“Ms. Jennings? My name is April Sumners. I was given your name by my sister, Cara Dolanger.”
Phoebe felt her stomach tighten and her palms moisten as the voice continued.
“I saw the portrait you did of Cara and her family, and your work is exquisite. I would like to hire you to do one of my father-in-law, Howard Sumners.”
Howard Sumners? The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“He was a professional baseball player in his youth, a driving force in the Red Cross throughout his adulthood. He’s getting up in years and we’d like to commission you to capture him…as he is today.”
Phoebe shoved aside the mountainous pile of bills on her desk in search of a pen.
“I’d like to set up an appointment with you for this week to talk particulars. I’m anxious to see if you can fit us in.”
Fit her in? Was she serious?
“Do you know how many people on that side of town will be tripping over themselves to commission you to paint portraits of their family now? You could rent five buildings.”
Tate’s words played through her mind, and the urge to call and tell him the news was overpowering. But she couldn’t.
Not now. Not ever. He’d made that perfectly clear.
With a long sigh, Phoebe wrote down the woman’s number, then crossed to the window, an overwhelming sense of loneliness bubbling up inside. She’d been waiting all her life to make it as an artist. Yet now that it was finally happening, she had no one to share it with—no one who truly understood just how much this dream had always meant to her.
Except one.
Leaning her head against the cool windowpane, she looked out into the moonlit sky.
“I did it, Gram. I really did it,” she whispered, and the tears finally began to flow.
Chapter Fourteen
“Welcome back, boss. We’ve missed you around here the past few days.”
Tate looked up from his desk and nodded a greeting at his secretary as she strode across his office, a stack of mail in one hand, a cup of steaming coffee in the other.
“When your partners—ooh, I love how that sounds—told me you were taking a few days off, I nearly fainted. I’d actually convinced myself you didn’t understand the concept of vacation.” Regina placed the mail in the inbox on the right-hand corner of the desk, the coffee on the coaster to his left. After sweeping her hand in the direction of the mail, she busied herself by checking the few plants in the room. “Most of those are invites to one shindig or another. One, though, is a thank-you note from the Multiple Sclerosis Association for your work on the Innovation House, and another is a résumé from a student in his third year at Ohio State. Young Jake is looking for an opportunity to shadow you for a few weeks.”
Tate knew he should be paying attention, getting caught up on everything he’d missed during his self-imposed sulk-athon, but he simply couldn’t focus on much of anything. Even something as mundane as invitations and thank-you notes.
“Great. Thanks. I’ll take a look.” He ran a hand through his hair, then dropped his head into his hands, the area behind his temples beginning to throb.
“Boss?”
He’d thought of little else besides Phoebe over the past three days. Making love with her had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before. And thanks to his temper tantrum on Sunday morning, he wouldn’t be experiencing it again anytime soon.
“Boss?”
He was still furious about the letter and the painful realities it had all but confirmed. Yet, in rational moments, he couldn’t help but see another glaring reality….
Phoebe Jennings hadn’t meant any harm by delivering that letter. She’d simply done what any decent person would have.
“Boss!”
Regina’s sharp tone made his head snap upward in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
“I couldn’t have asked it better myself.” His secretary marched across the room and poured a glass of water from the pitcher she left on the corner table each morning. Retracing her steps, she divvied the liquid between a potted violet and a fern, put down the glass, then faced him with hands on hips.
“You lost me, Regina.”
“That’s obvious. Where were you just then?”
He stared at her. “When?”
“Two seconds ago.” She pulled a cloth from her pocket and ran it across the top three shelves along the east wall of his office.
“Uh, right here. In my office. Trying to figure out what you’re talking about?”
“No, you weren’t. You barely even acknowledged me. You’ve been off in la-la land since I walked through that door. What gives, boss?”
“Nothing.” He picked up his mug and took a long gulp, the liquid searing his throat.
“Then why did you just snip at me and do your dandiest to scorch a hole through your neck?”
“I did not snip, and I like my coffee scalding.”
She stopped dusting and shook the cloth in the air. “I give up. You’re perfectly fine. Next topic.”
“Thank you.” He waved at the steam rising from his mug before taking another sip.
“I have to tell you…I absolutely adored Phoebe. You’ve found a real winner in that one, boss.”
He thumped his cup on the desk again and leaned his head against the back of his leather chair, the pain in his head intensifying.
“Did I say something wro—Wait! Is that the problem? Did something go…What did you do?” She sank down in the chair in front of Tate’s desk and stared at him, dumbfounded.
If she wasn’t so darn perceptive he’d consider protesting her assumption that he’d done something wrong. But it would be an exercise in denial. He knew that as well as she did.
“Not now, Regina.”
“Is that why you took the past two days off?”
He arched his eyebrow. “Regina…”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave you alone.” With an air of dejection, she stood and turned on her heel, heading for the door. When she reached her destination she looked over her shoulder, her ultra-efficient-secretary persona fully engaged. “Buzz me if you need something, sir.”
As the door closed behind her, he considered calling out, apologizing for his behavior, but he didn’t. He simply wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about the dark cloud pressing down on his heart.
Not even Regina.
Ignoring his mail, Tate spun his chair in a half circle and eyed the latest set of blueprints unfurled across his drafting table. The Cedarville School District had been hemming and hawing over its structural wish list for the new elementary school for months now, adding this special lab and that state-of-the-art whatever. Yet every time he thought they were finally ready to proceed, they decided to add something different or delete last month’s must-have.
Normally, he rolled with the punches, enjoying the opportunity to consider new thoughts and needs. But it was wearing thin.
He was sick of drawings that were, essentially, cookie cutter buildings. There were just so many things you could do with a front entrance and windows.
Designing the Innovation House, however, had been a dream come true. He’d been allowed to follow his imagination, with the only parameters being that there were no parameters at all.
And today was the day the various craftsmen and designers came together to admire the finished project before it was unveiled to the public over the coming weekend. He’d been looking forward to it for months—that is, until Sunday. Now, nothing seemed to hold any allure. Not his clients, not Innovation House and certainly not Cedarville Elementary School.
His office extension rang and was picked up immediately by Regina, who seemed to be handling all calls in lieu of having to deal with him again. Not that he could blame her.
He owed her an apology. Spinning around one more time, he looked at his desk phone and noticed the steady light beside line two.
As he waited, he grabbed a long slender tube from beneath his desk and uncapped it, removing an entirely different se
t of plans. Slowly, he unrolled the paper and spread it out across the draft table, his eyes riveted on the sketch he’d been monkeying around with for a week. It was a project he hadn’t shared with anyone.
He glanced over at the phone, noticed line two was still lit. Who on earth?
Shrugging, he turned back to his sketch, losing himself in assorted tweaks and changes as morning gave way to the lunch hour.
“Boss?”
He looked from the door to the phone and back again. “Oh, you’re off.”
“Off what?” Regina remained in the hallway, her head the only part of her body visible through the opening.
He pointed at the phone with his pencil. “I wanted to tell you something, but every time I looked, line two was lit. Everything okay at home?”
The woman’s eyebrows scrunched momentarily. “Everything’s fine. I didn’t get any personal ca—” Her eyebrows suddenly reversed direction and she stepped into his office, still remaining as far from Tate as humanly possible. “What did you need?”
“Why are you standing all the way over there?” He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. “Come, sit. Relax. It’s almost lunchtime, right?”
“Will I be beaten?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not sure if it’s safe to come any closer yet.” Regina shifted from foot to foot, a slight grin on her face despite the seriousness she was going for.
“Overstating things just a little, aren’t we?”
“No.”
He dropped his pencil and stood. “I’m sorry, Regina. I just had a rough weekend and I’m not ready to talk about it yet. When I am, you’ll be the first one I come to.”
She held up her hands. “No need.”
“What?”
“There’s no need to tell me.”
He stared at her. “Since when? You always want to know what’s going on.”
“I said you didn’t need to tell me.” She met his eyes with a look that begged to be challenged, and he knew it was best to leave well enough alone. Besides, if he were in her shoes, and she’d been snippy with him when he was only trying to help, he wouldn’t care about the source of her mood after a certain point, either.
“Anyway, you better get going or you’ll be late.” She leaned across the front of his desk and began neatening the area, moving frames and picking up stray paper clips.
“Late for what?”
“The Innovation House event. You are going, right?”
“Oh, that.” He leaned back in his chair “I don’t think so. I’m not really in the mood.”
The sound of air being sucked through his secretary’s mouth was unmistakable. “But you have to,” she barked, her cheeks reddening. “I mean…I just mean you worked so hard on that home. You need to go. Besides, maybe a change in scenery will be good for you. Help you relax a little.”
“Maybe.” He glanced down at the plans in front of him, then back up again. “But I’ve got that meeting I scheduled with the city planning department at three and—”
“It’s only noon now. You really need to go. The people from the association expect to meet you.”
“Okay, okay. If you really think I should.”
“Off you go. Now.”
“Is there a fire I don’t know about?” he asked as he reached for his suit jacket.
“I…I just don’t want you to be late. This is a big deal, you know? I don’t want one of the other partners to come in here and start jabbering so much you miss it completely.”
His partners jabbered? That wasn’t a verb he’d use in conjunction with either one of them, but he let it go. Regina was right. He needed to attend. If for no other reason than to be a team player—for a worthy cause.
TATE WALKED THROUGH the first floor in awe. He’d known what Innovation House was going to look like—he’d designed it himself. He’d even seen various stages during the construction phase, consulting about his blueprints when needed. But to walk through it as a completed home was like nothing he could have imagined.
Each room had been decorated by one of a half dozen interior designers in the area, professionals who had donated their services and products for the chance to help a charity and gain the attention of both the media and potential customers.
Tate had taken a gamble by going with twelve-foot ceilings on the first floor, but it had paid off. Any worry over the size impacting a homey feel was eliminated as he walked through the library, with its mahogany shelves, roll-along ladder, old-fashioned chandelier and cozy armchairs. The kitchen, a larger version of his own, simply offered more space for enjoying a family meal.
Slowly, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked through each and every bedroom. The wall-mounted mirror that did double duty as a flat-screen television was a touch he’d never seen in a master bedroom before. The his and her closets off the master bath were state-of-the-art, with revolving shelves, hidden bays and permanent cedar storage. The children’s playroom was one of his favorite spaces in the whole house, thanks to the built-in loft beds to accommodate sleepovers and a raised area that could serve as a stage for make-believe shows.
Along the way he shook hands with various decorators, artists and construction workers. And couldn’t help but wish Phoebe was here to see it. In fact, Innovation House would be a fantastic place to showcase her portraits.
“She’d be booked a year ahead if her work was in here…” His voice trailed off as he realized he’d spoke aloud. Looking around, he shrugged away the questioning glance from a decorative painter he barely knew, before making a beeline for the third floor.
Unlike its wooden counterpart between the first and second floors, the staircase leading to the third floor was covered in the plushest of carpets, his feet leaving indents with each step he took. Rounding the newel post at the top, he slowed his pace to allow a disabled woman and her husband to exit the elevator into the rec room.
When he’d first drawn the elevator, Tate had considered removing it again for the simple fact that few private residences had one. But when he considered the foundation’s “anything goes” attitude, he’d left it alone.
Now, knowing it could provide individuals access to a room they might not normally be able to enjoy, he realized he’d made a good decision.
He watched with admiration as the woman advanced, carrying herself with poise despite the cane in her hand. Her husband, smartly dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo, walked beside her, his hand gently placed against her lower back. They were a neat couple, Tate decided.
“Why don’t you go ahead? I don’t want to slow you down.” The woman, clad in a simple summer dress, pushed a piece of graying hair from her face and smiled at him.
“No. Please. I’m not in any rush.” Tate gestured for them to go ahead, his gaze moving from the woman’s face to her husba—
“Young man, are you okay?”
He knew the woman was speaking, sensed her mouth moving and her eyes widening with worry. But he couldn’t focus on anything except the man staring back at him.
“Hello, Tate.”
He swallowed, an effort made difficult by the tightening in his throat and the thumping of his heart. “Dad.”
“Tate? This is your son?” The woman stepped forward and embraced him with her right arm, seemingly unaware of the way Tate’s body tensed at her touch. “I had no idea you were going to be here. How wonderful.”
“That’s not the word I’d use,” he finally said.
“Lorraine, why don’t you go ahead and tour this floor on your own? I’ll meet you downstairs later. My son and I need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say,” Tate snapped.
“Then you can listen.”
He watched as his father kissed the woman on her cheek and then motioned for Tate to follow him to the fourth-floor deck. “It might not be the most private of places, but at least we’ll have some fresh air,” his dad stated.
“I’d prefer a stiff drink,” Tate muttered.
Yet, for some unknown reason, he felt his feet taking charge and following his father up the steps and onto the deck. He’d been looking forward to seeing the top floor ever since he’d stepped through the front door, anxious to check out the private hot tub space he’d included in the plans. But now that he was there, he couldn’t care less.
“There are some things I need to say to you. Things I wish I’d explained years and years ago, but didn’t.” His father leaned his forearms on the railing that encased the entire fourth floor. “We never should have allowed ourselves to disappear from each other’s lives when your mom passed away. She’d be devastated if she knew, and she deserves better.”
“Deserves better? Deserves better?” Tate felt his hands beginning to shake, so he balled them into fists at his sides. “You’re a fine one to talk about Mom deserving better.”
“You couldn’t be more right.”
He stared at his father in confusion. “What?”
“Your mother was a beautiful, warm, loving human being who, for whatever reason, saw something in me worth loving even when I didn’t.”
Huh?
Tate shook his head, trying to keep up with everything he was saying.
“When your mother came into my life I was in bad shape. I’d been hurt, deeply, and felt nothing mattered anymore. Most women of your mom’s caliber would have taken one look at me and run for the hills. But she didn’t. She saw something even I couldn’t see.
“Slowly, with her help, I began to wake up, to see the possibility of a better tomorrow. I warned her that I was gun-shy, even bitter, but she didn’t care.” The elder Williams raised a trembling hand to his face and brushed at a tear that had escaped his left eye. “We married and eventually had you. My life was as perfect as I could imagine it being, and I was terrified it was going to slip through my fingers, or, even worse, blow up in my face.”
Tate hung on every word the man said, afraid that if he breathed too loudly he’d miss something.
“So I held a part of my heart back. As a defense mechanism.”
“Why?” It was all Tate could think to ask, but it was sufficient.
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