by Alisha Rai
“Jackson is back, I understand.”
She bit her lip, not able to confirm or deny it, not even with this old man. The man’s faded blue eyes filled with uncertainty. “Can you ask him to come see me?”
Ah God. “I don’t know if I can, sir.” For starters, she hadn’t spoken to him in a week. Her peace offering of dinner hadn’t even been cooked yet.
“Of course.” John cleared his throat. “Don’t mean to put you in a tough spot.”
She hummed her reply.
John twisted around and removed a bag from his bag on his chair. “Can you, at the very least, give him this? Don’t open it. It’s for his eyes only.”
She reluctantly accepted the cloth bag. It was heavy, like a book was inside. “I really don’t want to get involved.”
“Oh, I know. And I hate to ask you to do this, I really do.” The wind shifted his shock of white hair. “But I need your help. That bag belongs to Jackson.”
“John—”
“You get to a certain point in your life, Sadia, where you think about all of the mistakes you’ve made and the things that are missing. You think about all the people you’ll never see again.” He looked out toward the field and the kids there. A nostalgic smile played around his lips. “I loved Sam’s grandchildren as my own, and that includes Jackson. I know he didn’t set that fire. I don’t want to hurt him. I miss him. I miss my family.”
Her heart tumbled around and she clutched the bag close to her chest. “Okay. I can’t guarantee what Jackson’s reaction will be, but I’ll give him this.”
“You don’t look at it,” he warned again.
“I won’t,” she agreed. She turned toward the field and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Kareem! Come here, please.”
When she looked at John again, his eyes were wet. They grew wetter when Kareem came running toward them.
Sadia crouched next to John’s chair and put her hand on his. It was soft and wrinkled.
Neutrality was as much of a stance as any action. John had, for all intents and purposes, been Paul’s grandfather. And according to Livvy, he hadn’t been behind the takeover of the C&O. He hadn’t wronged her husband or her. She couldn’t deny him or her son the right to at least be introduced to each other.
It was time to put this feud to rest once and for all. If Nicholas and Livvy did come back firmly in love, this wouldn’t be the only time Kareem saw this man. If Sadia had to choose between neutrality and the bonds of family, she would always choose family.
Kareem glanced curiously between her and John. “Hi.”
John cleared his throat. “Hello.”
“Kareem, this is Daddy’s grandpa. Your great-grandpa.”
Kareem looked John over. “I didn’t know Daddy had a grandpa.”
John swayed toward her son. “He had a couple of grandpas actually. I was lucky enough to be one of them.”
Kareem accepted that logic with ease. “Can your wheelchair go fast?”
“Kareem.”
“No, it’s fine.” John’s eyes lit up. “It can go pretty fast. I’ll give you a ride sometime maybe.”
“Cool.” Kareem glanced up at Sadia. “I’m gonna go back to the game. Bye, Grandpa,” he said casually to John, and ran away.
Sadia’s heart clenched at the raw delight on John’s face. “Listen, I’ll bring Kareem by sometime, how’s that?”
His throat worked. “You’re a good woman, Sadia.”
“Nah. Just selfish when it comes to family. I can’t turn down people who want to love my son. But if you want to see him again, don’t lurk. Call me. If you can track down my son’s soccer games, you can use a phone.”
“I will do exactly that.” He caught her wrist as she moved away. “Sam would have been delighted his grandson married you.”
She lifted a shoulder, uncomfortable with praise. “Thank you, sir.”
He placed his hands back in his lap. “May I watch the rest of the game?”
“Sure. Do you want me to grab you a juice box from the snack table?”
“Cherry?”
“Fruit punch.”
He deliberated for a moment, this multi-millionaire who had built an empire and a town out of nothing. “That would be nice.”
Chapter 9
Maybe you should let your mom or Maile know before they hear about it from someone else?
Jackson ran his thumb over the message. What a one-two punch, between a dinner invite and a reminder of his family. Sadia sure knew how to get his attention.
He knew Sadia had been avoiding him for a week, but he’d been happy to let her do so. He’d woken up every day with her taste on his lips and fallen asleep every night for a few fitful hours with the sound of her sighs in his ears. He spent the hours in between either working at the café, burying himself in food, or cruising around the surrounding areas looking for new suppliers.
Or cruising through his mom’s neighborhood. Jackson looked up at the house he was standing in front of.
It was no wonder gossip had spread about him. He’d been so busy avoiding Sadia he hadn’t been careful enough to avoid everyone else.
He slipped his phone into his pocket. He’d left the café as soon as the lunch shift was over and parked a few streets over from this suburban cul-de-sac, unsure of what he was doing, except the thought of Tani or Maile finding out that he was within a ten mile radius from someone else had left him vaguely ill.
On this late Sunday afternoon, the street was pretty quiet. This house had been a wedding gift from his mother’s family to his father’s, slightly nicer than Sadia’s place but still nowhere near the grand estate he’d grown up in.
He’d known his mother had sold their childhood home and moved in with her sister-in-law, which was good. He might have complicated feelings for the woman, but he’d never wanted her to suffer. Living in the house she’d shared with her beloved husband would have been a death sentence for her.
Plus, he assumed she’d gotten a good amount of money for it. His mother had never worked outside the home, had been born after C&O was already turning a strong profit. He didn’t know what she’d do for a living. Between the money she’d gotten for the company and the house, he assumed she and Maile were living comfortably.
He scratched the back of his neck as he walked up the winding sidewalk. The houses were close together, and if any of the neighbors looked outside, they’d surely be able to guess who he was. He looked too much like his father.
He went to the door and knocked lightly, not bothering to hesitate. If he hesitated, he’d leave.
There was no response. He knocked again.
Nothing.
He rested his hand against the doorknob. He could pick the lock—a trick he’d picked up from a particularly unsavory busboy he’d once known—but it was unnecessary here. The knob turned easily under his hand.
Unease slithered along his spine. His mother had had hip surgery not too long ago. Maile was no spring chicken. What if something had happened to his aunt and his mother had had an accident?
The door swung open and he stepped inside, closing it behind him. The house looked the same as it had all those years ago, when his grandparents and aunt had been the ones living here. Automatically, he took his shoes off.
It was dark and silent. He walked through the hallway on bare feet to the living room, peeking in there. There had been some changes here, but not many. New couch, new television. Same bowl of potpourri on the coffee table. Same framed family photo above the fireplace.
His heart clenched and he walked to the mantel. He remembered when it had been taken, the professional photographer called to the house. He’d been young then, maybe five or six, and he wore a somber suit that matched his brother’s and father’s. Livvy was held in their father’s arms, looking disgruntled and cranky, her dress wrinkled and a bow lopsided in her hair. If he remembered properly, his sister had thrown a tantrum right before they’d taken the photo. Their mother had wanted her to wear a bright pink gown, but Livvy had be
en dead set on wearing her favorite dress, a white one with giant greenish-blue palm fronds printed on it. She’d won the battle of wills, because she wore the tropical dress in the photo, but she’d still been peevish. He touched a leaf. His sister had pretty much lived in that dress until it had fallen off her.
Paul had his arm around him. He was pressed right up against his big brother, his mother’s hand on his shoulder. He brushed his thumb over Paul’s face, then his mother’s.
What the hell was he doing here?
A shuffle came from behind him, and he turned. His mother was leaning heavily against a cane in one hand, her other hand braced against the door frame.
They stood like that for a long minute. Her face was expressionless. He was sure he was also betraying nothing. That had been one thing they’d been good at, the two of them. Neither had ever been given to big displays of emotion.
They’d shared a special bond, the two quiet people in a household that could be chaotic. Or so he’d thought.
“What are you doing here?”
It was the first time he’d heard his mother’s voice in a decade, and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching. She didn’t sound the same as he remembered. Her voice was higher. More thready. Though that could also have been the shock of seeing him.
He responded woodenly, trying to keep his tone as professional and crisp as hers. “I’m staying in town for a few days. I’m helping Sadia out at the café.”
She wore the same light pink lipstick she’d always worn, but she had some wrinkles around her lips now and the color was bleeding into them. “I’m not asking why you’re in town. Why are you here?”
He didn’t know. Wait. No. He did. “I wanted you to know I was here. Before you heard from a stranger.”
She snorted, an unladylike sound he’d never heard from her before. “I’ve known you were here for weeks. Since before Livvy foolishly ran off with that boy.” She took two steps into the room. His body tensed, every instinct telling him to go help her, but unless something had drastically changed in her personality, she’d be annoyed if he did. She sat down on the couch and rested the cane against the arm of the sofa.
When he’d heard about his mother’s accident, he’d asked Ariel to poke around. His partner had reported back that Tani was recovering fine. He hadn’t worried further until he’d received Sadia’s invective-laden email, and then he’d worried about Livvy.
Tani looked very small and fragile to his eyes now. Or maybe it was simply because he hadn’t seen her in forever. Of course his mother would have aged in ten years, just as he had. “How is your hip?” he asked gruffly.
His mother stared straight ahead at the blank T.V. screen. “Fine.”
“Where’s Maile?”
“At the grocery store.”
“Ah. Do you need—”
“No. I don’t need anything from you. You can go now.”
He flinched, the lick of pain vicious and not entirely unexpected. He’d almost made it to the door when she spoke. “I know you blame me.”
He froze, his back to her, and she continued. “You blame me for not being there for you after your father died.”
No. That wasn’t right at all. He couldn’t look at her, or he wouldn’t speak, and he needed to tell her she was incorrect. “I don’t blame you for that.” He didn’t know if Tani had depression like Livvy did or if her episode after their father died had been situational, but it didn’t matter either way. He’d understood the depth of his mother’s despair. How could he hold his sister while she wept and not have compassion for their mother?
If Tani would have allowed it, he would have comforted her then. But she’d retreated to her room alone, so all he’d been able to do was ensure the house didn’t fall down around them.
His eye twitched. The hardest thing he’d ever done was scour his house for pills and sharp objects in fear of one of his family members doing something harmful, all while reeling from his own grief over their father.
“You do,” she insisted.
“I don’t. You were in pain. You loved Dad.” His tone softened. “We all did.” What he couldn’t forgive was that she’d come out of that depression long enough to make a choice. One that had broken his heart.
“Then why?” Her voice didn’t crack or betray a hint of emotion. “Why have you stayed away all this time?”
He risked stealing a glance at her. Her head was bowed, and the hair at the back of her scalp was thinning a little. “You told me to go with the police.”
Her breath was sharp.
His hand curled into a fist. He didn’t feel violent. He felt like a nineteen-year-old sitting in a prison cell, far from his admittedly pampered and wealthy upbringing. “You told me to go with the police, that nothing would happen, that I shouldn’t talk to anyone. You said you’d fix it so I was out quickly.” He’d looked into his mother’s eyes, the woman he’d always been so close to, and trusted her.
“I—”
“Two weeks.” He cut her off. He didn’t like speaking, but now he was unable to stop. It was like something had flipped on the boiling pot of emotions he’d kept simmering for a decade. “You let me sit in a jail cell for two weeks while cops yelled in my face and my name was dragged through the news. Livvy and Maile were the ones who were trying to get me out. They were the ones who got me a lawyer, who visited me.” And Sadia, too, though he’d refused to see her after the one time.
At first, he’d asked when their mother was coming. Livvy had finally told him Tani had retired to her room and was refusing to talk to any of them. About anything. Especially him.
It upset her too much, Livvy had told him apologetically, even though she’d still been in the grips of her own depressive episode.
“And all of that, I could forgive. I could say you were hurt and not in the right state to help me. But you knew, didn’t you? You knew Paul lied to me. The minute you went along with that, you made your choice. You didn’t abandon me before, but yes. You abandoned me then.”
Her fragile fingers rubbed her temple, but she didn’t respond. Didn’t defend herself.
He shoved both hands in his pockets. “Can you tell me you didn’t know?” And suddenly, he knew why he’d come here. “Tell me you didn’t know Paul lied to get me to go with the police. Tell me that.”
Lie to me now if you did.
But she didn’t speak, and to be honest, he wasn’t that surprised. He exhaled. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m okay too. If you ever need money, tell Livvy. She knows how to get a hold of me.” With that, he walked out.
He was shaking as he strode to the front door. He opened and closed it quietly and then stopped on the porch for a second. The broad-shouldered, tall woman walking up the steps stopped as well. The reusable grocery bag in her hand dropped to the ground.
Aunt Maile had been his father’s younger sister and a warmer, more nurturing woman didn’t exist on the planet. He tended to shy away from boisterous, extroverted people—it was one reason he and his father hadn’t been on the closest terms—but Maile had understood and accepted his quiet personality without making him feel like something was wrong with him.
When he’d stood in front of her after being released from jail, she’d pulled him in tight and then given him a wad of cash. She’d known, without him saying a word, that he couldn’t stand to be near his brother, in a town where it felt like everyone was looking at him with pity and alarm and fear.
She had streaks of gray in her dark hair now, and a few new lines around her eyes and mouth, but those could have easily come from smiles instead of age. Maile had always been a sharp dresser. Today she wore snug jeans and a purple top and cardigan, her long hair caught up in a jaunty ponytail.
He couldn’t make her come to him. He walked toward her slowly and stooped down to pick up the bag she’d dropped. It was heavy.
A shaking hand caressed his cheek, and he allowed it. Maile was tall, taller than Sadia, and almost able to look him in the eye. “My God.”
Her eyes grew glassy. “You look like your father.”
He shifted, uncertain, as always, with what to do at a woman’s tears.
Luckily, she took the initiative, pulling him close. It took him a second, and he returned the hug. She squeezed him tight and he closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he’d grown up or she’d grown weaker, but the squeeze wasn’t as hard as he remembered.
When he was young and he’d grown overwhelmed and needed a time-out, she’d let him crawl into her big, soft lap and curl up there for quiet time.
He was too old to do that. He shouldn’t even want it now.
She cleared her throat finally and pulled away. He was grateful to see she was smiling, beaming through her tears.
He was surprised, then, when her hand swatted across his chest. “Ow.” He rubbed his pec.
“How could you come to town and not see me immediately?” she demanded. “Did it even occur to you?”
So Maile knew he’d been here for weeks too. A trace of shame crept through him at her outraged expression. “Yes. I didn’t know how.”
“You do exactly what you did. You walk up to me and you hug me,” she lectured him. “That’s all you need to do.”
He ducked his head. “Yes ma’am.”
“Well, you’re here now.” She breathed in deep. “You’re home.”
Home. He didn’t have a home. Home had become wherever he could find a kitchen to cook in. “Temporarily.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
She couldn’t seem to stop touching him, glancing pats on his shoulder and arms. Finally, she linked his hands with hers. “Livvy told me she’s coming back in a couple of days.”
He nodded, relief trickling through him. “She sounds good?”
“She’s doing fine. Madly in love.”
He had to swallow his cynical snort. “Okay.”
“You don’t think she’s fine?”
“I think she’s in love. Love makes you do all sorts of stupid shit.”
Her eyes sharpened. “It does. It can also give you a secure base from which to do stupid shit.”
He looked away. “I just don’t trust Nicholas.”