“Abby.” Mom reached toward me, resting one slim hand on my elbow. “I know this is difficult for you. But your father and I have discussed it, and we both feel it’s better for you girls to stay in one place, with me.”
I bit down on my bottom lip. “But I don’t want to do that, and it’s not fair that you’re making me. I never complained about moving. I like living in our hotels, and I like being with Daddy. Why should I have to stay with you if I don’t want to?” I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not a baby. I should get to decide for myself.”
“Abigail.” My mother’s voice sharpened. “You may not be a baby, but you’re a long way from being a grown-up. While I understand how upsetting this is for you, in the long run—”
“Brooke.” My father interrupted her, bracing against the chair until he stood straight. “Maybe Abby has a point.”
Mom’s mouth dropped open a little. “Colin, we went over this. We agreed that this was for the best.”
“No, you agreed. I went along with it, for your sake. But if Abby doesn’t want to make this change, I’m thinking we shouldn’t force her.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants. She’s not old enough to make that determination.” My mother pushed back her chair. “We had an agreement, Colin.”
“Why does it have to be all one way or the other? I’m not saying you’re wrong, Brooke, and I’m not saying I’m right. God knows I’ve been wrong enough lately.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m only saying, why not give it a try? If Abby changes her mind, there’s nothing to stop her from moving in with you. Nothing is written in stone here, is it?”
My mother frowned, but I could sense her wavering. “I don’t know. I suppose . . .” She looked up at me, her blue eyes searching mine. “Abby, are you sure? I mean, I can call you every day. You can come visit at our new house, and maybe you’ll like it.”
I nodded. “Maybe. But right now, I want to stay with Daddy.” I set my chin and focused on the very top of the Golden Gate Bridge. I could just barely see it, poking out above the clouds. If I kept my eyes on that, I didn’t have to look at Jessica, at the hurt and the pain I knew I’d see there.
Even now, twenty years later, guilt rose up in my throat. I hated that I’d hurt my little sister. I hated that I’d caused my mother pain and doubt, particularly when I’d discovered, three years after that terrible day, what had finally caused her to leave my father. On the surface, everything in our family was fine now. I saw my mother and my sister one or two times a year, and we spoke now and then. But I knew that deep down, they’d never really forgiven me for choosing my father over them.
My cell phone buzzed, vibrating against the table where I’d left it. I leaned over to look at the screen, sighing a little when I saw my father’s name on the incoming call notification.
I was tempted to ignore it. I’d had a long day, and Christ almighty, I’d just come back from spending two days dealing with my dad and all his issues. But in the end, I picked it up and hit the answer button.
“Abby, darlin’.” His words slurred, and my heart sank.
“Dad, what’s up?” I didn’t even make an attempt to hide my impatience.
“Darlin’, why must something be the matter for a father to want to talk with his beloved daughter?” As always, when Dad was in his cups, as he called it, the Irish was strong. It was as though the whiskey carried the accent along with it.
“I guess that’s just how it seems lately.” I dropped my head to the back of the sofa and closed my eyes. “And the fact that you saw me this morning before I left. And you might remember, maybe, promising me that things were going to change. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Of course. And they will change. But it was only tonight, Mr. Humphries had his retirement dinner. You remember Mr. Humphries? He’s worked here in Philadelphia since you were a tiny thing. Used to tote you on his shoulder through the lobby. So of course I had to be there and have a bit of a drink with him.”
“Hmmm.” I wasn’t going to argue with my father, not tonight and not over the telephone. “Did you call Lisel, as we discussed?”
“I . . .” He trailed off, and I knew he was either trying to remember our talk about his current estranged wife or attempting to come up with a reason why he hadn’t called her yet. “I haven’t, no. Today was a bit busy, and then you know, the more I thought about it, shouldn’t she be the one calling me? I’m not the one who walked out.”
I used my free hand to massage my forehead. “No, you were the one who humiliated her in front of all her friends and yours. Coming into a dinner party completely trashed, acting like a jackass. I would’ve walked out on you, too.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Not my sweet Abby. You’re the one who never left your old dad, not when your mother left, when Jessica went with her . . . you were the one who stayed. I never forget that, Abigail. I never do.”
A pang of regret and sorrow gripped my heart. “Sometimes I think I didn’t do you any favors that day. If I’d gone with Mom and Jess, maybe you would’ve gotten help. Or maybe things would be different.” Would my life have been different, too? Probably. I’d often wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up in one place, after all.
“Never say it, Abby. If you’d left me, too, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“Hmm. I guess you would’ve kept sleeping with every willing female who crossed your path, or you would’ve figured out a better way to get by. By staying, I let you maintain the illusion a little longer.”
“Such a low opinion you have of your old man. Wasn’t there any good that came of you staying with me?” He sounded wistful, and I knew that we were now entering the self-pity portion of tonight’s entertainment.
“Of course there was. You’ve always been a good father, to me at least. And you’re an excellent business man. You taught me more about the hotel business than I could ever hope to remember. I just worry about you. The drinking . . . Dad, it’s got to stop. Your doctor said—”
“Pah.” Dad spat out the word. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. My family is very long-living. You remember your grandmother Abigail, God rest her soul. You were named for her. She lived to be ninety-six. “
“Granny didn’t drink her weight in whiskey, either.” I knew this conversation. It was destined to go in a circle until one of us finally gave up. Tonight, that was going to be me. “Look, Dad, I’m exhausted. I had that early flight, and then I hit the ground running here. Not that you’ve asked, but I was over at the Riverside this afternoon, checking it out. It’s going to be an amazing hotel. I hope you’ll come see it once we’re open.”
“We’ll see.” I heard the thread of petulant sulk. “I still don’t understand why the daughter I trained up to take over my company chose to go work in the backwater wilds of Florida. Two years you wasted at a second-class inn. And now you’re up to your ears in renovating some run-down old place. You could have the management of any of my hotels, you know that.”
“I don’t want to manage any of your properties, and we’ve been through this. I screwed up in Boston. You were very gracious about it, Dad, but as horrible as that was, it made me realize that I need to make my own way. I don’t want to be Colin Donavan’s daughter for the rest of my career. I want people to know I made it on my own merits, not just because of who you are.”
“Absolute bullshit. You’ll never go anywhere, hiding down in the hinterlands. I understand you needed to lick your wounds, but this is ridiculous.”
“I’m not licking my wounds.” Patience had left the building. “I’m establishing my own name and career. You’re just upset that you can’t control me anymore. Well, that’s over, Dad. I love what I’m doing. I’ve loved making the Hawthorne House successful, and I can’t wait to get to work on the Riverside. If you can’t see that, well, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to adjust your expectations.” My finger hovered over the button that would end this exercise in futility, but I managed one more parting sh
ot. “And don’t drunk dial me anymore. It’s pathetic. Call Lisel. She’s your wife, and she’s the one you should be talking to.”
“But Abby—”
I hung up and tossed the phone to the end of the sofa, where it bounced and landed on its face. In a fit of adolescent-style pettiness, I covered it with one of the throw pillows so that even if Dad called back, the sound would be muffled.
I stalked into the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the claw foot tub. Between the sound of the gushing water and the music pulsating from below me, there was no way I’d hear a ringing phone. And I was perfectly okay with that.
I tore off my clothes with less precision and more venom than usual, throwing them into the wicker basket in the corner. This day had been frustrating from beginning to end. All I’d wanted to do was get back to the Cove, take a little peek at my new hotel, and then hide in my apartment so I’d be ready to get back to work. But no. First my visit to the Riverside had been hijacked by that cocky contractor—in the privacy of my head I refused to call him anything else. And then my father had taken away what little peace I had left with his drunken call. Men.
As I sank into the hot bath, I wondered if it was too late for me to become a nun. Preferably at a convent where fathers—and contractors— weren’t allowed to call or visit.
“SO HOW’S CRYSTAL COVE TREATING you?” Cooper Davis sifted through the pile of papers I’d brought over, detailing what we needed in the way of wood working at the Riverside. He scanned each page, frowning and then nodding.
“So far, so good.” I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced around the shop. I’d been in Cooper’s workspace twice now, and each time it took me back to my grandfather’s basement in New Jersey. The smell of the wood, the sawdust beneath my feet and the whine of the sander . . . it was all familiar. Gramps had introduced me to the beauty of working with my hands and bringing something old and potentially lost back to life. Being here, in this shed full of projects, tools, machines and lumber, reminded me of those days.
“Yeah?” Cooper stacked the papers, tapping them onto the workbench to line them up. “Is the house okay for you?”
“Oh, it’s great, thanks. If you could see some of the places I’ve lived during projects, you’d know your house is a palace. I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem, man. It makes me feel better to know someone’s on site to make sure nothing happens here at the workshop. Not that I expect anyone to bother with it, but now that I’ve moved out, I’m glad you’ll be around, just in case.”
I shrugged. “I’m a light sleeper and decent with a baseball bat if it ever came to scaring someone off. Can’t promise much more than that.”
“And that’s all I need.” He glanced at the top paper. “Have you run all these plans by Abby yet?”
I scowled. That was the only word for the reaction that woman brought out in me. “Some. Not all. Why?”
Cooper raised one eyebrow as he studied me. “Because some of what you have here doesn’t jive with things she said to me. The stables? Pretty sure she wanted to make that the spa, right? And the molding and decorative wood in the bathrooms—we’d talked about using a mildew-proof composite rather than what was in there originally.”
“Yeah, well, Ms. Donavan and I’ve been butting heads for two weeks now, over everything from how many steps should be leading up to the front porch to which French doors in the dining area actually stay doors. I decided to take a pass this time on hearing why what I need to do for the restoration is ‘utterly impossible.’” I mimicked her tone and put air quotes around the words.
Coop grinned. “I take it you and Abby aren’t exactly bosom buddies yet?”
“Yet? Try never. God, she’s just the most irritating, frustrating woman and—” I stopped speaking abruptly. “And I keep forgetting what a small town this is. She’s a friend of yours, isn’t she? Please don’t tell me she’s like your sister or your cousin or something.”
“No, she’s not related to me. Abby’s a Cove transplant, you know. She’s only lived in town for a couple of years. Moved down here from . . . Philadelphia, I think. Or Boston? Somewhere up there.” He waved his hand to indicate a vague northern direction.
“That makes sense. She doesn’t come across like a girl who grew up in the south. She’s all uptight and demanding.”
“Yeah, where’d you grow up, Ryland?” One side of Cooper’s mouth curled, and I sighed.
“Okay, yeah, I’m from up there, too. But I got my ass down here as soon as I could. The chicks in the South are just different. Softer. Not so grating or demanding. Why’re you laughing?”
“Because you just fell into the classic trap of Southern womanhood, my friend. You let them pull you in with their—what did you call it? Softness? And then they make you think you’re getting your own way, and by the time you figure out you’re doing exactly what they wanted in the first place, it’s too late.”
“Is that what happened with you? I met Emmy. She seemed like a straight-shooter to me.”
The smirk on Cooper’s face morphed into something entirely different. “Emmy . . . no. She’s not like that. There’s not a manipulative bone in that woman’s body. She’ll come right out and tell you what she needs, and if you can’t make it happen, she will. She’s a go-getter, my girl is.” His eyes took on an expression that I’d only seen once or twice in my life. “But she’s still got that Southern softness. She doesn’t demand. She doesn’t insist. She’s just . . . Emmy.”
My chest tightened, and I felt a surge of something akin to jealousy, which was ridiculous because while I’d liked Emmy when I met her, she definitely wasn’t my type. And the idea of having a regular girlfriend, one woman in my life, hadn’t crossed my mind in a long time. The way I lived, there wasn’t room for a long-distance relationship, and I’d yet to meet the woman who’d agree to tag along with me as I moved around the country.
“Maybe you got the last good one, brother.”
Cooper shrugged. “It’s possible, I guess. God knows I took long enough finding her. But hey, try to give Abby a fair chance.”
I snorted. “Believe me, I’ve tried. She just has this . . . I don’t know, attitude or something. Like she knows more than me and I’m wasting her time by arguing. She won’t even listen to me. I think she waits every day to find out what I’m going to suggest and then comes up with a reason why it won’t work.”
“That doesn’t sound like Abby. Maybe it’s just a matter of getting to know her better. Try talking about something that doesn’t have to do with the hotel. I know she can be a little demanding, but she’s really good at her job.”
“A little demanding? I told you, she’s a freaking nightmare.”
Cooper lifted one eyebrow. “That seems a tad harsh. I don’t claim to know Abby that well, but she’s probably Emmy’s closest friend. And Em’s an excellent judge of character. So Abby can’t be that bad.”
I swallowed back the answer I wanted to give. After all, as I’d said earlier, the Cove was a small town, and even though Abby Donavan was a transplant, she’d been here longer than I had. And given that she had the job running the hotel after I’d finished restoring it, chances were she was going to stick around longer than I would. I wasn’t going to win any popularity contests by criticizing her, no matter how sympathetic Cooper might seem to be.
“You’re probably right. I’ll try to get to know her better. Could be she’s nervous about the new job or something. Wants to make sure she does it all the way Logan and Jude want.”
“There’s no doubt Abby’s a perfectionist. Some of the guys who worked for her at the bed and breakfast said she was their toughest boss ever. But they also seemed to respect her. They wouldn’t do that if she was just a bully.”
I forced a smile. “Thanks, Cooper. I’ll keep that in mind.” I pointed to the papers still in his hand. “If there’s anything in the plans that look off to you, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll have a discussion with Abby and get back to you a
bout what we decide.”
Cooper grinned. “You do that, Ryland. I’ll be interested to see how it works out for you.”
I gave him a quick wave as I left the workshop, fighting off a sinking feeling that Coop already knew the outcome of any discussion I might have with Abigail Donavan.
Up until now, all of my interaction with the formidable Ms. Donavan (I always thought of her that way, in the privacy of my head) had taken place on the project site. I did my best to steer our more heated discussions—read: bitter arguments—away from where my crew happened to be working that day. For one thing, I didn’t want them to hear the boss—and that was me, no matter what the lady might think—having his authority challenged. And for another, the last thing I needed was ribbing about this chick and her uptight attitude. I knew work crews; once they saw a weakness, they’d never let me forget it.
Today, though, knowing I was heading into a blow-up for sure, I decided to go see Abigail at her office. I’d intentionally avoided seeing her this morning; she ran like clockwork, and her typical routine included a brief stop at the hotel first thing in the morning. I’d chosen to linger at my borrowed house with the excuse that I had to talk to Cooper, knowing full well that I’d miss Her Royal Highness. But now that I’d decided to bite the bullet and confront her, I steered my truck away from the river and instead headed toward the bridge that led to Elson.
Logan had told me that his manager was using an office in his building for the time being, until we had space finished for her at the hotel. I’d been to Logan’s architectural firm a few times when we were finalizing contracts for the Riverside. It was housed in a white two-story structure at the base of the bridge, making it convenient to the heart of Crystal Cove but easily accessible to the larger mainland town of Elson.
The large parking lot in front was nearly full, but I managed to find a spot in the shade. Inside, the décor of the building was simple, but refined; there were four offices on the first floor, including one belonging to an attorney and another to an accountant, while the last two housed a title company and real estate broker respectively. I knew Logan liked having these professionals under his proverbial and literal ceiling, since he patronized them all under the company he and Jude owned.
The Path Page 4
