Why Alicia kept it he had no idea, but her ties to the overpriced piece of real estate must run deep. Deeper than his, anyway.
He refused to think of little Jon in that house. No. He liked to remember his son when he first crawled and toddled around the old brick colonial they’d shared as a family in a less exclusive section of Princeton. Before time ran out for a four-year-old boy and life as Conor knew it came to a sudden, screeching halt while the man who had everything buried his beautiful baby boy.
He sucked in a deep breath and refused to dwell on the loss. He’d done that for years and the downward spiral had nearly killed him. If it hadn’t been for a wise, old derelict...
Now Conor put Jon’s heart and smile in every task he undertook, every board he chaired, every helpful goal he set. The boy’s life took on deepened import through his father’s selfless actions. That was good. Solid. Meaningful.
If he’d learned the lesson a few years earlier, he might still have a wife. A place to call home, a recliner that fit his back just right on snowy Sunday afternoons when the Giants played away, and the girls would laugh and squabble and life would be normal. More normal, anyway.
Because he’d still have Alicia.
Chapter Three
“Bill, I know it’s almost Christmas. I’ve got the oh-so-festive lights to prove it,” Alicia retorted, irked by the lawyer’s offhand manner the following day. “What I don’t have is a building for my proposed bookstore. What can we do about this rejection?”
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Bill Pearson replied. “Alicia, you’ve lived here a long time. You know the score. The board doesn’t shift right or left and they barely move forward at all.”
“Bookstores aren’t exactly New Wave.” The words came out harsher than she intended. She caught herself, drew a breath and counted to ten, reminding herself this wasn’t Bill’s fault. “I’m not mad at you, Bill.”
His tone stayed deferential, most likely because he occasionally golfed with Conor, weather permitting. “I know that.”
“It’s just—” She let her voice drift as she gathered her thoughts. “I need to do this,” she explained, staring out her back window to the cottage barn that held two splendid horses in their just-right, white-fenced setting, quite prestigious New England. She gripped the phone tighter. “I need to get out of the library. Spread my wings. Try something new.”
God bless Bill, he didn’t note the irony of ‘new’ being a bookstore for a burned out librarian. “Let me scout things out, Alicia, but I can’t promise much before the holidays. There are no meetings scheduled until after the first of the year.”
The intensity of her disappointment surprised Alicia. Buck up, she scolded herself. Get some backbone, for heaven’s sake. You buried a child and lost a husband. This is nothing, Cupcake. A walk in the park.
Only the rejection didn’t feel like a walk in the park, and she had no idea why. “All right, Bill. I know you’ll do your best. You always do.” But Bill’s best wouldn’t stand a chance against the immovable town board. Maybe that’s why the put-off bit so deep. “In the meantime, I’ll look for different sites. Sandy McGovern’s doing some clandestine checking.”
Bill laughed. “Half the deals in this town are done word of mouth. Sandy’s a good one to run interference for you. If there’s something coming available, Sandy’s the go-to girl in Princeton.
“You have a Merry Christmas, Alicia,” he continued. “Enjoy those daughters of yours.”
Sage advice. She nodded, took a step toward the impeccable kitchen counter and pushed frustration aside. “I will. Thanks, Bill.”
“No thanks needed. Just doing my job.”
As Alicia moved to put away Christmas groceries, the phone rang again. She glanced at the read-out, smiled and grabbed up the receiver. “Hello, Sandy.”
“I’m positively, absolutely, thoroughly ticked off about this message I got from you,” spouted the thirty-something Realtor. “If this weren’t a professional call, I’d be using language that would make my mama blush to the roots of her expensive dye job, throw things around the office, and spew every bit of dirt I know about each and every member of the Board.”
“Really?” Having Sandy’s chutzpah on her side felt good. “Anything we can use?”
Sandy sighed, loud and long. “Not a thing. They’re all as clean as the driven snow. So Princeton. Just our luck.”
“Well at least you’re not spouting euphemisms about how it wasn’t meant to be and all that other schlock people embrace when the situation gets wrenched out of their hands.”
Sandy laughed. “I know better than to pull that with you. You’d toss me out on my ear in a heartbeat. It pays to know your clients, Alicia, then find them the perfect match. There’s no big secret in real estate, it’s like a pre-schooler playing Memory. Match ‘em up, close ‘em out, move ‘em on. Wanna get coffee?”
Alicia eyed the groceries strewn around the kitchen. “In half an hour? Maybe forty-five minutes?”
“Forty-five’s good. We can drown our sorrows in expensive cappuccino with double espresso and caramel drenched froth, plot the demise of the zoning commission and anyone else who stands in our way, then discuss alternative possibilities.”
“Are there any? For real?”
Sandy’s voice stayed upbeat. “Honey, there are always possibilities. For the right price. An extra zero or two might not affect the global economy, but it bears significant impact in our little neck of the woods.”
“Money talks,” Alicia translated.
“In every language, Sistah!” Sandy riffled some papers, murmured something to her assistant, then brought her attention back to Alicia. “It’s a good thing we’re friends and business associates. I can’t exactly talk like this to my other clients. They would neither understand nor appreciate my humor.”
“Imagine that.” Alicia turned, tripped over a bag she’d left in the middle of the floor, stubbed her toe, and shouted something unladylike and massively inappropriate while trying to grab her sore foot and keep hold of the phone.
“Alicia, you okay? Need an ambulance? A really cute stud-muffin doctor? Maybe we can find a McDreamy look-alike in the E.R.”
“Not funny. I could be dying here.”
“Naw, you’re yelling too loud to be terminal. See you in... forty minutes now. Bandage yourself up and head to Small World. I’m buying.”
The click of her receiver cut short any comment Alicia might have made if she were quick enough to respond in Sandy’s rapid fire manner. That, however, had never been her gift. If it had, she’d have had some wonderful, memorable, snappy one-liners to loft Conor’s way when he left their home, their bed, their family and the stupid horses to carouse in New York City with a brilliant young lawyer from an opposing firm. Total conflict of interest. So “Desperate Housewives”. Blah, blah, blah...
The toe throb slowed to a steady drub. Alicia gave her foot one last rub and pushed thoughts of Conor aside in favor of organized cupboards. One mattered and one didn’t. End of story.
“I love this tree.”
Conor grimaced as he and Foster worked to get the over-priced ten-foot blue spruce into the holder. “There are people who do this for money, you know,” he noted out loud. “Trained professionals.”
“Only in New York can one or should one find a person who designates themselves as a trained professional tree-stander-upper,” Addie retorted with a grin.
“I believe the accepted term is “Holiday Organizer”, Miss.” The gentility of Foster’s low tone remained level as his employer worked to settle the tree’s trunk into the water basin holder.
“So P.C.,” Addie noted, a brow hiked in appreciation. “Well done, Foster.”
“I do my best, Miss.”
She laughed. “I love coming to visit you guys. You’re such... men.”
Conor and Foster exchanged puzzled looks. Conor spoke first. “Thank you?”
Addie grinned down at him as she nudged the upper part of the tre
e a little left, then stepped back to make sure the whole thing stood centered in the sprawling window. “It was definitely a compliment. Guys are fun.”
“And you’re only just now finding this out?” Kim’s voice rang from the foyer. “Ads, you might be book smart, darling, but you’re more than a tad slow in gender studies.”
Addie met Kim halfway across the room, grabbed her in a hug and spun her about before peeking over her shoulder. “Where are Brian and Grayce?”
“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Kim explained as she shrugged off her coat and hat. She tossed them onto the nearest chair and nodded toward the street. “They wanted to play in the park first.”
“Is she dressed warm enough?”
Addie and Kim exchanged grins at Conor’s concern. Kim nodded. “I do believe she’s wearing a delightful coat, hat and scarf set from Saks that mysteriously found its way to Brian’s door earlier this week.”
Conor winked her way. “Saw it during a whirlwind shopping trip with Sarge. Was the size okay?”
“Perfect. A touch big. Just enough so she’ll still be able to wear it on cold days in April.”
Kim stepped closer, smooth and serene, not unlike a cat stalking a kill. Conor kept his attention firmly on the tree.
“So.” Kim touched the massive and bristly blue spruce and eyed her father. “You and Sarge went shopping? Together?”
“We did.”
“For?”
Conor raised his brows in mock-surprise. “You want me to tell you and ruin the surprise?”
“You guys went shopping for me?”
He shrugged. “Not exactly. I’d already done your stuff.”
“Hmmm...”
“Kim, you know you’ll get nothing out of him,” Addie offered from the side. “He stonewalls us like he did Mainichi Global, and nobody does it better.”
“Mainichi deserved everything they got,” Conor replied, remembering the generous and silent out-of-court settlement. His share and the resultant bonus became the cornerstone for his latest apartment development scheme in Queens. Once refurbishing was complete and the safety and fire inspections done, they’d have new housing for nearly three hundred current homeless, subsidized by grants from both the state and federal governments. In New York City, a little seed money went a long way toward improvement, especially these days. “And then some.”
Addie stepped back, eyed the tree, then spun toward the door as Brian and Grayce let themselves in. “Hey, guys! Merry Christmas, Graycie!”
Grayce flew across the room to tackle into Addie, coat and all, her mop of fair curls fighting the constraints of the fringed, blue hat.
Their freedom of expression warmed the corner of Conor’s heart that tended toward winter chill on cold, dark nights. The love he’d lost and refound. Some of it, at least. He shoved thoughts of Princeton and Alicia aside, always rougher at Christmas, stepped back from the tree and held open his arms. “Hey. What about me?”
Grayce launched herself at him. Conor swept her up, kissed her, noted that the mingled blues of the hat and coat directly reflected her eyes like he expected they would, and gave her a quizzical look. “So. Where are they, Kid?”
Grayce leaned away and studied his chest, her little mouth twisted in puzzlement, her forehead wrinkled. She seemed to weigh possibilities, then gave a quick nod. “Pants’ pocket.”
Conner met her gaze. “Right or left?”
She mulled that. “Right. If they were in the left one, I’d be kicking them with my toe.”
Too late Conor realized that her right foot was pressed against his left pocket. He laughed into her crinkled-up eyes, withdrew the sack of sugared nuts, and handed them to her with a pleased nod. “Good thinking, Kid. So.” He held her high in the air to study the spruce, her sack of peanuts from the nearby street vendor snugged in miniature hands. “What do you think?”
“It’s real?” Eyes wide, she reached out a curious finger to the stiff, somewhat unfriendly spruce needles.
“And prickly.” Conor gave her a look of dismay. “It was so beautiful that I didn’t think about how it would prickle our fingers while we decorate the branches.”
“We’ll be okay.” Grayce made the announcement with such conviction that Conor felt reassured. “We’re tough.”
“The lights, sir?”
Addie grabbed Kim by one hand and Brian by the other. “You relax a minute, Foster. We’ll get them.”
Conor watched their retreating backs move down the hall and eyed Grayce. “Did you want to go with them or stay here with an old man?”
She cuddled in. “I like being with you.”
Conor’s heart turned to mush. He held her closer, his head on hers. “I like being with you, too, Kid.” He held her like that, quiet and snug, then raised his head. “You thirsty? Hungry? Want some hot chocolate?”
“Do you have mini-marshmallows?”
Conor had no idea. He raised his gaze to Foster, saw his nod. “I guess we do.”
“They’re my favorite next to mini-marshmallows and whipped cream.”
“Together?”
She nodded. “When we go to Princeton, ‘Licia always gives me minis and whipped cream. She says it’s what little girls like.”
‘Licia, huh? Conor smiled, liking the sound of the unintentional nickname. “Well, ‘Licia knows a lot about little girls. And other stuff.”
Grayce nodded. “She takes me to the library sometimes and shows me where she works.” She loosened her coat once Conor set her down and handed the blue and white jacket to Foster with a grave look of understanding. “There are so many books there. ‘Licia likes books.”
Because she can get lost in them, Conor thought to himself. Great hiding place. Safe. Secure. Silent. Out loud he said, “’Licia studied about books in school. About writing books, taking care of books, all the different kinds of books. She’s loved them since she was a little girl like you.”
“How do you know that?” Grayce eyed him with a look of wonder.
“Because we used to be married,” Conor explained, ignoring the stab of pain that still muttered ‘Gotcha!’ whenever the subject of forever came up. “That’s when we had Kim and Addie.”
“You lived with ‘Licia?” Grayce’s expression said she was working to align bits of information in an orderly fashion and came up short.
“I did.” He led Grayce into the state-of-the-art kitchen that represented Foster’s domain. “There was ‘Licia, me, Kim and Addie.”
“And Jon.” She blindsided Conor with her matter-of-fact tone.
“Who told you about Jon?” He knelt down to her level, wondering how much a six-year-old should hear.
“’Licia and Kim.”
Conor heaved a quick breath, uncertain.
Grayce patted his cheek. “I feel really bad sometimes, ‘cause my mommy went away too. I wanted her to come back and read to me, to be my mommy forever, but she didn’t want to.” She lifted tiny shoulders in a way-too-casual shrug belied by the shadowed look in her young eyes. “Sometimes people just go away.”
“Oh, baby.” Conor lifted her into his arms, feeling her childlike strength and empathy, her honey blonde curls wisping his cheek. “Mommies and daddies don’t always do the right thing.”
“But they should.” Grayce leaned back, her face set in six-year-old sensibilities. “Because they’re mommies and daddies.”
“I’m afraid there’s no argument for that, sir.” Foster sent Conor a look tinged with pathos and amusement. “The child understands the rights of hierarchy.”
“And probably the demands of a democratic government on a free-enterprise system,” Conor shot back. He held Grayce slightly away. “What do you think about the rising price of OPEC oil, Kid?”
“I think alternative fuel sources would benefit all of us in both the long and the short run.”
Conor touched his forehead to hers, proud. “You remembered that perfectly. Make sure you say it just that way in front of your father, okay?”
/>
“Actually, Daddy and I talk about the oil crisis,” she explained, her brows hiked.
“You do?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. We think hybrids are the wave of the future.”
Conor laughed out loud. “Your father put you up to that, didn’t he?”
“Better than owning a parrot, sir,” came Brian’s voice from the kitchen entry, “and way more cuddly.”
Conor clapped him on the back. “You’re okay, Brian. For a guy who’s dating my daughter.”
“About that?”
The look of calm expectation on Brian’s face gave Conor a head’s up. “Yes?”
“May I have a moment? Alone?”
“Sure.” Conor settled Grayce onto one of the spinning stools at the counter and motioned his way down the hall while Foster and Grayce floated a mountain of mini-marshmallows on her mug of hot chocolate. Conor stepped into his office, waved Brian into a chair, then pulled one up alongside him. “I expect I know what this is about.”
Brian nodded. “I expect you do, sir. I don’t think I hide my feelings for Kim very well.”
“You telegraph them like a third-string quarterback, but that’s okay.” Conor nodded. “Women like to know they’re loved.”
Brian eyed him, his look not nearly as relaxed as it should have been which meant something was amiss. “I want to marry your daughter. With your blessing, of course.”
“Because of my checkbook?”
“Well, there’s that.” Brian grinned, his face relaxing at the joke. “Okay, sir, mostly that. Who wouldn’t want access to your checkbook? The good looking girl with a heart of gold is just frosting on the cake.”
“What’s troubling you, Brian?” Conor sat back and surveyed the young man’s actions, his body language. Nervous and... guilty. So not comforting.
Great.
“Grayce’s mother.”
Oh, yes. The forbidden subject. Amazing how thoughts of marriage and forever ferreted out the best-kept family secrets. Why did Conor suspect that nothing he was about to hear would be good? He cringed inside but kept his face calm, a maneuver perfected by years of closed-door litigation. “What about her?”
Try, Try Again Page 4