The worried frown on the little boy’s face gave way to a sweet smile. “Then she’s going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” Nick pulled his son closer. “She’s going to be very okay.”
In Silent mode, the phone in John’s breast pocket buzzed. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, he almost ignored the call, but old habits died hard. Pulling out the offending apparatus, he glanced down and, seeing Derrick’s name, pushed to his feet, moved to the corner of the room, took the call. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a few problems here, and Evelyn said it was okay to call.”
John glanced across the room at the crowd and turned back to the corner. “What sort of problems?”
“The Arts District committee decided to make some changes to the gardens.”
John nodded. “So I heard.”
“The redesigns we’ve been getting back from the architectural firm are rudimentary and not to the committee’s liking.”
“So have them do it again.”
“They have. Three times.”
John turned around again, not sure what he expected to find, and spun back. “Is this for real, or are the committee members just being assholes?”
“It’s a problem. The first redesign cut out an entire section of retail space.”
“Shit,” John mumbled.
“The next two were more reasonable but didn’t match the original designs.”
“What does Evelyn say?”
“She’s gone from treating them with sugar and spice and everything nice to threatening them with a big stick. Something’s wrong, and I don’t know how to fix this, and I don’t want to dump it on Evelyn again.”
“All right. Send me the most recent updates and board reactions. Carbon copy Evelyn, and I’ll see what I can come up with. And, Derrick?”
“Yeah.”
“How far behind is this putting us?”
“So far we’ve been able to work around it, but if this isn’t resolved soon, it’s going to be a mess.”
“Right. Thanks.” John slid the phone into his pocket and returned to his seat.
“Business?” Maggie asked quietly.
“Isn’t it always?” He glanced up at the clock, surprised to discover he didn’t feel any urgency to study the problems with the new Arts District. What he cared about was how much longer before Ava would be in her room and he could see for himself that she was all right.
Looking around the room there wasn’t a single time since his mother’s funeral, that John could remember his family gathering together to comfort and support each other, like this group. As for family friends, well, nurturing friendships had taken a backseat to building a successful business. A business that would outshine anything his father had ever bought or sold. And, for the first time in his life, John wondered if maybe success had come at too high a price.
Chapter Eighteen
“Thank you, but it won’t harm me to dip a few hard-boiled eggs in a bowl of colored water.” Ava couldn’t decide what hurt more, having a chunk of her left arm nibbled on by a moray eel, or being smothered with concern by every member of her family and a few extra people to boot.
“She’s right, Mom. The doctor didn’t say anything about prohibiting Easter egg-making.” Emily shot her harrumphing mother a toothy grin, before turning her attention back to her sister. “Good thing Mr. Eel didn’t take a bite out of your right hand. That would really be a bitch.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Emily stacked multiple egg cartons on the counter. “What time are Missy’s grandson and Bradley arriving?”
“She’s bringing them over, as soon as school lets out.”
Even though Mr. Eel, as Emily had dubbed the attacking moray, had bitten Ava only three days ago, the constant burning in her arm was settling into an annoying throb, and the stitches were beginning to itch. The meds the doctor had prescribed went a long way to making the pain tolerable, but they did little for the itch and even less for the sharp stabbing pain that shot up her arm whenever she twisted her wrist wrong. On top of that, she was already fed up with the inconvenience. For one thing, she was dying for a good long hot shower. She didn’t mind the occasional soak, but wrapping her arm in a plastic bag and hanging it over the tub was growing old very, very quickly. And needing her mom to help her wash her hair in the kitchen sink wasn’t on her list of things she’d like to repeat often in this lifetime.
At least decorating the eggs should be a fun distraction. It had been years since there had been kids in the family to do the traditional egg hunt. Not that Bradley was a blood relation, but, as far as the Everretts were concerned, the Harpers were family.
“And look at all the fun extras Angela dropped off.” Maile emptied a small bag of paints and strings and other tidbits, then held up a page of decals. “She said you put these on before you dip the egg, and, when you peel it off, there’s a pretty picture.”
Emily picked up a metal egg holder. “This sucker is way easier than the spoon we used to use.”
“Speaking of Angela”—Ava examined the different strings—”wasn’t she going to join us?”
“I’m expecting her and Forrest any minute now.”
Oh, my. The simple sound of his name had her heart picking up speed and her mouth going dry. She had a vague memory of him visiting her in the hospital after the incident. She was pretty sure she’d thanked him over and over and over again, but she still wanted the chance to do so when her brain wasn’t fogged with oxycodone. Not to mention she was very much hoping for a chance to pick up where they’d left off in the parking lot. Way more than she’d realized.
Maile lifted her chin proudly. “He’s coming to check the plumbing.”
“You didn’t?” Emily turned to her mother.
“I did, and why shouldn’t I ask his opinion? He’s in construction and can give us unbiased input.”
“Mother, he’s Annette’s guest,” Emily argued.
“And, if he were a stockbroker, would you hesitate to ask his financial advice?”
Ignoring the debate, Ava held up the string. “What the heck are these for?”
Emily reached for one. “I think you tie it on the egg for more design features.”
Tilting her head left, then right, Ava studied the multiple lengths and widths of the strings and decided this was one decorative accessory she would skip.
“Yoo-hoo,” Angela called out at the same time the doorbell sounded and she opened the front door.
“We’re in the kitchen.” Maile wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to greet Forrest. Thanking him profusely for coming to look at the faulty toilet, she nudged him away from the kitchen. “I know you have lots of vacation plans, so I won’t keep you long. Follow me, and I’ll show you the problem.”
Ava had barely had a chance to make eye contact before her mother had ushered him off. What the hell was that all about? The man had practically saved her life, and her mother was still treating him like he carried the bubonic plague. “Excuse me,” she said to her sister and sister-in-law. “I’ll be right back.”
John and Maile stood in the middle of the second-floor bathroom. The house was basically a sprawling ranch, except for the game room her father had added on upstairs. He had also added a bath, so the space could be used as a guest room when needed.
“And you’re sure the toilet didn’t overflow?” John bent down to examine the connections under the tank and to tinker with the shut-off valve.
“No. The first time we replaced that valve thingy there. The next time the entire toilet and the wax circle.”
“Ring, Mother. Wax ring.” Ava shook her head and ignored the stern glare her mother shot in her direction.
John circled the room, his gaze a beacon, studying every corner of the simple rectangular design with a small dormer window jutting out to give the exterior a sense of balance. “Show me where the ceiling leaks downstairs again.”
Maile nodded and spun about. When they reac
hed the downstairs, she looked pointedly at her daughter. “John can handle this. Why don’t you go back and take care of Angela.”
It wasn’t intended as a question, but Ava answered anyhow. “Angela is a grown woman, soon to be a mother. She doesn’t need me taking care of her. Besides, Em is with her.”
Her mother shot her “the look”—the one that, as children, had them scurrying to do whatever their mother or father had asked. But not this time. Ava wanted to see the man at work. Who knew watching a man examine toilets and fixtures could be such a turn-on?
On the ground floor John examined the ceiling with such intensity that, for a few seconds, she wondered if he truly could see through the Sheetrock to the plumbing and structures above. Without a word he turned on his heel and paced outside, exiting the front door, striding to the yard’s center—looking up, then down, then over to the door.
Shifting to the right, Ava realized he’d aligned himself with the bathroom dormer. Taking measured steps back to the door, he went straight upstairs and measured his paces to the bathroom. “Do you have an extension ladder?”
Maile nodded. “In the garage.”
“May I take a look at your roof?”
Maile nodded again and led him to the garage, ignoring her daughter completely.
Standing in the middle of the yard, Ava and her mom watched Forrest place the ladder, test its stability, climb on the roof and walk to the dormer.
“Be careful,” Maile called up with a smile on her face. “I’m not heavily insured.”
Forrest smiled back at her. “Will do. And I think I found your problem.”
Two minutes later, brushing his hands clean, he stood in front of Maile Everrett. “It’s not your toilet. It’s the dormers. The flashing is stripped, and there’s minor wood rot. The rains are leaking at the crevices, most likely following a trail along the beam to the wall and dripping down, making it appear to come from the toilet.”
Ava looked up at the second-floor window and back down. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “You’re good.”
Forrest chuckled, pinning her with twinkling eyes. “That’s what I’m told.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She got the feeling he wasn’t talking about construction.
Grabbing the ladder, his gaze lingered a moment, as though confirming her thoughts, then turned to her mother. “I’ll put this back in the garage and meet you inside.”
“Thank you.” Maile beamed, then followed her daughter in the house.
Before her mother could say a word, Ava veered to the right in the front hall and whispered to her mom, “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll join you in a minute.”
She didn’t really need to use the ladies’ room; she just didn’t want a confrontation with her mother. Maile Everrett may never have served in the navy, or any other branch of the military, but she didn’t tolerate insubordination either. Ava had little doubt that, even if she were old and gray, if her mother was still alive, Maile Everrett would be the one ruling the roost.
Taking a minute to sit at her drafting board, she stared at the contracts she’d signed and returned to Howard. Pretty soon she’d be going to San Francisco for a face-to-face meeting with the team. Excitement and nerves tumbled about inside. She hoped to heck she wouldn’t still be in a sling when it came time for the meeting. Silly of her as it may be, as a woman in a cutthroat field, she hated to show any sign of weakness.
“You working again?” Forrest stood in the doorway.
“No. Just enjoying the view.”
Forrest stepped up to the table and glanced at the paperwork she awkwardly tried to gather together with one hand.
“Here, let me.” Putting them neatly on the table, he held out the recently signed contracts to her.
“Thanks.” She set aside the pages to admire another time. Eventually when she stopped gawking at them and grinning like a fool, she’d probably frame the darn thing and hang it on her wall. Sometimes she was such a dork.
“What’s this?” Stepping closer, he craned his neck to see over her shoulder.
“Nothing important. Something I was tinkering with.”
“You do a lot of tinkering, don’t you?”
She laughed. “You could say that.”
A deep crease set in at the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any more of this?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged.
“May I?” He touched the bottom corner of the page.
“Sure.”
Lifting the top page of the smaller sketch pad, the ridges on his forehead grew deeper as he turned each page. “This is a theater?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And a sculpture garden?”
“Mmm-hmm.” What was he getting at?
“Retail space too?”
“That’s right.” Why was the man stating the obvious?
Letting all the pages fall back in place, Forrest turned, hands at his side, and leaned against the table. “Ava, how long have you had your own firm?”
Prideful indignation stiffened her shoulders. “Long enough.”
“Please. How long? One month? Two? What?”
“A few months, why?”
His gaze shifted to the sketches and back again. “Who did you used to work for?”
Chapter Nineteen
John could hardly wait to get Evelyn on the phone. From what he’d been able to piece together, the creative designs that the Arts District committee had loved so much were not done by whatever suit Emerson & Smythe had stuck them with. The credit should have been all Ava’s.
It had taken him a few minutes to put the pieces together, but, with every flip of the page of Ava’s sketchbook, he realized he was looking at design corrections for the Sacramento Arts District.
“If you will excuse me a minute, I need to place a quick business call.”
“Sure.” Ava smiled up at him.
Quietly John made his way to the front hall and, opening the door, stepped outside onto the tiny porch. The sounds of laughter and women talking over each other drifted from the kitchen. Just as he swiped his phone to dial Evelyn, a car pulled up in the driveway. The little boy he knew to be Nick’s son shot out of the car and made a beeline for the house, waving sort of politely as he ran by. Another little boy whizzed past on the first kid’s heels. A woman he’d met at his sister’s birthday party closed the driver’s side door and, shaking her head, called after the two boys. “Make sure you wash your hands before you touch the eggs.”
Evelyn’s cell went straight to voice mail, and John switched to a text message. Important. Call me.
“How are you doing today?” the woman asked.
“Couldn’t be better. And you?” He put the phone back to his ear in hopes the lady he couldn’t quite remember wouldn’t want to stand around chatting all day.
“Just fine,” she answered quietly. “We’ll see you inside, won’t we?”
He nodded and smiled, and thought to himself that he’d probably done more smiling this week since he’d arrived in Kona than he’d done in the last year. Maybe years.
Another car door slammed, and he spun about to see Billy stepping onto the curb. “Hey there.” John waved.
More laughter wafted out the front door. A request for pans, spoons, eggs and other holiday paraphernalia could be heard between bursts of laughter and boyhood glee.
Crossing the lawn, Billy paused at the porch. “What you doing out here, man?”
“Need to contact my office.” John held up the phone to Billy, before slipping it back into his pocket. “Waiting for my associate to return my call.”
“Heard you’ve been lassoed to solve the mystery of the leaking toilet.”
“Not the toilet.”
Billy scowled.
“The roof.”
“No shit?” Billy looked up.
John laughed. “No shit.”
Shaking his head, Billy stepped onto the porch. “Go figure. Is my wife here?”
“Yeah, Maile sent her to pick
me up. She’s inside with the others.”
Before either man could say another word, more chatter came from the kitchen.
“Is the water boiling yet?” tumbled over “We need string.”
Billy’s eyes rounded like saucers; all color drained from his face, and the man bolted into the house, as though he’d heard a loved one yell, “Fire.”
Concerned that he’d missed something important, John picked up the pace and followed Billy into the house. The dive shop owner had come to a screeching halt at the kitchen entry, his gaze bouncing from woman to woman, always coming back to his wife. “You’re not in labor,” he finally said.
Angela stared back at him for a long beat. “No.”
“I heard someone yell for boiling water,” he explained.
Not that it made any sense to John.
“And string.”
Which made even less sense to him but apparently made perfect sense to the women, who, practically on cue, broke into a combination of laughter, giggles and outright guffaws.
Ava came up behind John and patted his arm. “It’s a long story. I’ll share it over a cup of coffee, before you return to California.”
Feeling the warmth of her hand on his skin, John wished he could hear the long story now and not over coffee.
“Oh, Billy.” Maile shuffled to the forefront of the sea of women. “Glad you’re here. Angela brought Forrest and, since she’s staying to do the eggs with the children, I’d hoped you could give him a ride back to Magnolia’s now.”
Billy’s eyes circled round again, matching his sisters’ expressions.
“I’ll take him,” Ava offered, turning to John. “Unless, of course, you’d like to stay and help with the eggs?”
“Don’t be silly,” Maile interrupted, grinning like the perennial hostess she was and not showing any signs of admitting John had just been unceremoniously dispatched. “He has more important things to do.”
“Mother…” Billy shook his head. “Maybe you should let Forrest—”
Billy’s words were cut off by the ringing of John’s phone. “Excuse me. I have to take this.”
Love by Design Page 12