by Dorie Graham
“Hold on,” he said as he read over the recipe.
“He kind of doesn’t like people hovering while he’s cooking,” Robert said. “Why don’t I get your bags so you can get settled in?”
“I can do it.” Alex rose.
“I’ll help you.” Robert held her gaze, his jaw tight as though he silently dared her to argue.
“I don’t have that much.”
Robert crossed his arms and all but glared at her. “Look, I didn’t ask for you to come, but if you’re here to help, then you have to also accept help. It goes both ways.”
“You should take advantage of him while you can,” her father said, without looking up from the tablet. “He’s pretty useless during chemo, so forget it once they get started on that again.”
Five minutes later, Alex opened her trunk and frowned. She’d brought only one small suitcase and a duffel bag, which bulged with all the last-minute items that hadn’t fit in the suitcase. She reached for the oversize bag, but Robert grabbed it first, shouldering it before she could protest.
As she headed up the front staircase behind him, suitcase in hand, she shook her head. Her brother might be feeling okay today, but he was moving slower than he had in the past. Still, she made no comment as he deposited the bag on the bed in her old room. He hadn’t needed to mention that he hadn’t asked for her to come. His attitude said it all.
But she was here and they had to make the best of it. She set down her suitcase and surveyed the room. Fleetwood Mac and Aerosmith posters covered the walls. An old computer and monitor circa the late nineties sat on the desk opposite the twin bed.
She turned to Robert. “So, Megan couldn’t wait to make over my room when she moved in. She was a Fleetwood Mac fan?”
He merely shrugged. “I’ll let you unpack.”
“Thanks.”
He turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway and was silent a moment, before saying, “We’ve got a good routine around here and I like it that way. I do fine on my own most of the time and I don’t need a babysitter, but Dad feels better if he’s here most of the time. I try to humor him, since I understand this is hard on him, too, and it makes him feel better, like he’s doing something. If Becky didn’t need him at the store more, we’d probably manage just fine.”
“I get that you don’t want me here,” she said. “But Dad asked me to come and I wanted to help. I’ll do my best not to step on your toes. I want you to know I didn’t come for him, though, I came for you.”
His eyes darkened. “Fine. I want to tell you what I told Chase, then.” He cocked his head. “Did Dad tell you he ran into him?”
“Chase Carrolton?”
He nodded.
“No, he didn’t mention it.” Her conversation with her father had been too difficult to include small talk, not that she took news of Chase Carrolton lightly.
“When he heard about what I’ve been going through he stopped by to offer his help.”
“I’m surprised the two of you hadn’t kept up.”
Chase had been so adamant about not alienating Robert during the divorce when Robert had stuck by their father, and Alex had been furious with both of them. Chase and her brother had been so close in those days. The issue had played a big part in Alex and Chase’s breakup.
“We did for a while. He was pretty torn up when you left, you know,” Robert said. “I mean, he didn’t moan a lot about it, but I could tell he was really down for a long time after that. You really messed him up.”
The old feelings of hurt stirred in her. The divorce had devastated her, and Chase’s inability to emotionally support her during that time had further crushed her. “I don’t want to talk about that. What did you tell him when you saw him?”
“I thanked him for his offer of help, but told him I didn’t want him coming by.”
“It was good of him to offer, though, Robert.”
“Of course, but I hate that I even need help. I want you to know I only agreed to your coming here for Dad. It’s a lot for him to take on and I appreciate that you’re here to help him.”
“Like I said, I’m here for you.”
“Dad’s here for me. He always has been. You can help him however you want, but when it comes down to it, he’s looking after me.” He again held her gaze. “I hope you understand.”
“Sure, I understand,” she said.
“Good. I want it clear I don’t need your help, either. I’ll pull my own weight and when I can’t I’ll make do or Dad will see to whatever I need.”
“Sure,” she repeated.
As he left, she sank to the bed. She’d come all this way for her brother and he wanted no part of it. What a mess this was. She stared out the window at the porch swing below.
At least Robert had sent Chase Carrolton packing and she wouldn’t have to worry about having to deal with him again. That would be more than she could take.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEX PUSHED OFF with her toe a couple of days later, gently rocking the porch swing as the chimes tinkled softly above her. She pressed her phone to her ear.
“I wish you could come down, Steven. It’s not quite like being in enemy territory, but it’s so uncomfortable. Last night at dinner no one said a word for the longest time. And Robert doesn’t even want me here.”
“I’m sure he appreciates you being there, Alex. He’s always been moody like that,” her younger brother said.
Of all her siblings, she and Steven got along the best, especially postdivorce. He’d been equally outraged by their father’s betrayal and turned his back on him to stand by Alex in full support of their mother.
“He does appreciate it,” she said. “He’s just so stubborn, though. I’m not sure how all this is going to work out.”
“If I could get away I’d come, but I don’t have any more vacation time, and this new client is high maintenance.”
A car pulled to the curb in front of the house. Alex frowned. Who could be stopping by at this hour? Like her, Steven was an early riser and his calling now hadn’t been too much of a surprise, but Robert and her father were still sleeping. She’d hoped to enjoy the peace and coolness of the porch before the rest of the world awoke.
A man emerged from the vehicle and Alex narrowed her eyes. Something about the way he moved as he climbed the steps stirred a distant memory.
She frowned. “Hold on, someone’s here.”
“I’ll just let you go, then. It’s all going to work out. Just hang in there,” Steven said. “I’ll check on you later.”
Recognition dawned over Alex as the man hit the sidewalk and strode toward her. Chase Carrolton. To her utter dismay, her pulse kicked up a notch.
“Okay, Steven,” she said. “Have a good one.”
Shoving her phone into her pocket, she rose. Why hadn’t she brushed her hair this morning? Why should she even care?
Chase evidently recognized her, as well. His stride slowed as he approached. He stepped onto the porch, carrying a full grocery bag.
Her gaze skimmed the bag before settling on his face. Little of the young man she remembered remained. His shoulders and chest had filled out. His familiar gray eyes shone from a face that had lost the softness of youth. Chase was all man, and to her dissatisfaction, the woman in her responded with piqued curiosity.
“Alex,” he said. “I heard you were back, or at least that you were coming back.”
She nodded and stepped closer to him, though not close enough to encourage a greeting hug. Things had ended between them on too sour a note for any of that.
“Hello, Chase, Robert told me that you had stopped by.”
“I did.” He lifted the bag. “I was going to leave this on the porch. It’s just some fruit and vegetables. I hear they’ve gone vegan over here and there were some good sales. I happened by a farmer’s market on my way home last night.”
“Oh,” she said, staring at the bag. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
“I didn’t think anyone would be up
this early. I was just going to drop it at the door.” He gestured toward his car. “I’m headed to work.”
“I won’t keep you, then,” she said.
He nodded toward the groceries. “Maybe you shouldn’t mention they came from me. Robert said he didn’t want me coming by. He doesn’t want my...concern.”
“I know. He told me. If it makes you feel any better, he basically said the same thing to me. He’s very particular about just wanting Dad to look after him. I think they have their routine, though Dad’s headed back to the hardware store today, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“Hopefully your brother will have a good day, then. Otherwise, I don’t envy you.”
“It’ll be what it’ll be,” she said. “He has radiation this morning and then this afternoon I’m taking him to the clinic for an appointment with his transplant oncologist. Whether he wants me to or not, I’m driving him to both. I have a list of questions for his doctor.”
Chase cringed. “I really don’t envy you that. He’s isn’t going to like it.”
“You know what?” she asked, determination filling her. “I don’t care if he likes it or not. I’ll do the best I can to not make him feel helpless, which won’t be a problem, because he isn’t, but I’m here to help and that’s what I plan to do. If it were me, I’d want someone else there to decipher all the medical jargon.”
“I would, too. Good for you.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He again nodded. “You look amazing, by the way.”
“Really?” Laughing, she glanced down at her T-shirt and shorts. At least she’d changed from her boxers. “You like the rolled-out-of-bed-and-threw-on-the-nearest-clothes look?”
“I do. It’s working for you,” he said, his gaze warm.
Heat filled her. She straightened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
He straightened, as well, then carefully placed the bag by the door. “I apologize. It’s just... I know we didn’t end things on the best of terms, but we’re both here because we want the best for Robert.”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”
“So, maybe we can call a truce. There’s no reason we can’t be friends, is there? I could probably use an inside accomplice to help me smuggle in future stashes of veggies.”
“Or you could leave them by the door.”
“Or that,” he said, his gaze falling. “I understand. I just thought...” He gestured once more toward his car. “I should head out before traffic gets crazy.”
She nodded, her arms crossed before her. A light breeze sent the wind chimes tinkling as he turned to leave.
“Chase.”
He turned back to her, his eyebrows arched in question. “Truce,” she said and extended her hand in an offering of peace.
He stared down at her hand, then took it and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you, Alex.”
The clean scent of him wrapped around her. He held her close for a long moment, the hard line of his body pressed to hers. She closed her eyes and reminded herself how he hadn’t stood by her all those years ago.
At long last he stepped back. “Will you do me a favor? Please.”
For some reason she didn’t want to contemplate, she bobbed her head in acquiescence.
He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “Let me know how the doctors’ appointments go. What they say about the typing results. I want to help. If I can’t help Robert, then I can help you and your dad. Run errands, do chores, research...whatever you need. I want to be a support to you. You guys were always like a real family to me. I can’t believe this is happening to him. He’s like a brother to me, you know.”
She took the card and traced her fingers over the embossed letters, surprised by the word curator for his title. Had her aimless ex-boyfriend made something of himself? Not that any of that mattered to her anymore.
Her throat tightened. “Thank you, Chase, I appreciate that, but it’s probably better if I don’t contact you. Robert might be angry if he found out and I’m walking on eggshells around here as it is.”
And the last thing she needed was to get distracted by the guy who hadn’t been there for her when she had really needed him.
He glanced away, pressing his lips together, then again faced her. “Okay, I understand, but you know how to reach me if you change your mind.”
Again she nodded and he gave her one last, long look before he walked away. She sank slowly down onto the swing, this time perching on the edge. It was all she could do to deal with her family. Chase was another barrel of issues she couldn’t handle right now.
No, it was definitely for the best that she’d sent him away.
* * *
CHASE PUSHED ASIDE thoughts of Alex that had flooded him since seeing her that morning. The woman, with her sad eyes and soft scent, had filled his mind. He needed to focus on work, though, as he picked his way past the half-plastered walls and scaffolding for the new African-art-exhibition site on the second floor of the McKinney University Art Museum in Atlanta, Georgia. He nodded to a construction worker wearing shorts and a tool belt as he measured the area where recessed shelves would display ritual masks from central Africa. He smiled. All appeared to be on schedule. Maybe he’d get out of here on time, after all.
His phone vibrated. “Hello?”
“Heads up, your favorite work buddy is on her way,” Assistant Curator Donna Berry said. As far as assistant curators went, Donna was the best.
He groaned. “How does she know where to find me?”
“So sorry, she cornered me at my desk and saw I was reviewing the marketing plan for the community programming to promote the collection. And, of course, she started peppering me with questions. Then she said she needed to discuss the program with you, even though I told her it was all up to Marketing and Public Programs. I suggested she try them, but, of course, she expects you to take them all her concerns. I tried to distract her with the upcoming gala, but she wasn’t having it. What were they thinking when they let her maintain control of the collection?”
Chase gritted his teeth. Paula Dixon was not only a descendant of one of the university founders, she was their biggest donor and a docent at the museum. Her late husband, Albert, had been an avid collector of African art back in the sixties and seventies and was responsible for the bulk of their West and South African collection. Back in the seventies, the collection’s value had evidently merited granting the donor control in order to obtain the rare artifacts. The donation restrictions actually had given Albert control, but Paula’s husband had always deferred that control to his wife.
But the woman, with her sugarcoated requests, was the bane of Chase’s existence.
Chase, I don’t think I can agree to any part of the collection traveling, unless you go with it and oversee every aspect of the setup. You know exactly how to best display it, from the lighting to the descriptions, even the marketing. No one else can do it like you do.
Chase, do you think we can do something about the temperature in the collection room? It’s way too cold in there. People don’t want to linger. We need a temperature that hints at sultry, more like Africa.
Chase, we can’t keep with the same font on the collection tags. We need an update, don’t you think? Something to mix it up. What do you think about Aparajita?
“I don’t have time for this,” he said. “I have a flight to make.” And he had to stop by to see Kara’s foster mother before he left.
“That’s why I’m calling. Hurry and slip away before she gets there. She’ll just have another ridiculous request. I wish we could turn down all her donations and not have her leading us around by the nose.”
“Leading me around, you mean,” Chase said.
The far door opened and Paula Dixon pushed inside, swathed in bright colors, her bleached hair teased high on her head. Chase groaned again. “Too late, she’s found me. Give me five minutes then call me back with som
e emergency I need to come see to.”
“Got it.”
He pasted on a smile and waved at Mrs. Dixon as she approached. “Mrs. Dixon, you shouldn’t be back here. Let’s go grab you a cup of coffee.”
Her ruby lips curved into a bright smile. “Thank you, Chase, you are always so considerate. We could do lunch, instead, my treat.”
“I’m so sorry, I can’t make lunch. I have a flight to catch and I have too much to do before I can leave.”
“For the New Orleans exhibition?” she asked as she slipped her arm in his and he steered her away from the construction site.
“No, that’s next week. I’m presenting my paper on modern African art at a conference.”
“Oh,” she said and waved her hand. As usual she wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t involve the collection her late husband had donated. She made sure Chase always understood her “requests” as far as the collection was concerned. “Did you read the new exhibition proposal? I’m surprised we haven’t heard from Yale. I’m sure they would love to have it. Maybe I should write to them.”
He shook his head. “If Yale were interested, we’d hear from them. You know, they do have a spectacular African art collection of their own and I’m sure they stay booked with other exhibitions well in advance.”
“Yes, but I just know if you gave it the effort they’d take notice and then, of course, the collection speaks for itself.”
What kind of effort was she expecting? If another university was interested in having part of the collection as an exhibition, they’d send a proposal. If Yale sent one, he’d read it, but he had plenty to do without having to court more work and in that case, since she insisted on his overseeing every installation, more travel.
They rode the elevator to the lobby, where there was an upscale coffee shop. Chase ordered an iced skinny latte and handed it to Mrs. Dixon.
She frowned at him. “You shouldn’t make a lady drink alone.”
“My apologies,” he said. He glanced at his watch. Where was his call from Donna? “I have to preview media before I head out.”
