Just What I Needed

by Lorelei James

  . . .”

  Leaving my father alone with Dagmar Kierkegaard.

  “When Michael returned, he noticed Dagmar’s agitation when Robert kept trying to get his attention, which Michael found odd. So I think something might’ve been said that had to do with you.”

  Guilt stopped my mouth from opening and spewing my tale of woe regarding Kierkegaard essentially blackballing me. I cringed, remembering how I’d believed, even for a moment, that Walker would’ve had any part in Saturday night’s fiasco. Of all people, Walker understood what it meant to make it on your own, in your own time frame, on your own terms. Even if he had somehow mentioned me to Kierkegaard? It would’ve been out of love and pride, not for his own gain.

  That’s the only explanation for why my father had done something so stupid. I didn’t for a minute believe he’d had an epiphany and decided to prove he supported—and acknowledged—me. Nor did I believe he’d done it out of spite; he’d simply never cared enough about me one way or the other to be bothered. No, former Senator Robert Carlson had seen an opportunity to make himself look like a patron of the arts—what better proof than to help showcase his daughter’s work?

  “Trinity? Are you all right?”

  No. I needed to call the love of my life and apologize for being an idiot and pray that he’d forgive me. Again.

  I shook my head. “I knew someone had spoken to Kierkegaard. He made sure I knew bribery didn’t work and he added a black mark by my name.” I swallowed hard. “I was upset and sort of . . . accused my boyfriend of doing it. Then we had a big fight.”

  “I imagine you did. But you are talking about the Lund boy who accompanied you?”

  Lund boy. Except there wasn’t a boyish thing about him; he was all man. “Yes.”

  Esther ran an agitated hand through her hair. “That pompous little prick.”

  Immediately I bristled. She had no right to say that about Walker. She didn’t know the first thing about him.

  She touched my arm. “I’m not referring to Walker.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ve tolerated Dagmar because of Michael’s friendship with him. But the man doesn’t have a clue about what real art is or what it means.” She looked at me, her eyes fierce. “You create because it drives you, but there has to be a balance between conceptualizing in private and commerce. Your work has to be out there in order for it to be noticed. If you’re good, art lovers will buy your work and support you. Taking commissions allows you to make a living, which in turn might spur you to create a unique piece that appeals to curators like Dagmar. He’s wrong. Take pride in the fact he’s wrong a lot. Men like him are dinosaurs. The only reason he still wields any power is because people let him. He has no power over you. Remember that.”

  I hugged her and whispered, “Thank you.” Then I stepped back and wiped my eyes. “After I had time to mull it over, I came to that same conclusion. It stung that Kierkegaard summarily dismissed the ‘type’ of art I love creating. While it’d be an ego boost to tell people I have a piece hanging in a prestigious gallery, I’m more proud of this creation since it’s art that has personal meaning.” I paused to admit something I’d been reluctant to give voice to. “I got sucked into the mind-set that only art in galleries and museums has value and the little projects I do are just filler. Not all art has to have the same value. I’d like to believe the person who buys one of my funky folk art pieces for a hundred bucks at the state fair loves it just as much as you do this piece.”

  I heard a grinding metal sound and turned to face the crew. Dammit, had they even listened? “Not like that! Even on the dolly all the weight has to be spread evenly across the back—nothing on the front.”

  An hour later the piece was on a truck headed to the Stephenses’ house on Wayzata Bay. I supervised the unloading process and spoke to the structural carpenter about ceiling suspension versus wall attachment. So by the time I left, it was two thirty in the afternoon.

  I checked my phone. No new messages or missed calls. My heart raced and my mouth went bone dry as I called Walker.

  The call went to voice mail.

  It went to voice mail fifty-four times over the next two days.

  Part of me didn’t blame him for ignoring me. Part of me was worried about him.

  The worried part won out.

  Thanks to Walker’s insistence I pay attention to who signed my checks, I knew where to start looking to track him down.

  Twenty-one

  WALKER

  I’d just started to drift off for my second nap of the day when I heard two blasts of an air horn. It wasn’t the lake patrol guys. They’d already been here once this morning to make sure I wasn’t passed out drunk on the boat or I hadn’t fallen overboard and they’d have to drag the lake for my body.

  Cheery thought.

  Four more annoyingly loud blasts sounded and the noise was getting closer.

  Go the fuck away.

  When the air horn didn’t get my attention, the next thing I heard was a bullhorn.

  “Prepare to be boarded. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”

  Why’d they give the bullhorn to smart-ass Trekkie-like Brady?

  A motor cut off. Something bumped the boat. Then it pitched and swayed as several pairs of feet landed on the deck.

  I opened my eyes and shifted in my chair.

  Brady, Jensen, Nolan, Ash and Jaxson were on board, with a cooler.

  “Little early for a social call. Especially since I’m not speaking to any of you ass-monkeys, so go the fuck away.”

  “It’s not an early social call for you,” Nolan said, ignoring the last part of my statement, “now that every day is one big partay since you’re living the life of a boat bum.”

  Living. Right.

  “Do you know how long you’ve been out here?” This from Brady.

  “Without a word to any of us?” Jensen added. “Jase said you haven’t been at work all week.”

  I raised a brow. “What do you care? I didn’t see any of you assholes filing an itinerary with me when you went on vacation. But then again, you would’ve only let me know if you wanted me to water your plants.” I sipped my water and tilted my head back, dismissing them all. “And yes, that was a shot at all of you. Now you know I’m still pissed, so get the hell off my boat.”

  “Your boat?” Nolan said. “It’s joint ownership, so I can be on my half anytime I want.”

  Without lifting my head, I pointed to the front. “That’s your half. This”—I made a box in the air, denoting the back half of the boat—“is mine. Respect my space. And try to keep it down.”

  My declaration was met with silence.

  I heard chairs scraping and the hiss and pop of cans being opened.

  “What should we address first? What happened with her?”

  Don’t you even say her name or I will lose my shit.

  Jensen belched. I didn’t have to look to know it was him. From the age of eight he’d made it a personal goal to belch the alphabet—a feat he’d accomplished by age ten. Funny that the Vikings PR department did not list that factoid on his stats sheet.

  “At least he’s not drunk,” Brady said.

  “How can you tell?” Nolan asked. “With the beard and the hair and his clothing he always looks like he’s been on a bender.”

  Tempting to flip him off. I opted to ignore him.

  “What’s he been eating? The guy at the marina said he hadn’t docked for two days,” Nolan said.

  “Maybe he brought a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread,” Jaxson said.

  “Think he’s been catching fish and eating it raw? Do-it-yourself Minnesota sushi?” Brady suggested.

  “I think he’s totally lovesick,” Jensen said, “and he’s not eating anything—just drinking his own bitter tears.”

  “Nah. That’d be love-starved,” Ash corrected. “And since I can see empty chip bags and beef jerky wrappers in the garbage . . . the boy ain’t starving.”

 
Then I heard someone rustling through the trash. “Jesus. There are candy wrappers everywhere,” Nolan said. “He should have chocolate poisoning after eating all of this.”

  Jaxson said, “Check for empty ice cream cartons.”

  “Yep. Two. Fudge ripple and rocky road.”

  “Where the hell is he getting all this food?”

  Let them try to figure that one out. I hoped my young fishing buddies were late with today’s delivery.

  “For Christsake, this is worse than we thought,” Brady snapped. “Someone grab his phone and see if he’s been watching sappy Lifetime movies.”

  Jensen sighed. “I’ll do it.”

  “My phone is at the bottom of the lake.” Not intentional. I dove into the water with it in my pocket and it slipped out. “But feel free to tie a rock around your leg, jump in and see if you can find it.”

  Silence.

  “Walker—”

  “Is this why you tracked me down? You get a huge laugh out of seeing how goddamn miserable I am?”

  “We are not those guys.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “You think we enjoy seeing you like this?”

  I let out a slow breath. “I don’t care. So for the last time, get the hell off my boat. I’ve got nothing to say. To any of you.” I plugged the earbuds hanging around my neck into my ears and flicked on my iPod.

  I’d just started bobbing my head to “Lose Yourself” by Eminem when my arms, legs and torso were immobilized. My eyes flew open as someone removed my sunglasses and ripped my earbuds out. Then Jaxson and Jensen picked me up—in my chair—and set me down at the front of the boat in the blazing hot sun.

  All five of them lined up in front of me like the Scandinavian inquisition.

  “What the—?”

  “Shut it or we will gag you too, you ornery jackass,” Brady said in his “Don’t argue with me” CFO tone.

  I looked down and saw my arms and legs were tied to the chair with blue nylon rope. I didn’t have a freakin’ prayer of loosening the knots. “Which one of you is the kinkster with the rope fetish?”

  Ash squatted down. “That’d be me. And I was an Eagle Scout, remember?”

  “I don’t give a damn. Untie me. Now.”

  “Nope,” Nolan said with far too much cheer.

  “Welcome to your intervention, bro,” Jensen said.

  I laughed. “I need an intervention? Why? I’m the most well adjusted of all of us.”

  “True. We all sort of laughed about the fact we’d probably never have to do an intervention on you because you have your shit together.”

  “So why am I here, trussed up and roasting in the sun like some B-movie plotline of mistaken identity?”

  “Because this intervention is for us. We failed you,” Brady said.

  I looked from one face to another, shocked by their hangdog expressions.

  “So you need to listen to us.”

  “Like I have a choice? And is this really coming from you guys? Or from Mom?” Loved my mom, but dammit, I didn’t want her pulling that “No fighting in this house—you apologize now” discipline like during our childhood, forcing us to say sorry when we didn’t mean it.

  “Actually, our dad approached us about it,” Jaxson said.

  Ash nodded. “Same with mine. Evidently Uncle Ward had words with his brothers Monday morning, how he was being ignored by them much like we’d been ignoring you.”

  The one good thing about Saturday night had been the time I’d spent with my dad. We’d been able to talk without interruptions and reconnect one on one. The cool thing was, it hadn’t been one-sided—a father passing down advice to his son. He’d opened up to me about his struggles with his brothers and the family business. We’d parted ways at dawn with a better understanding of each other and a reminder that all relationships need tending—especially those taken for granted.

  “That’s why we’re here. No more ignoring this or letting it fester.” Brady gestured to Nolan. “You’re up first.”

  “I’ve had my head up my ass for a while,” Nolan admitted. “Last year after Brady’s intervention, it didn’t occur to me right away that if Brady was working less, someone else had to pick up the slack at LI. It was . . . embarrassing to approach Ash and admit I’d been screwing around. For the last eight months I’ve worked to become the executive I’d been pretending to be. My social life was sacrificed. Somehow you ended up getting sacrificed too, cuz, and I’m sorry.”

  Ash said, “I’m guilty of having a corporate mentality—letting others handle the small things and I step in only as a last resort. I applied that to family stuff too and that’s pretty cold. I’m making a conscious effort to change that.” His eyes narrowed. “As far as my little sister? You’ve gotta stop rescuing her. I won’t apologize on her behalf, but I’ll apologize for being so damn oblivious this last year to the shit she was pulling.”

  I hated this pouring-out-feelings-and-spilling-your-guts crap. If they hadn’t tied me up, I would’ve already jumped overboard.

  That’s probably why they tied you up.

  But they weren’t done.

  Brady ran his hand through his hair. “I went through major life changes last year. I wouldn’t have found the love of my life if not for you all kicking my ass. But finding Lennox didn’t mean I had to lose what I already had. I pretty much blew all you guys off all the time to be with her. I won’t lie; my wife is my priority now. I just have to remind myself it doesn’t have to be all or nothing.” He smirked at me. “So fair warning, prepare to get your ass handed to you, little bro, since I’m reinstating our workout schedule.”

  I flashed my teeth at him. “Bring it.”

  “Jens, you’re up,” Brady said.

  Jensen looked at me and then aimed his focus across the lake. “I’d rather take a beating from the entire Broncos defensive line for three hours than talk about this stuff. But here goes. No surprise I’m gonna make this about me. In the last few years I’ve resented the expectations of being present at every Lund family gathering. Didn’t anyone realize I have a life, friends, women, teammates that are way more important than these stupid family things? So I figured if I did my time at the Lund compound, none of you had the right to expect anything more from me outside of that.” He snorted. “Talk about self-absorbed. But since we’re doing this, I’ll say the last year has been the loneliest of my life. None of my great new buddies know me like you guys do. Being with them is all about the partying, usually with me picking up the check. I realized during training camp that I was looking for something with these guys that I already had and I oughta be thankful for what I’ve always taken for granted.” His gaze met mine. “Sorry, Dubbya. You’ve been there for me without fail and I’m gonna figure out how to give it back to you.” A gleam entered his eyes. “Let’s hug it out now, bro.”

  “You touch me and I’m—”

  “It’s not like you can get away.” Then the smart-ass hugged me, while Brady, Nolan and Ash argued about who got to be the next to hug the “man of the hour.”

  Assholes.

  I’d really freakin’ missed them.

  “And last but not least . . . Jaxson?” Brady prompted.

  “At first I was feeling cocky, thinking I’m the least guilty in this situation,” Jaxson said. “But then it hit me that I’m probably the worst of the lot because I don’t know what’s been going on with you in the last two years. What really made me feel like crap was when Mimi asked me why you were so quiet and I gave her some lame-ass answer because I didn’t know. But she said it’s probably because no one listens to you anyway.”

  There was a punch in the gut.

  “We’ve all got our dramas and traumas. But through it all? We had this.” He gestured to the six of us. “Our folks had a lot to do with forcing that to start with, but we formed this family bond out of choice. We’ve always had each other’s backs. And even if one person is flailing, there are seven other members of this family to