A Baxter's Redemption

by Patricia Johns

  “The ones who stayed didn’t have anything in common with me anymore,” Britney said. “I was married to a man twice their age, and I wasn’t willing to go partying anymore. Your dad was my life, and they didn’t get it. Even Carmella didn’t really understand. Since you loved him, too, I thought you might.”

  Isabel hadn’t realized that. Mind you, she hadn’t stopped to think about it, either. It hadn’t occurred to her.

  “I suppose I could have been...kinder.” Isabel sighed.

  They faced each other without speaking for minute or so, then Isabel pulled an old curtain off a picture nearby. It was the portrait of her parents. Her father looked young, and her mother was slim and beautiful. Her father sat, her mother behind him, a hand on his shoulder. This was how she remembered her parents—united, happy, attractive.

  Of all the items in this attic, this one couldn’t stay here. It was the one thing that pulled their family back together again.

  “I’m taking this,” Isabel said.

  “Okay.” Britney’s eyes were pinned to the painting, then she looked away.

  “I’ll get a storage locker somewhere and come get the rest of this stuff after the funeral,” Isabel added. “I’m sure you don’t want it.”

  “No, it’s yours,” Britney said with a nod. “I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  Where they would say goodbye to the man they’d both loved, and who had lied to them both. Yet, he’d still wanted to make something out of them—the Baxter family 2.0. Except that this blended family was no Brady Bunch.

  * * *

  JAMES STOOD AT the graveside of George Baxter. The day was warm—too warm for his black suit, and a trickle of sweat meandered down his spine. Isabel wore the same knee-length black dress from the party, lace covering her arms and peeking over the edge of the underskirt to tickle her knees. She looked appropriate, somber, modest. She hadn’t worn makeup—or if she had, it had all been wiped off by now. She swiped at a tear on her scarred cheek, but she didn’t look at James even once. She stood with her ankles together and her gaze directed at the suspended coffin.

  James was listening to the minister intone some words about heaven and a life away from sickness, sadness and pain. He read a few familiar Bible passages, and James allowed the words to flow over him. He’d never been a terribly religious man, but he believed well enough to find comfort in the ritual. Did Isabel? He wished he knew.

  May George find some peace...

  It was half prayer, half wish. The old man hadn’t been at peace for as long as James had known him. He was always pent up, wound up, ready to conquer...until he’d been undone by something as common as a heart attack. It seemed wrong somehow that George Baxter should go down in such an ordinary way. He was the sort of man who should have been gored by a bull or something more in line with his boulder-like personality. But that was life for you—no one ever seeming to get the poetic ending they deserved.

  The last funeral James had attended had been his cousin’s, and Andrew had gotten a slightly more heroic end to his life, but it was too early. Andrew had deserved more living first.

  Don’t take the shade for granted... Wasn’t that what Andrew had told him? Life was short. It could be over in an instant, as he and George had found out.

  George Baxter’s funeral was stately and stoic, much like the man. The whole town turned out for the funeral service at the church, or just about. Jenny had wanted to come, too—Mr. Baxter had provided her a home, after all—but James had convinced her to stay home with her roommates. He needed to say his goodbyes with some privacy. George had been a client, but he’d somehow slid closer than that, and this death had hit him more personally than he anticipated.

  The church service had been packed to overflowing, people standing along the walls and huddled into the hot, sweaty foyer. The minister had said some kind words about a man who loved his community and left a mark upon this sod, or something like that. It was a little overdone, but appropriate, considering the man it honored. Isabel and Britney had sat at the front of the church in the first pew—several feet apart. James knew his place, or at the least the place he felt most comfortable, and he’d stayed toward the back, his forehead moist with sweat.

  His client was dead. Job complete, right? Except nothing felt complete about George’s life and family.

  James hadn’t gone to view the body. Britney and Isabel had looked generally overwhelmed by all the people filing past them, speaking a few words, shaking hands. He wasn’t going to add to that. Besides, he didn’t belong in the throng. His relationship to both George and his daughter had been unique.

  But standing here, several feet away from Isabel—Britney being opposite them across the grave, flanked by her parents—he wondered if she even wanted anything more from him. Maybe his usefulness was at an end. That wouldn’t surprise him, either.

  When the minister said his last prayer, that was the cue for people to disband and leave. Isabel dabbed her nose with a tissue, came over to where James stood and gave him a small smile.

  “Thanks for being here, James,” she said.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked. She looked petite and younger with her lack of makeup. She wiped her nose once more and tucked the tissue away. He found himself yearning to touch her, slip an arm around her. He restrained himself. That wasn’t where this relationship was going.

  “Not too badly, all things considered.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and he pressed her hand against his side—the closest he could come to holding her. “Walk with me? I want to avoid condolences for a bit. It’s really tiring.”

  “Sure.”

  They moved together across the graveyard, bright June sunlight toasting his shoulders through his suit jacket, and he realized how relieved he was to be this close to her. That wasn’t smart—she wasn’t the kind of woman he needed—but somehow Isabel still had a way of softening him against his better judgment.

  “I have a favor to ask,” Isabel asked after a moment.

  He sighed. There it was. She didn’t want his physical comfort, she wanted him to do something for her.

  “What do you need?” he asked.

  She seemed to sense the reticence in his tone, because she blushed slightly. “I’ll pay you for your time, of course. It’s just...” She pulled her hand out of the crook of his arm and opened her purse. She pulled out a small photo and passed it to him. “I found that behind a picture of my parents together that my mom had really cherished. That’s her holding the baby. I just need to know who the baby is.”

  James took the picture by one corner and looked closer.

  “Why does it matter?” he asked.

  “It might not,” she said quietly. “I know that. It’s just that when I asked my father about it, he got so guarded. He kept so many secrets, and I want to know who this child is, and why my father cared so much. And if my mother tucked it away like that...”

  This was personal, obviously. And she was right about George and his secrets. He thought women were to be protected, and men should shoulder the burdens. While James agreed that men shouldn’t heave unnecessary burdens onto the women they loved, he believed it should go both ways. He didn’t want a woman to idolize; he wanted a woman to share his life, his worries, his goals. He wanted a partner, not a trophy.

  “I would pay you,” Isabel repeated. “I’m not asking for something for free.”

  No, she wasn’t, but she did want something from him besides his company. That shouldn’t bother him, but somehow it did, because he’d felt relieved at just being next to her, her hand pressed against his arm.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll look into it.”

  He asked a few more details about where her parents had lived during their marriage. Apparently, they’d landed in Haggerston only just before Isabel was born. He had somewhere to sta
rt, at least. Isabel suspected the baby was maybe a cousin or a godchild. But he agreed that her mother’s attempt to protect and hide the photo was interesting. And if she had someone else in her family, it would be good for Isabel to find them. As it was, she had a stepmother and an unborn sibling.

  “Thank you.” Isabel’s eyes misted again, and she met his gaze. “I really mean it, James. Thank you. You’ve been so...so...” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  She nodded. “Most definitely.”

  He was smarter than Andrew in this respect. He’d accept friendship and leave the rest alone—no matter how much he wanted more right now. Those were feelings, and he knew better than to be led by them, especially with Isabel Baxter. But he was reluctantly grateful, too, because she’d given him something to do for her, an excuse to see her again. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye, even though he knew it was coming. Isabel was special. She could make a favor feel like his idea. And as long as he could keep that line carefully drawn, that could be his own personal vice. For now. A man didn’t build his life on being a woman’s hero. Life was too complicated for that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE NEXT FEW days after the funeral, Isabel sorted through a few more items from her childhood home—crafts she’d made as a little girl, a framed photo of her from her beauty queen days that her father had kept on his dresser... Funny that a man’s life—and her own relationship with him—could be encapsulated in such innocuous items. She’d spent a good deal of time in tears, and then she’d looked at the calendar and realized that she had only a couple of days before her official store opening. She could have taken a week off, even more, but she didn’t want to. Sitting alone with her grief only made it worse. Besides, she was doing this in memory of her father.

  George Baxter had been hungry for success, but more than that, he’d thrived on the challenge of starting up a new business. That his last venture had failed just before his death was even more heartbreaking because Isabel knew how much his ability to make something self-sustaining meant to him. She shared that drive. He might not have thought that this store could be a success, but she disagreed. And just like the rest of their relationship, she’d prove him wrong.

  The morning her store was set to open, Isabel crouched in front of the chalk sandwich board and put her attention back into her grand opening announcement. Her boxed chocolates would all be two-for-one, today only. There would be free samples, the first tray of which were already arranged and waiting inside the kitchen. The sign was almost done—just a few more strokes and it would be about as good as she could make it.

  There was a tap on the glass, and Isabel looked up to see Jenny smiling through the window. Isabel got up to let her in.

  “Hi, Jenny,” she said with a smile. “Come on in. Am I glad to see you.”

  She shut the door behind her and crouched in front of the sign once more.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” Jenny said, twisting her hands in front of her. “He was nice to me. He let me stay in my house. Do I have to move now?”

  She was worried—Jenny didn’t hide her feelings well. It was written all over her face, and she licked her lips, waiting for Isabel to answer.

  “What?” Isabel pushed herself to her feet. “No, Jenny. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

  “But it’s your house now, right?” Jenny pressed. “James says—”

  “Never mind that.” Isabel tried to smile reassuringly. “I do own the house now, but that doesn’t change anything for you. I have a home of my own, remember? It’s okay.”

  Jenny relaxed slightly and dropped her hands to her sides. “Okay. So I can tell James I don’t have to move in with him?”

  Isabel laughed softly. “You get to keep your privacy, Jenny.”

  “When do we open?” Jenny asked.

  Isabel looked at her watch. “In forty minutes. I’m just going to get this sign outside, and then I’ll help you in the kitchen. We need to have all the samples on trays and ready to go. I have one tray finished. Do you think you could start on another one? I’m making each tray a selection of different truffles and cream chocolates.”

  Jenny nodded. “You bet.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Are you going to let her in?”

  “Who?”

  Isabel looked over to the window to see Britney standing by the glass, her hand shaded over her eyes to look inside. She wore a black pantsuit, her hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head and a pair of oversize sunglasses perched on top of her head. Isabel met her gaze through the window, and they stared at each other somberly. It had been an emotional week, and she had no idea what Britney wanted now.

  Isabel opened the door a few inches and looked out. “Hi, Britney. What can I do for you?”

  “I—” Britney let out a long breath. “I came to see if you needed a hand.”

  Isabel blinked. “You what?”

  “I came to help,” Britney repeated. “This being opening day and all.”

  Isabel regarded Britney in frank surprise. What was the catch? More important, did she even want Britney here today? This was a day about her own dreams, not about Britney Baxter.

  “I thought you didn’t approve,” Isabel countered.

  “No, I said your dad didn’t approve.” Britney smiled wanly. “There’s a difference. And even though he didn’t like your business plan, I think he would have wanted us to be...friends.”

  Isabel stepped back and opened the door the rest of the way. “Come in.” She angled her head.

  “Unless you have enough help already,” Britney said. “And you don’t have to pay me.”

  Isabel had Jenny, but Jenny was most comfortable in the back of the store away from customers, and one more person handing out samples while she rang up purchases would actually be a big help. She thought for a moment, then nodded in acquiescence.

  “I’m good at that.” Britney pointed at the sandwich board. “I took a few art classes. Do you want me to spruce it up a little?”

  Isabel looked from the chalk in her hand to Britney in surprise. “Sure.” She passed the chalk over. “Thanks.”

  Britney flashed her a smile that lit up her young face. “I just need a stool or something to sit on.” She rubbed her belly. “Or else I won’t be able to get up again.”

  Isabel pulled a low stool out from behind the counter. “Will this do?”

  Britney settled herself in front of the sandwich board, and her slender hands began to move swiftly, switching colors of chalk as deftly as any artist.

  Isabel looked at her watch once more. She was ten minutes closer to opening, and her stomach fluttered in anticipation.

  This was hers. She’d dreamed about a chocolate shop for years, and she’d never really thought that it would be a possibility—at least not with her father’s blessing. He’d always been the financer of her dreams, and he’d financed this one, too. He just wouldn’t be around to see her actually succeed. Yet today with the summer sunshine streaming into her shop, her boxed chocolates arranged on the shelves, the smell of sweet chocolate mingling with the scent of fresh paint, she felt more confident in her own abilities than she ever had before.

  Baxter’s Chocolates wasn’t opening because of her beautiful smile or her stunning looks. Baxter’s Chocolates wasn’t opening because her father’s friends were humoring her or because her father was bankrolling it like a hobby. This shop was opening because of her own vision and hard work, and that was a feeling she’d never experienced before.

  “Britney,” Isabel said quietly, and the younger woman looked up.

  “Why are you here...really.”

  Britney was silent for a moment, and she turned back to the board, chalk scraping softly as she w
orked. Then she paused and looked up once more.

  “You asked me if I ever wanted to do anything else in my life,” she said, eyes fixed on the work in front of her. “And I did. I wanted babies and to raise my kids, but I also wanted to help your dad out...in the business.”

  Isabel eyed her stepmother in surprise. She’d wanted to be involved in the family business, too? If Isabel had learned this earlier, she might have been angry, even seen her as competition. But now, she recognized something familiar in Britney—a Baxter ambition.

  “Did you tell him?” Isabel asked.

  “No.” Britney glanced up, pink tingeing her cheeks. “I was working up to it. He kept kicking me out of the room whenever he talked business, so I didn’t think the time was right.”

  No, it probably hadn’t been.

  “He wouldn’t let me in, either,” Isabel said. “If it makes you feel any better.”

  “He would have,” Britney said. “If he’d had a business left to run, I think he would have.”

  Britney’s guess was as good as hers right now, but the facts remained that there wasn’t a Baxter Land Holdings left to build, but there was a Baxter’s Chocolates.

  “Well, one day at a time,” Isabel said, and sucked in a breath. “Let’s get that sign out. We have thirty minutes until we open.”

  She had Jenny in the back, her stepmother pitching in, and it looked like today might actually work out... The only thing missing to make it perfect was her father’s approval.

  She’d be grateful that she had the support of the women in her life—perhaps the most surprising support possible. Maybe Britney wasn’t the enemy she’d imagined.

  * * *

  IT TOOK A FEW phone calls and several favors called in, but when James got the information from the state records office, he stared at the email in a state of shock.

  ...I’m sending some faxes of the originals, as well. If there is anything else I can do for you...