“Not sure,” he said. “Why?”
“Why don’t you come for dinner?” she said.
“What about Tilly?” he asked.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m not looking for privacy with her.”
“Don’t let her chase you off, either,” he said.
“Easier said than done with this kid.” But Melanie smiled. “Come for dinner, and you can update me on your search for Harry, and I’ll at least have distraction from my ex-stepdaughter who can’t stand me.”
“How can a guy resist that kind of invitation?” Logan said with a low laugh.
“I know, right?” She laughed. “This is what I’ve come to.”
“What time?”
“Say...six?”
“I’ll be there.”
Melanie pushed back her chair and rose. She was feeling more optimistic already. She’d get some groceries, and then she’d go back and face Tilly...like she had any choice. But at least she could have an ally in Logan—he’d come back to Mountain Springs about as gracefully as she had, complete with unresolved personal issues.
There was comfort in that. She wasn’t the only one.
CHAPTER FOUR
LOGAN LOOKED OVER his shoulder as Melanie disappeared out the door. Coming back to Mountain Springs, he hadn’t anticipated talking to her this intimately. He’d figured he’d walk these streets, find his dad, pass over that box and leave again. And in the meantime, maybe he’d relive a few memories, but Melanie—in his head, at least—was going to be focused on her own life. He didn’t think they’d hang out...or that he’d still find himself drawn to her. In another life, this might have been an opportunity, but not now.
The words from Caroline’s journal were still swimming in his mind: Logan just doesn’t get it... He doesn’t listen. He won’t talk to me—not honestly. Unless he doesn’t actually have any feelings under there. He won’t open up. If I ask for something, I’m guaranteed not to get it. I can’t help but wonder if other husbands are easier to be with. Are they all like this, or just him? I love him, don’t get me wrong, but loving him is hard work, and every year it gets harder. Is it supposed to be like this?
He’d thought his marriage was happy until he read her diaries. Standing by his wife, being faithful, coming home every night and providing for both her and their son...that had felt like success until he’d seen himself through Caroline’s eyes. Maybe he was too much like his old man, after all.
Track down Junior—that was Melanie’s solution. And she was right, of course. But he’d never liked his brother much. They shared a father, but not a family. Still, he’d be the one who’d be able to give Logan an address.
He pulled up the web browser and typed in his brother’s name: Dr. Howard Eugene Wilde Jr. One of the first few entries to pop up was for an office in town. Mountain Springs Medical Center. And Dr. H.E. Wilde Jr. was listed under psychiatry.
“Huh,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure what he thought of that, but at least his brother was still local. It would make him easier to track down.
He could call the office, but he was mildly curious to see what Junior had become. The kid who’d had their father’s attention, his priority and his help in paying for a college education. They were both adults now, and maybe it was time to let grievances go.
* * *
THE MEDICAL BUILDING was on the south side of Mountain Springs—a newer building with three stories and not enough parking.
Psychiatry was on the third floor, and Junior’s office was at the far end. When Logan came inside, the waiting room was empty. The receptionist looked up with a distracted smile.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I was hoping to see... Dr. Wilde.” It felt awkward to use his brother’s professional title.
“Dr. Wilde isn’t available this afternoon,” she replied. “But I can see if there are any spaces later next week—”
“I’m his brother,” Logan added.
“Oh...” The receptionist took a closer look at him. “What’s your name?”
“Logan McTavish.”
She frowned slightly. “One moment. I’ll see if he’s available.”
She disappeared down a hallway, and Logan glanced around the waiting room. It was calm, quiet, a faint puff of air-conditioned air stirring the pages of a magazine on a cherrywood coffee table.
He pulled his hand through his hair and looked up as a shorter portly man came into the room.
“Junior?” Logan said. He could see the younger man in this older version. Junior looked tired. He’d be in his midthirties, and his blond hair was receding. He wore a pair of gray dress pants, a buttoned shirt rolled up at the sleeves to his forearms and a loosened tie. There was a wedding ring on his left hand.
“Hi, Logan,” Junior said with a bemused smile. “I go by Eugene now. Or Dr. Wilde.”
“You aren’t actually asking me to call you Doctor, are you?” Logan asked.
“No, of course not,” he said quickly. “Eugene is fine.”
“Right. Eugene.”
“It’s been a while,” Eugene said with a smile.
“You were a kid when I saw you last,” Logan agreed. “You were still Junior back then.”
Junior nodded slowly, and he glanced down at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I have plans with my family in a few minutes. My son has a Little League game, so I can’t take long.”
“This will be quick,” Logan replied.
“Did you want to come into my office?” His brother gestured down the hallway.
“Sure,” Logan replied. The receptionist stared after them with undisguised curiosity as he followed.
There was a dark wood desk on one end of the spacious office, a leather couch and a wingback leather chair on the other, and some framed pastoral paintings on the walls. It looked like his half brother was doing pretty well for himself.
“Do you need money?” Junior asked, shutting the door and turning to face him. “Because I don’t give loans, I’ll tell you now.”
“What?” Logan eyed the younger man skeptically. “Maybe you haven’t changed as much as I was hoping. No, I don’t need money. I own my own business in Denver and it’s thriving, thank you.”
“Right. Sorry.” Junior’s expression softened slightly. “You wouldn’t believe how many old acquaintances stop by to say hi and ask for a loan.”
Acquaintances... Was that what Junior thought of him—like some old friend of the family? But then, Logan had never really been more than that to Harry’s kids.
Logan shrugged. “I don’t have too many old acquaintances in Denver, so I don’t have that problem.”
“Lucky.” Junior glanced around. “So what kind of business do you own?”
“Construction,” Logan replied. “I build houses.”
“That sounds great...” Junior nodded distractedly. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I need to find Dad,” Logan said.
“Why?” he asked, and he stilled, his arms over his chest and his gaze locked on Logan’s face quizzically. So this was the line for Junior—access to their father?
“Does it matter?” Logan asked. “He’s my father, and I need to see him.”
“The thing is, his health isn’t great,” he said. “He’s had a few small strokes in the last year, and he’s pretty fragile right now.”
“How bad is it?” Logan asked.
“He’s in an assisted-living facility right now, and he’ll probably have to stay there. He’s seventy-five this year.”
“Yeah, I know...”
“So he can’t handle too much,” Junior went on. “My mother passed away a year ago—I’m not sure if you heard—but it was really hard on Dad. He just kind of...caved in.”
“I only found out about your
mom today,” Logan said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was hard on the whole family,” his brother said. “But especially on Dad.”
They fell silent for a moment, and Logan pressed his lips together. This was as awkward as he’d thought it would be.
“I heard about your wife’s passing,” Junior added. “Dad told me. I was sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. My mom would have been the one to let him know about Caroline’s death. That wasn’t me.”
Junior’s eyebrows went up. “Well, all the same, I’m sorry to hear it. How is your son? You have one boy, right?”
It seemed that Junior... Eugene...had kept up on the details of his life better than Logan had done in return. He felt mildly bad about that.
“He’s doing pretty well,” Logan said. “He’s traveling in Europe right now.”
“Hey, that’s great! I did a Europe trip after high school.” Junior’s face lit up. “I did Germany, Austria and France.”
“Because you had a father to help pay for it,” Logan said, but he bit back the rest of what he was going to say. His half-brother had done Europe? This was the first he’d heard of that particular inequality. Harry hadn’t helped Logan out financially at all.
His brother’s smile fell. “Right... Look, I know things weren’t always fair that way, but I didn’t have any control over that.”
“I’m not blaming you,” Logan replied.
“All the same, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t bring that stuff up with Dad.”
“That’s your professional advice?” Logan asked bitterly. “As a psychiatrist, you figure burying all this family stuff is the healthier way to go?”
“As a son worried about his father’s failing health,” Junior replied tightly. “I’m sure you both have a few grievances, but this isn’t the time.”
So Harry had some grievances with him? Great. That sounded promising. He could step in line.
“Look, I’m not here to make waves,” Logan said. “My mother passed away, and she left a locked box for our father in her will. She also left instructions that I was to deliver it personally.”
“Your mom passed?” Junior froze, the fight seeming to go out of him.
“A year ago,” Logan said. “It sounds like it was the same year your mom passed.”
“What took you so long to deliver it?” he asked.
Logan shrugged. “I’m trying to do better with these things.”
For whatever it counted for now.
“I’m sorry, all the same. How does all of this make you feel?” His brother asked quietly.
Logan eyed his brother with an icy look. “Shut up, Junior.”
The younger man smiled wanly. “Sorry. It’s part of the job.”
“I’m not here for grief counseling. I’m abiding by my mother’s last wishes. Period.”
“I actually didn’t think Dad and Elise were in contact anymore,” Junior said.
“Hey—they were adults. I have no idea if they talked from time to time, but if they did, they didn’t have to answer to us for it.”
His brother didn’t answer that.
“If you could just give me the address to the place where Dad is staying, I can be out of your way and you can carry on with your plans for the day,” Logan said.
“Like I said, Dad is in a fragile state—”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Logan asked testily. “Do you think I’m going to yell at him or something? I’m here to deliver something and let him know that my mother has passed away. That’s it.”
Junior rubbed his hand over his chin, then sighed. “Fine. There are nurses to make sure he doesn’t get too agitated.”
That sounded like a warning, but Junior went to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a business card. He passed it over. “You can ask for him at the front desk, and they’ll see if he’s interested in a visit.”
Logan hadn’t considered whether Harry would be interested in seeing him after all these years. Logan nodded and tapped the card against his palm. “Thanks. I appreciate the information.”
“No problem.”
Logan headed for the door, and he glanced back as he opened it. Junior stood there, his expression clouded, spinning his wedding ring on his left hand. It was an expression Logan had seen on his face before, back when Eugene was still called Junior and Logan was talking to their father about something.
Jealousy? Worry? Competition? What had that look been covering all these years?
“Say hi to your wife and kids for me,” Logan said, and he realized that he didn’t know any of their names.
His brother didn’t answer.
Logan had an address now. He could visit his dad, and then get back out of town and put the last of these uncomfortable memories behind him.
* * *
MELANIE PUT THE plastic bags full of groceries on the floor next to the fridge, and looked into the sitting room. Tilly was on the couch, flipping through the few staticky local channels they got with just an antenna.
“What happened to the cable?” Tilly asked, sounding bored.
“I used to only set it up for the month that we were here.”
“Why don’t you have it now?”
“Because this is now my home, and I’m not catering to the tastes of kids anymore.”
And she wasn’t here for TV watching—she was putting her life back together.
“Other people watch TV,” Tilly said, casting her an annoyed look. “What, are you too good for TV now?”
“You understand that this isn’t your home anymore, right?” Melanie snapped. “I’m not responsible for your cable TV, or your cell-phone bill, or whatever else will make you comfortable. I’ve bought some groceries, and you’ll just have to make do with what’s here, unless you want to buy your own.”
“So that’s how you’re going to play this?” Tilly retorted.
“Play what?” Melanie spread her hands. “Tilly, you’ve spent literally years of your life loathing me, and now your dad and I are divorced!”
Tilly’s phone blipped and she looked down at it. For a moment, Melanie saw the girl’s eyes mist, then she turned away and started typing. Melanie sighed. Was she being cruel here, pointing out the obvious? Melanie was the only mother Tilly had ever known, but the girl had also been raised with a solid understanding that she wasn’t Tilly’s “real mom.” Her “real” mother was enclosed in photo albums and in framed pictures that still hung on some walls in that house—a gentle woman with a sweet smile.
Maybe it felt good to be free of it all. Melanie didn’t have to swallow back her retorts and pretend she hadn’t heard the icy words in other rooms. She didn’t have to pretend it didn’t embarrass her when her stepkids sassed back in public, and she didn’t have to walk past pictures of her husband’s late wife, pretending she didn’t mind.
Tilly... Melanie’s heart gave a squeeze. She used to be little and snuggly. She used to love Melanie, once upon a time. But those days were beyond reach.
It hadn’t been all difficult times. There was the time that Tilly had made her a Mother’s Day card at school, complete with glitter, hearts and flowers. Melanie had treasured that card. There were the field trips she’d volunteered on, the bake sales she helped the kids prepare for... And there were the times here at this very lake house when Melanie let the rules slide and bought a bunch of frozen pizzas, boxes of cookies, bags of frozen fries, and let the kids fend for themselves. They’d loved it. That was probably the best summer she’d ever had with them.
Melanie started unloading the grocery bags. She was going to make spaghetti tonight with her own specialty meatballs. An easy meal, but it always went over well.
Her cell phone rang. Melanie picked it up off the counter and looked at the number. Was that Adam? She picked up the call.
&nb
sp; “Hello?”
“Hi, Mel...” Adam’s voice was warm, sweet... For just a moment, it was like the last couple of years had slipped away. Except they hadn’t.
“Hi, Adam,” she said. “Thanks for getting back to me.”
“So how’s Tilly?” he asked.
“Not great,” Melanie replied. “She’s having trouble with Simon again. And she’s here.”
“Simon.” Adam’s tone darkened. “I don’t like that kid.”
“Me neither,” Melanie agreed. “And I told you this when she was fifteen!”
“You said she was too young to date,” Adam countered.
“I also told you that Simon was emotionally manipulative and had a mean streak,” she said. “Remember that part?”
“Yeah, yeah...but she really liked him.”
“And what Tilly wants, Tilly gets. At least from you.”
“She’s my little girl.” Adam’s voice softened. “Come on. She used to play you, too.”
“She did not!”
“Remember that Mother’s Day card? And you let her go to that sleepover? You think she didn’t play you?”
The card with the sparkles and the hearts... Melanie felt a lump rise in her throat. Did he have to take that memory from her, too?
“Mel?” Adam’s voice softened. “Look, my point is, we both raised her. She played me, she played you and we both loved her, right? So maybe she came to find you because she misses you.”
“I’m not getting that vibe,” she countered.
“She’s always been a complicated kid,” Adam replied. “You know her. I think she’s mad at me.”
“Why?” Melanie asked.
“For our divorce. For messing up the family,” he replied. “I know she acts like a little toughie, but you know her. Remember that time I forgot her piano recital?”
“This isn’t the same thing,” she replied.
“She called me Adam for a year after that!” Adam said. “I’m just saying, the kid can hold a grudge, and maybe this is—”
“All about you,” Melanie supplied.
Their Mountain Reunion (The Second Chance Club Book 1) Page 6