“We’ll look forward to meeting her,” Clarissa said, placated. “Now I think it’s about time to eat. Your dad and I have everything set up in the dining room. Lara, if you’ll give me a hand with the vegetables and the potatoes while the men argue over who’s going to cut the roast, we’ll get this show on the road.”
“I’ll do it,” Christian said. “Bret’s having a hard time taking his eyes from his fiancée’s face.”
Clarissa leaned over and kissed Bret. “This is the best present you could give me,” she said a little too loudly. “Now if only your brother and sister could follow your example. Come on, Lara.” With her usual grace, she swept from the room.
The dinner went smoothly—Christian had obviously decided not to be overly annoying. Clarissa served the food, one plate at a time. So long had she done this that she could gauge their portions with uncanny accuracy. “Thanks, Mom,” Christian and Bret said. Liana smiled her appreciation.
As the meal progressed, Liana watched them interact, almost a stranger amidst her own family, her feelings confused and varied. She loved Christian, she trusted Bret, and she was grateful to her aunt and uncle, the couple who had adopted her and raised her as their own. Gratitude was something she could freely give them—much better than love, she’d told herself throughout the years. She still believed that. Gratitude didn’t make you shrivel up inside when someone died. Only love did that.
“So, Lara, you said you’ve been working,” Clarissa prompted, smiling at her from the other side of the long table. “Sounds like that boss is a slave driver. Maybe you should look for another job. You certainly have the training for it.”
Liana shifted on the padded wooden chair. She’d hated her job and had no idea why she’d clung to it, but she didn’t want to talk about how she’d walked out. After she made plans for the future, after she was sure she wouldn’t become a burden, then she’d tell them.
“Actually, that was my fault.” Christian finished pouring himself a second glass of wine and set the bottle down. “I asked her to do a favor for a friend of mine. Nice guy.” He flashed Liana a smile. “He seemed to like you, by the way.”
That was the last direction Liana wanted the conversation to head. She’d already been haunted by a dream last night in which Austin’s midnight eyes had stared back at her from a wrecked plane. “Not my type,” she said, and to Clarissa she added, “It’s just this time of the year. Things’ll slow down.”
“Then who is your type?” Christian asked.
Liana kicked him under the table. “He drives a truck, for crying out loud. And listens to country music. I bet he even has cowboy boots.”
“He did grow up on a farm.”
“See?”
“What’s wrong with a farm?”
“That’s enough, Christian,” Clarissa warned.
“I’m about finished.” Travis set down his fork. “How about some birthday cake?”
“And presents,” Bret added.
Clarissa smiled. “Oh, you guys didn’t have to do that. What’s one more birthday?”
“You love presents, and you know it,” Travis teased, putting his hand over hers.
That much was true. Clarissa was a giver and always remembered everyone’s birthday, including the paperboy, the neighbor, and the pastor at the church. But the flip side was that she expected everyone to remember her birthday each year. Fortunately, Travis was good at picking up on Clarissa’s hints, Bret had an e-mail reminder system, and Christian had Bret. Liana didn’t need an outside reminder; she had every important date written in the calendar of her planner, especially those she commemorated alone each year: the date of her parents’ death, the day she had been ripped away from Mamata and sent to America, the day her aunt and uncle had adopted her.
“I left my present in the car,” Christian said, standing.
Liana followed suit. “Me, too.”
They walked out together, going first to his BMW. Liana lifted her face to the sky and took in a deep breath of cool night air. The sun was gone now, and the stars had begun to appear.
“What’d you get her?” Christian asked.
“I bought gift certificates for that day spa she was hinting about. Came with a special spa bathrobe.”
Christian groaned. “I should have done that.”
“What did you get?”
“Bret got her a lead crystal vase, so I ordered her a matching candy dish.”
Liana shook her head. “Christian, she’s a mature woman—she’s had a lifetime to collect vases and dishes. What’s she going to do with another one? Next time, get her a ticket to someplace.”
“Isn’t it the thought that counts?”
“Not when those vases will likely end up in my condo. Then again, at least I can use them.” She patted his shoulder and started walking toward her convertible.
Christian grabbed a package from the passenger seat of his car and hurried to catch up to her. “If this is going to end up at your place, I guess I won’t have to buy a present for your next birthday. Hey, why’s that in there?”
Liana stared into the trunk of her car where she’d stashed her present. Next to the gold foil package lay the eagle painting. “I’m taking it home, that’s all,” she said, wishing the moon didn’t cast so much light.
“But you told me once it was all that kept you going at work.”
Liana grimaced at his memory of what had been a weak moment. “Now I want it home.”
“But I painted it so that you . . .” He paused. “You always loved watching birds when you were little. I’d see you out in the back before they built all those houses, pretending you could fly. I think you were trying to go back to your nanny in India.”
“I didn’t know you saw me.” Liana could barely get the words out. What would he have said if he had known she hadn’t been pretending to fly to India but rather mentally following her parents’ path, trying to relive their last moments on the plane, trying to somehow join them?
“You really hate it, don’t you?” His voice took on a flippant note as he studied his painting, but Liana knew him too well to believe he didn’t care. He had always been insecure about his talent, which was the reason he was working in advertising instead of making a living as an artist.
“I love it just as I’ve always loved it. Okay, look, the truth is I quit work.”
“You quit?” He opened and shut his mouth in surprise.
“Yep, on Friday. I should have taken the picture inside already, but I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Liana became aware of a numbness in her fingers where she had been clutching the edge of the trunk. She forced herself to relax.
“The old man let you quit? No way. He’s too money hungry.”
She gave him a twisted smile. “You always did see right through him. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. I left.”
Christian folded his arms across his chest. “Why? You’d better tell me or I’m going in there to beat it out of him.” His words were calmly stated, but his eyes held an unmistakably angry glint.
Liana sighed. “It’s nothing, really. Mr. Koplin saw me with Austin and raked me over the coals for using company equipment to do outside work. Your friend has a big mouth or it wouldn’t have happened at all. Not that it’s really his fault. The next day Koplin tried to get me to get Austin to hire our company. When he found out there was no way Austin could do that, he made it clear he was going to make my life miserable . . . so I quit.” She reached for her mother’s package, willing the discussion to be over, but Christian’s next words stopped her.
“What did Austin say about that?”
“Austin? You’ve got to be kidding. It’s none of his business.”
“But you said that if he hadn’t opened his mou—”
“It’s personal. Doesn’t have anything to do with him.” She waved toward the house, where her parents and Bret sat blissfully unaware of her problems. “And don’t you go telling them, either. I’ll be fine. I’ve been thinking about
starting my own business anyway.”
Christian shook his head. “I feel terrible. I mean, if it weren’t for me, you’d still have a job.”
“Yeah, and I’d still be using your painting as a way to get me to show up there.”
He smiled and reached for her hands. “Liana, I’m glad you like my painting. I thought for a moment there that you really didn’t, and you’re the only who believes in me.”
“You could be a real artist if you wanted,” she said, returning the pressure on her hands.
He shook his head. “Naw, not really. I never had enough angst or enough drive. And I like the way I live too much. Artists don’t always drive BMWs.”
That much was true. Christian made good money in advertising, but it always slipped through his hands like air. If he made any less, he wouldn’t be able to survive. Still, the neglect of his talent was painful to Liana, who could barely draw a straight line under duress. Perhaps, had he been raised differently, he would have followed another direction, but in a family of engineers and mathematicians, there was little room for his artistic growth. Although their parents had never shown disappointment in Christian’s obsession with art, their obvious pleasure with Bret and Liana’s choices spoke volumes.
“I’m fine, Liana,” Christian said softly, more attuned to her thoughts than was comfortable for her. “I love my work, and I’m happy dabbling with painting on the side. Not everyone has to be a Rembrandt.”
“Well, don’t get too settled.” She slammed the trunk shut. “I’m not settling for a second hand crystal candy dish for my birthday. I want another painting.”
CHAPTER 7
Diary of Karyn Olsen
Monday, February 15, 1966
It’s after the dance now, but the next day, since it’s already one o’clock. Travis didn’t kiss me, except on the cheek at the door to our apartment. He didn’t even hold my hand. I am so depressed. Is something wrong with me? Is it because I’m so big? But I’m not really fat, just tall and big boned, and he’s tall, too, so it can’t be that.
We did dance almost every dance, and he told me how nice I looked. He even bought me a box of candy and a card. I gave him a package of silver-wrapped Hershey Kisses in a heart-shaped box I found at the grocery store. It was a hint, but he didn’t get it. Why didn’t he get it? My Prince Charming should get it. But I’m not giving up. He is just too good to let go.
Austin was late getting to the office Monday morning. He’d been up early checking out flights to Ukraine, reading up on investment strategies, and calling Tammy, the woman in charge of purchasing for HeartReach. But Tammy was visiting her daughter and her newest grandchild. He hadn’t even been able to reach Mabel, who was responsible for sending out quarterly solicitations to sponsors. After three hours he was disgusted to find he had accomplished absolutely nothing. That’s what he got when he tried to wake up before any sane person. He should have stayed in bed.
“Good morning, Mr. Walker,” chimed the receptionists at the front desk.
He had to stop himself from growling. “Good morning, Holly, Shannon. Hold my calls, will you? I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
“Mr. Goodman’s here,” Shannon answered, “and we told him we’d direct you to the boardroom when you arrived.”
“Thank you.” Austin stifled a sigh. Mr. Goodman’s presence at the meeting this morning likely meant an out-of-town trip in the immediate future for Austin. He might have to cancel his racquetball appointment with Christian, and, unless he could talk Mercedes into arranging a flight, sending an immediate shipment to Ukraine would have to wait. Maybe I should talk to Mabel about a promotion, he thought. But he’d tried promoting her before, and the mother of eight claimed to be happy licking stamps and mailing letters.
“Oh, Grandmother,” he said with a sigh as he rode the elevator to his office. “Why did you choose me?” But the reality was that Austin loved his involvement with HeartReach. He just wished he was as good at managing the charity as he was at selling electronics.
The phone rang the minute he opened his office door, and Austin frowned at it in irritation. Why couldn’t the receptionists do their job? He was tempted to let it ring and go to his meeting, but it might be important—maybe that’s why they’d let it through. He sprinted across the room and dived for the phone. “Hello, Austin Walker.”
“Finally,” said a voice. “I thought for a minute that you weren’t in.”
“Who is this?” Austin demanded.
“Christian. And what’s eating you? Sounds like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“I’ve got a meeting. They weren’t supposed to let any calls through.”
“I know, I know. They told me. And I told them it was a matter of life and death.”
About to sit down in his leather chair, Austin froze. “What’s wrong? Is it Liana?” Why else would Christian be calling? His advertisements had been approved and their racquetball appointment was still days away, so there was nothing urgent they needed to discuss.
“No, Little Miss Muffet—of course it’s Liana.”
Austin sat abruptly, gripping the phone with an intensity that surprised him. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“That’s what I want to know.” Christian’s voice was hard. “What’d you say to her boss? I got her to help you because you needed it. I didn’t know it would cause her to lose her job.”
“Her job?”
“Yeah, her job.”
“So that’s why she was acting odd on Friday—and why she came early.”
“Odd? She was acting odd? How so?”
The challenging way Christian spoke irritated Austin. “Just odd, but I didn’t think anything of it because she—” He stopped. Truth was, both times he’d seen her, Christian’s sister had been acting a little odd.
“You should have kept your mouth shut when you ran across her boss.”
“Whoa, Christian. I didn’t know I’d done anything to get her fired. Come on. You’ve known me long enough to know I wouldn’t purposely hurt someone.”
There was a deep breath on the other side of the line. “Okay,” Christian said with a sigh. “I appreciate that. But now what? I worry about her, you know.”
Austin knew. If it had been Mercedes, he’d worry too. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
Austin hung up the phone. He rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking back to when his relationship with Christian had passed into friendship. Had it been when Christian had turned in his first designs last year? No, their bonding had taken place months later on the racquetball court when Christian had talked about his paintings, and they had fallen into a discussion about their pasts. Austin hadn’t exactly told Christian about his father’s abuse, but he’d seen understanding in Christian’s eyes. Neither had Christian outlined his family’s lack of encouragement, yet intuitively, Austin had known. Both understood what it was to be a disappointment to their fathers. Both knew what it took to forge a new life for themselves.
Austin felt more than a little guilty for his part in Liana’s dilemma. If only he had kept his mouth shut when they had been talking to her boss. He had recognized trouble in the man’s eyes from the minute they’d met—typical of small-minded men who enjoyed power. Well, he’d just see about that.
Picking up the phone, he dialed the receptionist. “Shannon, could you get me the number for”—what was the ridiculous name of the firm?—“um, I think it’s Klassy Accounting or something equally cutesy. Klassy with a K. Then put me through. Be sure you tell them who’s calling. I need to talk to the owner, I believe. Can’t for the life of me remember his name.”
“That’s a first,” Shannon said dryly.
“Believe me, I was better off forgetting this time.”
“You remember the meeting with Mr. Goodman?”
“Yeah, I remember. This’ll just take a few seconds. Let me know when you have someone on the line.”
Austin waited at the window with his ha
nds behind his back. Down below, he could see cars zipping about as though they possessed minds of their own. None of them were convertibles. He wondered where Liana was at that moment. He tried to think of her alone, sad, or confused, but the image was difficult. His phone rang, and he sauntered toward it.
“Mr. Walker, I have Mr. Koplin’s secretary on the line.”
“Thanks, Shannon.” Then to the other voice on the line Austin said, “I need to talk with—with . . .” What was the name Shannon had just said? Since Austin had a proclivity toward forgetting names during the first few encounters, he and Shannon had worked out a system in which she always mentioned the name shortly before Austin would need it.
“You need Mr. Koplin,” the woman at Klassy Accounting said. “I’ll connect you now.”
After a few clicks and a brief wait, a voice answered. “Hello, Mr. Walker. Larry Koplin here. Good to hear from you. Can I take it that this call means you’ve reconsidered using Klassy Accounting as your permanent accounting firm?”
Austin could picture the man wringing his hands with delight. “No, that’s not it at all. I’m calling about Liana Winn. What’s going on?”
“If you mean Liana, this is her own doing.” The kiss-up tone had gone from Koplin’s voice, though he was still painfully polite. “I asked her to make good and offer you a contract with us. I did everything I could to assure her place here.”
“Is that why you fired her?”
“It was her choice. And to tell the truth, I think it’s ungrateful of her. Sure, she has talent, but we gave her a chance. We made her who she is.”
“So she owes you, is that it?” More likely, you think you own her, Austin thought.
“Well,” Larry Koplin said, leaving no doubt as to his opinion, “everything we ask our employees to do here is for the good of the firm.”
Something in the way he said the words told Austin he was lying. “I don’t know exactly what happened,” he said, “but you definitely need to reconsider Liana’s employment.” He thought about going further and saying that if he didn’t, Austin would make certain Klassy Accounting never had any of Goodman’s business or the business of any of their associates, but the point was moot. None of them would hire the firm anyway.
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