's most awkward conversation—there was no point holding back the real issues.

"I ran into Judy at the coffee shop," I said.

"Cool."

"She told me that Kayleigh's gone."

"Yeah."

"You fired her?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sorry she's gone?"

"No." Toby reached for a clean diaper like we were talking about nothing important at all. "Why would I be?"

I shrugged. "The two of you spent a lot of time together."

"We shouldn't have." He neatly balled up the soiled nappy and pitched it in the trash with a lot more force than needed. "And I should've fired Kayleigh a lot sooner. That's the last time I listen to a bunch of cowboy lawyers."

"It was the right advice."

He grunted. "You would have given that advice?"

"As a lawyer, sure. You landed yourself in a situation where you didn't have a lot of options. Their aim would've been to do enough damage control to protect you and the other partners."