by Lee Winter
“So, what’s everyone up to today?” Owen asked as he poured himself a black coffee.
“Doing that thing at John’s work we talked about,” Lucas said between bites. “Open house.”
Everyone’s eyes swung John’s way. He blushed red from under his hairline, the hue burrowing under the shirt at his neck.
“Oh?” Lauren said. “Why are they doing that?”
“It’s their first anniversary of the plant opening,” Lucas said. “They invited everyone to bring along their families. Thought I’d check it out since work’s light today. Show Johnny here some family support.”
John slathered his toast with butter and did not look up.
“What time’s it happening?” Lauren asked.
“Ten till noon,” Lucas said. “But you don’t have to go. It’s just for anyone interested in where he works, a few speeches and all tha—”
“Excellent,” Catherine cut in. “I, for one, would love a tour of Ansom Digital Dynamics International’s Iowa division.”
“You would?” Meemaw asked, brow furrowing.
“Oh, definitely.” She glanced at Lauren. “Wouldn’t you?”
Lauren caught her pointed look and nodded. “Yep. We’ll be there with bells on. For John.”
John gave them both perplexed glances before taking another hasty bite of toast.
“Do you know who’s giving the speeches?” Lauren asked. “Any VIPs?”
Meemaw stopped laying out the food and gave them both a hard stare. “All right, what are you two up to?”
Catherine fixed her expression to neutral, deciding the truth that they were digging into a story probably wouldn’t win them any allies at this table. “Learning more about Iowa’s industry and where my brother-in-law-to-be works.”
Lauren added, “Electric cars sound cool.”
“Lauren Annabelle King,” Meemaw said, “I’ve known you too long not to know when you’re up to something. And you—” She gave Catherine a suspicious look, then pointed at her. “I can only guess at what your Trouble Face looks like, but I suspect I’m looking at it right now. Just don’t start anything that’ll cause a fuss. John loves that job.”
“Best behavior. Check,” Lauren said. “No problem.” She turned to John. “Ten o’clock?”
He nodded but looked even more confused.
“Great.” She shot him a smile, then poked her sausage with a fork.
After breakfast, Catherine was volunteering herself for dishwashing services—and being shooed out of the kitchen by an appalled Meemaw—when there was a tentative knock on the door.
“I’ll get it!” Lauren’s voice called, already halfway down the hall. A moment later, she stuck her head back in the kitchen and beckoned to Catherine. “Hey, c’mere. There’s someone you have to meet.”
Catherine followed her to the door, which revealed a thin young man with excited, bright brown eyes. He was adorned in a dapper blue suit. A perfect purple triangle of silk jutted from the breast pocket.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Hi, Ms. Ayers. It’s such an honor to meet you.” He blinked rapidly. “Both of you. I’m Zachary Branson. You maybe know my label? ZachB?”
Catherine gave him a baffled look. “Label?”
“Oh, so that’s a no? Um, okay. Anyway, Josh—um, Joshua Bennett—said you have a wedding outfit emergency? He posted an SOS for Iowan designers who do wedding wear on this fashion designers’ Facebook group we’re in.” He sucked in a huge breath and added in a rush. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you.”
“You know who I am?” Catherine found that hard to believe so far out of DC.
“Oh yes, ma’am.” He bobbed his head up and down reverently.
Behind them, Lauren snickered.
“Joshua talks about you all the time,” Zachary continued. “Quotes your snarkiest lines. He had us in hysterics over how you used to, ah, creatively threaten Ms. King at those LA events. Don’t worry—it was just the public stuff when you were ice queening spectacularly. Anyway, our designers’ group, Glad Rags and Fad Bags, have been fanboying over you for two years solid. You’re a goddess among the stitches-and-bitches crowd. Oh, gosh, sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“Ice queening?” Catherine muttered. She felt like she was in an alternative reality. Perhaps in some world this made sense.
“Oh!” His expression fell and became stricken. “I’m making such a mess of this. Can we start again? Hi, I’m Zachary. I design wedding outfits. I’ll do yours and Ms. King’s for cost because it’s totally an honor. I’d drop everything. I can have them back to you Friday. Also, Ms. Ayers, ‘ice queen’ is, like, legit the highest form of flattery that I know. Here. My designs.” He thrust out a thick portfolio.
Catherine had a brief urge to bop him on the nose with it. She’d gone from a caustic queen to an ice queen? She glanced behind her at Lauren, who was no help given she looked about three seconds from bursting into laughter. Catherine tossed her an indignant glare.
“And Joshua recommends you?” Catherine turned back to him.
“Oh yes, ma’am. He picked me out of a short list of six others. He ran a contest in our Facebook group, and all two thousand three hundred and forty-two members voted to decide which of us had won the right to dress you both.”
A contest. Trust Joshua to think that was a good idea. The man put scarlet tassels on handbags, for heaven’s sake.
“Catherine, why don’t we sit down and look through his portfolio?” Lauren suggested.
Zachary shot her a pathetically grateful look.
Catherine hated to admit it, but Zachary’s portfolio was stunning. No wonder his peers had chosen him. She might have to retract her uncharitable thoughts about Joshua.
The dress selections, one of which she knew immediately she wanted to wear, all had an ethereal, floating quality. And the suit designs that Lauren was flicking through? Tailored beautifully at the hips and bust. These designs were made with flattering attention and focus on women. The female silhouette wasn’t an afterthought, repurposed from a male line. Simply elegant. Catherine glanced at Lauren. Her relief was obvious as she studied the pages.
Yes, Zachary’s designs would do perfectly.
“I do a lot of lesbian weddings,” Zach said. “The market boomed when the marriage laws changed. Iowa was one of the first few states to allow it, you know. But most of the boutiques didn’t change a thing about their range. I guess they didn’t stop and think about why they should. Anyway, that just means I do really well. Business is so good that I took on a seamstress and a student designer to help me out. But I only sell online.”
That explained why Mrs. Potts didn’t know he existed. Catherine decided she’d remedy that.
“Do you see anything you like?” he asked, eyes hopeful.
“Many things,” Catherine said. “You have a great deal of talent.”
He brightened and turned to Lauren. “And you, Ms. King?”
“Oh yeah. I really love one suit in particular.” She started flipping back a few pages. “It’s the…”
“Wait! Um…sometimes the brides don’t like to know what each other is wearing until the big day. So, if you want to keep it a secret from each other, I can do that. Just tell me, and I’ll make sure the looks complement each other. It means you can still have a surprise reveal.”
“Ooh, I like that.” Lauren nodded.
“As do I,” Catherine said.
“Okay, then.” Zachary beamed. “Let me have fifteen minutes alone with each of you to do the measuring and work out your needs, and then we’re done for today.”
Zachary drew a cloth tape measure out of his suit and snapped it into a sharp line. “So, who’s first?”
One glance around the foyer of Ansom Digital Dynamics International’s Iowa Division, taking in the size and composition of
the white front desk, and Catherine knew the plant’s layout would be identical to every other factory her family ran.
They were greeted politely, signed in, and given an option of taking a map and seeing themselves around the green-coded areas at their own pace or following a tour guide.
“Tour,” Lauren said. “I want to know what they think is a priority at this place.”
Catherine could have answered that in one word. Profit.
They followed the signs and the small crowd of family members from room to room, listening to what each area specialized in, courtesy of the perkiest tour guide to ever exist outside of Disneyland.
They reached Electric Car Section 2-EV after fifteen minutes. It was as gleaming and futuristic as everything else.
“Our E-Vroom room,” the guide said without a hint of amusement at the rhyme. “Ansom’s still only at the experimental stage for its electric cars and is developing a longer-life battery. If it succeeds, it will roll out a full range in five years. This is the room that services all the test models.”
Lauren let out a soft, embarrassed groan.
Curious, Catherine followed her gaze.
John King was in his blue overalls, working hard, servicing a car, which was on a hoist at head height. The work area had been roped off and Lucas was leaning forward across the rope and waving his arms to be more obvious in his brother’s peripheral vision. He was also making “helpful” suggestions.
“Don’t forget to kick the tires,” he called. “That way you’ll know how broke the car is. And twang that fan belt. Check it’s extra-tensiony.”
“Sir, please don’t heckle our staff,” the tour guide interrupted him. She added with a slight smile, “Even if they are clearly family.”
John gave the woman a grateful nod and rolled his eyes at his brother.
“Damn,” Lucas said. “That’s a shame.”
“‘Extra-tensiony’ is not a thing,” Lauren called out to him across the room.
He spun around and caught sight of her. “Sis!”
She ambled over and gave his arm a light slap. “Stop bugging your brother.”
“Where’s the fun in that? Why’d you think I came?” He cocked his head. “That’s my excuse, what’s yours?”
Lauren shrugged.
“How ’bout this one then—why’d you wanna know about the speeches and the VIPs?” He eyed Catherine. “And how come you knew the company’s whole name, Cat?”
She ground her teeth at the nickname that Stephanie—Michelle—had forever ruined for her. Instead of answering, she let her gaze trail around the room, as though random car parts held more interest than he did. Which was completely true.
The tour party started to walk en masse out the door to the next room. Lauren pointed at them. “Sorry, Lukey, our ride is leaving. Gotta go.”
Catherine shot Lucas a thin smile. “We really don’t want to miss a single scintillating minute.”
The promised speeches were at the end of the tour, held in a glossy white room designed to dazzle visiting dignitaries. Catherine had to resist the urge to put her sunglasses on. Some things never changed.
“I’m going snow-blind,” Lauren grumbled.
Catherine smiled. “White is clean. Clean is modern. Modern is futuristic. The future is Ansom. They paid a lot for marketers and psychologists to tell them that.”
“I’d tell them for free not to daze their visitors.”
A well-dressed group of dignitaries was assembling on a small raised platform as the tour group began seating themselves and talking in low tones.
Catherine’s eyes roamed. She went rigid.
“Hey.” Lauren nudged her. “Is Senator Hickory stalking us, or are we stalking him? Look—he’s about to give a speech.”
Catherine stared at the stage.
“Catherine?”
“My parents…” she whispered. She discreetly pointed to the couple being snapped by in-house photographers at one side of the stage. “…are right there.”
“Oh.” Lauren swallowed audibly.
Oh, indeed.
It had been twenty years since Catherine had last seen her parents. The spiteful, accusing words her father had flung at her the last time they saw each other still hurt. She could still remember the feel of her mother’s gaze, watching her from the upstairs window as Catherine left.
She always did that. Watched. Never intervened when her husband laid down the law. Lionel Ayers ran the family like a company. Unsatisfactory, disloyal members were summarily terminated and shown the exit. And no one ever protested his decisions.
Her father’s dark-brown hair was more salt than pepper now. He had retained his good looks, but he was thicker around the stomach and neck. His bespoke tailoring couldn’t hide everything.
Her mother was still grace personified. She’d practiced far too long with a deportment tutor not to look the part now. She didn’t walk anywhere; oh no, she swept or floated. Her peach skirt suit was impeccable. Pearl earrings twinned with her necklace.
Hickory’s speech was almost over. Something about him helping Ansom to bring jobs to Iowans and the wonders of MediCache. The identical speech he’d given at the fair.
The applause was polite. Hickory then introduced Catherine’s father as “Ansom’s visionary.”
The applause turned thunderous as Lionel Ayers took the microphone.
He cleared his voice. “I would have set up in Iowa years ago if I’d known this would be the response.” He chuckled, as did the audience. “What is Ansom? It’s a family business built into one of the greatest IT companies in the world. We stayed true to our American roots. We built on our successes. We valued our remarkable employees, and look at us now.”
The applause started again. He soaked it up.
“But at its heart, we’re still a family business. Family’s what matters. Our business was started by my father, then was catapulted into the global market by me, and who knows what lies in the future when I pass the torch one day to my talented son-in-law?”
Talented? Phoebe’s husband, Miles Sutherland, had all the initiative of a garden snail.
“I remember as a boy at my father’s knee talking about how great things grow from little things, how you need an acorn to produce a giant oak tree, and that’s what Ansom is now…”
She sighed, recognizing the words. It was her father’s go-to speech about a supposedly tender moment between father and son. Given Grandpa Mason had never had a good word to say about his son—or anyone, for that matter—all her father’s charming botanical homilies were pure fiction. She tuned him out and let her gaze drift to her mother’s face. She seemed exactly the same. Older, beautiful, serene to the point of vacant possession. Her fixed smile hadn’t changed. Her mouth was still hard.
Her father turned to look at his wife. “…and I couldn’t have done it without my gorgeous wife.” He beckoned to her. “Victoria?”
Oh, how her father liked to show his wife off—even though he’d screwed his way through most of the secretarial pool. He’d chosen her purely to further his image. Like a pretty trinket to be hammered to a wall.
Her mother stepped forward and took his outstretched hand.
“As a husband and a family man, I find it valuable to listen to my family’s needs. And I am all about making technology accessible for everyone.”
Listening to his family’s needs? Catherine gave him an incredulous glare. Lauren’s fingers found hers and gave a reassuring squeeze.
Perhaps her lethal look burned a spot in her father’s head, because he suddenly caught sight of her. He paused, barely faltering, then continued. Her mother followed his gaze, and Catherine enjoyed her surprised reaction before her mask resettled.
His speech eventually wound up.
The crowd and its hubbub rose. Visitors now were heading for the exits.
Catherine remained seated, unsure exactly what to do next.
“I’m going to talk to your senator,” Lauren said, standing, “because I’m thinking he probably won’t want to see you after that story you ran on him last week.”
“He should be flattered to be mentioned in the same story as Aldous Huxley.” She folded her arms in defiance.
Lauren laughed. “Yeah, well, for some reason politicians don’t like to be told they’re helping usher in a dystopian Brave New World future to their nation. But nice try.” She glanced at the stage. “You want to talk to your folks?”
Want to? No. Should she? Catherine contemplated her options. A thawing was only a remote possibility. It had been so long. What was left to say, really?
Lauren patted her arm before heading up to the stage as Catherine gathered her thoughts.
“You know,” came a voice from behind her. “I didn’t notice it at first.”
She turned to find Lucas sitting behind her, regarding her with keen, cool eyes.
When had he come in?
“Notice what?”
“That John’s big boss has the same last name as you.”
Catherine stilled. “Oh?”
“And then I looked at the wife.” He tilted his head toward Catherine’s mother. “Did you know all you Ayers women look alike? Same…vibe.” His nose wrinkled.
Glancing at her mother, Catherine studied the woman’s hands-off, disdainful expression and felt only distaste. That’s how Lucas saw her? She schooled her expression to bland. “I have a vibe?” she asked, tone pleasant.
Lucas just looked at her. “So,” he said without inflection, “you’re richer than God? That explains a lot.”
Catherine gave him a dark look.
“And now I see your little speech about not being given any handouts and earning everything yourself was BS.” He didn’t sound pissed at her. He sounded… She couldn’t put her finger on it. Disappointed? Maybe?
