“Wow, darlin’, never seen someone get so into their food.”
I’ve not thought what my moans actually might mimic. My face flushes and he chuckles, his deep snicker causing my stomach to tighten like it does when an orgasm is so very close.
“I’m just so fucking happy to see you eating. I was getting a little worried.”
I’m thankful he changes the subject from my questionable moans. Continuing to shovel his meal into my mouth, he puts down his fork, steepling his fingers at his chin.
“So, I’ve been thinking.” Oh, lord, this can’t be good, I silently say to myself. “You don’t need to start work tomorrow. You can wait until the baby comes. Or you can begin college right away.”
With food in my mouth, I don’t wait to voice my disbelief at first. I push myself back slightly, increasing my own personal space. “What? I need money, Maguire. I can’t live off of you. I need food, gas, tuition, stuff for the baby, childcare, a new car.” I swallow the rest of my food and take a quick drink of my juice. “I may be young, but I know enough about a budget to comprehend I need it. And as a matter of fact, I can make a dollar stretch.” My voice seems a little less rattled than I am.
He places his hands on the table, his body stiffening. “Holland,” he begins, scrubbing the scruff of his beard. In it, I can really see his gray.
There’s this way he forcefully says my name, lowering his timbre a bit when his entire face reddens. It was how I knew I pushed Scott, too. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m only worried about the pregnancy. You’ll be working in a warehouse.”
“Has anyone else ever worked for you during their pregnancy?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Of course, but none of those people have been my daughter-in-law, carrying my late son’s child. So, please excuse the over-protectiveness I have concerning you and my grandbaby.”
I push my food aside. I’ve lost my appetite. “So, it’s about the baby only?” I ask, tossing the napkin which had been on my lap.
“You are so fucking stubborn. Of course, it’s not just about the baby. But I think I can honestly say that your baby, Scott’s and yours is the only thing getting you through his death. And if something were to happen, I can’t stand by watching you hurt again. Shit, Holland, can’t you see this?”
I lean my head back, looking at the ceiling to take a second to think. “And what, pray tell, would I do for money? I’m not living off of Scott’s insurance. Now, with the baby, I’ll need to set aside a little for him or her.”
This time, he rubs his forehead, taking in a deep breath. “I have set aside money for Scott since he was six. It had been meant to help with college or go toward his partnership with Ned and me. Or to buy a house. It’s Scott’s, so it rightfully belongs to you. I’d not brought it up yet because you’re so hung up on paying me back and not wanting a handout, I decided to tackle this issue today because now it’s necessary.”
I scoot my chair close to Maguire, a smile meeting his sullen scowl. “I appreciate it. And since it’s truly Scott’s, maybe you can give it to the baby, for his or her future. But I want to work. I’m looking forward to it for many reasons. I promise you though, if work or anything I’m doing puts this baby in danger, I’ll stop and will reconsider your offer to dip into Scott’s savings. How about this for a compromise, Sarge?” I impart.
I’m met with a small smile and my appetite returns. Pulling the plate toward me and disposing of the napkin on my dinner, I take another bite as we both eat in peace and quiet.
I have a half a dozen towels in my hands, passing Holland in the living room, on my way to her bathroom. I’ve been a stickler about having everything organized for the week ahead of me. When I start a new project—my heart and soul know nothing else until I’m done. And I’m ready to pour everything into my next design; a fifteen-piece series of headboards. With the reclaimed wood I’ve been hoarding, just for a project like this, I have my design locked in my mind, ready for it to become a reality.
In the bathroom Holland has taken over, I’m face-to-face with the many reasons she smells different every day. On the small shelf at the bottom of the mirror sits at least fifteen different lotions and perfumes. Underneath the mirror sits fifteen or so more. To the side of the mirror, on another shelf I have hung up, lay a good thirty bottles.
I shake my head, returning to the living room where Holland is binge watching some sort of new adult drama she calls The Bold Type. Her focus is on the show and when I try to drag her attention to me, she doesn’t flinch. “Holland, darlin’,” I say, blocking her view to the T.V.
“Um, sure, Sarge, I’m not watching this, go ahead.” Her sarcasm drips from her sweet lips.
“Okay, smart ass, just pause the show for a second.” I sit on the chair and I always do this to stay as far away from her as I can. “So, what is up with the sixty plus bottles of perfume and lotions?”
Adjusting in the couch, moving her legs under her ass, a giant mind-blowing smirk makes it almost impossible to breathe. With her little laugh, she affects my body more than any woman ever has.
“Only sixty. Wow, that’s a small percentage of what I own. What can I say, I can’t choose one scent I like.” She moves her entire body toward me. “See, I have this thing with Bath and Body Works.”
I don’t know this store, why would I? If it’s about perfumes and smell-good items, I’m at a loss for words. I’ve never bothered myself in spoiling another female, not since Christine.
“See,” she continues. “Every deployment, birthday, holiday, and just because he wanted, Scott would get me an entire set of new aromas. He knew it was my guilty pleasure. Some women have a thing for shoes, or purses, or designer jeans. Mine is lotions and perfumes.”
Every layer of Holland she reveals to me only makes me want to get to the next layer. She returns her eyes back to the television. I don’t take my eyes off of her. It’s then, I have a keen awareness of my own heartbeat and I’m flooded with warmth for this girl in front of me. I call her a girl to keep my desires in check but as I watch her, the curves of her hips, even sitting down and the cleavage revealed by her tight white tank top tells me there’s nothing kid-like about this woman in front of me.
Turning her head quickly, I avert my gaze away. The last thing I need is her catching me spying on her. I stand, giving her a gentle smile and return to my bedroom. I’m out of my element here. Yet, all I can continue to think about is what her nipples would taste like. I fall back on my bed—frustrated in more ways than one.
Chapter 19
If losing a child isn’t awful enough, the pity and whispers of others are fucking brutal. The second I stride into the front offices, ready to get back to a semblance of normal, everyone stops to stare. It doesn’t help I have the widow with me. To make matters worse, the area which leads to my office is filled with the entire staff, administration and faculty for an all-hands meeting I’m apparently skipping. Making my way up the steps to my office, I can feel everyone’s gaze on me. An empty sensation in my gut takes over and I want to be anywhere but here. Scraping my fingers through my hair with one hand and rubbing the back of my head with the other, I watch Holland, who won’t make eye contact with me.
Odd laughter I’ve not yet heard from my daughter-in-law fills the office once we enter it and close the door. She begins, “Well, that was awkward as fuck.”
I don’t bother to remind her how much I loathe this one particular word forming on her lips. She usually does it more to annoy me, but when she’s nervous, it slips out.
“They all loved Scottie. It’s their loss, too, and they don’t know how to react.”
She sits straight up in her chair. She can’t take one more I’m sorry for your loss sentiment when she begins, “So, tell me about your company.” Her tone and pitch are completely changed from before. This is a subject, unlike her loss, she wants to talk about. Her lips turn upward, and I smile whenever she does. She’s that infectious.
“Well, this business started nineteen years ago.” She shifts in her seat. “I was still married to Christine. She and Elise were the best of friends. Anyway, I’d been working as a carpenter barely making ends meet. Ned came out to our house one day with Elise. He and I were acquaintances. Christine invited them to stay for dinner and he admired our dining room table.” Holland doesn’t break eye contact with me. Actually, she scoots a bit closer, sitting across from my desk, like I’m about to give away the plot to one of her favorite new adult dramas she watches. “Christine went on and on about my skills. I took him out to my workshop where I’d housed a good portion of my inventory. At the time, the internet wasn’t what it is now. But it was beginning to get big. He told me I could make good money. He started on a business plan. Ned acted as if he had no skills with woodworking whatsoever. After a year, he started building, and we branded out our business as hand-built furniture with limited inventory. From a business standpoint, we do custom builds by request, but the majority of our income originates from our limited catalog.”
I don’t know why she’s watching me so intently, but it’s adorable. “We found people loved the fact that our furniture was not mass produced and not built on an assembly line.” I stop to ask, “Surely Scott had shared this with you?”
“He told me a little. But even if he had shared everything with me, I’d still want to hear it from you.”
My eyes narrow in on her. “Why?”
“Do you know how much passion fills you when you talk about this? It’s not just your job, it’s your calling. Not everyone can say they do what they love. You can. For this very reason, I could listen to you all day long, chatting about this.”
I pause at her compliment. “Wow, no one has ever said this to me before.” I’m falling for my son’s girl—she makes me a better person. I don’t allow myself long to dwell on this when I begin again. “We devised a plan. I’d make a limited number of designs, all handcrafted. After the last one is sold, the design is retired. The less amount of product means there’s more demand. I find fifteen is the lucky number. Now throughout the years, I have brought in a team of skilled carpenters who handcraft what I design. Their pieces will have their design number on the individual item. Customers are loyal to their builder and will order custom furniture from them. It’s one way my carpenters can make a little more money on the side. But it’s never on an assembly line. When so much furniture is mass produced from plywood, we only offer solid wood.”
She’s smiling at me. There are very few people who sit and listen to my love for the business like she’s doing. Scott loved to hear about my projects, but besides Ned and himself, I’ve had very few to share this part of me with.
Because she doesn’t interrupt, I continue. “Our big price items are dining room tables. We make fifty percent of our profit alone on them. Kitchen cabinets are next and then bedframes. We ship all over the world. A couple of years ago, we brought in Diane to help with home décor, with the same idea. She retired from her job of thirty years with a name brand furniture retailer. She moved to the mountains but wasn’t ready to be home all day with her husband.” We both laugh in unison. “She’s a couple of years from actually retiring for good this time. So, I want you two to collaborate. She will, in essence, be your boss. Our home décor division is already bringing in three percent of our annual income after only two years. Right before the…” What do I say, the death of my son? I pause and she looks away. “Anyway, right before I flew to North Carolina, we’d moved the design section to a completely different part of the building with the idea of expanding distribution. Right now, our home décor is only domestic. Due to your seamstress skills, you will work on textiles. As your schooling progresses, we’ll work on you taking over for Diane. We contract an artist to distribute her work as part of the whole Parrish & Landon custom paintings with her studio off of the design division.”
She leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “Wow, Maguire, I had no idea. This is truly impressive. Scott was always so proud of you. He told me once that if he could be as happy in his job as you were, he’d be complete. He would have me—the love of his life and a job he loved almost as much.”
“How do you do it?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, my muscles tense.
“What?”
“You take away burdens I’ve not been able to voice yet, like my regret of not giving my business up to be with Scott. It has always given me the most doubt as a parent. I always assumed I’d been selfish because I didn’t walk away from my company.”
She pulls her hair up in a ponytail when she stands. “Like I said before, you were the reason I fell in love with Scott.”
I choke on her words.
“Think about it, can you imagine I’d be able to have fallen in love with him if Christine had been the one to influence him? No, it’s you that made him the man he was.”
And it’s then I realize she affectionately looks at me the way she does because of Scott, I’m the older version of him. Why does this hurt so much? I’m jealous of my late son. What kind of sick motherfucker am I?
The new design house, as it’s called, is beautiful. It’s large, with big windows allowing natural light to pour in from the outside. Large industrial sewing machines are in the corner of a vast space. I salivate. Hell, I may orgasm. They are beauties. Carpet wheels cover the whole right wall. In front of the sewing machines is a design desk with my name on it.
A woman with short black hair sits at another design table at the far end of the room. Setting down her pen, she rushes at me. “You must be Holland. I’m glad to have you here.” She embraces me as if we know one another already. “Oh, honey, aren’t you the cutest thing.” She’s not condescending, she’s sincere.
My mouth opens, about to return a compliment when a loud, “Well, fuck—not having you on the floor anymore Di is going to suck balls.”
It’s brash, it’s crude, and I giggle at the feminine voice bellowing through the design center. “Hell, another chick in the house.” This tall girl around my age stands in front of me and grins. “Ah, you’re pretty.” She gives me a hug—then pulls back. “So, you were married to Scott Parrish, I guess that means you’re not a lesbian.”
I twist around in the design space. Are there cameras recording this? Is this some sort of weird indoctrination? I turn back to both Diane and the tall young woman near me when the two of them start to laugh hysterically. I’m still staring at this tall and thin giant of a girl. She has on a shirt that reads, Lesbian Strong. This explains her question from earlier. The sawdust covering her jeans and shoes tells me she’s one of the carpenters. Her teal green eyes are playful, a broad smirk covers her face. The long Ombre grayish blue hair falls well past her back. She’s pretty, a girl any guy would love to have on his arm.
“Great—Teagan, you’ve rendered our newest employee speechless.” Diane gives her a playful shove. “Um, Holland, this is our resident mad woman. You’ll find she’s a ray of sunshine if you can get past her forwardness and foul language.”
“Ah, Di, there’s never a dull moment with me around.”
I watch the witty commentary between these two. I’m holding my own side because I can’t stop laughing along with them.
“So tell me, pretty girl, you into ladies?”
I’m snorting at her. I don’t even know how to respond.
“Teagan, you’re lucky you work with all men. And that no one will ever report you for sexual harassment.” With her belly laugh, Diane holds her hand out as if she’s telling Teagan no more.
This giant, compared to my small frame, holds her hand out for me. “I’m Teagan, by the way, in case that was lost in this weird as fuck translation. So, you must be straight?”
I extend my hand to shake this comical woman’s own hand in front of me. “I’m Holland. And yes, I’m straight as an arrow.”
“Well, hell, that sucks. But I’m glad to have more woman power in this place, finally.” Her demea
nor changes quickly. “Seriously, Holland. I’m awkward as fuck. Didn’t know how to tell you how fucking sorry I am for your loss. Scott was a great man and I respected him a shit ton.”
I’ve been offered so many condolences, I don’t know how to handle it anymore. I start to speak, and my voice cracks. I grin at her. “You know, Teagan, I’m so tired of people pitying me. You coming in here—being you—is what I needed.”
Teagan puts her arm around me. “Good to know I could be of service. Now, about this whole straight thing—are you sure?” She’s grinning at me.
“Positive.”
“Well, then friends? What do you say?” she asks.
I don’t think I’d have a choice with this chick anyway.
It’s in small little everyday things I think I just may be okay. This is one of them.
The military sent the rest of my items to Scott’s permanent address. This was always our plan, and Scott made sure to use his dad’s house.
I hated taking a day off the first week at a new job, but I had no choice. Waiting outside the garage for the movers, the sound of kicked up gravel from the road pulls me out of my thoughts of my husband. Expecting the moving truck, I look up to see Elise Landon’s Mercedes pull up next to me.
She’s the mother hen sort of type. In a business of mostly men, Elise has made it her job to be a surrogate mom to all of the women working at the factory.
“I know, I know,” she begins, her bright blue eyes narrowing in on me. “You can tell me to leave if you need to do this alone, I will. My feelings won’t be hurt.”
She’s younger than Ned by about five years and the dark brown hair she has styled in a shoulder length inverted bob, tells me she’s up on modern trends. Her skinny jeans and gray heeled booties only reaffirm this. Pushing her large Audrey Hepburn glasses up on her head, her sweet smile calms me. I’ve never had a motherly person to bond with.
Like Father Like Son Page 11
