by Cindy Kirk
“Thank you.” Hadley mouthed the words, her blue eyes twinkling.
Picking up the tray, Max walked to where Eliza sat. He placed the cups and plates on the pink tabletop and set the tray aside before taking a seat opposite her.
After casting the pastry a calculating look, Eliza picked up the Danish. “It looks passable.”
Personally, Max thought the pastry looked mouthwateringly good. One bite confirmed his assessment.
Eliza set down the Danish. “We’ll start with your audit recommendations, then move on to several other matters. It’s imperative we stay focused. I’m on a very tight schedule today.”
In other words, no small talk. Fine with him.
“As I emphasized when we spoke previously, this matter requires immediate attention.”
Max opened his briefcase. He slipped out the report he’d shared last week with her and the executive board.
Eliza shifted her gaze to the clock on the wall that proclaimed “It’s Cupcake Time.” From the distant look in her eyes, Max knew she wasn’t admiring the various cupcakes that designated the hours.
Without warning, she refocused those steely gray eyes on him. “How did I miss it?”
Okay, so they’d revisit what went wrong. Then they’d discuss the changes that needed to be made.
“It’s easy for boards of old, established groups to become complacent. When things run smoothly for so long, they grow lax in their oversight. Floyd, as board treasurer, should have caught what was going on. However, Gladys, as treasurer of the Cherries, bears the bulk of the responsibility. And—”
Eliza held up a hand, stopping him. “Although Gladys feels badly about what occurred, the responsibility is mine. I’m the executive director. I should have been scrutinizing the P&L statements. I should have asked myself how bills were getting paid when we’d scaled down our fundraising. I should have seen we were depleting our savings.”
Max didn’t argue. “You might have noticed if you were meeting quarterly.”
“Semiannual meetings have been the practice for decades.” Eliza lifted the cup of mocha but made no move to drink. “Per your recommendation, we’ll now be meeting quarterly.”
“You need to computerize the books.”
“Gladys has always refused to embrace new technology.” Eliza’s inscrutable gaze gave no indication of her thoughts on the matter. She set down her cup. “That’s not an issue now, as she handed in her resignation this morning.”
“She what?” Max dropped his mug to the table with a clatter.
“She resigned. This is her seventy-fifth year as a Cherrie, and she figured it was a good time to bow out.” Eliza frowned, then her expression cleared. “The official stance is she’s leaving the organization in order to pursue other interests. It plays well as she’s deeply involved in rehearsals for George M.”
Max knew all about the woman’s involvement in the patriotic play put on by the local community theater. This year they’d chosen George M, the Broadway musical that had produced such favorites as “It’s a Grand Old Flag” and “Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
“What about the Independence Day parade?” He and Gladys were co-chairs for the event this year. Max couldn’t say he was sorry to see her go. She’d been too busy with all her other social projects to be of any help. “Do you have a replacement in mind?”
“The person who replaces Gladys will take on the parade co-chair role. Which means you’ll mentor them.” Eliza’s cool gray eyes met his. “It can’t be helped. The other Cherries already have their assigned tasks.”
Great. He would get the new person. Still, could whomever they chose be worse than Gladys? Max took a bite of Danish, considered.
“The parade is less than a month away.” Max washed the pastry down with a gulp of coffee. “How soon will you have her replacement on board?”
“Our next meeting is Monday. My plan is to take nominations, vote, and confirm that same day.”
“Make it someone with a strong accounting background.”
“Who is chosen is up to the membership.” Eliza’s voice rose, garnering a curious look from a couple of tourists settling in at the other table. Visibly restraining herself, she continued in a softer, but no less determined tone. “It isn’t your concern.”
Max folded his hands on the table, met her determined look with one of his own. The knowledge that he had a duty to the organization kept him pressing forward.
“It is my concern. You hired me for my expertise. I’m telling you—” He paused to rein in his rising temper. When he spoke again it was in a pleasant, conciliatory tone. “I’m recommending you bring in someone with a strong accounting background.”
Eliza absently broke off a piece of Danish, not appearing to notice the cherry filling dripping on her fingertips. “Off the top of my head, I don’t know anyone with that particular skill set who would be suitable for membership in the Cherries.”
“Having that background makes them eminently suitable,” he said, hammering the point home while keeping the same pleasant tone.
Eliza dropped the pastry back onto the plate, carefully wiping her fingers with a napkin. “I’ll take your recommendation under consideration.”
Max was done playing nice. If he’d insisted on these changes three years ago, the organization might not be teetering on the brink of disaster now.
“Make an exception.” He leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. “Or the Cherries might not be around to plan another holiday event.”
Chapter Three
Prim’s stellar Monday morning came to a crashing halt when she approached the living room holding a basket of laundry still warm from the dryer and stepped into chaos.
Callum, the older—by two minutes—of her six-year-old twins stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched at his sides, a mutinous expression on his face. “I don’t like it here. I want to move back home.”
His brother, Connor, didn’t bother to look up. He was too busy rolling on the floor with Boris, their Russian wolfhound.
Of the two boys, Callum was the one who had the most difficulty adjusting to change. Unfortunately, he’d experienced many changes in his young life.
Guilt washed over Prim. She should have fought harder each time Rory insisted on moving. Only after she’d convinced her husband to purchase a house had she been able to give her son a little of the stability he craved.
Six months later, Rory had died and their lives had been plunged into turmoil. That had been two years ago.
Though none of the recent changes had been preventable, Prim understood Callum’s pain. Change didn’t come easily to her, either. Connor seemed to be the only one undisturbed by all the upheaval.
Prim placed the basket on the table and pulled out a shirt. She expertly folded the Spider-Man T-shirt while keeping her gaze focused on Callum. She resisted a motherly urge to tell her son that this was home now. “Why don’t you like living here?”
Her son’s answer came quickly, in a tone one step up from a whine. “Sean isn’t down the street.”
Next to his brother, Sean Flannery had been Callum’s best friend.
Picking up another shirt, Prim offered her son a sympathetic smile. “I spoke with Sean’s mother before we left. She promised he could come and visit you as soon as we’re settled.”
Callum’s jaw jutted out at a stubborn tilt. “It’s not the same.”
Prim upended the basket, dumping the rest of the contents onto the table, and considered her response. Unlike Callum, she already loved this house. Loved the open floor plan. Loved the fact that from where she stood in the kitchen, she had a good view of the living room.
The way the two rooms ran together allowed her to keep a better eye on her three boys—two rambunctious twins and one wolfhound—all with a penchant for trouble.
“It might not be the same, but living here will be so much better than Milwaukee.” She refocused on the laundry. Picking up a sock, she frowned at the hole in the toe. She set it
aside and waited for Callum’s response.
A suspicious look settled over her son’s face. “How better?”
“Well, Grandpa has a boat.” She spoke in a deliberately offhand tone and picked up another sock. “I don’t know many boys in Milwaukee who get to go fishing in a real boat. And that’s not all.”
Rolling on the floor, Connor and Boris tumbled into Callum. Without taking his eyes off his mother, Callum shoved them back. “What else?”
“Aunt Ami owns a bakery. When Sean visits we’ll be able to walk downtown and get him any kind of cookie he wants.”
A boyish giggle split the air.
“Help.” Laughter filled Connor’s voice. “Boris won’t stop licking me.”
“Boris.” Callum’s quiet murmur was enough to stop the slobber bath. Once the dog sat on its haunches, Callum turned to his brother. “Want to play ball?”
The sable-and-white hundred-pound wolfhound leaped to his feet and wagged his tail, a hopeful gleam in his golden eyes.
“Boris says yes.” Connor scrambled to his feet, wiping the dog’s spit off his face with the back of his hand. “I say yes, too.”
Callum grinned and took off running. He’d nearly reached the door when he paused and tossed over his shoulder, “Race you outside.”
His brother gave a war whoop and sprinted. And just like that, the I-hate-my-new-life discussion came to an end. Prim sighed in relief.
“I’ll let you know when lunch is ready,” Prim called as her boys tumbled out the screen door, an ecstatic Boris at their heels.
The fenced-in backyard was another favorite feature of the house. The boys could play outside and she didn’t have to worry.
Yes, this house was practically perfect. Except for the fact that Max Brody lived next door.
She wasn’t certain why she found the thought of him being so close disturbing. It wasn’t as if they’d been involved, unless, of course, you counted the kiss he’d given her in that hotel hallway when they were seniors.
Her fingers rose to her mouth, to lips that began to tingle at the memory of Max’s kiss.
A car door slamming made her rear back. She slipped to the front window and glanced out, wondering if her dad had decided to stop by.
Instead of her father, she spotted Loretta Sharkey, high school choral director and across-the-street neighbor, stepping from her ancient Chevrolet. Prim watched Loretta round the back of the Impala, open the passenger-side door, and retrieve several sacks of groceries.
She wondered if the neighbors got together for backyard barbecues. Would Max be there? Blood surged through her veins at the possibility.
Prim hadn’t seen him since the wedding reception. Though he’d made it clear she should let him know if she needed help moving, she hadn’t contacted him. Relying on herself was familiar territory. She was more than capable of handling the details of her and her sons’ lives.
Even when Rory was alive, Prim had carried the bulk of the load. While her husband had been off scaling mountains and zip-lining across canyons, she’d been working, taking care of the twins, and handling all the day-to-day concerns that came with a household.
She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d pleaded with him to think of the strain he was putting on his body, the toll his exploits were taking not only on him but on his family. She and the twins needed him. They wanted to spend time with him.
For a few weeks after one of those talks, life would be better. He’d be around more. But inevitably some new adventure would beckon and he’d be off again. His need to prove he was stronger than his illness took priority over everything else. Over his job. Over the boys. Over her.
A familiar resentment flared. She could have dealt with bearing the brunt of the responsibilities at home, but not his selfishness. They were already dealing with a shorter amount of time together, and the fact that he would risk cutting short even a second of that time infuriated her.
Even when his lung function had decreased, instead of scaling back his activities as his pulmonologist recommended, Rory had pushed himself even more.
When he’d left on that last trip, she’d been so angry. She’d said hurtful things. So had he. Prim closed her eyes and felt the pain of those last few minutes they’d shared wash over her.
Despite the fact that no one should have to die because of a manufacturing error in a climbing harness, she was grateful Rory hadn’t suffered. The fall had killed him instantly.
Early in their marriage, they’d talked about what he wanted to happen if he died. His mother, he told her, wanted him buried in the family plot. So she could keep vigil, he’d said with a flash of a grin. Then he’d sobered, looked her in the eye, and told her what he wanted—to be cremated and his ashes scattered to the winds.
Prim’s gaze slid to the black ceramic urn on the upper shelf of the corner curio cabinet. Despite pressure from Deb and Mike, she’d gone ahead with the cremation. But she hadn’t scattered him to the wind. She’d kept him close in a way not possible when he was alive.
A knock at the door pulled her from her reverie. Swiping at a couple of stray tears, she hurried to the door. Instead of her father, Ami stood there.
With a loud whoop, Prim pulled her sister tight against her for a hug. “I didn’t realize you were coming back so early.”
“We’re taking a longer honeymoon in January.” Ami looped her arm through Prim’s as she stepped inside. “To somewhere warm and tropical. Where they have beautiful beaches and drinks with little umbrellas.”
“Sounds like heaven.”
Ami heaved a happy sigh. “Anywhere with my Beck would be heaven.”
“Now you’re getting mushy.” Prim grinned. “I might have to slap you.”
Ami giggled, the sound so joyful Prim joined in.
“Where are my nephews?” Ami glanced around. “It’s way too quiet in here.”
“They’re playing with Boris in the backyard. I can get them?” Prim had already turned when Ami placed a restraining hand on her arm.
“While I’d love to see them, I need to scoot.”
“Oh.” Puzzled, Prim shifted from one foot to the other and tried not to whine. “But you just got here.”
“There’s something I needed to discuss with you. I thought it best to do it in person.”
Prim’s heart gave a hard thump. “Is it something with Dad? Marigold? Fin?”
“No. No. No. Nothing like that, the family is all fine,” Ami quickly reassured her, the words tumbling out one after the other. Then she gestured to the sofa. “Can we just sit for a minute?”
Prim plopped down, her gaze scanning Ami’s face. “It must be important for you to come here right when you get back from your honeymoon.”
“I have a Cherries meeting later this morning. I wanted to speak with you before I went.”
“Nearly out of patience here, Am.” Prim made a rolling motion with her hands. “Cut to the chase.”
“Gladys is retiring from the Cherries. I want to nominate you.”
Ami Bloom Cross sat in the center of the semicircle in the parlor of Hill House, waiting for just the right moment. The meeting, as far as meetings went, had been interesting.
Eliza had broken the news about Gladys’s “retirement,” and there had been lots of hugs and tears. They’d then moved on to the updates. Plans for Fall Fashion Week had been discussed as well as a couple of tweaks to the Twelve Nights celebrations in December. The majority of the talk had centered around the progress on the upcoming Fourth of July events.
“It sounds like there’s still a lot of work to be done on the parade,” Ami whispered to Gladys, who sat on her left.
Gladys’s bright red lips curved. “Like I said on the phone, in the weeks ahead there will need to be a lot of coordination between Max Brody and the person who replaces me. Lots of tête-à-têtes. Business meetings. You know. Like the kind you and Beckett used to have when you first started dating.”
Recalling the outcome of some of thos
e meetings, Ami felt her cheeks warm. She cleared her throat. “You’re going to back me?”
“Count on it. It’s a brilliant solution. You were so wise to think of it.”
Though Gladys’s innocent expression didn’t fool Ami in the least, she played along. “When you called to tell me you were stepping down and the Cherries would be looking for a replacement with an accounting background, Prim was the first one who crossed my mind.”
No need to mention she’d nearly discarded that thought. After all, her sister had just moved back and had a lot of settling in to do.
“Of course, in the interest of full disclosure I was compelled to mention that whoever replaced me would be spending hours of time alone with Max.”
Had Gladys really just wiggled her brows suggestively?
“That was kind of you to mention that fact.” Ami patted the older woman’s arm. “It might be a problem for some.”
Or a blessing. Ami hid a smug smile. She’d been horrified when Prim had told her she didn’t plan to date until the boys were out of high school. That was crazy talk. No way was Ami letting that happen. Her younger sister had so much love to give. She shouldn’t have to wait another twelve years for her prince.
Especially when that prince lived right next door.
“Ladies.” Eliza raised her voice to be heard above the chatter.
The room immediately silenced.
Ami straightened in her chair, exchanging a conspiratorial smile with Gladys.
“This is the part of our meeting where we accept nominations from the floor. As we discussed earlier, Gladys will be impossible to replace, but we’ll do our best to fill her shoes.” Eliza gestured to Gladys and everyone applauded. Again.
When Gladys started to rise, Ami nearly groaned. They’d already been treated to several lengthy farewell addresses from their departing treasurer.
Eliza must have sensed another speech coming on because she spoke quickly. “Please raise your hand to offer nominations. Wait to be recognized. I’d like both the person’s name and qualifications.”