“But he’s in his right mind. He knows what he’s doing.”
“She claims he isn’t. Anyway, that’s really about all I know. About that, anyway. She donates a ton of money for building improvements and senior activities, and now she’s on the Board of Directors.”
“When did that happen?”
“A few months ago. She does what she wants, basically. Mr. Baker is afraid of her.”
Bunny closed her eyes, and released a heavy sigh. “Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it.”
“I couldn’t let it go, Ms. Bergen. He was so upset. He kept saying that she’d stolen all of his phones and was begging someone to call you.”
“Thank you again. I promise to keep your name out of this.”
She clicked the phone off. Well, if she needed something to throw cold water on her libido, that had done the job.
While showering, Bunny considered her options. Hiring a lawyer to fight Demon’s claim seemed logical, but completely out of her financial reach. Her father could afford the fight, but Demon had control of his money, too.
Trying to convince Demon to rethink the addiction treatment idea—forget it. Demon did what Demon wanted to do, and common sense never entered the picture. She craved control and did whatever necessary to keep a stranglehold. Bunny wished someone would declare her mentally unfit.
Barb knew a guy who’d once had mafia connections. Maybe he could make a phone call. Demon weighed about a thousand pounds. The sharks would be in feast heaven. Bunny smiled at the image, then gave herself a mental slap on the hand. The last thought was unkind, and she had recently dedicated herself to pure and benevolent reflection. Referring to her sister as Demon, however, was exempt.
In the kitchen, she moved the few dirty dishes in the sink to the dishwasher and checked the activities calendar on the fridge for Michael’s Sunday soccer game time.
Realizing that the month was now March gave her a brilliant idea. Demon’s birthday was March 19th. Bunny rarely did anything special for her sister’s birthday, but in an attempt to keep the peace, she would usually call her on that day. What Bunny really needed was to see her father in person—to find out just how upset he was.
Showing up to surprise Demon with an early birthday present—that could work. Demon was rarely suspicious when people were nice to her since she expected everyone to adore and worship her anyway.
Bunny smiled at her own genius.
Bunny arrived on the doorstep of Demon’s palatial estate with a gift bag dangling from one hand and her purse thrown over the other shoulder.
The Christmas before last, Demon had given Bunny the most horrific smelling perfume she’d ever encountered. It was called Chasm, and she joked with her boys that it they should have called it Spasm since that’s what happened when you got near the stink of it.
Bunny had decided to repay the gesture by purchasing the cheapest, rosiest scented crap she could find at the drugstore. She spent more money on the gift bag than she did the bottle of cheap perfume.
Rolling her shoulders to release the tension pinching them like a vise, Bunny breathed deeply and pushed the doorbell.
Lovely chimes echoed loudly enough to be heard through the door. Ding-dong, bong-bong, bong-dong, ding-ding.
A Spanish woman holding a feather duster opened the door. Bunny peeked around her. “Um, is Ms. Hobbs here? I’m her sister.”
“Bunny? Bunny?” Her father’s voice echoed through the grand, marble floored foyer, but she didn’t see him. “Is that you?”
Throwing manners aside, Bunny pushed past the feather duster woman. “Daddy?”
“What’s going on here?” Demon’s voice rang out from the left, and the sound of heels clicking on the marble drew nearer as Bunny and her father embraced.
Seeing Bunny, Demon’s face crumpled immediately into a frown, but then relaxed into a broad but thin-lipped smile.
Bunny thought she looked like she’d just relieved herself of a painful bowel movement. Of course, Bunny thought, the woman was a painful bowel movement. Forget peaceful reflection. Impossible where her sister was concerned. Impossible.
Bunny decided to play it as cool and oblivious as possible, although it was hard with Daddy digging his nails into her arm.
“Deena!” She lifted the gift bag for show. “Happy Birthday! A few days early.”
Demon clacked closer, her feet overflowing the shiny black shoes she always wore. She smiled, but with a noticeable wary tilt to her head. She accepted the bag while Bunny cringed inwardly at the amount of makeup her sister managed to cake onto her flabby face. “More than a few days, I would say, but thank you. Deena always loves her birthday goodies.”
That was another habit that always annoyed Bunny; Deena frequently referred to herself in the third person.
“Such a nice surprise. I’d ask you to stay for tea, but—”
“So Daddy,” Bunny asked, stepping right over Demon’s attempt to escape scrutiny. “You’re visiting Deena for the weekend?”
He shook his head vehemently. “They’re counting on me. I want to go back home.”
“Who’s counting—”
“He hasn’t been feeling—”
“Daddy who’s counting on you?” Bunny spit out before Demon could interrupt again.
“The boys. The battle begins at five tonight.”
“Do you hear this crazy talk?” Deena said. “I’m taking him—”
“It’s not crazy talk! It’s my hobby, and I have a good time. Let me have a good time, dammit!” He stomped his foot. “You know who needs to see a damn doctor? You!” He bugged his eyes out at Demon, and Bunny suppressed a hearty laugh. “Get your stomach stapled or something, for crying out loud. You’re gonna keel over from a heart attack long before I die from playing video games. Addiction, my ass!”
Before Bunny knew what was happening, Daddy was pulling her to the door. “Quick!” he yelled. “Get me out of this hell hole! She had me watching some British crap on TV last night—rich people and their servants. I don’t care if Mary can’t have a baby or if Mr. Bates ever gets out of jail!”
He pulled her through the front door—not that she was exactly fighting him—and down the stone steps while Demon screamed behind them.
Luckily, her girth slowed her down, and Daddy was proving to be quite a sprinter.
He leaped into the passenger seat of Bunny’s car with the grace of a puma and ordered Bunny to move it.
She fumbled with the keys, watching Deena stop to yell something to the Spanish feather duster lady in the house. Managing to get the key in the ignition and the car started, Bunny pulled the gear shift into reverse and screeched out of the driveway.
Her heart pounded, and her hands shook so violently she could barely keep the steering wheel steady.
“She’ll call the police,” she said, her voice cracking with nerves. “This is useless.”
“Just drive! She doesn’t have any control now that we’re off her property.”
Bunny’s cell phone rang. “Daddy, can you grab that from my purse and see who it is?” Bunny figured it was Demon, but wanted to know anyway.
“Says it’s Charlie. You want me to answer?”
“Yes, please.”
“Yeah, Charlie—whaddya want? It’s your grandfather. Your mother is driving. Yeah, I can give her a message—go ahead. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. What’s the name again? Tate? Uh-huh. Okay. Hey, Charlie, don’t hang up. Tell me, you ever play Steel Warriors?”
Bunny wanted to rip the phone from him and find out what Charlie had said about Tate. Her fingers white-knuckled the steering wheel. “Daddy...”
He kept talking into the phone to his grandson. “Some dudes and me are battling tonight at five. You have internet at your house? Okay. See you soon.”
“Daddy, don’t hang up—” She was too late. He’d ended the call. “What was that about?”
“We can’t play at my place. Deena will spoil it. We’ll have to move the game to your place.”
“Tate�
�you said something about Tate.”
“He had an emergency and wants you to call him on his cell phone. Charlie left the phone number on the kitchen table. Who is Tate, anyway? You got a new boyfriend?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE PHONE VIBRATED IN TATE’S hand, waking him from an uncomfortable snooze in an uncomfortable chair.
It took a moment before his eyes focused properly on the display. The area code was Northern Virginia. He answered groggily. “Yeah?”
“Tate, it’s Bunny. Charlie gave me your number. Is this a good time?”
He rubbed his eyes and scanned the lounge. Willow sat across the room, staring at a television mounted in the corner. May was curled up, asleep, in a chair next to her. “Uh, yeah. Hang on a minute.”
He covered the mouthpiece and whispered across the room “Willow!” She glanced back. “Going outside for a few.”
She nodded and turned her attention back to whatever show she was watching.
“Hey, thanks for calling,” Tate said, making his way out of the lounge and through the automatic doors at the front of the hospital. The sun was bright and warmed a long nook that was protected from the wind by walls. He was glad for the early spring here in North Carolina.
“Sure. What happened? Charlie said you’re in North Carolina with your dad.”
“Yeah. It’s not good. My sister brought him down here. For a visit.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, he developed a high fever pretty quickly last night so she brought him to the ER, and he’s having a lot of trouble.”
“That’s terrible. Are you doing okay?”
He leaned against the wall, letting the sun soothe his face. “Sure. Sure. Tired. We, uh, got the call about three a.m. and got on the road about four, I guess. I don’t know, maybe five. But, uh, I was wondering if you could help me out.” He asked the question, still wondering if there wasn’t another way to handle this without involving the woman he’d just slept with. Hildie Page would have been the logical person to call, but he’d rather deal with Bunny Bergen any day of the week over horny Hildie.
“Absolutely,” Bunny answered. “How?”
“I’m sure we’re still going to be here tomorrow, but some of the kids from the crew are coming to my place to paint scenery...”
“Do you want me to call them?”
He squinted across the parking lot, noticing some trees beginning to bud. He closed his eyes and imagined Bunny’s smile. He pictured the way her hair looked when she tucked it behind one ear and let it fall around her face. “Would you mind? I don’t have their numbers with me—they’re at home, but—and here’s the real problem—I don’t remember where I put the list. It could be in a couple of places.”
“How do I get in?”
“I keep a key hidden around back under a stone Willow painted. It has flowers on it. Or butterflies maybe. Bright paint. You can’t miss it. When you get in the house, call me, and I’ll walk you through where to look.”
“I can do that. I have a bit of a father issue going on myself right now—it might be a couple of hours.”
“I shouldn’t ask you to do this, then. You’ve got your own problems. I’ll call Hildie.” He didn’t want to call Hildie, but he didn’t want to burden Bunny, either. He was torn about how deeply he wanted her in his life. Last night had been good. Fantastic, if he was being honest with himself. But...
“Issue,” she said. “I have an issue, not problem. I’ve got it handled.”
He nodded and smiled at the confidence in her voice. “Thanks. And, uh...I guess I’ll talk to you soon, then.”
“Okay. And I’ll start praying for your dad.”
“That’d be great.” Tate clicked off the phone. He didn’t really believe prayer worked. Besides, if Morton had a soul, he needed more prayers than Bunny could offer.
His phone jingled, telling him a text had come in. He scrolled and clicked.
Landing in ten minutes. Tate closed his eyes again. He needed to prepare May.
“May, wake up.” Tate shook her shoulder. “May.” She’d fallen into a pretty deep sleep—a miracle considering how hard the cushions were in these chairs.
May opened her eyes and stretched her arms, then her legs. She spread her flowing floral skirt over her knees. She had removed her boots, and he noticed one of her purple socks had a small hole in the toe.
“Did something happen?” she asked, eyes still droopy. “New news?”
“I need to tell you something. Are you awake enough to talk?”
She sat up straight, eyes widening. “What happened?”
He put his hand on her knee. “Nothing. I just...remember we’re in a public place, so don’t scream or yell or flip out or—”
“One more ‘or’ and I’ll rip your arm out of its socket, baby brother. I may look very peace and granola, but I’m tired and when I’m tired, I can be quite violent. Spit it out.”
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to say the words he’d rehearsed, but they stuck in his throat. She was going to be so pissed. Maybe he should have taken her outside.
“Tate, what’s going on?”
“Samuel’s on his way from the airport,” Willow said.
He snapped his head in her direction.
Willow shrugged. “Isn’t that what you were—”
“What?” May’s voice didn’t sound angry. That was a good sign.
He tilted his head and waved a hand in Willow’s general direction. “What she said.”
May propped her elbows on her knees and buried her head in her hands. “I’m confused. You’d better give me a little more information. Like, before I faint. Or murder you.”
“I had a guy find him for us.”
“For you.”
“Fine. For me. For him. For Morton.”
“For Morton? Give me a break.”
“Do you want the story or not?”
She made a grand gesture of allowing him to continue.
“I had a phone number, so I called him. Left a message—we didn’t talk.” He ran a hand through his hair and wished he could take a shower. And run away. Far away. “But yesterday he showed up at the Nature Center.”
“Just like that.”
“Pretty much.”
“What’d he say—hey bro, how’ve you been doing the last thirty-four years? Sorry I’ve been out of touch?”
“I didn’t talk to him.”
“He snuck out the back door,” Willow clarified.
May laughed.
Tate knew the laugh. It was her Isn’t-this-just-shitty? laugh. She’d done a lot of that growing up with Morton for a father, trying to be some kind of a mother to Tate, and still attempting to live a normal teenage life of her own.
“I called him this morning after talking to the doctors. He’s flying down and will be here soon. There.” He smacked his palms on his thighs. “Any other questions, you can direct at him when he arrives.”
He rose to go check on their father.
“Did you ever consider what this would do to Morton in his condition?” May asked to his back.
Tate stopped at the door and considered walking away without answering. The question felt rhetorical. But he turned, looked at his feet to think the thought through carefully and to get his words right.
Then he looked at her and held her gaze. “I considered a lot of things, May. And I decided to give a man and his son the opportunity to say goodbye.”
Willow jumped from her chair, gave May a quick hug, and strode to Tate’s side, taking his arm. “You going to his room?”
Tate nodded, feeling like a fist was stuck in his throat.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “You want to come, Aunt May?”
May rose on a sigh. “I’m not sitting here alone waiting for that rat bastard to show up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BUNNY FOUND THE COLORFULLY PAINTED rock easily enough, but laughed to herself when she noticed that the design was made up of neither flowers nor butterflies, but of l
adybugs and toadstools.
Once she let herself in she perused the kitchen counter and other surfaces for something that looked like the list of names she needed to find. She hoped to save Tate the trouble of walking her through the search himself.
In the living room, she found a piano and antique desk with a roll top that was open. Her eye was drawn to the framed photos standing on the piano top, and despite a part of her that told her not to snoop, she moved close enough to inspect them anyway.
A black and white photo in a black wooden eight by ten frame stood taller than the rest amidst an array of color photographs. It was a shot of Tate and Jill.
They were very young, and she guessed it could have been their engagement portrait—it definitely had a professional touch. Jill, with her straight hair that lifted lightly on a breeze. Her smile was natural, honest, and content.
A clean shaven Tate, arms wrapped around her from the side, appeared captivated by her. Adoring her. His absorption was so deep that Bunny imagined a hundred bombs could have detonated around them, and he wouldn’t have even flinched from his reverence.
The truth of it felt like a punch to Bunny’s gut. The portrait spoke volumes and told Bunny all she needed to know. Jill had owned all of his heart. She wondered if there was any left for someone else.
She allowed her gaze to travel quickly over the other pictures—Tate and Jill, Tate and Willow, Tate and Jill and Willow—before tearing herself away. She shouldn’t have snooped. Bad idea. Or, maybe it was good that she had. Better to understand now before she allowed herself to be hurt again.
She walked back into the kitchen, pulled her cell phone from her purse and dialed.
“Hi. It’s Bunny. I’m at your place in the kitchen. Where should I look?”
“Um, let me think...” Tate’s voice was deeper than usual. He sounded tired. “If you go into the living room, you’ll see a desk.”
She pretended like she hadn’t already seen it. “Okay. Right. I see it. The top is rolled back.”
“Great. Look for a steno pad with yellow paper. You know—like a secretary would use.”
Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods) Page 12
