She gripped Tamara’s arm as if she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to hold on.
“I like the outfit.”
Meghan grinned and glanced down at herself, the white tank top, the puffy skirt in rainbow colors, the sturdy boots.
“I said I’d wear what I wanted and daddy said... Well, he didn’t say anything, so I did it and he didn’t give Martha that look, so...”
Tamara grinned.
“Good for you, and good for him. You look great. Is that a green streak in your hair?”
Meghan’s grin widened.
“It’s temporary, but daddy doesn’t know it yet. He hasn’t said anything about that either. He looked like his shoe was pinching his little toe every time he looked at me, but he didn’t say anything.”
Tamara noticed the brashness, the edge of brittleness.
So, this was a test for her father and so far he hadn’t failed it. Her own invitation was a part of it, of course, and having her there to see it all was another part of the plan.
“All you need to do is get a tattoo and then maybe a tongue piercing.”
Meghan looked thoughtful.
“Do you think I should?”
“Not until after you get into the college of your dreams, Meg. After that, you can go wild.”
“We’ll see. Come on.”
Still with that vice grip on Tamara’s arm, Meghan pulled her therapist up the steps and into the house.
“It’s a lovely home.”
“Too many people right now. If you run into anybody who looks like somebody famous, it’s probably whoever you think it is. People always want to come here. I don’t know why, it’s not like daddy does anything interesting.”
“Might not interest you, but that doesn’t mean it’s not interesting, Meg. Wow, is that...”
“Reese Witherspoon, yes, that is, she’s actually nice. She and mom were friends. She remembers my birthday.”
“She seems nice. Didn’t you invite anybody from school?”
Meghan shrugged.
“I invited a couple of people, but they haven’t turned up yet. Daddy said they couldn’t come until he’d had them all vetted for security purposes or whatever.”
“I’m sure it’s because it’s necessary, Meg. Even if it must be annoying.”
“I guess. Come on, there’s food out back, and we have people grilling a lot of stuff, and there are drinks. There are two pools and if you want to use them, I’ll get you a swimsuit. You didn’t bring one.”
“I didn’t.”
“Never mind, we always keep extra. Come on!”
Meghan, her grip still strong, tugged Tamara along, pointing out people now and then, absolutely ignoring introductions, until they finally got where she’d been steering Tamara, very deliberately.
“I’ll fix a plate and bring it for you. And get you a drink. Daddy, Dr. Jackson is here. I have to be nice to your guests, so now you can be nice to mine.”
Tamara had to bite back a grin.
Meghan had definitely lost the blankness of her former rebellion, but she hadn't given up on it. The passivity had become something much more deliberate and far more effective.
She turned her attention to Meghan’s father.
“Mr. Wilson.”
“Let's not go back to that. Dave, remember?”
Tamara made herself smile, and made herself look up into his eyes, those startling blue eyes that saw both too much and not enough.
He looked good. He probably considered the smartly tailored slacks and button-down shirt some form of dressing down.
In his world, it probably was.
“Dave it is.”
“I’m surprised you came. Surprised, but glad. Meg has been on pins and needles, waiting for you. She’s been making excuses to go and look at the gate camera monitors for the last couple of hours.”
“Has she?”
“I don’t know what to make of it.”
The poor man looked so bewildered.
“And her hair. And her boots.”
Tamara burst out laughing.
“It’s progress.”
He looked utterly baffled.
“It’s what?”
“It’s progress, Dave. She’s trying to push you, but she’s doing it by trying to see how far you’ll let her go to be herself. She needs to try on different boots to find what suits her.”
“So I just... let her?”
Tamara shrugged.
“Do you want to stop her?”
“I just... I don’t know.”
“She’s causing no danger to herself or anybody around her. I’d recommend you stand back and enjoy watching her bloom, because this is a step in that direction.”
He looked dazed.
“You have a lovely home. It’s not what I expected. It’s a lot less regimented than I thought it would be.”
“My... Abby, Meg’s mother, designed everything. She decided what she wanted and she made sure it was built that way. All of it, it’s her. Meg is hers, too.”
“Meg is yours, too, Dave. And this home, it’s yours, and Meg’s, too. But I’m not here as a therapist, and even if I were, I’m not your therapist, so... Ah, there you are, Meg, perfect timing, and the plate you fixed me looks wonderful. The wine looks a little better, I think.”
“Come and sit over here.”
Meghan led them away from the house, not giving them much choice but to follow her as she walked out the side door, down a path away from the guests and the revelry.
“Meg?”
“I have wine. I set up more food. You’ll have everything you need.”
A winding path, and then there it was, a gazebo covered in climbing roses.
“Oh wow.”
“Meg.”
She heard the pain in his voice, and stopped short.
“Meg?”
The girl turned around, defiance shining in her eyes.
“This was mom’s place. Dad hasn’t come here in years.”
“Meg.”
“He can’t keep acting like this. He can’t keep pretending mom never existed. I’m done doing that.”
Well, this wasn’t what Tamara had hoped for, but it was what it was.
“Meg, deep breath. Remember the breathing exercises we practiced together. Come on, we’ll do it together like we did then. Deep breaths, and we count.”
For a second, it looked like Meghan would ignore her, but the trembling girl found what strength she could and brought herself back under control.
She turned to her father.
“I’m done with this.”
She turned around and walked away, leaving Dave and Tamara standing in front of the most perfect fairytale gazebo Tamara had ever seen, a picnic basket set in it, a bottle of wine ready to be opened.
Dave turned.
“No, not right now. She needs some time alone.”
But he looked so distressed, Tamara sighed.
“You have to start talking to her, Dave. You’re the only one who can understand.”
“What do you mean?”
Well, she might as well.
“Shall we sit?”
She didn’t wait for his answer. She pulled up a chair, poured herself a glass of wine, grabbed the plate that Meg had put on the table—she’d been in control, hadn’t thrown the plate away—and took a bite of the... potato salad? Potato salad, instead of something fancy!
“The potato salad is Abby’s recipe. Martha makes it now.”
Tamara nodded.
“It’s excellent. Delicately spiced but still has a punch. I tend to hate bland potato salad.”
“Abby was never bland about anything.”
There was her opening.
“Do you think Meg remembers that as clearly as you do?”
He really looked like he had no idea what she was talking about. Men, even fathers, could be so dense.
“She has memories, but at that age, memories and the imagination blend in so many ways. Add some wishful th
inking and you can will yourself into believing what you wish had been true. You have memories that are steadier, memories you can share with Meg about her mother. I can help her deal with the loss and the grief, and the anger. I’m doing that. But I don’t know Abby. I never knew Abby. She also needs you. As her father and as the one other person in the world who loved her mother and knew her like that. She could do with some more family, too.”
Unbidden, the complications of her own family came to mind and she winced a little.
“We’re estranged.”
“Then it’s more important that you not be estranged from your daughter, don’t you think?”
Dave looked like he’d prefer to punch something.
Or be punched.
“Have you considered therapy?”
“I don’t need therapy.”
“Even people who don’t need therapy could gain understanding and be more comfortable with it. You have a lot of things you don’t need.”
“You’re going to give me recommendations, aren’t you?”
She shook her head.
“I could, if you wanted me to. But I don’t want to waste my breath. There, now I’m not starving. I’ll find Meg. Do you know where she might be?”
He looked lost.
“Her room?”
“You’re just guessing, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“I’ll find her. Sit, take a few minutes, enjoy this. Enjoy the memories. Get through the pain and find the happiness again. Don’t let it be taken from you.”
Tamara got to her feet and walked away, relieved when she got out of the gazebo and turned out of its sight.
She got to the house, weaved through people milling about, getting ready for fireworks, and headed straight to the kitchen—her mother would envy that kitchen, it was state of the art but warm and welcoming—and found Martha.
“Martha, I’m sorry to intrude.”
“You’d be Dr. Jackson. Meg talks about you.”
The woman was sizing her up. Tamara smiled. That was fine. She welcomed it. It was nice to see that Meghan was protected by this very capable and obviously formidable woman.
“I am. Do you know where Meg is?”
“She wants to be alone.”
Ah, so she was going to be protected from Tamara, too. That was fine.
“I know. I waited, now I think she might want to talk. Can I see her?”
Martha hesitated. She was a woman of some bulk and a lot of strength. Seeing her stance, as if she would fight the devil himself for Meghan, made Tamara feel a lot better.
“Will she want to see you?”
“If she doesn’t, I'll leave her alone.”
A moment of shrewd consideration, and Martha nodded, just a slight incline of her head, as if Tamara had passed a test of some sort.
“She’ll be up her mother's sewing room.”
“Did Meg make that skirt herself?”
“She had some help, but she did. It’s been a long time since she decided to try sewing again. Her mother taught her a few things when she was little. She loved to help.”
Martha stopped, as if wondering if she’d said too much.
“I have things to check on. There’s a party going on.”
Tamara accepted the rebuke implied in the words and nodded.
“Of course. I’ll find it.”
Tamara walked away again, avoiding bumping into people who seemed to be getting increasingly tipsy. One man—he looked vaguely familiar—walked into the living room in swim trunks, dripping wet, followed by a tired and fed-up looking young woman holding two towels.
Martha definitely had her hands full.
Tamara found the stairs and walked up them, wishing she could take the time to take in the pretty art on the walls. The noise fell away on the second floor. It was a big house. There were more rooms than a family could possibly need.
She set to work, looking for the sewing room, feeling a bit like a snoop.
But it was hard not to be drawn in. It was beautiful. It was all beautiful, and warm, and lovely.
And Dave was rejecting all of it, every bit of it, by not letting any of that warmth into his life. How could he not see it? How could he not see what he was doing to that volatile child on the cusp of her whole life by doing that?
How could he not see that he was rejecting her?
Tamara tried to push the anger aside, as she was supposed to, as she was good at doing. But it wouldn’t go away. No matter what, it wouldn’t go away.
She pushed open a door and found what was clearly a very feminine sanctuary. There were bolts of fabric that had obviously all been covered until recently. Martha had obviously not gotten around to tidying up the room, or maybe she wasn’t allowed to. The window was closed and the curtain, a lovely lacy sheet meant to flutter in the breeze at an open window, was still. The plain white sheets that had covered the bolts of fabric and possibly the sewing machine were all strewn on the floor.
Meghan sat at the sewing machine, coiled like a spring.
Tamara walked in.
“Meg.”
“Where’s daddy?”
“I told him not to come.”
“Okay.”
She was withdrawing again.
“Want to talk about it?”
“We’re not in therapy now.”
“I know. But we don’t have to be in therapy for you to talk to me.”
“Today was supposed to be a new beginning. A new me.”
Tamara smiled, walked in a few more steps.
She wasn’t quite welcome yet, but she’d take this.
“It doesn’t work like that, does it? You’re still you.”
“I thought I could quit being the old me like...like how people quit smoking, you know?”
“Well, quitting smoking cold turkey like that doesn’t help for most people.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No.”
“So I guess quitting being the orphan in all but the technicalities won’t work cold turkey, either.”
Meghan’s wry laugh nearly broke Tamara’s heart. Her heart often broke for her young patients. They were all so full of hope despite everything, so full of such desperate hope that they could somehow flip a switch and be happy again.
Meghan might have all the money that anybody could dream of having, but even she couldn’t buy a switch to flip like that. Even for her, grief would have to be processed.
“Being a parent isn’t a switch your father can flip, either, Meg. You have to figure out your way, but he has to figure out his own, too.”
“I don’t think he’s exactly trying, you know?”
“Really? You have a party going on and you’re wearing what looks like hiking boots with a tank top and a rainbow tutu.”
Meghan had to grin.
“I guess I was angry.”
“Anger is fine. Anger is good. We can do something with it. But not this.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I go to the gazebo sometimes. I go there and try to remember but I can’t, not really. I think I can remember, but I’m not sure. I can’t ask dad. He won’t want to remember.”
That was something she should try talking to Dave about, decided Tamara, even if she wasn’t his therapist and had no intention of doing that job. That was for somebody else to unpack. Whatever feelings he might evoke in her was her problem. She would deal with them.
She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Felicity had been right. This whole thing had been a mistake.
“We can talk about that tomorrow. I promise. Now, it’s a party, isn’t it? Why don’t we go down and watch the fireworks with everybody?”
Meghan bit her lip, worrying it a little with her teeth.
“Do you think daddy will be there?”
“Of course he will.”
The words escaped before she realized that she had no clue, really. She could make no promises.
“Promise?”
So young
, so vulnerable. So she nodded.
“I promise.”
Meghan got to her feet.
“Okay, then.”
Chapter 7
Tamara was exhausted. She was so exhausted that she could hardly move.
She’d gone to a party to avoid the emotional rollercoaster that was her own life and instead had been put through the wringer there, and now that she had home within sight, she was ready to put her feet up and relax for a while, forget all about the world outside and just... just breathe.
She needed a moment to just breathe.
She needed more than a moment.
Still, it had been nice to see that Dave was there when they went down. Meghan had been a bit withdrawn, but she’d held her own.
The man was, she had to admit, making an effort. At least, he was beginning to.
Tamara got out of the cab and walked up the stairs to her apartment, glad that there was nobody around. Apparently she was the first one back from their celebrations.
She’d made her excuses and left a little earlier than she should have.
Tamara turned the corner at the top of the stairs and stopped short.
“Terry?”
“Tammy, there you are! I was surprised not to find you at Leticia’s. Quite a party she has going over there!”
Tamara felt herself beginning to shut down inside.
“You were... Hold on, let’s go inside.”
“You changed your lock.”
“It broke a couple of months ago.”
Tamara slid the key in, turned it, and opened the door, stepping in and waiting for Terry before closing the door behind them.
“You didn’t tell me. I was wondering what the hell was going on when my key wouldn’t work! It’s a good thing that nosy old bitch across the hall isn’t there, she would’ve called the goddamn cops on me. I don’t know why you live in a place like this, Tammy. You could afford something better. Need help with a loan? I know somebody at the bank.”
Tamara shook her head. What a blatant lie it was! Well, not quite. Terry did know people at the bank. Terry always knew people everywhere. It was just that no bank was foolish enough to bet on Terry anymore.
“Thanks, but this suits me. Your key is supposed to be for emergencies. Was there something specific you wanted from me today?”
Her head was pounding. She really needed to get some rest. She hadn’t slept well.
Over 40 And Head Over Heels: BWWM, Over 40's, Billionaire Romance (BWWM Romance Book 1) Page 7
