by Kris Jayne
“Thank you,” he said.
She passed me a cup of plain black coffee and sat on the divan next to Carter, rambling about our afternoon plans and occasionally knocking her knee against his. He stiffened each time, clutching his coffee mug.
I knew what Marisa was about: flirting with a young, handsome guy for sport. What I didn’t know was what Carter was about.
“I didn’t realize you two were such good friends,” I said, eyeing my erstwhile girlfriend and my father’s surrogate son.
Dad sipped his decaf. “I’ve started working early here at home, and Carter stops by before we both head into the office. It helps to level set for the day. He’s at the house quite often.”
“Your house is on my way in,” Carter said with forced equanimity before leaning back and folding his arms, tilting his knees in Dad’s direction and away from Marisa. His foot tapped against the iron leg of the coffee table. Then, as if suddenly aware of the tick, he pulled his leg against the sofa and pressed his heel into the rug.
Carter Cross was nervous.
And he almost never got nervous.
I never liked him. He was overconfident and ingratiating, but he always seemed loyal. His presence, though annoying, kept Dad somewhat off my back.
Now, I reconsidered.
Carter focused on his boss, conversing smoothly in a deep voice that sounded like a guy selling you insurance. Only from a vantage point across from the threesome could you pick up how intently he avoided the open admiration flowing from Marisa’s eyes.
She knew I was here. Maybe it was for show.
I caught Carter’s eye for a second and glared. His eyes widened. He blinked and swallowed.
Dad might be blind to Marisa’s nature, but I wasn’t. And I’d be damned before I let some oily interloper make a fool of my father in his own house.
Marisa darted her eyes at me and sighed. “Well, I better let you guys get to it.” Her hand swept down Carter’s bicep. “Thanks so much for coming to see Gregory. We both appreciate it so much. You’re family, you know?”
Her effusion was so saccharine I worried for Carter’s blood sugar. Instead, she smoothed the sweater dress she wore over her tights, jumped up, and hustled out of the room.
“Yes. Let’s get to it,” Dad said. “I wanted to talk to you, Griffin, because this little health escapade has…accelerated some thoughts I had about the company.”
“Thoughts?” I asked.
“Yes, I’ve already spoken to the board and to Carter about my succession plans. Carter has been my number two man for a few years. And…” he paused again, lips pressed and tense. “I had assumed that my leaving the business was several years off.”
I’d always assumed Dad would drop dead before ever giving up the reins voluntarily. Rather than make that crass statement, I drank more coffee.
“I’m rethinking that now. I’m not going to live forever.” He stopped and let that declaration hang in the room as if the admission might shock us, then continued. “I need a strong contingency plan if something happens to me, and I’ve come to think that I might want to take more time to be with the children.”
A twinge of angst budded in my chest. “I don’t want to run the business, Dad.”
He burst into laughter, and my tension evaporated. “God, Son, I know that. I’m talking about Carter taking over as president. I’ll stay on as chairman of the board, of course.”
“I appreciate your faith in me, Gregory,” Carter grinned without any surprise.
“Why did you need to discuss this with me, then? I figured Carter would take over,” I said.
“Because I need your help selling the idea to the board. You and I know that Carter is the right man to be my permanent replacement, but several of the board members are older than I am. They’ve been there since your grandfather’s day, and they’re…old-fashioned.”
I chuckled, drily. “You mean they’re racist and don’t like the idea of a black guy leading the company.”
Carter jumped in to soften the language. “A few of the more influential board members see this as a family business, and they see me as an outsider.”
Underneath the calm exterior, his jaw still flexed as he spoke. He’d been there over ten years, making those old white men money and safeguarding a legacy that wasn’t built to be his. For some of them to think he was unfit because of his skin color had to piss him off, but he’d never say it. At least not to me or to Dad. Always the politician.
I threw up a hand. “How am I supposed to change their minds? I don’t even attend the meetings most of the time. If you need my vote, you already have it.”
Rather than deal with their old-school nonsense, I gave Dad my proxy and skipped the bullshit quarterly meetings.
Dad leaned forward in his seat. “You don’t have to change their minds, and it’s not the entire board. But some of them have floated the idea of your coming back or expressed concern that your birthright was being…usurped. I think if you were here for the next board meeting and showed Carter your support, it might go a long way to easing their minds—or at least letting them know that you are involved and behind this new direction.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” I said.
I might not like Carter personally, and that vibe with Marisa disturbed me. However, I knew he was competent and would do right by the business. Beyond that, I cared less and less about what went on Kelso Commercial Real Estate. I had my own career.
“What happens when Gregory Jr. gets older? He might want to work in the family business,” I offered. At this point, it was hard to imagine. The little boy could barely separate his thumb from his face.
Carter jumped in again. “I understand that this has always been a family venture. We can cross that bridge when we get there.”
Dad nodded. “After all, there’s no guarantee Junior is going to be any more interested than you are,” he added with resignation. “What I care about most is leaving the business in safe hands. That’s my professional legacy. Our family legacy is something else. I’ve grown accustomed to that. And, anyway, Marisa was right. Carter’s become family. He’s like a second son to me.”
Dad looked pridefully at Carter, who nodded and smiled. “And you’re like a father to me.”
His voice clouded with something unspoken. I knew that Carter’s own father had died when he was young. The obvious emotion between him and Dad both touched and aggravated me. I didn’t want the job or the business or to be here dealing with stodgy, old bigots, but the understanding between them and the admiration in my father’s eyes—those taunted me.
Having secured my promise of support, Dad laid out the plan for my attending the board meeting in April and for me to reach out to board members in advance. Then, Carter gave my hand the pressing-the-flesh, kissing-babies shake of a Presidential candidate.
Dad walked him out, then came back to the study. “I know you have your own business and you need to finish things at Lumina, but I hoped you might spend some time here in the next few months. By the end of the year, I’d like to hand things over to Carter.”
Doing all of it would be difficult, but the more I thought about it, I could always leave my job sooner rather than later. Without that on my plate, I could work on my own project and help Dad and Carter with whatever they needed.
Delilah had been telling me I should pull the trigger and quit. Once again, she was probably right—especially now.
“Maybe I can shuffle some of my responsibilities and get back here soon after the New Year,” I said.
“Thank you. It would help smooth the transition. Some on the board hold out hope that you and I will work out our difficulties and then you’d show an interest joining the company.” Dad laughed again, staring.
Did members of the board have that hope or did he?
I grimaced. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Which?” His smile faded.
“My coming back here and running the company.”
&n
bsp; “And the other?”
I sighed. “What’s done is done. I don’t want to let it keep me away from Grace and Gregory Jr.”
“And you and me?” The edge of hope in his voice brought me to near physical pain.
“I don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I,” he said.
Then apologize. The words shouted in my head, which started to squeeze with old tension.
Dad coughed. “I made mistakes, but I never intended to hurt you.”
That’s what he always said. It was as good as I was ever going to get. It wasn’t enough, but I could pretend it was for a few months, so he could get what he wanted. I’d released enough of my anger to do that, and he’d have to live with it. As long as Marisa was around working her angles, we’d probably never be okay.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and decided not to have a headache. “It’s time for me to leave Lumina anyway. With Ronald blabbing all over, I should step away before it gets out. I can come back here for a couple of months and get familiar with the board again, and,” the words stuck in my throat, “back Carter or whatever needs to be done.”
Dad’s skin flushed, and he perked up. “Thank you, Son. I better get up and get ready for Gregory Jr.’s birthday cake.”
“Should you be eating cake?” I asked.
“It was some angina, not a diabetic stroke, Griffin, Jesus,” he boomed.
We stood and walked out. Dad followed behind me and slapped a hand on my shoulder. My step faltered for a second, but I didn’t stop or turn around.
“Seriously, Griffin. Thank you.”
Chapter 7
Griffin
“Happy birthday, dear Gregory! Happy birthday to you!”
Everyone sang in unison, and my tiny half-brother unclutched himself from the no-longer-vacationing nanny long enough to extinguish his three candles—probably from as much spittle as air. We all pretended the cake wasn’t now covered in pathogens, and Jacinda began slicing.
After cake in the kitchen, we moved to the living room for presents. Dad sat on the couch with Gregory Jr. on his lap opening his presents. The newly minted three-year-old got a new Lego set from me, a Play-Doh playset from his sister, a remote-control car from his mother, and a savings bond from our father. Jacinda put batteries in the car remote, so he could take it for a spin outside with her and Gregory Sr.
I stayed inside with my hot coffee, watching through the window.
“Hey, Griffin,” Grace tugged at the hem of my sweater.
“Grace, hay is for horses,” Marisa corrected and smoothed her daughter’s hair.
“Umm, Griffin.” Grace’s cheeks pinked, and she squirmed and twisted away from her mother.
I bent over and tapped her on the nose. “Yes, Princess Grace?”
She frowned and shook her head. “I’m not a princess.”
“Every little girl is a princess.” The reply came automatically from my paltry understanding of little girls.
Grace wasn’t having it. “Can I be the queen? The princess doesn’t do anything.”
“Of course, you want to be in charge? We’ll make that happen. I like your drive. You’ll make Dad proud.”
“Daddy says I’m his mini-me.” Her toothy grin exploded into giggles.
I bowed again, this time tapping her upturned chin. “Queen Grace, is there something I can do for you?”
“Are you going to be here next week?” she asked.
“I leave tomorrow to go back home for New Year’s. Why?”
“Oh.” Her falling face wrung out my insides. “I have gymnastics, and I’m doing my new floor routine. Mommy and Daddy are coming.”
“What day is it, your highness?”
“I go on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s Thursday.”
“Thursday next week?”
Her riot of curls bobbed up and down.
“I’ll make sure I’m back.”
She jumped and smacked my face between her hands. “I can do a full twist on floor and a back handspring on the balance beam.”
I had no idea what that meant, but her eyes flashed with pride, so I had to assume I was supposed to be impressed. “Then, I definitely need to be back in time. I can’t even do a cartwheel.”
“Oh, my God, Griffin! Everyone can do a cartwheel.” Horror twisted Grace’s voice into a squeak.
I shook my head. “Nope. I’m hopelessly terrible.”
Grace grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door. I set my coffee on a coaster on a side table and let her lead me outside.
“I’m going to teach you,” she declared.
An hour later, I’d done enough round-offs to have me sweating and only completed one cartwheel sufficient for my new gymnastics instructor.
“You are bad,” Grace said as we came back inside. Gregory Jr. had already gone to his room for a nap as had Gregory Sr. It was a toss-up who grumbled about it more.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be encouraging,” I whined.
“Hay is for horses, Griffin, and if you want to get better, I can’t always be nice.” Grace smacked her lips and glared at me like a four-star general whipping a pathetic new recruit into shape.
Good Lord, who was coaching her?
“What about having fun?”
She didn’t miss a beat before answering me with champion determination. “You’ll have fun when you’re excellent.”
I swept her up and began tickling her belly. “Or you can just have fun anyway even when you’re terrible.”
She laughed until she was gasping and tears ran down her cheeks, and she finally screamed, “Put me down! Put me down!”
So I did. “See! You have to let loose.”
“You are so goofy,” Grace exclaimed.
“That’s what everyone tells me.” I dropped onto the sofa, not minding her assessment. At thirty-four, maybe I needed to be more serious, but at six, she definitely needed to be more goofy.
Marisa trailed us into the family room. “Grace, head upstairs and have Jacinda change your clothes. You’re covered in grass. And maybe take a break. Read or something.”
“But me and Griffin were going to have hot cocoa,” she complained.
“Griffin and I, and you’ll have to do that some other time. You’ve had enough sugar.” Marisa patted her daughter on the bottom. “Scoot.”
Grace ran up the stairs, shouting, “Make sure you practice,” over her shoulder.
I collapsed against the couch cushions and closed my eyes, exhausted. “I’m not sure I ever had that much energy.”
“You used to,” Marisa said and sat next to me. I turned, leaning against the arm of the sofa with my knee lifted between us and my arm on the back of the couch.
Grace’s mother continued, “You’re good with her. I wouldn’t have expected that.”
“Did you think I’d be an asshole to a six-year-old?” I asked.
“No, ease up.” She pulled a lock of her streaked hair behind one ear, and her head tilted with curiosity. “I never saw you as the fatherly type.”
“People grow up. Did you ever expect yourself to be the motherly type?” I knew the answer to that question before I asked it, and my tone was sharper than intended.
“Point taken, but I love my kids. Everything I do, I do to make sure they don’t have to face what I did as a kid.”
“Dad would never let them be in the situation that you were. You can trust that.” I let out a heavy sigh. “You probably hitched your wagon to the safer guy.”
She gave me another one of her sweet, sad smiles that made nervous. “You wouldn’t have either. I couldn’t see that then. Do you ever imagine what life would have been like if I’d accepted your proposal?”
I lowered my voice, “Which one? You rejected me twice.”
“We never talked about that,” Marisa whispered and flicked a glance over her shoulder at the back stairs.
“We talked the other night. It’s done. I don’t think about what could have been different.”
&nbs
p; That was only partly true. I thought about nothing else for the first year after Dad and Marisa married, but over time, I was grateful. Being back in North Carolina had me wondering all over again. Not because I wanted her—I didn’t trust her—but looking at their life. I tried to imagine myself in my father’s place with two kids and a wife. It was like peering into an alternate universe.
Marisa looked at the stairs again. “I think about it—especially lately.”
“I know y’all had a scare, but he’s going to be fine. If anything, it’s been a good reminder to him that he needs to take care of himself. As stubborn as he is, he’ll live to a hundred.”
She didn’t seem comforted by my words. “Part of me knows you’re right, but still, it’s nice to know you’ll be there for them if they need a father figure.”
Marisa put her hand on mine on the back of the sofa. Her thumb grazed my knuckles, and I pulled my arm back, sitting up straighter. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” She rolled her eyes. “God, after all this time, I can’t believe you’d be so jumpy around me.”
“I’m not jumpy.” I spoke in measured tones to illustrate my point, while she huffed.
“You are, and it’s uncomfortable. Your dad notices it, too. You’re going to have learn to be around me without being so reactive.”
“I’m reacting because you keep putting your hands on me,” I said, keeping my voice even.
“I’m a touchy-feely person, Griff. You know that. I hoped that you having a new girlfriend might keep all of that under control.”
“What?” My tone pitched higher.
“Your feelings for me.”
I cackled with an unattractive snort. “Why do I feel like I’m being gaslighted right now? I don’t have feelings for you. If anything, being with Delilah has shown me how little feelings I may have ever had for you other than a possessiveness borne out of ego and pride. That wasn’t good for either of us. It’s why I have no regrets.”
Marisa gasped. “How could you say that?”
“Why would you care? Didn’t you just get through telling me you wanted us to comfortable around each other? If there’s any issue in that regard, it’s not mine.”
