“You’re my daughter, and Willow Creek is gonna be yours some day. All that book learnin’ won’t hurt when it comes to growing trees. Heck, you might even be able to teach me and Jimmy a thing or two.”
Casey shook her head. “That isn’t going to happen, Red. Nathan loves the city. He thrives in metropolitan areas with culture and coffee houses and the opera. He isn’t cut out for this kind of life, and I’ve been away so long… Well, let’s worry about the future once we know how long it’s going to take you to recover. I lost one person I love to this despicable disease, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose another.”
“SO, BIG BROTHER, here’s the short ’n sweet of it. Mom’s selling her house. The Realtor is going to do a multiple listing next week. Everyone says the prices in this area have peaked.”
Nathan hadn’t been home for even half an hour when his sister cornered him, apparently determined to tell him what was happening where their mother was concerned, regardless of any input from him. He didn’t appreciate the finality in her tone.
Is this how Casey felt when I told her she couldn’t help her father? He’d blown it yesterday when she’d revealed her intention to co-chair the antiturkey committee. He was determined to handle things better today with his sister.
“I’ve said for some time that this house was too big for her. Does she plan to buy something smaller? A condo?”
“She’s moving into an independent-living center. We’ve visited three in the area and she picked the one she liked best. It’s a little pricey, but…”
“But with the proceeds from this house she should be able to afford it,” he filled in. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
Christine looked at Kirby in a way that Nathan remembered all too well from when they were little. Two against one.
“She also wants to give some of the profits from the sale to us kids,” Chris said.
“How much are you talking about?”
Christine crossed her arms. She so resembled their mother when she would argue with their father, Nathan almost smiled. “Twenty-five thousand apiece.”
Nathan couldn’t prevent the sharp huff of air that was quickly followed by a cough as he tried to control his anger. “You’re skimming fifty grand off the top from the sale of this place?”
“Seventy-five. You get a share, too,” Kirby said.
He looked from one to the other. “Mom is in excellent health. She might live to be ninety-plus. I haven’t done the math, but what if that were to change? What if she needed long-term care? She might need every dime she gets from the sale of this place.”
Christine and Kirby exchanged an “I told you he’d say that” look. To Nathan, Chris said, “Nobody can predict what will happen five or ten years from now. This is now. I work two jobs to keep food on the table. A babysitter is raising my kids. Our girls have never even been to Disneyland. This money would help us now,” she said with conviction. “Later on, if Mom needs help, we’ll be in a better place financially to give back.”
He looked at his brother. “Does that go for you, too?”
Kirby, by far the more easygoing of the two, shrugged. “It’ll mean I can finish my doctorate without a huge debt load. The better the credential, the better the job. Once I start teaching, I’ll be able to supplement Mom’s income every month, if she needs it.”
The way Casey and I do now? he was tempted to ask. But his ongoing financial support between him and his mother was a private thing. A gift, he’d tell her when she called upset because her monthly bills were more than her income. “What does Mom say about this plan?”
“Mom suggested it,” a voice said from behind him.
He turned. His mother, who had been on the phone with a friend while this conversation was taking place in her backyard, looked every day of her sixty-two years. Silver hair in a short, functional bob. Casual lilac-colored slacks with a flowered blouse. The same June Cleaveresque look that had embarrassed him when he was a hip, cool college student, but now he just wanted to protect her.
Nathan couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. They’d planned this all-important step in her life without consulting him, and in his opinion, the scheme benefited his sister and brother far more than it did their mother.
As if sensing his feelings, Joan took his arm and led him to a patio chair. “Sit. We’ll talk about this before the kids come back.” Christine’s husband, Doug, and their two daughters, Rachel and Laura, were at the store buying ice cream.
“Mother, I think it’s short-sighted for you to give away money that you could conceivably need while you’re alive. That money should be part of any bequest you leave after you’re gone.”
“But the kids won’t need it as badly then as they do now,” Joan argued.
Nathan wasn’t so sure he believed that. His siblings were perpetually tied to their mother’s apron strings. Kirby, Nathan had learned today, lived with two roommates in a dump of a place, and Joan still did his laundry once a week. All Christine had done since Nathan arrived was complain about her husband’s latest business fiasco.
“You’re a generous woman, Mom, but I wouldn’t be a good son if I didn’t go on record opposing this idea. Sell the house, yes. But put the funds in diversified accounts and certificates of deposit that can keep up with inflation and provide a comfortable cushion in case something unexpected happens.”
“Mr. Doomsday himself,” Christine said.
“He’s a lawyer. What do you expect?” Kirby asked.
The discussion went downhill from there. The party was pretty much ruined. Chris and her family left half an hour later after the girls, who were bright, beautiful and full of energy, inhaled dishes of their Baskin-Robbins ice-cream cake. Kirby took a call from someone at the college and wasn’t seen for twenty minutes. When he did come back, it was to kiss their mother on the cheek and ask where she’d put his laundry basket.
Nathan might have jumped his little brother about his careless attitude, but his mother was quick to defend her youngest son after Kirby left. “I know you think I baby him, but the truth is helping Kirby keeps me busy. We have a schedule. I babysit for the girls a couple of days a week and I do Kirby’s laundry. He takes me out to dinner when he comes to pick up his things. It’s nice.”
Who pays? He didn’t ask. This was his mother’s business and he wasn’t worried about getting a piece of her estate. He just wanted her to be safe, secure and happy. He was sure that was what his father would have expected of him. And if that meant he had to play the heavy with his siblings, then so be it.
Several hours later, as he drove across the Bay Bridge at dusk, he let out a sigh. The San Francisco skyline was one he never tired of viewing, but at the moment, he was too exhausted to appreciate it. He had a feeling he was going to be facing another disgruntled person when he got home, too. Or, rather, two more disgruntled people—his wife and Gwyneth.
CHAPTER TEN
“YOU WANT ME TO host a dinner party this coming Saturday? Here?” Casey repeated, utterly dumb-founded. “Not to be crude, but what part of what I’ve been talking about for the past ten minutes didn’t you get? Oh. Right. All of it.”
Her exasperation apparently got through to her thick-headed husband. Belatedly, it crossed her mind that his obtuseness might be connected to his concussion. In the past, Nathan would never have set up a party without running it past Casey weeks in advance.
“You said Red has a doctor’s appointment in Fresno on Thursday morning,” Nathan repeated with exaggerated patience. “I assumed you’d return that night or Friday morning at the latest. That would give you the rest of Friday to shop, and I’d make myself available on Saturday to help cook.”
“Why now? Why so fast?”
“Because it occurred to me that you haven’t met any of these people—past a cursory introduction when we were checking out the place. This is my new team, and in order for them to function as a team they need to bond. With me. And with you.”
The argument
was sound—from his point of view, but it didn’t make Casey any more enthused about the prospect.
“I’m not talking fancy. They know we’re still settling in. Just some home cooking and good wine.”
Casey had arrived back at the apartment two hours before Nathan got home. Wired from her drive and her many worries, she’d spent the time unpacking and ultimately repacking, since it was obvious a great many more of her treasures were going to need to be squeezed into storage.
By the time Nathan stepped through the door, she’d perfected her current mantra: “Apartments suck. I hate apartments. This is not my home.”
“And where exactly are we going to put these people?” she asked, making a sweeping motion with her hand. “Will they sit on our bed, balancing their plates on their laps? Or should I buy a bunch of TV trays? Wait. I’ve got it. We’ll eat in shifts. Fourteen people divided by four…I’m terrible with math. Help me out. How long would I need to keep the food warm?”
Nathan’s scowl told her she’d made her point.
“Fine. We’ll eat out. Can you make reservations someplace?”
“Not a problem. Well…it might be a problem on such short notice, but I’ll give it the old school try.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
But would he?
“How’s your family?”
“Busy. They’re selling Mom’s house and pocketing the change.”
“I beg your pardon.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Christine and Kirby have a plan and I was told about it after the fact. When I raised a few points about whether or not Mom might be giving away too much before she dies, my brother and sister basically told me to butt out.”
Casey wanted to offer her sympathy, but in a way, she agreed with his siblings. Joan was no dummy—even if she leaned on her eldest son more than she needed to. Her house was too big for her. From the little she’d gleaned from listening to her father and Jimmy talk, real estate in California was going through the roof. It was Joan’s house, and Joan’s money to do with as she pleased. That Joan hadn’t consulted Nathan probably hurt more than the fact that she wasn’t taking his advice now.
“If she sells the house, where are we going to move your Mustang?”
“Hadn’t even thought of that. I guess I’ll rent a garage around here.”
She made a skeptical sound. “Not unless I get a job. Garage space goes for premium from what I’ve heard. You could probably cover it up and store it at Red’s. There’s an empty garage at the house Jimmy is staying in.”
“Your house, you mean.”
A thought that she’d toyed with earlier came back. If Jimmy moved out of that house and she started commuting between San Francisco and the valley, she could furnish the place with all of her antiques, which were currently in storage. And there’d even be room for Nathan’s car.
Somehow she didn’t think that plus would be enough to sell the idea to Nathan. They dropped the subject and prepared for bed, but the number of issues between them seemed to be increasing exponentially—and now, she had a dinner party to plan.
“WHY NOT HAVE the party here?”
Nathan had accompanied Gwyneth to the company suite, which in truth was larger and more spacious than his and Casey’s apartment, to pick up the files she’d accidentally left behind that morning.
Nathan wasn’t stupid. This was a ploy to get him alone, away from the office. He also wasn’t in the mood for games. He’d only agreed to accompany her because he wanted to clear the air between them once and for all—and he valued her too much as a colleague to embarrass her in front of the rest of the staff.
He’d been about to launch into his “I love my wife” speech when she’d surprised him with her suggestion. Obviously she’d overheard him ask his secretary for a list of restaurants that could handle a big group on short notice.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve heard the expression ‘The walls have ears.’? I was in the conference room next to your office when you mentioned hosting a dinner party for the staff. If Casey doesn’t think your apartment is big enough, then why not have it here?”
She made a sweeping motion with her arm.
The tenth-floor suite was lovely…and quite spacious. There was even a balcony for the smokers in the group. The formal dining room could easily sit twelve.
“I’m no chef,” Gwyneth said, “but my cousin is in the catering business, and he has connections all over the country. Even last minute, I’m sure he could hook us up with something fabulous.”
Hook us up. The phrase made him a little uncomfortable. “It’s a good idea, but maybe I should hold off until Casey’s a little more settled. She loves to entertain—you’ve been to some of our parties back in Boston. There’s no real rush—”
“I disagree, Nathan. You’re the new captain, and the crew is definitely mutinous. You’re not privy to some of the conversations I’ve heard. And you can be sure I’m only catching bits and pieces since they know I’m your friend. You need to instill a sense of camaraderie. A nice dinner off-site with wine, relaxed conversation and a chance to show off significant others would go a long way to turning the tide.”
She winced slightly. “Forgive my mixed metaphors and clichés, but I was reading case files until about three this morning, which is why I left the Hardgrave file here.”
Nathan felt like a heel. So much for thinking she was after his body.
“Do you want me to call Casey and set it up? I could make a few suggestions and let her take it from there.”
Nathan walked to the window and looked at the city below. The fog pretty much limited his view of the crush of buildings and rooftops that occupied every square inch of space around him. His home. His turf. He loved it here.
So why couldn’t he picture Casey sitting at this table making small talk with his staff?
“Nathan? What’s wrong? You haven’t acted like yourself all morning. Are you sure that bump on the head wasn’t worse than those backwoods doctors thought?”
Gwyneth had walked up beside him. Too close. Her perfume was intense, evocative and dangerous.
He stepped back—ostensibly to pull his phone from his pocket. Casey hated it when he carried the thing, but he’d told his secretary he’d be available. “Are you kidding? I saw the best vet in town.”
She appeared truly appalled.
Nathan hit the speed-dial number he’d programmed into the phone. “This is Casey Buchanan-Kent. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message.”
“Casey, it’s me. Change of plan. We’re going to have the dinner party at the company suite—the one we stayed in when we were looking for apartments. Gwyneth has volunteered to find a caterer, so you’re off the hook. Hope your dad’s appointment is going well. Call me on my cell if you have any questions.”
His I love you went unuttered. He couldn’t say it. Not in front of Gwyneth.
CASEY CHECKED her phone. One message, from Nathan. If she hadn’t been behind the wheel of her father’s massive pickup, she would have listened to it. But dodging eighteen-wheelers on Highway 99 while rehashing what the doctor had said was more than enough to occupy her mind.
“So you’re going to do what the doctor wants, right?” she asked.
Red didn’t answer. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet this entire trip. He hadn’t argued with the oncologist. Not once did he tell Casey to butt out. Casey wasn’t sure what was going on in her father’s head, but she didn’t like it.
“You’re not dying. You know that, right?”
“Everybody dies,” Red muttered.
“I meant your death isn’t imminent. Not from this. Not if we act soon and deal with the cancer. You’re too young and in too good health to do nothing.”
He made some kind of grumbling sound but she couldn’t make out his words.
“What?” she asked, glancing sideways.
He’d tossed his cowboy hat in the backseat and for some reason
the indentation in his shiny white hair made her stomach flip in an unpleasant way. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“Why am I driving?”
He’d tossed her the keys and gotten into the passenger side after they left the doctor’s office.
“Figure I might as well get used to being an invalid.”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s what everybody will think once they hear about this. Mel Johnson had prostate cancer. Everybody joked about him needing to change his name to Melinda ’cause a certain body part never worked again.” He shifted moodily. “And he grew boobies.”
Casey had a hard time not laughing. She’d guessed that some of Red’s reticence was tied to his masculinity and to his understanding—or misunderstanding—of the prostate’s function. She’d done some research to prepare for the meeting with his doctor and she felt comfortable telling him, “I’m sure Mrs. Johnson, if there still is one, is happier to have him alive and not sexually active than six feet under. Your doctor seemed to think you’d regain your prowess with no problem. Besides, a lot of men have breasts—they match their beer gut.”
His snort sounded less pensive.
“Dad, you really don’t have an option. You have to be treated. I will make your life a living hell if you don’t.”
He didn’t respond right away. “You called me Dad.”
“I did?”
He nodded.
“Well, you are my dad. I don’t remember when I switched to calling you Red.”
“After you left for Boston. You were mad at me for a long time. That was one way to get my dander up.”
Casey didn’t dispute that. “I’m sure you’re right. Meg didn’t approve. She said it was disrespectful, but you know how stubborn I can be.”
His hoot of laugher sounded like the old Red. “Ain’t that a fact? Look how long it took you to forgive Sarah, and she didn’t even do anything wrong.”
A Baby on the Way Page 12
