When You Knew

by Jamie Beck

  “Day care.” With Colt’s infection cured, he could attend Miss Linda’s once Ian left town.

  “I thought you liked having help around the house. And what of the late nights we can expect to log here, with the launch?”

  Gentry shook her head, wondering if she’d ever cross the line that would win her mother’s approval. “I’ll figure the rest out. Day care will give Colt other kids to play with instead of a nanny who’s distracted by her phone.”

  “Is Ian always on his phone?”

  “Ian’s not really a nanny.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s a bit of a lost soul, I think.”

  Gentry’s entire body tipped forward in shock. “What?”

  “He doesn’t know what he wants. The savior complex lets him avoid commitments. His fiancée must’ve called things off once she realized he had no plan for their life together.”

  “He’s got a plan. She just didn’t like it.” In truth, Gentry liked it less and less the more she learned about the dangers involved. “Ian’s goals have life-and-death stakes, but of course, peddling tea is a far more worthy pursuit.”

  Her mom touched her forehead to her desk. “Why can’t we have a single conversation that isn’t laced with sarcasm?”

  “Habit?” Gentry shifted in the hot seat, eager to leave.

  “That’s not funny.” The increasingly prominent lines in her mother’s face deepened. “Even Hunter and I have less hostile conversations than you and me.”

  “Probably because you don’t disapprove of everything he does and says.”

  Her mom raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  Gentry conceded, “Okay, so you two rarely agree, but he’s not bothered by it, because he doesn’t care about your opinion.”

  If Gentry’s brain hadn’t been half-asleep, those words would not have slipped out. It’d be too much to hope that her mom missed the revelation that her opinions did matter to Gentry despite Gentry’s lifelong insistence that they didn’t. That truth filled her with self-loathing.

  Rather than seize on a moment of triumph, her mom folded her hands on her desk. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m concerned that you’ve got too much going on now to adequately focus on your job. We should push some of your responsibilities to others until this Smith situation is resolved.”

  Resolved. Like a single answer or act would make everything clear. There’d be no such resolution. Smith would be a permanent fixture of sorts, requiring her to compromise for the rest of her life.

  Her stomach turned over again, but she hadn’t worked the past ten months at this job to fail now. Quitting would hand her family more proof that she didn’t have the mettle to stick with anything. That she wasn’t committed or ambitious or in any way like the rest of them.

  “No.” For better or worse, CTC was the tie that bound the Cabot family, and dammit, she was a Cabot. She needed to belong to her tribe, especially with Smith moving into the picture. “I’ll get it done. I know I dropped the ball this weekend, but I can finish today if you let me get to work. Don’t humiliate me in front of everyone.”

  “This can’t become a habit.”

  “I get that.” Gentry knew she shouldn’t bug her eyes, but a lecture from her mother delivered the same full-body jolt as a fork in the toaster.

  “I’ll tell your father about Peter Smith.” She inhaled through her nose, then blew a sigh. “I still can’t believe you gave up control of your son’s future.”

  Control. Gentry had thought about that all night to the point of making herself sick. Her conclusion? Relationships based on control never worked. Her mom should know this by now, because she’d never been able to control Gentry’s behavior.

  Ian had been right when he implied that doing the right thing was the only thing in anyone’s control.

  “Maybe, if you’d given up ‘control’ years ago and tried to blend our family with Colby and Hunter, my life would’ve been happier. My relationships with them stronger.”

  “I never prevented those kids from coming over.”

  “You barely welcomed them. You never reached out.” When her mother opened her mouth, Gentry held up her hand. “We don’t have to agree on that, or on Smith. All I’m saying is that my priority is to fill Colt’s life with people who love him. I won’t keep my son from Smith and his family because I’m afraid of sharing him.”

  “I hope you’re not sorry.”

  Gentry bowed her head and left the room, wishing she could leave the building entirely. But there were memes and tags to create, and data to gather. At least none of her coworkers peeked their heads above the cubicle walls as she made her way to her workstation.

  She fired up her computer to check on the stats and analytics from the latest rounds of Facebook ads they’d tested. Data analysis for her blog excited her more, but this had to be done.

  Gentry made notes on another round of postcards from the art team while trying to quell her mother’s warnings and her opinion that maybe Gentry was an ungrateful screwup who had no business being anybody’s mother.

  When her desk phone rang, Hunter’s name appeared on its screen. Her stomach clenched because she hadn’t finished her analysis. He’d be even more pissed about the delay than her mom. “Hello.”

  “Hey, can you swing by my office?” To the point and efficient, like always.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.” His flat tone gave no hint of his mood.

  “Sure.” She glanced at the clock as she hung up. Earlier she’d sat down to work, blinked, and now it was twelve thirty. She pressed her fingers to her temples. If she didn’t complete this soon, she’d cause delays for other people waiting on her.

  She pushed back from her desk and walked the green mile to her brother’s office. His assistant, Haru, barely looked up from her screen as she gestured for Gentry to enter his office.

  Hunter sat at the round conference table, where he normally huddled over spreadsheets with Bethany, the comptroller. In other words, that table was a circle of hell.

  At the moment, the takeout from Gab-n-Eat—his and Colby’s favorite dive—caught her attention. With a slight smile, Hunter pushed a greasy burger and milkshake toward an empty chair and gestured for her to take that spot.

  She stood still, dumbfounded, the scent of fried onions and bacon filling the air. Granted, many people might consider Gab-n-Eat’s food a serious punishment, but Hunter considered it a reward. “What’s this?”

  “Lunch.” He blinked, his literal interpretation of her question totally missing her point.

  “I mean, why? Are you cushioning the blow before you fire me or something?”

  He frowned, setting his burger down. “Why would you think that?”

  “In all the months I’ve worked here, we’ve never had lunch.” She’d never seen him eat lunch, actually. He worked tirelessly, the way a shark never stops swimming.

  She’d bet he didn’t realize he’d never shared Gab-n-Eat with her. Not ever. Not even as a kid. He and Colby always went without her.

  “Sorry about that.” Hunter pointed to the empty chair again. While she took a seat and unwrapped the food he’d chosen for her, he said, “I usually eat at my desk while I work. After yesterday’s big reveal, I wanted to check in with you. I got you a burger.”

  The food coma from all this fat and carbs wouldn’t help her work better, but she couldn’t say no. His sharing lunch meant working here was bringing them closer. She’d suffer Bethany, deadlines, these damn boring work clothes, and more for that.

  Cheeseburger grease coated the wrapper and her fingers, but she’d never complain. “I’m okay. Tired, mostly.”

  “You’ve looked better.” He said this matter-of-factly, like he did everything else. That trait always intimidated and fascinated her and everyone else.

  “Such a charmer. No wonder Sara loves you.”

  “At least you know you can trust me to be honest.” His tongue retrieved a stray bit of onion from his lip. “I hate having to read betwee
n the lines. Say what you mean . . . it’s always the best policy.”

  “Okay, then.” She held her hands up, sending her bangles jangling down her arm. “But here’s a suggestion. Try gilding brutal honesty with a little tact.”

  “Point taken.” He grinned. The juxtaposition of his penetrating gaze and unexpected smile could be quite breathtaking.

  She forced another bite of the sloppy sandwich. “The Smith stuff is scary, but after today, it won’t interfere with my work. I’ve almost finished updating the teasers and am crafting a ‘behind the scenes’ campaign for the next phase of our social media strategy.”

  He slurped at his milkshake. “You’re late with that.”

  “I know.”

  “You know what’s riding on this launch.” For weeks he’d been driving everyone hard, poring over stacks of memos and financial papers, meeting with partners, distributors, and designers. He shouldered the weight of the company’s success like Atlas, and she hadn’t done as much as she could’ve to lighten that burden.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She braced for a scolding, but he nodded and changed the subject. “Sara swung by your house this morning to drop off some of Ty’s hand-me-downs. Ian let it slip that you heard from Smith. He assumed you’d updated us.”

  “Well, now you know.” She sipped her milkshake to avoid a bunch of questions for which she didn’t have good answers.

  “Sara’s got it in her head that there’s something between you and Ian.” He studied her now as if she were one of his spreadsheets.

  Gentry stuffed a fry in her face, unprepared to discuss her sex life with her brother. Maybe he’d drop it if she let the comment pass.

  He sighed. “Uh-oh.”

  She looked up. “Why ‘uh-oh’?”

  “He’s leaving, isn’t he?”

  “He says he is.” She stabbed another few fries into a dollop of ketchup. Hunter was wise. Maybe he could help her plot. “I still have a little time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “To convince him he could help as many people here as he can in Haiti.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Whether due to childhood idolization or the simple fact that Hunter’s decision-making skills exceeded hers by miles, she cared about his opinion.

  He wiped his chin with a napkin. “Because he’s obviously driven to honor his dad’s legacy.”

  “Is that worth risking his life? Or throwing away a chance at happiness?”

  “Maybe his happiness depends on seeing it through. I get that. For some of us, leaving a legacy is in the blood.”

  She sighed, remembering how close Hunter had come to losing Sara over the very same thing. If Ian’s commitment to his project was even half as serious as her brother’s was to CTC, she didn’t stand a chance. “Well, I’d better tell Colby about Smith before she thinks I’m holding out.”

  “Dad will be in soon, too.”

  Gentry rolled her eyes. “My mom has probably already fed him her version.”

  “Her version?” He tore open another packet of ketchup and squeezed it on his fries. He ate as if someone might come steal his lunch any second.

  “Can’t you guess?”

  Hunter loaded his mouth with a wad of fries while waiting for details, so Gentry mimicked her mother by folding her hands on her lap and speaking with condescension. “It’s going to be a disaster that you’ll regret forever. You’re an impulsive idiot for giving up ‘control.’” Gentry resumed her slouched posture and normal voice, shrugging. “You know, the basic pep talk.”

  Hunter wiped his hands with another napkin and then reached across the table to take her hand. They hadn’t shared a lot of one-on-one time, so the intimacy froze her in place. “There’s not much love lost between your mom and me, but I think, in this case, her fear is sincere and overwhelming her. You and I finally have a clue about how a parent’s hopes and dreams and fears get tied up with their kids. Truth is, none of us has the best advice for your situation, and we’re all a little anxious.” He released her hand and sat back in his chair. “Do what you think is best for your son. I’ll stand with you every step of the way.”

  “Thanks.” Of everyone in her family, Hunter exuded the most power. If he said he’d be there to fix things, she believed it would be okay. She waved her hands in front of her eyes to stave off the tears, hoping he’d buy her lame excuse. “God, this burger has so much onion.”

  “They’re good, aren’t they?” He smiled, finishing his off in two bites. “I could eat these every day.”

  Gentry nodded, gulping the rest of her milkshake to cut the salt and grease, and fibbed, “Me too.”

  Ian’s mother sat on the edge of Gentry’s fancy sofa as if she feared she’d stain it or, possibly, that it would swallow her whole. “Why don’t you look happier?”

  Timmy had been recovered, and the police had two suspects in custody. Ian should have been ecstatic at the prospect of justice for Marie’s death. “Guess I’m exhausted.”

  “Infants will do that to you.” The smile she offered Colt had nostalgia written all over it, too. “Can I hold him? I love babies.”

  Ian placed Colt in his mother’s arms. He felt like a father; she looked like a grandmother. Her glittery eyes suggested she’d shared that thought.

  “He’s darling. Such striking blue eyes.” She glanced at Ian. “When you have a child, I hope he or she has your green eyes.”

  Or Gentry’s. That thought struck faster than lightning and twice as hard. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  He needed to heed his own advice. Each day he spent here with Gentry and Colt peppered his soul with laughter, fire, and an alarming yearning to be still. But his dad’s dream remained unfulfilled, and he wouldn’t be much of a man—or a son—if he let it die with his father.

  “You never know.” She tickled Colt’s chin.

  “A traditional family life doesn’t fit with my plans, Mom.” Not even if he wanted it with someone as untraditional as Gentry.

  “You know what they say about God and plans. Trust me, dear, he’s up there laughing right now.” She spared him a wry glance before returning her attention to the baby.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m teasing. But you’re young. Plenty of time to settle down once you’ve finished what you’ve started. Somewhere out there is a woman who’ll knock your socks off. Maybe that woman is in Haiti.”

  Ian stared at a photograph of Gentry and Colt, thinking that woman was closer than his mom realized. The picture had probably been shot with a self-timer, like the ones she’d taken of him yesterday, on the sofa where his mom now sat.

  He leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. His head hurt from an all-night tug-of-war between what he wanted and what was best for everyone. If he thought Gentry could be happy despite his odd schedule . . . “Mom, did you ever resent Dad for leaving you so often?”

  She let Colt clutch her forefinger while she made silly faces, encouraging some smiles. “Why would I resent someone who sacrificed so much to help others?”

  “You never got lonely?”

  “I had you, dear. My little man of the house.” Her distant gaze told him she was replaying the past. “You were a good boy. Too good to be true, some might’ve said.”

  “Was I?” He searched his mind for evidence of a little misspent youth. A trip to the principal’s office, shoplifting a pack of gum, swearing—anything to suggest that he’d been a normal kid with a carefree childhood.

  Gentry’s opinions about him and his family had been gnawing at him. Had he made the choices he’d made of free will? Or had his deep-seated recognition that the Crawford way would be the only way to be close to his father driven most of his decisions?

  “Dad, can we hit the batting cages today?”

  “Not today, Ian. There’s been an earthquake in Cariaco, Venezuela, and I’m leaving to help deliver medical supplies.”

  Cariaco, Venezuela, sounded way more exciting
than Portland. “Can I come?”

  His father smiled. “You’re only nine, son. You help your mom with the church fair this week. When you’re older, then I’ll bring you with me.”

  “How much older?”

  “We’ll talk about it with your mom.” He patted Ian on the head. “Now go play so I can pack.”

  “But, Dad, I need to practice for next week’s all-star game. Can’t we go for a little while?”

  “Ask your mother to take you.”

  “She’s got a charity meeting.” Ian scowled, his voice rough.

  His dad knelt beside him. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but you mustn’t get angry when your mother and I work for the greater good. We’re very lucky to live in a safe home, to have plenty of food and water, and to have clothes to keep warm. Some people in this town and around the world don’t have these things, and it’s our duty to help them. Baseball is a wonderful pastime, and I know you love it, but isn’t the welfare of others more important?”

  “I guess so.” Ian looked at his feet, still wishing he could go to the batting cages.

  “Good boy. It makes me proud when you make unselfish choices, Ian. That’s the Crawford way.”

  The Crawford way. He’d heard that a million times before. “Will you be home for my all-star game?”

  “I’ll try.” He ruffled Ian’s hair again and then stood. “Now go see if your mom needs help before you meet up with your friends.”

  Ian nodded, but he didn’t go find his mother. He picked up his mitt and a tennis ball and went to the backyard, where he threw the ball against the brick wall over and over, feeling ashamed that he still wanted his dad to take him to the batting cages instead of going to Venezuela to help all those strangers.

  “Ian?” his mother asked. “You look upset.”

  “Sorry. An ancient memory.”

  “Of what?”

  “A conversation with Dad that ended with a lecture about the Crawford way.”

  “The family motto.” She smiled proudly.

  “Uh-huh . . .” That came out as more of a grunt than an expression.