Blueprints

by Barbara Delinsky

  Then she heard Ralph Weymouth’s strident voice. “Why twenty-four hours? Twenty-four hours is ridiculous. We can’t consider competing offers in twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours won’t work.”

  Caroline knew what to say, but hesitated. Ralph was the toughest of the three. She had watched him during her presentation and could still hear him archly ask what role Theo would be playing. Here was a man’s man. Age wasn’t the problem; her being female was. She could fight that, push through, be strident right back at him. But she had dealt with enough men in her life to recognize counterproductive before it happened. Meeting with Hersch on Monday had succeeded because of their past. She had no past with Ralph. Her gut said that a reply to him was better coming from someone in pants.

  Touching Brad’s note, which had been tactically sound, she gestured for him to answer.

  He didn’t touch his glasses, didn’t glance at the papers before him. His eyes remained locked with Ralph’s on the video monitor while, with his trademark calm, he said, “This offer stands only that long. We’re willing to pay a premium for a preemptive sale—”

  “MacAfee Homes isn’t the only game in town.”

  “No, but it’s the best one for this job. We’ve made the arguments why. If you agree, then the decision isn’t hard to make. Absent a preemptive sale, our offer changes.”

  He was calling Ralph’s bluff. Caroline would have done the same, but with less chance of success. Even coming from a male, though, toughness could backfire. She wanted to look at Theo to see if he was uneasy, but knew he wouldn’t show it even if he was. She wanted to lean into Dean, but vetoed that idea, too. For a split second, she thought about the simplicity of carpentry, where her greatest decision might be whether to use rosewood or oak. In that split second, she wanted only that.

  Then she directed her mind’s eye around the table, thinking that she cared about these people and that helping them create something bigger was a worthwhile challenge. Yes, there were risks of giving a twenty-four-hour window. But the risk of letting the fire cool and the competition into the game was greater.

  Also, on a personal note, there was Gut It! The whole point of rushing to meet with the Weymouths was to have something secured before meeting with Brian and Claire. Before that meeting, though, Caroline and Jamie had to talk.

  * * *

  Chicken Fingers and Spring Rolls, Crispy Beef with Broccoli, Chicken with Pea Pods, Kung Pao Shrimp, white rice, brown rice, and fried rice—Caroline’s dining table was covered with takeout containers by the time Jamie and Chip arrived with the boys. Samantha wasn’t with them. They had barely left downtown Boston when she announced that she planned to pack and head north.

  “When?” Jamie asked in alarm, seeing Samantha as part of the team and therefore deserving of a celebratory dinner. Not that celebrations were in order. Soon after Brad’s ultimatum, Herschel Oakes, who had been quiet until then, finally spoke. “We have a lot to discuss,” he told the brothers and, shifting his focus to Caroline, stood. “I think we have the information we need. Thank you for coming. If you’ll excuse us now…”

  It was a less than encouraging ending. Seeming to agree, Caroline leaned close in the elevator and said a quiet, “Hersch was being deliberately abrupt so that the brothers see him as in charge. We don’t know what they’re saying up there now.”

  No, they didn’t. So that was disappointing. And now Samantha. Totally aside from her help at the meeting, Jamie liked having her with them. More important, she sensed that Chip did, too. Two days were not enough.

  Samantha’s explanation came from the backseat. “I need to get there before I lose my nerve. Or fall asleep.” Her hand touched Jamie’s shoulder. “You’ll give the boys a hug for me? Tell them I’ll see them soon?”

  “Will you?” Chip asked more sharply than Jamie would have.

  Apparently, Samantha agreed with her. “Don’t be a prick.”

  “I’m not,” he said, darting glances at her in the rearview. “I’m your brother, and I’m serious. I’d like to see more of you.”

  “We would,” Jamie amended, twisting to look back. “There’s always room, you know. It’s your house.”

  Her mouth, so like Chip’s, tipped into a crooked smile. “I think you just want me here when you meet the folks.”

  “That, too,” Jamie said, only half kidding. She had an ally in Samantha and actually felt bad that they weren’t driving north to support her now. Tomorrow’s meeting made that impossible.

  But life was too short to be distant from family, which was why, after they watched her drive off and then picked up the boys, they went straight to Caroline’s—that, and the fact that Jamie was too tired to even think of dinner but was famished.

  Tad did amazingly well. Ever prepared, Caroline had applesauce and bananas for anyone whose stomach might still be sensitive, but Tad insisted on sitting on Jamie’s lap and finger-feeding himself bits of broccoli and rice. The last ended up less in his mouth and more on her lap and the floor. Champ’s tongue swept the floor, and, having changed into shorts, Jamie didn’t care about her lap.

  Nor, actually, did she care about the fact that Herschel Oakes hadn’t called yet. Given the brothers’ negativity, she sensed they would wait until the last minute, even if they’d already made a decision, and while that annoyed her, she couldn’t sustain anger. She wanted to blame her placidity on the Chardonnay Caroline had opened, but it had more to do with exhaustion from two nights of little sleep. And relief that the presentation was done. And a more immediate and unexpected pleasure.

  Looking through the back screen as she carried dirty dishes to Caroline’s sink, she thought about the teeny family she’d grown up in and her dreams of it being bigger. That dream was coming true—and on the heels of that realization came one that said the Weymouth project didn’t matter all that much in the overall scheme. Effort mattered, and yes, she felt she had done the best she could in a limited time frame. Health mattered. The boys were fully recovered, both of them strong. Love mattered. Caroline had Dean, who was at this moment on his hands and knees in the backyard digging up something or other for the two little guys. And Chip, her Chip. He was out there, too, having a ball with the boys in the dirt but also giving Jamie a chance to have her mother alone. If she didn’t already love him to bits, his sensitivity to that need would have pushed her there.

  She watched Caroline slather on hand lotion before pulling on rubber gloves. With the scent of woods and spring rising from the gloves as they warmed under hot water, Jamie set down the dishes she held.

  “About Gut It!—”

  “About Gut It!—”

  Jamie hurried to speak first. “I need you to believe me, this change was not my idea.”

  “I know, baby,” Caroline said with a smile. She kept adding soaped dishes to the pile to be rinsed. “I probably knew it all along, but I was feeling vulnerable and I got defensive. Defensiveness is a cloud, sometimes so thick you can’t see through it. It’s gone now. I feel better about myself.”

  “Because of Dean?”

  “Yes. And because of Theo.”

  Barely two days ago, Jamie had agreed to lobby on Theo’s behalf to convince Caroline to succeed him. She hadn’t done it—such a conflict of interest—and yet, here was her mother, looking the part, right down to a dusting of blush and mascara, and the neat twist of hair at the nape of her neck. Not even the neon green, soap-covered gloves that went to her elbows detracted from that. Jamie felt positively inelegant beside her.

  Taking a dish towel, she began to dry what Caroline rinsed. “Will you take over for him?”

  Caroline touched the back of one rubber glove to her chest. Jamie thought she was trying to still a racing heart. But no, she was feeling her ring. It clearly gave her something—Dean clearly gave her something. “I fear I may want to,” she finally said. “If you think that doesn’t terrify me, think again.”

  “You can do it.” Jamie had no doubt whatsoever. From nowhere came memory of the ha
rsh words she’d had for her father before he died. She’s just a carpenter, he had said of Caroline, to which Jamie had replied, If she’s just a carpenter, then you’re just a salesman. They were both wrong. Seeing Caroline coordinate every detail of today’s presentation, Jamie had a new respect for the job. “You’ve been doing it since Dad died. And now you come home to Dean.”

  “Actually, I come home to my garage before I’m much good to Dean. I’m a carpenter, baby. That’s my first love. I need to make things. I’ll always need that. It clears my mind. It settles me.” She rinsed several more dishes before saying, “Your father died too young. When someone tells me I’m getting old, like Claire did—”

  “She was wrong.”

  “Not entirely. “She rinsed another dish. “I don’t believe I’m too old for Gut It!, but I am getting older. We all are. I look at what happened to Roy. There’s a lesson in that.” She handed over the dish, then braced the heels of her gloved hands on the edge of the sink and looked at Jamie. “I have things I want to do besides host. Like this.” She hitched her chin at the counter filled with empty takeout containers. “Like working on Dean’s house, spending time with your family, going to Canyon Ranch with you. And yes, I want to help Theo. The little I’ve done has been satisfying. I didn’t expect that, but it is. I’d like to give heading MacAfee Homes a shot.”

  Here it was, Jamie’s moment of truth. If Caroline didn’t have time to host the show, they were in trouble. Jamie couldn’t do it now. “Mom, I … I … I…”

  “I know. Not the right time for you.”

  “But Claire needs to know now.”

  “Yes.” Caroline studied her face. “Your own family has to come first. That’s the way it should be. And it’s one of the reasons why the changes in my life are good. They’ll keep me busy. So. You’re busy. I’m busy. Which of us is less busy right now?”

  Jamie bit back the quick You that was on the tip of her tongue. Both of their lives had gone from simple to complex in the instant when a tree was hit by lightning and fell on a car. If she respected that Caroline was wearing new hats, too, she had to be truthful. “I don’t know.”

  Caroline did. “Me, baby. I don’t have kids. I don’t have a whole new family to get to know. You’ll sort it all out. Things will line up for you. Until then, I’ll stay on as host and ease you in as soon as you’re ready.”

  It sounded like a plan, with one possible glitch. “Will Claire agree to that?”

  “If we get the Weymouth land, she will.”

  epilogue

  The rain had let up several hours before, and though the late afternoon sun was more hesitant than Jamie might have liked, she couldn’t be greedy. The western sky, framed by the new window in her new kitchen, showed resilient swathes of orange just over the trees, as a dry June breeze pushed gunmetal clouds east.

  How to describe what she felt as she stood at her new counter, which was a sandy granite with very practical, kid-friendly veins of burgundy and gray? Grateful for the weather, yes. But now, still, nervous about the food.

  This was their first time having everyone in their new home, which actually was the old country house that Caroline had not wanted Dean to buy but then had helped rebuild. By the time it was done, Dean had already purchased another house, this one right next door to Caroline’s Victorian. With Caroline insisting that her cats shouldn’t have to suffer his dog full-time—and that, BTW, adults needed their own space, too—it was the perfect solution.

  It was also the perfect solution for Jamie and Chip. With the prospect of more children in the future and frequent visits from his parents, they needed rooms. The old country house had plenty. And hadn’t Jamie drawn the plans that Dean followed in his gut-and-rebuild? Hadn’t this exact home design, which so captured her dreams, helped win the Weymouth project?

  So Jamie and Chip had bought the country place from Dean, giving his parents’ place to Samantha, who was now outside with her eight-month-old daughter Maisie, Caroline and Dean, Chip’s parents Donald and Helene, Theo, and the boys, while Jamie frantically whisked a third attempt at dressing.

  When Chip appeared at her shoulder, she raised a spoon to his mouth. “Still too sweet?” She was making homemade cole slaw. Well, not entirely homemade. Just the dressing. The cabbage was out of a bag—no one seriously cared who cut the leaves—but she had wanted to make the dressing herself. Hamburgers and hot dogs took no brain power. Dressing for cole slaw did. She had a bottle of store-bought, just in case. But this had become her cause, and, with the smell of sizzling burgers drifting in, she was down to the wire.

  He licked the spoon, licked his lips, and smiled in a way that would have distracted her if she weren’t so focused on the task. “It’s good.”

  “I want it great.”

  “It is great.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, it really is. Everything you make is great.”

  “Is that because I make so little that you’re pleased when I make anything at all?”

  He rolled his eyes, pulled her close, and kissed a freckle. “It’s because even a year later I’m madly in love with you, and because you’re a better cook than you give yourself credit for, and because this dressing really is good.”

  “Yeah?” she asked softly, losing that focus. Even a year later, she was madly in love with him, too.

  “Yeah. Mix it in. But first…”

  He gave her a full-on kiss. Even a year later, that was still special. Every. Time.

  “Besides,” he said against her lips, “no one eating with us today is as discriminating as you are.”

  Jamie drew back to disagree. “Your mom is. Look what she brought—three different dinners for the freezer, plus baked beans, pasta salad, and seven-layer bars for today, all homemade.”

  “She loves cooking. It’s her hobby. And she has more time than you do.”

  “Mommy!” Tad cried, racing in, “Bud-man isn’t sharing!”

  Buddy was on his heels. “He took Maisie’s toy, and he wouldn’t give it to her.”

  “But I didn’t have a turn playing!”

  “Maisie wanted it!”

  “Buddy—” Chip began. Jamie stopped him with a touch. Sibling rivalry was still new and not easy for either adult, and while she adored that Chip looked out for Tad, she couldn’t let him blame Buddy just because he was older. Tad was three and had to learn to share. Besides, if it was Maisie’s toy, Buddy was right.

  Bending low, she put an arm around each boy and said as much—and didn’t that say something? She was the ideological parent, Chip the blunt one. She was the rainy-day activity expert, he the one who taught them all to laugh when they fell. She was the one who still researched problems ad infinitum, while he solved them with a hug.

  Tad pouted. “I didn’t get my turn.”

  For a minute, Jamie couldn’t speak. The child was so like his father in perseverance that she was alternately horrified and touched. She would tell him stories when he was old enough to ask. For now, she simply kept pictures of Jess and Roy on his dresser. He knew to call the faces Mommy and Daddy. But he seemed perfectly fine calling Jamie and Chip the same.

  The reminder was apt. His turn? “With a yard full of other toys? Theodore MacAfee, you are far from deprived. There are a dozen trucks in the sandbox, a water table on the deck, a lawn mower on the grass, and Transformers that Poppy just brought. But what happened to the tee?” She looked questioningly at Buddy. “I thought you guys were batting off it.”

  “Poppy got tired of shagging the ball,” Buddy said, and while Jamie was thinking, Well, yeah, because the two of you hit more than you miss, Chip was more blunt.

  “And one of you two couldn’t do it?”

  Buddy looked up at him. “Fido peed on the deck.”

  “Oh no,” Jamie cried, thinking of the sweeping they had done just an hour before to rid her beautiful deck of rain debris.

  Fido was the German shepherd pup that Dean had given them as a housewarming gi
ft. Oh, he had checked with them first, causing one of the few arguments between them. Jamie wanted a pair of quiet, clean, self-sufficient cats. Chip argued that a cat wouldn’t run with boys who clearly needed to run. When she argued that cat shelters were overflowing, he pointed out that the puppy Dean had chosen was born in a dog shelter. It was three against one. So Fido had arrived. They tried to rename him, alternately calling him Oliver, Chester, and Remington over the course of a week, before returning to Fido, which fit the dog, just as Dean had originally said. Now they just had to get him house-trained.

  “Oh God, Chip. We’re eating on that deck.”

  “Not to worry,” Caroline said as she entered the kitchen. “Dean hosed it off.” Her eyes were on the boys. “Is anyone here ready for a hot dog?”

  “Me!”

  “Me! Can I get mine first since I’m older?” Buddy asked.

  “Baker.” From Chip.

  “I think,” Caroline said, “that Dean will hand them out at exactly the same time.” The two raced out. “Cole slaw done?” she asked Jamie, who shot Chip a what-do-I-do look.

  He mimed mixing, which she quickly did and handed the bowl to Caroline. Just as quickly, Caroline passed it back to Chip with an affectionate grin.

  “Would you take this to the table, like a good boy?”

  Chip winked at Jamie in a way that said he got a kick out of her mother, which meant the world to her. Then he, too, was gone, leaving her with Caroline, who had the same huge heart as always, but today a different facade. For one thing, her nails, fingers and toes, were neon blue. For another, her shorts and blouse were white. The irony, of course, was that Jamie, who had lived in a pristine white world before becoming a mom, didn’t dare wear it now. But Caroline wore it well. Between those blue nails, her auburn hair, and her green eyes, she was as colorful as ever.

  So color wasn’t what made her look different.

  It wasn’t even the diamond ring that hadn’t once left her neck.