by Beth K. Vogt
“Will do. I love you—”
“Love you, too.”
Logan’s face disappeared as she clicked on the red circle with the white phone emblem on the computer screen. Then she shoved her computer off her lap onto the coffee table and slammed the lid closed. Usually a Skype session with Logan resulted in a huge grin.
But tonight, Logan had poked and prodded her with his words.
Would you have played basketball if Dad hadn’t been crazy about basketball?
Is that how you want to get ahead—because Dad made things easy for you?
You can’t expect special treatment because you’re his daughter.
Is that what she’d done? Expected special treatment because she was the boss’s daughter? Somehow her relationship with her father and her role as his employee got all tangled up. And both left her wondering, “What more do I have to do?”
And which came first—daughter or employee?
That ought to be an easy question to answer. She was a daughter first and an employee second.
But if she was honest with herself, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as if her father saw her as special—for any reason at all.
TEN
When he lived on his own, Alex wouldn’t put a single drape, curtain, or valence on his windows. Nothing. The sun would pour into every single room all day long. And at night, he’d enjoy the stars, the phases of the moon . . . even the pale white glow of the streetlights. The stream of passing cars’ headlights.
Let there be light . . . any and all light.
He shut his bedroom door, moving down the hallway without glancing back at his parents’ bedroom. The closed door. He couldn’t hear a sound, but he knew what was happening. His father placating his mother, trying to persuade her to get up and get dressed for dinner at the Hollisters’.
Not going to happen.
She’d been missing in action Monday and Tuesday; the only evidence that she even lived in the house was the empty glasses and bottles that littered the kitchen counters and the coffee table in the Florida room, where the TV was left on for hours at a time.
A plate of cold scrambled eggs and two strips of bacon sat on the kitchen counter, right next to yet another empty wine bottle. Alex had stopped counting the bottles years ago, tired of the ever-increasing sum that was a virtual warning flag. His father’s attempts to get his mother to eat breakfast before he’d left for work earlier that day had failed, but it looked as if he’d managed to remove one bottle from their bedroom.
Alex scraped the food into the trash can, the sound of metal against the ceramic surface of the plate setting his teeth on edge. A squirt of liquid dish soap scented the air with lemon. With a blast of hot water from the faucet, he scrubbed the plate clean. The already loaded dishwasher worked away on the few glasses, plates, and utensils that he’d gathered up the night before. He and his dad usually ate on the run, dashing out the door to work to meet client after client. The freezer was stocked with frozen meals, not that his mother cared what they ate.
Was it time for him to move out? Finally find an apartment—get a little space from all of . . . this? How many almost-thirty-year-old men still lived with their parents, anyway? Would moving out change anything besides his location? Or would things collapse worse?
“Hey, son.”
Alex continued washing the already clean plate, the hot water turning his skin red as it rinsed away any remnants of wasted food.
“Your mother’s not up to coming tonight. Says her head hurts.”
“Okay.”
“You ready to go? The Hollisters will be expecting us.”
And it’s not like they could call and say, We’re not coming. Mom’s had too much to drink. Besides, the Hollisters knew what the word headache meant. No further explanation needed.
He took another swipe at the plate. “Let me just finish up here.”
“You want to drive over?” His father paced the kitchen.
“It’s only a couple of blocks. A walk sounds good.”
“Sure.”
The humidity rose up from the asphalt, not quite reaching the chill settling around Alex’s mood. The two of them kept to the side of the road, shoulder to shoulder. He got his six-foot-five height from his father’s side of the family.
“So, what’s going on with you and Caron?” His father’s question cut through Alex’s silence.
“What do you mean, ‘What’s going on?’ ” Alex kicked a rock so that it skittered farther down the road.
“When are you going to propose to that girl?”
“What kind of question is that, Dad?”
“A good question. I’m asking what’s going on. You and Caron have talked about getting married, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” Not that he ever thought he had to report back to his father.
“I thought so. Then why haven’t you proposed?”
Alex shrugged. “I don’t have a ring—”
“What’s the matter? Do you need money?”
“No, I don’t need money.”
“I can loan you money, if that’s a problem—”
“There’s no problem, Dad.”
“Well, there’s got to be a problem if you haven’t proposed yet. You two are perfect for each other. You’re smart enough to know that.”
“I’m saving up to buy a ring, okay?” Alex moved two steps to the left, farther into the road. “You’re the one who always preached about not using a credit card.”
“Well, you’ve got a point there.” His father scratched at the tuft of gray chest hair poking out just above the collar of his polo shirt. “How much are you planning on spending on this ring, anyway? You don’t have to pay a ridiculous amount of money, you know.”
“I’ll decide how much I spend on Caron’s engagement ring.”
His father stopped walking. “You know, there’s always your mother’s ring.”
“What?”
“Your mother’s ring—the first one I gave her. I replaced it on our tenth anniversary with something better. The first one’s got a small diamond. I think it’s a third of a carat. But it’s a good-quality diamond.” His father’s bass voice rose as he warmed up to the idea. “It’s in a safety deposit box down at the bank. We can go look at it later this week if you’d like.”
“I’m sure Caron would like to choose her own ring—”
“Well, how do you know? Have you asked her?”
“We haven’t even gone looking at rings yet—”
“Alex, your mother would love it if you gave Caron her engagement ring.”
His father’s words dropped like an invisible noose around Alex’s neck. His mother would love it. Alex twisted his head from side to side, sucking in a deep gulp of the moist night air.
“Let me think about it, okay, Dad?”
“I just want to see you happy, son. Caron’s a wonderful girl. You two will have a great life together. Don’t blow this by wasting your time.”
“I’m not wasting my time. I just want things to be right.”
He was entitled to that, wasn’t he? To choose when and how he proposed to Caron? To choose what was right for him . . . for them.
• • •
Midweek dinner at her parents’. With Alex and his parents. While it wasn’t their normal Sunday schedule, it should still be a nice, relaxed evening.
Except she’d quit working for her father two weeks ago.
And she had to tell Alex about what she won in Colorado.
Caron locked her car doors with a quick click of the automatic key. Whose Audi SUV was parked in her parents’ driveway? Had Alex’s dad splurged on a new car? Not likely. Mr. Madison was content to drive one of the work vans around town, maintaining the illusion that he was on the clock twenty-four hours a day. And Alex had driven the same car for the last seven years, so it was unlikely he would top her destination wedding surprise with an I-bought-a-new-car announcement.
No one greeted her as she entered
the front door. If she had to guess, her mother was probably busy with last-minute dinner preparations while Mr. Madison and her father sat out by the pool, talking business, and Alex indulged in whatever appetizer her mother had prepared. An unfamiliar blend of voices, capped off with her father’s deep laugh, broke the stillness inside the house.
After slipping off her red ballet flats in the foyer, Caron beelined for the kitchen. Had her mother broken tradition and invited someone else to join them for dinner?
A crisp white tablecloth covered the dining room table, which was set with her mother’s Villeroy & Boch Mariefleur china, each plate decorated with watercolor floral sprays. A quick count proved Caron’s suspicions correct—two extra places were set. Alex had already texted her to say his mother was staying home. Who else was joining them for dinner tonight?
Just inside the archway from the dining room to the kitchen, she stopped. Nancy Miller. Why was she here?
The woman wore a black, white, and red color-block dress paired with white platform wedge sandals. Her makeup was perfect, multiple layers of mascara thickening her lashes. Nancy Miller looked ready to face a bank of television cameras.
“I hope everyone likes cheese-stuffed mushrooms.” Nancy picked up a glass tray from the kitchen counter. “This is one of my favorite recipes.”
“They smell delicious.” Her mother noticed Caron standing off to the side, offering her a welcome hug. “Caron. When did you get here?”
“Just now.” Caron returned her mother’s embrace, nodding to Nancy over her mother’s shoulder. “Nice to see you.”
And if she’d been younger, her mother would have washed her mouth out with soap for telling a lie.
“Good to see you, too.” The other woman’s response sounded genuine.
“Now that everyone is here—”
“The Madisons are here?”
“Yes. Alex and his father walked over.” Caron’s mother motioned toward the family room. “Alex’s mom is under the weather. She’s got a bad headache.”
Ah. So Mrs. Madison was still struggling with the anniversary of Shawn’s death.
The open window between the kitchen and family room framed a quartet of men seated on the leather sectional in the Hollister family room. Had Nancy Miller’s husband come, too?
“Why don’t I take the appetizer in to the others?”
“That would be great, Nancy. You can tell them that dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Her mother pulled a large ceramic bowl full of tossed green salad from the fridge. “Caron, don’t you want to go say hello to Alex?”
“Sure.” She’d do that. Once she got used to the reality that Nancy Miller was here. “Do you need any help?”
“Everything’s under control.” From the vivid colors of the fresh green salad her mother topped with a fine layer of shredded Parmesan cheese, Caron couldn’t argue with her mother’s assessment. “All I need to do is remind your father to check on the pork loin on the grill and get the side dishes on the table.”
“Why are Nancy Miller and her husband here?”
“Your father came home and told me that he’d invited Nancy Miller and her boyfriend to dinner tonight.” Her mother set several different bottles of salad dressing on the kitchen counter.
“I thought this was going to be a family dinner. After what happened two weeks ago, don’t you think it’s going to be uncomfortable enough without her being here?”
“I’m sure since we’re all adults, we can manage to have a pleasant evening. It’s dinner, not a business meeting.” Her mother motioned to the bottles. “Will you put the salad and the dressings on the table for me?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” Her mother handed Caron the salad bowl, the pottery cool to her touch. “I’ll remind your father to check on the meat. There’s the salad, and the rolls are over there in the basket, and I have a pasta salad still in the fridge.”
“Sounds like another one of your great meals, Mom.”
Not that she’d taste any of it with Nancy Miller sitting at the table.
And she had approximately ten minutes to grow up.
Alex found her as she set the side dishes out on the dining room table, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her close.
“Welcome home—again.” His voice was low in her ear, sending a quick shiver of warmth across her neck.
“Thank you.” She settled the bowl of pasta salad on the white tablecloth. “Don’t distract me. I don’t want to spill anything.”
She turned in his arms and accepted his kiss, even as she noticed the shadows under his eyes. “You okay?”
Alex leaned past her, lifting one of the water glasses and drinking half the contents. “Busy week. Lots of emergencies. Same old, same old.”
Caron rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry your mom isn’t feeling well.”
“This time of year . . . it’s always tough.”
“I know. But I’m still sorry.”
“So, we didn’t talk too much when I picked you up last night. Colorado?” He covered her hand with his, the touch of his skin warming her. “It was good?”
“Yes, very relaxing, but I wasn’t expecting to come back and have dinner with the woman who stole my dream job—”
“We’ll get through tonight just fine. I’ll be right beside you.”
“Thanks for that.”
Compliments about the food were exhausted within the first five minutes of the meal. Caron sat between Alex and his dad, while Nancy Miller sat across the table from her. The two Madison men seemed to treat Caron as a human wall, separating them from one another. They spoke to her, to the other people at the table—but not to one another.
What was going on?
“So, Caron, your father tells me that you worked for him for several years.” Nancy scooped salad from the pottery salad bowl and piled it onto her salad plate.
And now she had to engage with the last person she wanted to talk to. Caron could almost hear her mother saying, “Mind your manners,” like she had when Caron was a child.
“Yes. I did.”
“I’m sorry you’re not a part of Hollister Realty Group. I saw your sales figures. You’d be an asset to our team.”
Caron sipped her water, swallowing back the bitter taste of defeat. And yet there was nothing peremptory in the other woman’s tone. Could she take Nancy Miller at face value and just accept the compliment for what it was?
“I enjoyed my time at Hollister Realty—” That was the truth. “It was a good starting point for my career. But I’m ready for something new.”
“And what is that?” Nancy passed the salad bowl to her boyfriend as she lobbed the loaded question to Caron.
“Well . . . I just came back from Colorado. My friend is getting married, and we were doing some wedding planning. Now that I’m back home I’ll be concentrating on my job leads.”
Not that she had any. But no one needed to know that.
“I think we can all understand the need to move on, to try something new. I certainly didn’t stay at the first company I worked with as a Realtor. Did you, Russell?”
“No.” Her father sliced into his pork, the knife scraping against his plate.
“Of course not. And while it’s wonderful that your daughter wants to follow in your footsteps professionally, she certainly doesn’t want to get lost in your shadow.” Nancy accepted the basket of rolls from Caron’s mother. “I’m sure that’s why Kade Webster is no longer your golden boy, Russell.”
The conversation came to a sudden standstill, as if Nancy Miller had steered them all into an unexpected traffic jam.
“What are you talking about?” Her father’s gruff voice cracked the silence icing the room.
“With you as his mentor, Kade Webster was almost an overnight Realtor success in the Panhandle. Someone that good is going to want to strike out on his own.”
Caron struggled to find a way to turn the conversation back
to her—anything but talking about Kade. “I don’t think—”
“Your situation isn’t anything like Kade’s, of course.” Nancy glanced back and forth between Caron and her father. “I mean, there were rumors of a less than amicable parting between Kade and your father, but I prefer to ignore rumors. I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. I apologize. We probably shouldn’t talk business all night.”
“Thank you, Nancy.” Caron’s mother turned toward the other woman’s boyfriend. “Now, what did you say you did again, Gunther?”
As Caron’s mother steered the conversation to a neutral topic, Caron settled back into her chair. How was she supposed to stay angry with a woman who unknowingly took what Caron had always wanted—and then treated her as a professional peer?
• • •
Tonight, the safest place in her parents’ house was the kitchen.
Her mother and father sat in the family room, enjoying coffee and fresh strawberry pie with Nancy and Gunther, who managed to hold his own in the conversation, despite being the owner of a charter fishing boat and not a Realtor.
Alex’s father had disappeared early, two slices of pie tucked away in a Tupperware container, one piece for him, one for Alex’s mom. Both pieces would be eaten by Mr. Madison. Alex’s mom ate one meal a day, if that.
And now here she was, playing a sulky Cinderella, hiding in the kitchen as she loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed the pots clean, avoiding interaction with Nancy Miller. And her father.
She was being childish. And stubborn. But there was no changing her attitude this late in the evening.
“Can I help with anything?” Alex scooped the last bite of whipped cream and strawberries off his plate.
“I’m about done here.” She sat the last pot in the dish drainer.
“So are you going to stop hiding and join the rest of us?”
“I’m not hiding—”
Alex stopped her protest with a subtle shift of his shoulders.
“Fine. I’m hiding. But I’m also tired. And I really can’t play nice anymore.”
“But Nancy Miller has been nothing but pleasant—”
“I know that, okay?” Caron gripped the edge of the sink, suds dripping off her fingers. “I didn’t think she’d be here tonight. I don’t want to like her, but she’s making that impossible. I’m confused . . . and just tired.”
