by Brea Viragh
A metaphor for my life. Good things on the horizon. The old River didn’t like to look for positives. She was mired in guilt over hating her job and taking care of her father when his health failed. This was me turning over a new leaf to go with my new prospects for happiness.
Pulling in, I threw the car into park and noted my mother’s vehicle still in the driveway. I’d purposely stayed out later than usual hoping to avoid conversation. She’d been harder than normal lately. Less willing to talk. Less willing to listen.
I knew it had something to do with me continuing to see a certain light-haired someone. In, might I add, a completely platonic way. It was the one sticking point between me and the important people in my life. Trista wasn’t happy. Weston wasn’t happy. Finn was…content enough. And there I stood, in the middle of three forces who were so much stronger than me.
With a sigh, I slammed the car door and walked toward the house.
“You’re home late,” Trista stated. “I didn’t want to leave for work until I knew you were safe. You couldn’t have called or texted?”
I didn’t expect the attack the moment I walked through the door, but I should have. Sighing, I hung my coat on a hook and closed the door, let my purse drop to the floor along with the slew of study materials inside.
“I’m sorry. I was volunteering and I lost track of time. The phone died somewhere along the way.”
My mother puttered around the kitchen, dressed in her work clothes and neon safety vest. “You’ve been spending a lot of your time there. Too much. I’m worried about you.”
“You’re worried about me doing good? Let’s not rehash the old argument again. I’m tired of hearing it. I’m plain tired.”
“I’m worried about the quality of people there. Can you blame me?” Trista spared a final glance around the countertop before grabbing a banana. A snack to tide her over. “It’s a mother’s right to worry.”
“Yes, I can blame you.” I didn’t need to fake the yawn, closing my eyes against the force of it. Arms stretched overhead while I struggled to keep my wits.
“You were there all this time with him?”
“Yes. Generally, when I say I’m going to the rehab house, I’m working with Finn.”
“How does Weston feel about that?”
He’d better not say another thing. Which had been pretty easy for him lately. “I’m not sure. We haven’t been talking much. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
It was the same disagreement, reworked to the point where it lost all flavor and texture. I pretended as if the constant bickering didn’t bother me.
“I passed my Virginia Real Estate Salesperson Licensing Exam, by the way.” I flashed the paperwork at her, trying to get a smile. “You should be proud. Sixty hours in three weeks is no small feat. Now I can apply for the license and get to work. Garth said it takes most people over a month to pass the test.”
We both knew what I didn’t say. That the moment I started to work was the first step in getting out of the house.
Trista relied on the constant access to me, even when neither of us was in the same room. It made her feel closer to me. Closer to the daughter she’d let go.
She whirled to face me and I felt a flash of delight at effectively shifting the subject away from Finn. “Of course I’m proud of you,” she exclaimed. “I want you to find your happy. If real estate is it, then by all means.”
She leaned against the support column separating the kitchen from the living room. It was a far cry from her original argument. I guess Loretta had found someone else to fill the position on the factory assembly line.
“I sense a but coming on,” I said. It was like a sixth sense.
“But nothing. I want you to do what you love. If it means throwing a perfectly decent work proposal in my face when I pulled strings to get you a position at the plant, so be it.”
“Stop trying to act like a parent.” I crossed my arms. “We’ve spent too much time apart. Our chance is gone.”
“Excuse me for trying to make up for lost years,” Trista answered, exasperated.
It wasn’t like me to give in to temptation often. Call it the stress of my studies, the stress of watching my relationship with Weston disintegrate. The stress of thinking about Finn more than I should.
Frustration reared up, and for once I snapped it off the leash and watched it bite through our tentative peace. “I had a great parent, singular, and he’s dead. He taught me to be confident in my decisions. Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”
Trista winced, the way I knew she would. The way I wanted her to. “Please don’t bring Ralph into this. I feel bad enough.”
“Why? Because you drove him away?”
“He would have said that.”
“He didn’t. He was nice when he spoke about you. I have enough knowledge from the years I lived with you both to form my own opinion.”
“You have his same obstinate mule-headedness.”
I took off my shoes, rubbing the aching soles of my feet. “Please, let’s not. I don’t think you want me to burst into tears. I’ve had a long week, and I deserve some time to relax.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “You relax. I’m about to head out.”
“Running away?”
“Only you would see it in such a light.” Trista sighed. “Will we ever be on the same page, River?”
“I want to be.”
“Then why won’t you let me in?”
“I live here under the same roof with you. We’re in each other’s lives whether I like it or not.”
“Come here and sit.” Trista gestured toward the table and the plate of brownies in the center. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”
I made a point of walking in a circle around her, reaching for the brownies. “You should get going.”
“It can wait. You can’t.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ve got my life on the right path now. You don’t have to concern yourself with my welfare.”
“Tell me about your studies. Tell me what is going on with you. I feel like there’s a rift between us.”
“Oh, really? A rift where you constantly berate me for all the things I do? Or don’t do? I’m happy to be here, and thrilled with the prospect of a job.” I grabbed a brownie and chomped down. “There’s no rift. I’ve been busy,” I told her around a mouthful.
“I’m glad you’re doing all right. I want you to know I’m here.” A soft grin slipped across my mother’s face.
“I appreciate the offer, I do. But I’m grown and I’ve gotten good at taking care of myself.”
Trista paused for a long moment before nodding once. “Yes, I know.” She rose with a groan.
At the moment, with exhaustion tracking me down and winning the race, I had no desire to have a relationship with anyone or anything except my bed. I didn’t have time for my mother’s whining.
I guess it spoke to our basic natures. Neither one of us were willing to bend.
“Oh well, I guess I’m off. I’d feel bad taking up more of your time.” She slapped the top of the table, a punctuation to her announcement. The passive–aggressive dig hung in the air between us. “Why don’t you take the night off, since you’re stressed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean stay inside. Take a day where you aren’t worried about everyone else.”
“Spare me the trip to the shrink’s office, Mother. I can’t stay in tonight. Weston already said he has plans for us. He told me to meet him at nine. It would be rude to cancel.”
Trista stopped mid-tirade, a slow pause to make me wonder what was going on inside her head while the gears fought to click into place. “No, you wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. He’s a wonderful man, River.”
“Sure. I always say the same. Weston is a wonderful man.”
“I want to make sure you realize how lucky you are that the two of you are together. It’s not every day one catches the mayor’s eye. I’m so proud of y
ou.”
“Wow, I’m glad you could be proud of me for finding a man,” I replied nastily. “What about acing my real estate test and finding a job? Or moving back here after Dad died? No?”
Trista sobered. “You know what I mean. I’m damn proud of you for those things. I’m also happy you found someone who can be there for you. Someone who is respected by the community.”
Ah, now I got it. Another zing at my volunteer work. Or rather the person my volunteer work focused around. “Whatever you say.” I felt like I’d been run over by a train then scraped off the railroad ties.
My answer, though not satisfactory, appeased Trista enough to have her nodding and walking away to grab her coat.
Pushing the curtains aside, I watched the bright red taillights of her car disappear down the hill. The hum from the ancient motor had long died away before I moved. Trudged toward my bedroom with the zest of a turtle on sleep medication.
Although Weston had no way of knowing, it still felt like an insult that he insisted on having dinner tonight. Not insisted, outright demanded.
“He’s a wonderful man,” I repeated out loud. Yes, I knew it. Logically he ticked off all the boxes.
With the exception of one clear difference: Weston was good. Everyone said so. It made me wonder, with some annoyance, why an entirely different face filled my thoughts.
I was tired enough to have a million and one excuses running through my head. Cranky enough to grab the phone and stare at his name on the speed dial list. Well-trained enough to sigh and put the phone down before hopping in the shower.
Now, on top of everything else, I had to get ready for a date. One the old River would not have hesitated to keep. I wondered what would happen if I canceled.
I’d probably get a world of nagging from my mother. Weston would have my head for canceling on him a second time. I’d get the smug I-knew-you-preferred-me look from Finn, who might claim I’d proven him right.
We couldn’t have him gloating.
Talk about maddening. Why was I reluctant to go out with Weston? Did it even have anything to do with him? Or everything to do with me?
In the end, my choice was clear. I was prepared to do whatever was needed to make my place in Heartwood.
I pampered and primped, lathered and lavished attention on myself, gathering my thoughts for the coming evening. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to brush off the awkward encounter with my mother, as well as Finn putting his hand out to capture mine before I’d left.
He’d told me I should stay with him and ditch the date. When hell froze over, I’d told him, followed by incoherent mumbling when he’d refused to let go of my hand. He’d told me I was wasting my life pining for a sucker in a tie. Better a sucker in a tie, I’d told him, than a slutty therapist in scrubs.
I’d ended up dashing for the door, with the sound of his laughter echoing in my ears.
Forcing my eyes up to the mirror, energy draining with each moment I spent standing there, I remembered the contact. There was no place for Finn here. Not when I had a date to dress for. And not when Weston deserved my full attention.
Later in the evening, wrapped in a tiny black shift with matching jacket, I met my boyfriend for a late dinner. We drove in near silence, a blindfold over my eyes adding an element of surprise to our date. He wouldn’t tell me the where or the why.
We pulled to a stop. Weston removed the blindfold and I blinked at the difference in light. The façade was recognizable from a distance. It towered over the trees in two stories of glass and stone.
“You’re taking me to The Point?”
The building had once been the mountain getaway of a Miami family who thought their wealth meant they needed property in each of the lower fifty. It didn’t qualify as a mansion but more of an Appalachian villa or winery. The surrounding acres were breathtaking in summer and fall, with most diners choosing alfresco courtyard seats to enjoy the views.
“It’s where we went on our first date,” he told me. We stood in front of the restaurant, a crescent moon riding high over the tree line. His fingers squeezed my shoulders for a brief moment before releasing.
“Yeah, I remember. What made you decide this was a special occasion? Oh God, did I forget an anniversary? A birthday?”
“Nothing of the sort,” he assured me.
“This is because of my real estate exam, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps.”
“Are you going to be distant all night?” I asked when he held the door open.
Dark eyes met mine before darting toward the host stand. “Have I been distant? I’m sorry, there are too many things on my mind. It’s been a crazy week at the office.”
“I understand. I haven’t exactly been good with keeping in touch. I’m sorry, too.”
“No need to apologize. Let’s have a nice dinner.” He wiggled his elbow and motioned for me to take it. “There’s much to discuss tonight.”
“Oh? I’m intrigued.”
The entrance foyer offered marble floors leading back to a wall of windows where inside diners could also enjoy the views. I’d been open-mouthed and gawking the first time Weston brought me here, hardly having time to take in the details.
We were escorted to our table within seconds. A cozy two-top next to a roaring fire to beat away the chill of the March evening.
“This is wonderful,” I exclaimed. “I had no idea you’d planned such a special night out. I do appreciate your taking the time to celebrate my new career.” To think I’d been a split second away from calling him to cancel.
Weston tipped his head. “You deserve it. Congratulations, by the way. I don’t believe you told me about passing your exam.”
I hadn’t? So why the hell were we here? And who, besides my mother, had I told instead? Then it hit me. Finn.
I scrambled for an acceptable answer. “I could have sworn I had. Anyway, once I get my license in the mail, a position is waiting for me at the real estate office. They like my spunk, or so the guy said.” Again with the spunk. I was on a roll. I should change my middle name. River Spunky Shayne. Yup, it had a definite ring.
Weston managed a smile. “You are a bright spot to have around. Anyone would be thrilled to have you.”
“You didn’t say anything to get them to hold the position for me, right?” I teased. “I wouldn’t want to get the job because of a favor.”
Weston shook his head and stared at a passing server. Luckily, he was male. “No, you did this on your own. Besides, I’ve been preoccupied with things at the office. Too many balls in the air to call in favors.”
I settled the linen napkin on my lap. “Good to know.”
A waiter miraculously materialized with a decanter of wine before whisking away toward the other end of the dining room. Weston and I spent an awkward ten minutes anticipating our appetizers with sporadic small talk taking the place of our usual easy conversation.
“How are things at the rehab house?” Weston finally asked.
I’d wondered when he would broach the subject. “They’re fine. Finn’s new physical therapist is a miracle worker. She’s got him walking again. Yesterday he made it a foot past the bed. You wouldn’t believe the difference.”
Weston must have caught on to the slight bitterness there. “You wanted to be the one to help him.”
“I did help him,” I argued, and snapped my napkin for emphasis. “She piggybacked on my hard work. The funny thing is, I distinctly remember hearing about how no other therapists were willing to work with him. I wonder where she came from.”
“Someone must have reprocessed his paperwork.” Weston made no attempt to hide his cheerful expression.
I scowled in response. “Did you make the call?”
“Me? No. Probably the woman behind the desk.”
It was a blatant lie, and I played along. “June?”
“Why not? You’ve been going on and on about his unwillingness to walk. But I don’t want to talk about your volunteer work. I’ve heard enough ab
out Mr. Price to last me a lifetime. I only asked out of courtesy.”
My brows drew together as I tried to solve the puzzle. There was a distance to Weston, one which hadn’t been there the last time we spoke. A casual yet reserved set to his shoulders.
“Fine. I spent enough time there to have my fill of it.”
“Maybe your new career will be a good thing,” Weston told me. “A way for you to get out and meet different people. The volunteering is great, mind you, but you’re holed up with a known lady’s man and rabble rouser.”
“I don’t think anyone uses the term rabble rouser anymore, dear.” It fit on the same list as swindler.
“Yes, well, we both know how he is. We don’t need to speak about it anymore.”
“Noted. How has your day been?” I asked.
“Well…”
There was the red flag: the reluctance in his normally sure tone. “The last time you hesitated, we ended up fighting about my public image. Please tell me you didn’t bring me to a fancy restaurant to talk about it again. I’m not sure I can take the criticism.”
It didn’t pair well with a roaring fire and duck liver pâté.
“No, public opinion has been favorable. Seems you’ve managed to do a good job at the rehab house,” he told me, finally meeting my eyes.
I quirked a brow. “How wonderful.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I’m reporting the news to you. And you saved me the other week with the men from Bower and Copeland.”
Ah, Mark and James. I wondered which one was Bower and which was Copeland. Maybe they’d hyphenate. “My pleasure.”
“I do appreciate your help, and I’m not sure I’ve told you enough.” Weston paused, and I filled the space with a suspicious glower.
“Though it wasn’t wanted? Though you gave me hell and looked like you wished I’d disappear on the spot?” I didn’t mind needling him when it was warranted.
“I thought you were going to pop out of your shirt,” he told me with a grin. “Or your jeans, either one.”
I indulged in a chuckle before taking a small sip of water. “Happy to be of assistance. Now, will you tell me what’s bugging you? I didn’t think re-elections were happening until next year.”
