“Very. Nothing expected in return except that I’d like something in the camp named in honor of my son. Doesn’t have to be big, just...nice. Something a little boy would like.” The break in Conor’s voice wasn’t for affect, but its effect proved instantaneous.
“Conor, I understand. Probably more than you know. I lost two sisters to cancer. Twins. It about killed my mother to watch them suffer. It did kill my father. He died of alcohol poisoning less than three years after we buried the girls. They were twelve. I was seventeen. I felt like I should die right along with them. I went through school guilt-ridden that I was strong and healthy while they suffered for almost three years, back and forth. A horrible time.”
Conor felt the ache in his heart, imagining another family’s pain, the inconsolable loss, the guilt at not being able to protect and nurture your own. “My wife has never really gotten over the loss of our son, Reggie. This bookstore she wants, well...” Conor sighed and blew out a deep breath through a wealth of emotion. “Let’s just say it would be really good for her. For all of us. A chance to move on.”
“I understand.” A short silence ensued, then, “Have her lawyer re-submit the proposal to me before next Thursday’s meeting. We’ll revisit the situation.”
“And Reggie?”
“Yes?”
“My donation stands regardless of the outcome of the board vote on the bookstore. Count me in.”
The other man whistled low. “You play hardball, don’t you?”
“I do. What I didn’t know was how to be a good father before it was too late for my marriage. Let’s just say I’m trying to make up for lost time.”
“Duly noted. I’ll watch for Pearson’s resubmission and do my best—”
“No promises needed. It was good talking with you.”
“And you.”
Conor hung up the phone. He’d done what he could without breaking the law, threatening the other man’s person or twisting fate. He’d used wisdom and wit, with no small share of timing. And a little hard cash thrown in.
He slid open his top desk drawer with an easy hand, reached inside and withdrew the five-by-seven photo of a younger Alicia on horseback, Jon straddling the seat in front of her, both grinning. That had been a good day for all of them, just months before Jon took ill. His blond bob framed a toddler face that had Alicia’s features and Conor’s eyes.
Conor slid the photo back into the desk, braced his hands against the polished cherry top, stood and headed to the two-story workout center installed to keep legal associates in shape when they spent seventy hours a week on the job.
About now he figured an hour or better of punching something might lessen his heart rate, reduce his cholesterol and ease the dredge of pain that gathered whenever he delved into those years of loss and stupidity. How long would it take to forget, to really move on? To make up for mistake upon mistake?
He had no idea, but one thing he did know: He had to keep trying.
Chapter Five
Alicia pulled out her cell phone, spied Bill Pearson’s number, and said hello through gritted teeth, her chin tucked against the bitter Northeast wind as she headed toward her warming car a week later.
Bill’s tone sounded uncharacteristically perky. “We’ve got it.”
Alicia frowned and wished she could knot her scarf more snugly against her neck, but that wasn’t about to happen with the phone in one hand and her over-stuffed Cole Haan tote clutched in the other. “We’ve got what?”
“The bookstore,” Bill replied.
Alicia’s heart rate spiked skyward by more than her struggle against the gusting wind.
“I just heard from Reggie Preston,” Bill continued. “The board re-did the vote, approving the location five to four.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“But why did they re-vote?” she asked, fumbling her key fob as she reached the side of her big SUV. A woman who wasn’t afraid to load hay or straw needed transportation that allowed such well-to-do country idiosyncrasies. The big Land Rover fit the bill. “What inspired them to do that? You?”
Bill paused briefly before replying, “I resubmitted the proposal for a new vote, yes.”
“Bill, I am so grateful.” Alicia felt like she’d been handed a late Christmas gift, more precious because of its surprise factor. “And humbled by my snarky attitude last week. That’s wonderful. I know it’s not easy to go against a group that’s set in their ways, and I just want you to know how extraordinarily grateful I am.”
Whoa.
Quite the speech from her, totally garrulous and gushingly nice, definitely not the norm but appropriate for the moment. Kind of like a baby’s first step and a teen’s first car. Her own store, her own business, hers, hers, hers. “You went the distance for me. I won’t forget that.”
Bill’s reply sounded almost embarrassed. “It wasn’t that big a deal, really. Just part of my job.”
Alicia laughed, delighted. “Well I am thrilled you feel that way. Listen to me, will you? I’m not having a hissy fit or kicking anything. And it feels wonderful. Nice turnaround.”
Bill laughed, gracious enough not to agree out loud. “Once we get financial concerns set, you should be able to move forward with refurbishing, etc. Can you come in on Monday and we’ll go over things?”
Alicia nodded, fumbled her door open and slipped into the front seat, out of the wind. “Yes. I’ll call your office and set up a time with Ginny.”
“Perfect. And Alicia?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations.”
She beamed into the rear view mirror and decided she really did look better with a smile than a frown. Imagine that. “Thanks, Bill.”
Conor heard his phone, frowned, hunted the living room, then finally found the thing under that morning’s cast-off newspaper. “Hello, Bill.”
“Conor, I’ve just made your ex-wife very happy.”
Conor shoved the newspaper aside, perched his hip on the edge of the table and removed one concern from an elongated list. “They voted yes.”
“By the narrowest of margins, but that’s academic. She’s in.”
“Good.” Satisfaction flooded him. Alicia would have her chance at long last, as long as she had guts enough to reach out and seize the opportunity. “Very good.”
“And I felt like a first class schmuck taking all the credit,” Bill continued. “There she was thanking me, over and over, and all I wanted to do was tell her to call you. Thank you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Not this time. But one of these days I will.”
“No, you won’t.” Conor walked to the window’s edge and stood alongside the bright-colored tree slated for takedown in the next few days. “You understand why things have to be done this way. She’d never accept my help knowingly.”
“Then you should talk to her. Smooth things over.”
Conor laughed outright. “Um, yeah. Good luck on that one, Bill. You’ve got an ex-wife. How’s that whole smoothing things over thing working out for you?”
“Totally different situation, and I’m not still in love with my ex-wife.”
“Neither am I.” Conor spilled the words so quickly he almost believed them. “But she’s the mother of my children and if she suffers, they suffer.”
“Do you buy that line you’re selling?”
“What line?”
Bill snorted. “The whole ‘I’m doing this for the welfare of my children’ thing. Conor, anyone that knows you, knows you’re still in love with Alicia. What we can’t figure out, and I mean anyone who’s met the two of you, is why.”
“Bill—”
“She’s a b—”
Conor cut him off. “Don’t say it, Bill.”
“What? That she’s a beautiful woman?”
“Um...”
“She’s all that, Conor, but her attitude about you and men in general is enough to make a sensible man run for the hills and never look back. How come you ca
n’t be rational like the rest of us? Pay her off and be done with it?”
“Guilt-stricken, conscience-laden, glutton for punishment.” His jocular tone lightened the words, but Conor recognized the false levity. If this were a multiple choice test, he’d be relegated to “D: All of the above.” Sure, he’d come a long way from the self-absorbed, ride-‘em-high, New York mover and shaker who constantly put work first. For years there’d always been another news-grabbing case bringing cool millions along to sweeten the pot. But he’d abandoned the woman he loved to play his high stakes game. A winner on Wall Street, he became a loser where it counted. He cleared his throat, pushing emotion into a tightly boxed corner of his soul. “Take your pick. For the moment I’m just happy we’ve got a deal and she can move ahead.”
“That we can, my friend. Good talking to you.”
Conor nodded, eyeing the lights of New York, the bustle of a city that never sleeps, ever-present, always beckoning, just beyond his door, but while his gaze swept New York, his heart thought of Princeton. “And you.”
*
Conor slipped Juan Alvarez a card the next morning. “Give them a call,” he advised as he ducked into the waiting cab. “They’re expecting to hear from you.”
Juan squinted at the card, then raised his chin in question. “This doctor is with...”
Conor waved him off. “Yes. If you need time off to manage all this, we can do that, too.”
Juan held the card aloft, his forehead creased. “But how did you do this thing? People wait many months to see this man.”
Conor flashed him a look of understanding. “Because your wife deserves the best doctor we can find.” He pointed to the card Juan clutched. “I’ve made arrangements for any costs that might not be covered by your insurance.”
Juan swallowed hard. “Mr. Bradstreet—”
Conor glanced to his watch and frowned. “Got to go. You or Alva give them a call today, all right?”
Juan breathed deep and clutched the card as the cab’s blinker indicated a move into traffic. “We will do that.”
*
“Mr. Bradstreet?”
Conor answered the assistant’s buzz with one eye on his laptop, fingers tapping the keys. “Yes, Colleen?”
“I have Kim on line one.”
He smiled, made a short note in the margin of the fact-finder, and leaned back in his chair. “Put her on, please.”
Kim’s voice bounced through the line. Come to think of it, she’d been bouncing on a regular basis since Christmas. Conor pictured the September wedding date and his calendar turned firmly to January, wondering if all eight months would be conducted at this month’s fever pace. Impossible, right?
Thinking back to his wedding, he realized that he had taken no part in the tiniest of preparations, leaving the whole thing in Leash’s capable hands, so he had virtually no clue what to expect the next eight months.
Okay, then. He’d learn on this one and be ready for Addie’s when the time came.
“Hey, Dad, if you’re home tonight, can we talk wedding stuff?”
Conor glanced at his daily calendar and put Kim off a day. “Tomorrow night. I’ve got that funds coordinating meeting with the mayor’s group tonight and it will run late. You know how Alex Krenz is when he’s had a glass of wine.”
“I think it’s the two martinis before the glass of wine that make the difference,” Kim noted.
Conor couldn’t disagree. “You’re astute. And smart. Did your sister get off to Princeton okay?”
“Yes, and I’m heading out there this weekend to go over things with Mom.” Kim paused, huffed, took a breath and chastised him. “You guys would make my life a whole lot easier if we could meet together like a normal family, instead of this meet here, meet there, try to sort things out and patch them into some semblance of order from warring camps nonsense.”
Conor thought of what an intriguing scene that would make. Probably not the greatest idea Kim ever had. “Awkward, at best, although I’m sorry to put you in the position of go-between.”
“Why should now be any different, Dad?”
Kim’s reply surprised him. And hurt a little. Maybe more than a little. He didn’t have time to answer her complaint before she said, “All right, I’ve got to go, the van’s here. Talk to you later.”
She sounded rushed, frustrated and more than a little put out which was somewhat ironic for the daughter of a rich man, wasn’t it?
Conor stewed over her reaction most of the day and half the night. By the next morning he left for work ready to calm the waters, from his end, anyway. He hit her number on his speed dial while in the cab. “Kim?”
“Hey, Dad.” A flutter of papers and the whir of a machine told him she was already in the office and preparing for her day. “What’s up?”
Conor waded in. “I’ve decided you’re absolutely right, your mother and I should be able to sit down with you and Brian and go over things like two mature adults. What time do you want to meet this weekend?”
Silence answered him, just before a low, tight whistle came through the phone. It took him a minute to realize Kim was breathing through clenched teeth. The picture tweaked a half-smile.
“You’re sure?”
He wasn’t, but he’d fake it. “Gotta do it sometime, right? Why not now? I can’t imagine a more important thing than my daughter’s wedding to start acting like a family again, even if we live separate lives.”
“Well, two of us, anyway,” his daughter retorted, her tone dry. “The other fifty percent seem to manage just fine. Is Mom’s house okay?”
“As long as it’s fine with her,” Conor replied. His cab angled to the curb in front of the office high rise. The driver tipped his cap as Conor slid out, cash in one hand, his phone in the other, his laptop satchel tucked beneath his arm. “Let me know when and where.”
“And you’re really okay with this?” The note of caution in Kim’s voice held a tinge of regret at pushing the point the previous day.
Conor acknowledged the doorman with a nod, waved his ID to the guard, sought the private elevator and glanced around the posh building that set the tone for his daily existence. “I’m fine. This is long overdue. Make sure your mother’s okay with the whole thing, though. I don’t want to blindside her.”
On the other hand, maybe he did. Maybe it would do both of them some good.
Or not.
“I will.” Now Kim’s voice held more than a twinge of regret. On a Richter scale, Conor would hike the degree of discomfort up a full two degrees as Kim pondered the thought of springing him on her mother. Ah, but that’s what a girl got for pressing the envelope. Exactly what she thought she wanted.
As Conor moved out of the elevator, he smiled at Colleen, moved through the anteroom to his office, set down his bag and held the phone away, just a touch. “Good luck with that, by the way.”
Kim’s reply didn’t reflect her normal go-with-the-flow attitude. Definitely more along the line of ‘what-have-I-gotten-myself-into?’ “Yeah. Right. Thanks. I think.”
Conor laughed. “You’re welcome. And if it’s too uncomfortable for her—”
“Translated: if your mother goes ballistic on you...”
“Exactly.” Conor eased into his chair, the morning light dimmed with skyscraper shadow, low clouds and city smog. “We can rearrange. But you’re right, Kim. It’s time to work together. I’ll just pre-schedule back-to-back appointments with my local therapist for prep time. Kind of like facing a well-stocked barroom after a decade on the wagon.”
“I won’t tell Mom you analogized her to a bar,” Kim promised. “Until I want something really bad, that is.”
“Blackmail’s wrong. Sinful. And relatively unnecessary because I never say no.”
“I know.” She sighed. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”
Guilt-laden. Good. Conor considered it a character-building experience, akin to the one she’d laid on him yesterday. Tit for tat. “Positive. Give it your best sh
ot, and call me later. Let me know.”
“I will.”
The promise didn’t sound happy or enthusiastic, but rang as sincere as it could for someone about to face the den of a wronged lioness, hoping to emerge unscathed.
“And Kim?”
“Yes?”
“Just want to wish you luck. You’re going to need it.”
“Right.” She swallowed once, hard, and blew out a sigh. “Don’t I know it.”
*
“So.” Sandy lifted her mug in a victory toast. “To resilience, persistence, open minds and brilliant lawyers.”
“Hear, hear.” Alicia clinked her art deco travel mug with Sandy’s. “I still have to pinch myself, make sure I’m not dreaming.”
“I went by the store earlier,” Sandy confessed, “to make sure everything was still secure since the building’s been empty for a while.”
“And?”
“Everything’s fine,” Sandy answered. “I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do inside. That wainscoting alone is a people draw, but the twin bay windows and the pretty view of the churchyard? That screams small town living at its very best.”
Alicia ignored the mention of the church. Other than weekly chauffer service for the girls, she had made it a point to avoid the old stone building since Jon’s funeral. The blatant church view had been the singular negative issue she’d wrestled with concerning the bookstore’s location until she decided to treat the historic house of worship like the non-entity it was. “We actually lived around the corner from the bookstore location when the kids were little,” she told Sandy. “On Teaberry.”
“Really?” Sandy hiked a brow of interest. “Which one?”
“One-twelve. Along the curve where the yards border the park.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Alicia sipped her drink and arched a brow in her friend’s direction. “That’s where we lived before we bought the Miller-Browne estate. One-twelve Teaberry.”
“I listed that house this morning.”
“No.” Alicia stared at her, amazed.
Sandy nodded. “How weird is that? The family called me earlier in the week and said they were leaving the area and would I help them list the house.”
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