“True,” Livvy mused. “And he does know that he’s not your favorite person.”
The timer on his phone beeped, making him jump slightly in his seat.
“Dinner’s ready.” He stood, grateful for the interruption. His head was whirling. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”
“Works for me.”
As they exited the greenhouse, he said, “By the way, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
“You didn’t. I wanted a distraction, remember?”
“Well, I hope I’ve given you enough, because now I feel like . . .” He sighed. “I don’t know what I feel like.”
“Do you miss her?”
Oh hell yeah. He nodded.
“In that case, I would suggest that you stop thinking about what you’re feeling and start thinking about what she’s going through. Because that, my dear brother, is your only hope to getting her back.”
* * *
Two weeks after what she had dubbed the Epic Summit in her mother’s dining room, Bree opened an e-mail to her editor, attached a file, and hit SEND. As soon as she saw the message that her mail was safely dispatched, she closed the laptop, slumped back into her love seat, and closed her eyes.
“I am never, ever doing anything like that again as long as I live,” she proclaimed.
The book was done. Yes, there would be revisions and page proofs and all those good things, but the biggest piece of the process was now behind her. If she had the energy, she would do a happy dance.
Instead, she turned her head and opened her eyes and looked—really looked—at the muddle of clothes, papers, and pizza boxes formerly known as her apartment.
After she’d left her mother’s place that evening, she’d had a long and sleepless night filled with the echoes of everything she’d heard and felt during the Summit. She had tried to convince herself that they were wrong and she was right. She had failed miserably. At seeing things clearly, at the book, at the task force, and—above all—with Spence. Spence, who had listened while she dumped a whole lot of hey, guess what on him, and then reacted—well—the way almost anyone would have. And in her infinite wisdom, Bree had decided that since he couldn’t change his heart on a dime, well, too bad, so sad, cue the Celine Dion music.
Neenee was right. Bree had reached into the hurricane of emotions swirling around her and grabbed hold of Spence. And instead of remembering that he was the one who had brought so much sense to everything up to that moment, she cut him loose. Living proof that having most of a PhD was no guarantee that a person possessed anything that even vaguely resembled common sense or insight.
Since she didn’t have a lot of practice with failure, it had taken her another few hours of beating herself up to see a path out of it. When dawn had arrived, she had dragged herself upright, poured a couple of gallons of coffee into her system, and made a list. Two, actually. Things she could control, and things she couldn’t.
The first one had definitely been the easiest, even though it was the longest. The book. The necessary apology to her family. The million and one tasks needed to close out the academic year. Her own personal path regarding her father.
The second one contained only one item: Spence. Then she had chewed on her pen, sighed, and crossed off his name. Instead, she wrote one word: Emotions.
That was what Annie had been getting at when she told Bree to let it all go. That was what had been bothering her about the book. That was why she had had such a hard time dealing with the Rob revelations, and—oh hell—why she had, purposefully or not, asked Spence to do the one thing she knew deep down that he couldn’t do.
Emotions. Feelings. Everything that Annie said Bree was so busy studying that she wouldn’t have to live them.
Oh, not all. She wasn’t a complete basket case. She was fine with most of them, like her family, her friends, her students. All the relationships where she knew her role and knew their part, and could proceed without a problem, because she could predict exactly what was expected of her and what she had to do.
It hadn’t been that way with Rob.
It most definitely hadn’t unfolded that way with Spence.
At some point, when you’ve had a chance to make sense of all the upheaval, you will know what you need.
She knew she had hit on the truth when, despite the caffeine humming through her veins, she had almost immediately been overcome by exhaustion. The sleep that had eluded her through the night had grabbed her, pulling her into hours of deep, dreamless rest.
When she woke, she took her list, took a deep breath, and took action.
In two weeks she had completely rewritten the book. Instead of being a simple recitation of the scandals her subjects had lived through and the ways they had been impacted, she focused on their journeys since their lives were upended. It had taken new questions and endless phone calls and a far more compassionate approach on her part, but it worked. She had stories now. Stories of attempts to make sense of chaos. Of mistakes made along the way. Of the moments when her subjects realized that some things were theirs to control, and others weren’t, and that was exactly the way it should be.
She opened her laptop and reread her closing paragraph.
Children of scandal learn, in ways others often don’t, that life is impacted by factors both within and outside their power. It isn’t an easy process. There are often many missteps along the path. But the ones most at peace with themselves are those who have learned to say that there is a time to plant and a time to reap, a time to embrace and a time to let go. A time to be the author of the story, and a time to let the story unfold on its own.
Her words were true. She knew that in both her mind and her heart.
What wasn’t so clear was if she had the guts to take the next step.
She read her words again. Copied them. Pasted them into an e-mail with a quick note of explanation. And before she could talk herself out of it, she sent it.
There. She had done what she could.
The rest was out of her hands.
Chapter Sixteen
On the other side of town, Spence sat on a rock in a backyard, opened his lunchbox, and pulled out his sandwich. The job was going well. So far the weather had cooperated, the machinery had all worked, and—most important of all—the homeowner hadn’t asked for any changes to the plan. Weather and equipment were a bitch, but flip-flopping owners were the bane of Spence’s professional existence.
He sat apart from the rest of the crew, who had taken over the picnic table under a flowering crab. He had made a joke about getting old and needing the sun on his aging bones. The truth wasn’t that far off. His birth certificate might not say he was ancient, but he felt it these days. He was tired. No, weary. Worn out from weeks of seeing Bree in everything and then yanking himself back from the resulting mirage of happiness.
He should be over it by now. He spent a major chunk of each day reminding himself of all the reasons why it should be behind him: they were never meant to last, her father, his father, asking the impossible. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he had.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow they would have another task force meeting. He would see her and she would see him and they would both smile politely and focus on the job at hand, and even though they were probably going to disagree over how far the food forest should extend, it would be fine. They would get past this meeting and then they would each go back to their lives and he would know, in a way he hadn’t managed yet, that it was really over.
Maybe he would even go downtown tomorrow night. Find someone with an appealing smile and a ready laugh, and see if he couldn’t find some remnant of himself in her eyes.
As long as those eyes weren’t watching him from behind silver-plated glasses . . .
Enough. He grabbed his phone, ready to start sending texts until he f
ound a friend who was both free tomorrow and willing to haul his sorry ass downtown when he decided he’d rather stay home after all, but stopped when he saw the notification on his home screen.
An e-mail from Bree.
His rational mind told him it was probably something about the task force.
The rest of him was pretty sure that the rock he was sitting on must be infested with red ants, because he could swear he was being bitten all over his body.
He checked on his crew. No one was watching. He stood, abandoned his sandwich, and moved into the shadow of a tool shed before opening the message.
Hi Spence. There’s so many things I would like to say, but the most important is this: I’m sorry. I put you in a lousy position and then didn’t have the sense to really understand what I was asking of you. It was unfair and unkind, and since you were always fair and kind to me—well, almost always—I absolutely shouldn’t have done it.
I know we’ll see each other tomorrow, and I know it will be awkward. But you and I have worked past awkward before. I have confidence that we can do it again.
I hope Livvy and the kids are doing okay.
I hope you are, too.
Oh, and by the way, I finished the book. I thought you might find the closing paragraph relevant.
He read the words she’d pasted in, about power and missteps and time, about telling the story and letting it unfold by itself, and once again was sure there were those invisible ants biting him. Why else would he be prickling all over, his vision blurring, his temperature ping-ponging between blast furnace and ice planet?
He had told her that. That part about telling her own story—that had come from him. Had she put that in deliberately, or was it a slip of memory?
The fact that she’d chosen to send it to him made him believe she had known exactly what she was doing.
He read it again. This time it was another phrase that grabbed him.
A time to plant and a time to reap.
He was pretty sure that line came from the Bible. He was also sure—though not quite as much—that she’d included it with him in mind.
Spence didn’t know a lot about storytelling, or control, or psychology. But he did know plants. He knew all about planting. Reaping, not so much. He wasn’t a farmer.
But maybe—just maybe—if he did a little weeding today, he might reap something amazing tomorrow.
* * *
Spence’s hand shook as he knocked on the door of Rob’s apartment. He had no idea what he planned to say or even what he hoped would happen. All he knew was that he had to talk to Rob himself.
He believed everything Bree had said. Well—he believed that she told him everything Rob had told her. But he needed to hear it for himself. If there was going to be any hope of making things right with Bree, he had to do this.
Spence hefted the bag in his hand, feeling the weight of the urn, remembering the solid reassurance of his father’s hand on his shoulder.
Hey, Dad. If you have any wisdom to pass on, this would be a great time for it.
Too soon, it seemed, Rob opened the door. He looked Spence up and down the way Spence would regard a wild grapevine—like he had no idea how it got there and didn’t particularly care as long as he could figure out a way to get rid of it.
“This is unexpected.”
Which was precisely why Spence hadn’t bothered calling first, even though Bree’s sister Annie had given him the number along with the address. Catch Rob off guard, he’d told himself. Element of surprise.
It wasn’t until Rob opened the door wider that Spence admitted that if he’d called ahead, it wouldn’t have been as easy to back out. And since he could think of about five hundred other places he’d rather be right then, the option of backing out had undoubtedly been lurking in his mind.
“I, uh, need to talk to you.” Spence glanced around the apartment. What was it with this family and tiny living quarters?
“Didn’t figure you were here to sell me Girl Scout cookies,” Rob said, and gestured to the sofa. “Sit.”
Spence did, setting the heavy bag on the slightly listing coffee table as he did. The solid thunk had Rob’s eyes widening.
“What have you got there, Spence? Something to bean me over the head in case I don’t have anything suitable within reach?”
Spence chose to ignore the question. Mostly because he couldn’t think of a way to answer it without sounding either sappy or loopy, and since neither of those options appealed, silence seemed the better bet.
“I need to know what really happened between you and my father.”
If Rob was surprised, it didn’t show. He settled heavily into a wooden rocker and pushed back, not rocking, just balancing on the rear edge.
“You ever think that some things are better left unsaid, Spence?”
His pulse jumped. “No.”
“Well, it’s true. You can trust me on that one.”
It was on the tip of Spence’s tongue to say he didn’t trust Rob as far as he could drop-kick him. But Spence had barged in unannounced and Rob was talking to him anyway, so he figured he could yield this point.
“Gordie was my best friend. That’s not news to you, but I want you to remember it. Up until things went wrong, I couldn’t have told you a time in my life when he wasn’t part of it. After you and Livvy were born, and then Neenee and I started popping out the girls, Gord and I would watch the mess of you playing together and wonder if you all would stay as tight as he and I were.”
Spence could almost hear his father’s laugh at that thought.
“I’m curious about why you’re asking me this now, Spence.”
“It’s the right time.” Truth, if not complete.
“Interesting, since Bree asked me the same thing not a month ago.” Rob rocked forward, letting the chair drop with a muffled thud. “You after my daughter, Spence?”
It was so sudden that Spence couldn’t begin to think of an answer. The only reply that rose to the surface was Livvy’s comment about boinking, and God help him but he didn’t think that was what any man wanted to hear in reference to his daughter, estranged or not.
“This is between me and you,” was the best he could manage.
“Huh.” Rob rocked back again. “You know, even though I’m the town’s favorite topic of conversation these days, that doesn’t mean I’m the only person people talk about. I’ve heard a few things about you.”
No. Rob was not going there.
“I don’t know if I want someone with your history hanging around my daughter.”
You have got to be kidding me.
The irony was too wild—the jailbird father who had abandoned Bree was going to dismiss Spence on the basis of a rumor?
“Bree is an adult. She’s made her way very nicely so far without you around to give your opinion. I can’t imagine she’s going to care too much about it at this point.”
Spence thought he saw a glimpse of approval in Rob’s eyes. It was gone so swiftly, though, that he couldn’t be positive.
“I’m going to tell you what I told Bree. Gord wanted to expand the business. I gave him some money. He started repaying me right around the time I was getting payments from some other, less savory sources. It must have looked suspicious, especially given your dad’s lack of good records. There was no malice involved, but I’m betting there was no way to prove that, either.”
Spence did a quick gut-check. Nope. Not sitting right.
“Fine.” He shot a quick glance at the bag on the table. “Now tell me the truth.”
Rob leaned back another inch and studied him. “You’re a sharp one,” he said quietly.
“I had to be.”
“Interesting. Oh, not that you’ve got those kinds of smarts,” he added. “But that you used the past tense.”
Spence squinted.
“You didn’t say you have to be sharp. You said you had to be.” Rob nodded slightly. “Like you don’t need to anymore.”
Spence didn’t want the words to have any meaning but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“My dad?” he prompted.
“Your dad had the biggest heart of anyone I ever knew.” Rob’s smile was melancholy. “He wanted to take care of the world. Did you know that he and your mom were thinking of adopting kids? A set of brothers?”
“They were?”
“Yep. You and Livvy were still little so they probably never said anything to you. It was right before everything fell apart. They probably felt like they couldn’t, then.” His smile faltered. “I always felt bad about that.”
Holy shit but this was getting strange.
“That’s very . . . okay, yeah, it’s interesting. But I don’t see what it has to do with—”
“Your father wanted to help everybody, Spence. And he did. Sometimes more than he should have.”
Rob was trying to tell him something. So why wouldn’t he just come out and say it?
From what I’ve heard, he hasn’t been walking around denying anything he did.
I’m going to tell you what I told Bree.
You ever think that some things are better left unsaid, Spence?
Dad was a lousy bookkeeper.
Your dad had the biggest heart.
Sometimes more than he should have.
“You weren’t investing in a business that needed money to expand.” Spence swallowed down the lump of disbelief. “You were bailing him out.”
“Your words, not mine.” Something softened in Rob’s eyes. “But only because I swore to keep quiet.”
“Who . . . how . . .”
“How did he get in that position? I don’t know the details, and that’s the truth. I didn’t need them. He was my friend. He was in trouble.” Rob sighed. “And then, when I started having troubles of my own, he tried to do the same for me by paying me back.”
“But . . . why the big secret?”
“At the time, he didn’t want your mother to know. She wasn’t as quick to give a handout as he was. Not that she wasn’t good-hearted and generous, but she was a bit more discerning than he was.”
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