“To which you said: ‘oh, no, please find another Realtor to do this for you, I have no need for money or financial gain at this point in my life.’”
Sandy made a face at her. “I believe my phrasing was more to the effect of: Yes! Yes! Yes! Another listing to keep me in food and drink. Sign here. Now.”
One-twelve Teaberry. A great brick colonial, over thirty-three hundred square feet, set on the slightly sloped east side of a road that featured good-sized lots and neighbors on all sides. Alicia recalled the neighborhood feel of Teaberry, where people were people. Just blocks from Nassau Street, and the hustle and bustle of Princeton University comings and goings, Teaberry had the feel of old colonial grace and time. A nice place, all in all. They’d been happy there. For a while.
“Have you been by lately?” Sandy asked. “Seen what they’ve done with it?”
Alicia gave a firm shake of her head. “I stay away from there. I’ve got enough memories to deal with at home. No need to borrow more.”
“True enough.” Sandy nodded her understanding. “Well, I think they must have called on the Greenwich Village league of la decorateurs because the whole inside is done retro chíc.”
“No.”
Sandy grimaced. “Yes. Who would do that to such a gracious old house?”
“Stupid people.”
“No argument from me.” Sandy shook her head. “But, because of that, someone’s going to get a real nice bargain because the interior looks like a poorly thought combination of fifties’ diner and Boston flea market, while the yard is a real handyman’s special.”
“Ouch.” Alicia frowned, remembering the lovely gumwood trim and the beautifully appointed crown moldings. Not to mention her gardens, so sweet and pretty. “Why on earth...”
“Don’t ask me.” Sandy shook her head. “It’s about the only property in Princeton that might have lost value in the last decade.”
“How sad.” Alicia wasn’t sure if she meant the house or herself. One-twelve Teaberry held a lot of nostalgia for her. The girls, growing up, racing around, having fun. Baby Jon, crawling across the glossed hardwood floors, dusting corners with little boy knees. A wave of remorse reminded her why she stayed away from Teaberry Street. She’d have given anything to have had him longer, to have spent more time with the little boy who loved his mommy and adored his dad. She pushed those thoughts aside with effort. “You signed them?”
“Why not?” Sandy puffed a cooling breath over the surface of her latte and sipped with care. “Money’s money and if I can find the right buyer I might be able to salvage some investment for these people.”
Alicia leaned forward as her phone vibrated in her side pocket. “Do they think it looks good?”
Sandy nodded. “Oddly enough, yes. No accounting for taste.”
Alicia smiled, withdrew the phone, saw Kim’s name and answered. “Hello, Bride. How are you?”
Kim laughed, but it wasn’t the full-bodied laugh she normally sported, a definitive warning sign. “Hi, Mom. What’re you up to?”
“Enjoying a cappuccino with Sandy while we discuss the demise of traditional decorating as we know it.”
“Great. Can we talk weddings instead?”
“Sure. When?”
“Um.” Distinct pause, followed by an equally audible throat-clearing maneuver. “Dad says he can come down either Saturday or Sunday so we can discuss things together.”
Alicia held the phone away, eyed it with surprise, gave the device a shake as though clearing static, then brought the high-tech model back to her ear. “Did you say your father wants to discuss wedding plans with me?”
“With all of us, actually. You, me, Brian, Grayce, Dad and Addie. Like old times.”
Alicia started to count to ten, realized it was simply of no use whatsoever, and ranted, instead, suddenly unaware that Small World Coffee held people nearby. Normal people, the kind who kept their voices down and conducted family business in private. “We don’t do ‘old times,’ Kim. We don’t do walks down Memory Lane and jaunts along the Boardwalk just for kicks, nor strolls along the river. Remember?”
Kim’s sigh was probably heard by half the township of Princeton. Mayber Mercer County. “I know, Mom, I know, I just thought that since it’s my wedding, we might be able to make an exception in the drama game, but, no. I guess not. At least Dad was willing to try to make my life easier, keep this fun, but I guess it’s not meant to be. Never mind. I’ll call Dad and reschedule. Brian and I will discuss things with him, then you, then make decisions based on what might suit the opposing teams.”
Opposing teams? Is that how they looked and sounded? Like she and Conor were ready to square off at a moment’s notice? You’d have to care to be that angry, and Alicia didn’t care, not in the least. Not even a smidge.
“Your father agreed to this?” Internal radar flashed a sudden warning. By appearing willing to broach their enforced hiatus, he’d look like the good guy and she’d be the shrew. Well. Why should today be any different? A well-played Conor-move.
“Yes, and pretty gracefully, too. He said there’s no better time than a daughter’s wedding to put old things aside and start fresh.”
She wanted to argue that, but couldn’t bring herself to do it because he was right, of course. That made his capitulation into cooperation more maddening.
Blood vessels Alicia didn’t know existed swelled within her. She was fairly sure she felt steam puffing from her ears like some crazed cartoon creature, ready to explode.
How dare he take the upper road? Make her look bad? What kind of man did something like that?
“Hey, Mom, listen, it’s okay, I’ll get back to Dad, tell him you’re unavailable, and—”
“I’m available.”
Kim paused, hesitant. “You’re what?”
“On Saturday, all day. I’m available. What time shall we meet?”
Kim released a long breath, her tone cautious. “One o’clock? At your house?”
Alicia drew herself more upright in the chair and tried to ease the wrinkle-encouraging frown that lay tightly knit between her brows. No way was she about to let Conor push her to botox. No, no, no. “I’ll have lunch ready and I’ll order dessert from the bakery.”
“Mom, you don’t have to do all that,” Kim protested.
Alicia tut tutted with the finesse of a queen who knew her duty and was determined to do it with grace. Elementary good breeding and all that. “It’s just lunch, Kim. No trouble at all. Let your Dad know, okay?”
Kim hesitated once again, then must have decided to leave well enough alone. Smart girl. “Then we’ll see you on Saturday. Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, honey. See you then.”
Sandy leaned back in her seat, her expression wary. “Murder’s illegal and offers few perks because state and federal prisons are notably without comforts you’ve grown accustomed to.” She hoisted her mug in example. “Like this.”
“Involuntary manslaughter?”
“Doesn’t apply if you plan it. Sorry.”
“Self defense?”
“Only works if he’s packing a weapon and threatening to use it. Not if he’s being nice.”
“That’s just it.” Alicia banged her hand on the table and managed to draw additional interest from nearby patrons while bruising her palm. “He’s being nice and therefore needs to meet some form of long, slow demise.” She stared at her chocolate/hazelnut latte, too angry to fully appreciate the subtle blend of flavors any longer. Definitely Conor’s fault. A too-long pause made her shift her gaze back to Sandy. “Why is he doing this?”
Sandy eyed her with more than a little open skepticism. “Because he’s matured and moved on? Developed a soul? He’s sincerely interested in his daughter’s well being and future happiness and is willing to let bygones be bygones?”
“You’re romanticizing him. That’s like gilding the devil or describing hell as ‘tropically warm’. Conor Bradstreet cares about one thing and one thing only. Conor B
radstreet.”
Sandy sat silent, studying her mug with rapt attention.
“What?” Alicia demanded, her tone gruff.
Sandy shook her head, maintaining a hands-off attitude but looked like she had plenty to say. Too much, most likely, but wasn’t that what girlfriends were for? To thump you upside the head and hold that long-disused mirror to your face? Alicia sighed, scowled, then sighed again. “What are you thinking? That I should be over this by now? That I shouldn’t be going off the deep end over something I should have moved beyond years ago?”
Sandy shook her head. “It’s not my place to say anything, Alicia. I didn’t bury a child or have a husband cheat on me. You’ve got every right to be mad at the world.”
“Except...?” Alicia eyed her friend, certain there was more.
“Except when does it stop? When do you forge ahead? Embrace life again?”
“Now. Here. Today. Starting with my new store, my new venture.”
“More books.”
“I love books.”
“I know.” Sandy half smiled, half sighed. “But books are faint comfort when the days are short and the nights are long. When there are no gardens to tend, no children to run after, nothing to clean, polish or prepare. No one should love books that much.”
“I do.”
Sandy frowned. “Books are where you hide, Alicia. At least with the bookstore you’ll be in the open, not working behind the scenes in some antiquated library setting where you conceal yourself from the world and all that’s in it.”
“Not everyone sees the world like you do, Sandy.”
Sandy stood and leaned down. “You used to, Alicia. A long time ago.”
Quick tears pricked Alicia’s lids. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure I do. And so do you. Maybe it’s time to meet with Conor because it’s time for you to find yourself again.”
“That Alicia is gone. Forgotten.”
Sandy shook her head. “Not by me. Or anyone else who remembers you from before Jon died.”
“That’s enough.” Alicia stood, her feelings raw, her heart exposed, her jaw fixed. “I’m not talking about this.”
“You never do.”
Alicia turned to leave but Sandy put a loving hand to her sleeve. Alicia paused, not trusting herself to words.
“Maybe you should.”
Alicia stared straight ahead, her cheeks tight with restrained tears, her throat thick.
“This wedding might be God’s way of opening doors for you and your family.”
“Then he should have thought of that before he took my son.” Alicia stepped away from Sandy’s grip and concern. “Goodnight.”
She felt Sandy’s gaze follow her out of the store, her worry palpable, her voice resigned. “Good night, Alicia.”
Chapter Six
Conor. Here. Now.
His profile beyond the door put Alicia’s breathing in slow motion and her heart in high gear on Saturday. Still tall and muscular, his wide shoulders filled out his expertly tailored all weather slate-gray trench. As she grabbed the door handle, Conor turned, his eyes meeting hers, his expression unreadable through the faceted crystal entry.
He stood strong and silent as they faced one another, the door now open, but not wide enough to allow him in. Not yet. Maybe if she kept the door like this, half leaned shut, he’d take the hint and go away forever, like she’d planned years ago.
“Alicia.”
His voice, warm and low, held command and question. His gaze encompassed the door and her stance. “May I come in?”
No. Not now, not ever. Never again, Conor Bradstreet, with your cinnamon brown eyes and your wavy hair cut all short and legal. A big city looker, even at middle age. How the chicks must dig you with your fancy, cut-so-perfect clothes and your limitless checkbook.
What she said was, “Of course,” as she stepped back and broadened the space to allow for his size.
She wished him smaller. Uglier. Definitely less imposing as he unbound his coat and dropped to one knee when Grayce raced across the foyer and jumped into his wide-open arms. The sight of the tow-headed child, and Conor embracing her, clamped a vise around Alicia’s heart, taking her back twenty years.
Kim, reading to her daddy, with Addie scrambling for a position on his lap, wanting to keep up with her big sister, both grasping for the scarce time they had with their father. “See, Daddy, I’m teaching Addie about squares and shapes and stuff.” Kim held out a red square for her father and little sister to see. “The square has four equal sides.”
Conor sent the little girl a slow-smiling look. “And the opposite sides are parallel.”
“What’s...parallel?” Not to be outdone by anyone or anything, Addie’s jaw had tested the word and found the roll of syllables to her liking.
“Parallel means the lines stay the same distance apart, no matter how long you make them. They could go around the entire world, and they’d still be the same distance apart.”
“Really, Daddy?” Addie’s eyes went round, studying her father. “Around the whole, wide world?”
“The universe, even,” promised Conor. “If they’re parallel, they’ll never touch, never intersect.”
“Reminds me of something rather close to home,” Alicia had announced with a pointed look in her husband’s direction. “The latter, anyway.”
Connor had met her gaze, aggrieved, knowing she spoke of them and their lack of time together, the scarcity of intimacy. “I know. I feel the same way. I missed you all this week, but it’s hard to get home when the firm’s in the middle of something as big as the Westmount Industries takeover.” He flashed Alicia a look shaded with fatigue, but she’d ignored the weariness, and him. At least long enough to punish the man for being good at what he did, for being gone.
For a split second now, seeing him with Grayce, she wondered if she’d always carried a vindictive streak and had just begun to see it more clearly.
Conor stood, Grayce in his arms. “Glad to see me, Kid?”
“Yes.” Grayce hung back and patted his front pockets. “Empty.”
“Guess which one.”
She eyed him and studied the lay of his coat. “Inside, right.”
“My right or your right?”
She frowned, her lower lip thrust out. “Yours.”
“Got it. Good job.” Conor slipped his left hand into the folds of his coat and withdrew a sack of sugared nuts. “Barney says hello.”
“The dinosaur?” Alicia looked from one to the other, not understanding what a purple dinosaur had to do with peanuts.
“The nut vendor outside my building,” Conor explained. “He and Grayce are old friends.”
“Not surprising.” Alicia turned on her heel and stalked to the back of the house. She’d hemmed and hawed about where to conduct this meeting of the minds, then finally settled on the kitchen. Less formal, more cozy, although the last thing she wanted was for Conor to feel cozy and welcome. Not here, not now. Not ever.
But the girls were her main concern, that and wanting to show she could rise above as well as he, probably better, in fact. Make that absolutely better.
She’d done a buffet along the granite-topped breakfast bar, a selection of soups and sandwich makings, balanced with fruit and salads, just enough variety to say she cared but didn’t go to a great deal of fuss and bother, informal yet complete to the last little cup of spicy-hot mustard mixed with horseradish.
Conor sent the spread a look of approval. “Thanks for doing this, Alicia. It’s nice.”
Like her little spread impressed a guy whose idea of fast food was three-figure take-out? Right. She responded too quickly, always a mistake. “I figured if we were eating, we might not be fighting.”
Was it her words or her tone that made him wince? She had no idea, and cared less.
Kim and Brian came into the kitchen, Brian’s arm wrapped around her middle, his expression that of a person in love while Kim’s darted from her m
other to her father as if wondering how to quell the expected exchange of mortar fire.
Grayce shifted her gaze from Alicia to Conor, her knowing look too wise for a six-year-old. “Miss Ellison says that fighting isn’t nice, and Jimmy had to sit in the corner for punching Will because Will said Jimmy was a big fatso and eats too many cookies.”
“Miss Ellison is right,” agreed Conor, palming her head, his voice affable. “When people don’t get along, they should try and work things out. Play nice.”
“And when that maneuver fails, opportunity allows us to follow up with a good lawyer.” Alicia dropped a wink to the little girl, a fake smile pasted on her face.
“Mom.” Kim’s tone held a hint of warning.
“Mom.” Addie’s voice chimed in as she entered the kitchen from the far side, eyes wide in exasperation, pocketing her cell phone as she moved. “Really.”
Conor handed Grayce’s hand to Kim. “Leash, may I see you a minute? In the other room?”
The fact that he called her ‘Leash’, his old nickname for her, ticked her off. The fact that he wanted to see her away from the kids, out of earshot, only made matters worse, but on top of that, he’d asked in that infuriatingly calm voice of his, the one that drove competitive men and women to drop their cases and pay his firm a bundle of money just so Conor Bradstreet wouldn’t show them up in a court of law. “I don’t think so,” she answered, keeping her gaze averted. “We need to eat so we can talk. Get things settled.”
He stepped forward, into her space, forcing her to look up or stare at his broad chest, neither option in her best interest at the moment. “Please?”
She wanted to tear into him because the warm and reasonable sound of his ‘please’ nicked her armor, gave her a hint of Conor, the man-boy she’d fallen in love with so many years ago.
She didn’t ream him. Glancing up, into his eyes, she ignored the swim of emotions there and gave a quick nod. “Probably a good idea.”
Conor motioned to the girls. “You guys go ahead and start. Mom and I will be back in a minute.” He held the swinging door ajar, waited for her to step through, then followed her to the small sitting room that doubled as her office for...absolutely nothing. A total farce in her life. Why on earth did a town librarian need a home office? Who needs an office if they don’t do anything? A whole room to balance a checkbook, write out the few checks that paid bills she couldn’t pay online?
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