by Beth K. Vogt
“Yeah. Raising him right and teaching him young to buy a woman flowers.” Something akin to relief coursed through him. Not that he had any reason to be bothered that some other guy might be paying attention to Jessica.
“I’ll make sure he knows there’s more to treating a woman right than bringing her flowers, although it’s a start.”
She handed him a glass of lemonade and motioned him back to the living room.
“Oh, really? What else are you going to teach him?” He settled on the couch, Jessica taking the corner opposite him.
“I know people say actions speak louder than words, but I consider what a man says is just as important. The whole let-your-yes-be-yes-and-your-no-be-no principle.” She stared into the depths of her glass. “I want Scotty to be a man of his word. To say what he means and mean what he says. That kind of guy is hard to come by.”
“I take it his father was not that kind of guy?”
“No, he was not, and short of a miracle, he never will be. Not that I don’t believe in miracles, but—” Jessica waved her hand, as if dispersing her words into thin air. “Enough about me. How is your mother?”
“She’s better. She’s going to be in the cast for a while, but her headache is gone and she’s off her pain meds.”
Jessica paused, tilting her head, hesitating just a moment before she spoke. “And . . . she realizes she made a mistake?”
“What?”
“Your mom realizes drinking and driving was a mistake, right? I mean, you and your dad had that conversation with her?”
He should have expected Jessica to shoot straight. Giving her honest answers after years of dodging and ducking reality? That was the hard part.
“There’s . . . no point in having that conversation with her.”
A small V formed between Jessica’s eyebrows. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Because this isn’t the first time my mother has been arrested for a DUI.” The admission seemed to increase the pressure building behind his eyes. “It’s the first time in a long time . . . but not the first time.”
“Are you saying your mother is an alcoholic?”
“Yes.” The word came out low—almost a whisper, the one syllable caustic. “She usually doesn’t end up in the news. Her doctor’s labeled her a ‘functioning alcoholic.’ ”
Jessica shook her head. “What does that mean?”
“Most days she manages. And we manage. Her drinking is controlled. Things seem normal. At least, it’s my family’s normal. My mother knows her limits. She doesn’t drive.”
“Okay. Then can you help me understand what happened?”
“The anniversary of my younger brother’s death was in mid-May—” Alex swiped his hand across his face. He was mangling this. “I told you about my younger brother, Shawn, right?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe it’s been twenty years.” Alex shook his head. “My mother always struggles around the time of Shawn’s death, but this year it seems harder for her. I don’t know why.”
Saying it out loud to Jessica—the reality of how long ago Shawn died—ran through Alex like an electric current. One year had bled into the next . . . trying to find a way out of the despair that suffocated his mother. Failing. And then adapting.
“My father and I tried to help her at first. We went to a couple of different counselors early on. My mother hated them. She drank before the sessions. After the sessions. I don’t know if she was sober when she went there. I was ten when my brother died. What did I know back then? After a year, my father insisted she go to rehab. She left the program. We hid the alcohol. She found it. My father refused to have any in the house. She would go out and buy it on her own, or hang out at the local bar. I never knew what I was coming home to after school.” The words spilled out like sewage from a drainpipe. “Do you know what it’s like to get called to the principal’s office and have to go home because your mother’s sick? Only you know she’s not sick? She’s drunk?”
“Alex, I’m—”
“And my father . . . after a while, he bailed on the whole situation.” Details he’d blocked for years forced their way past the barricades he’d erected. “I’m at the grocery store one day. I’m maybe twelve years old. Trying to buy groceries so I have something for dinner—something for lunch the next day at school. And I don’t have enough money. The cashier asks me where my mother is. I can’t tell the lady that my mother’s passed out at home. So I just ran out of the store. I was able to scrounge enough change to call my dad. And he tells me to just handle it. He’s busy at work and he tells me to stop bothering him. Did he think I wanted him to lose the business? Not be able to pay the bills?”
His words seemed to pollute the air with unwanted memories from the past, unlocked from some hidden room in his memory. The broken silence afterward was filled with his harsh panting.
“Oh, Alex.” Jessica tugged at his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No one knows. It’s the family secret. And I’m responsible for it.”
Her touch, gentle and soothing as she rubbed light circles on his back, caused a shudder to run through him. “Maybe you can’t help your mother or your father. But you have to help yourself, Alex.”
“Help myself? I’m not the one with the drinking problem.”
“Have you ever talked to anyone about this?”
“Only Caron. She knows my secret.”
“I mean someone who can help you sort through all this. A counselor.”
“I don’t do counselors.”
Jessica sat silent for a few moments, just letting him rest. When she spoke, she continued to hold him, offer him the comfort of her embrace. “What do you do when an air conditioner or heater is broken?”
What kind of question is that?
“I fix them.”
“I know you can’t fix your mom. And you can’t change your dad. But you can take care of yourself. They have Al-Anon meetings for families of alcoholics. Have you ever attended one? Your mother isn’t the only one who needs healing—you do, too. Pray about going to a meeting or finding a counselor to talk with about losing your brother and how much it has affected your family.”
He shifted away from her. Why couldn’t she understand? “I was talking about my mother.”
“But this affects you—”
“I’m handling this the best I know how.”
“Alex, I’m not trying to argue with you.” When she reached out to him, he shifted farther away. “You’ve been so honest with me tonight, and you didn’t have to even talk to me at all. I just think . . . maybe you should consider changing how you’ve handled this situation because it’s hurting you. You’ve shoved this family secret into a closet, thinking you can ignore it. But it’s still there—banging at the door, screaming to get out. Your brother’s death . . . your mother’s drinking . . . even your father’s choices . . . they’re still hurting you. Keeping secrets in your family certainly hasn’t helped you, your mother, or your father, has it? Maybe it’s time to be honest about all that.”
“Just because you’ve fed me a couple of times . . . that doesn’t give you any right to butt in on my private life—”
She retreated to the opposite corner of the couch, but not before he glimpsed the tears welling up in her eyes.
“I . . . care about you, Alex. You’ve been kind to me . . . and to Scotty.”
“Look, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.” She sucked in a breath. “The truth is, I’m not going to apologize, either—not for anything I said to you. I can’t. I believe with all my heart that you need help. You need to recognize how your brother’s death is still controlling your family all these years later. Maybe you’re right. You can’t change your mother or your father—but you can save yourself.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I can hear in your voice how this is killing you.
God doesn’t want us to live trapped in desperate situations, without hope.”
“God . . . don’t talk to me about God. The driver of that car didn’t just kill my brother. He destroyed my entire family. And God allowed it.” He hurled the words at Jessica and then recoiled as if they had backlashed and hit him. “I—I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” Jessica reached for him again, and then pulled her hand back. “God knows our thoughts, Alex. Do you think you’ve hidden any of that from him all these years?”
“I didn’t even know I felt that way—”
“Being honest is where healing begins. God is big enough to handle our honest emotions, no matter what they are.”
“I need to go.” Alex pushed himself to his feet, his lemonade untouched. “I’m sure you need to get some work done.”
“I know. You do, too.” She stood in the doorway, forcing the semblance of a smile. “Thank you for coming by.”
“Thank you for listening.” This all felt so final, but what else could it be? “Tell Scotty that I said hi.”
“Of course I will.”
“And you know who to call if you have any trouble with your air conditioner—”
“But I won’t. You installed a reliable unit.”
“Keep up on the annual maintenance.”
“I will.” She stepped back into the house. “Goodbye, Alex.”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Couldn’t think of another reason to continue talking with her. And why should he? She was a customer who had become an acquaintance. Nothing more.
“Take care, Jessica.”
“You, too. Thank you for everything. I’ll be praying for you.”
Her words followed him as he drove away. He needed her prayers. He certainly couldn’t pray for himself.
THIRTY-THREE
One more day to go.
After tomorrow night, the Peak Tour of Homes would be over. Considering that he’d won two awards from the panel of judges, Eddie already considered the tour a success. And Kade had his own victories, connecting with a number of potential real estate clients as well as looking forward to discussing a future business relationship with Kingston.
Carrying one of the cans of touch-up paint, Caron surveyed the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Last day or not, she still needed to ensure the walls were mar-free. At least she could paint in bare feet.
“Caron?” Kade’s voice sounded through the house. “Are you here?”
“Of course I am.” She applied paint to a small spot on the wall. If she focused on a chore, she could maintain a professional distance with Kade. “Doing the nightly touch-up work.”
“Good. I wanted to talk with you.”
“Can we talk while I paint?”
“I don’t see why not.” He motioned for Caron to hand him the paintbrush. “Let me do that.”
Caron couldn’t hold back a laugh, half turning away. “You’re still in your suit and tie, Kade. There’s no way I’m handing over this paintbrush. I’m almost done—”
“What if the boss says hand it over?”
“Oh, please. You’re going to pull the boss line on me again? Besides, I just finished the last mark.”
“Fine. You win this time.” He nodded back toward the main area of the house. “I need to show you something.”
Caron exhaled a sigh. They’d managed to regain some sort of normalcy during the tour week, both of them too busy to stay in the past. “What?”
Kade waited while she deposited the can of paint, the paintbrush inside, on the kitchen island, and then pulled an envelope out of the inside of his coat pocket. “This.”
Caron rinsed her hands with soap and water, drying them with a length of paper towel. “And what is this?”
“Open it.” Kade’s infectious grin almost slipped past her defenses. Almost.
“O-kay. You certainly are having fun with all of this.”
The envelope wasn’t sealed, and she removed a check, her eyes widening at the amount. “Kade! This is a cashier’s check for . . . for thirty-five thousand dollars!”
“I know.”
“And it’s made out to Mitch.”
“I know.” Kade’s smile widened, his eyes glinting.
“Is that all you can say? I know?” Caron threw her arms around him, erupting in a high-pitched yell. “Thirty-five thousand dollars! For Mitch.”
His arms came up around her, his laughter low and alluring. “Glad you’re happy about this, hotshot. Just lower the decibels a bit.”
Their laughter blended together for a moment and then faded into the silence of the room. Caron stilled. She was in Kade’s arms. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breath hitching as her fingers almost strayed to the softness of his hair at the nape of his neck. Kade’s eyes locked with hers. He waited, his arms locked around her waist.
With a slight pressure against his shoulders, Caron slipped from his embrace. “I . . . apologize. I got a bit excited when I saw the amount of the check.”
Kade remained still. And then he blinked, his Adam’s apple working in his throat. “Understandable. It’s an amazing amount of money. And you know what is even more amazing?”
Caron couldn’t suppress the shiver that coursed through her body. “There’s more?”
“Yes. Even with several offers on the house—good offers—Eddie agreed to sell it to Mitch at cost.”
Caron stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her. She needed to focus on being happy for Mitch and Lacey. Nothing else. “Have you told Mitch yet?”
“No, I want to do it right. There’s still a bit of prep that I have to do.”
“What kind of prep work?”
“Just a little promise I made to him about when we found the right house—something involving a big red bow.”
“Then I need to give the check back to you—” She stopped. Where was the cashier’s check? There. On the floor. Probably dropped while they were . . . distracted. “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry.”
She scrambled to pick it up before Kade could move, holding it out to him with a flourish. “There. Don’t want to delay the surprise any longer than we have to.”
“You’re part of this, too, you know. The letter you put together and sent out worked wonders. Donations started pouring into the office. Miriam said she had a challenging time keeping up with all of the letters and checks.”
“I only started the process. So many people made it happen.”
“Miriam kept the letters people sent. She said she wanted Mitch and Lacey to read them.”
“You know you need to give her a raise, right?” Caron began rinsing the paintbrush again—anything to distract her from that too-close moment. “She’s been a great help during the tour prep.”
“You’re right, I do.”
“I’m so glad you stopped by to tell me this. What a wonderful end to the week.”
He put the crumpled check back into the envelope, sliding it into his pocket. “No worse for a little celebratory wear.”
“Good. I still can’t believe it.” She rinsed and rerinsed the paintbrush. “I’ll just finish up here and then head home.”
Kade stood next to her. “Caron, I want to—”
“It’s been a long week, Kade.” Caron stiffened. “Let’s just get through the tour, okay? Please.”
• • •
Kade wrapped the light cotton blanket around his bare shoulders, huddling on the edge of his couch. Despite the dull ache in his lower back, he refused to take a painkiller. Time to tough it out. In a couple of days, he’d be sleeping in his bed again.
His life would be back to normal.
But as he sat in the darkness of his living room, he couldn’t escape the reality that he’d bungled those few moments he’d spent with Caron earlier that evening.
Kade had showed up after the end of the tour to tell her about the huge amount of money people had donated for Mitch and Lacey. Show her the check. Share a few celebratory moments. And leave.
But then she’d jumped into his arms and his traitorous heart was wide open to her again. Defenseless. He wanted to hold her and never let her go. Forget about the guy waiting for her back in Florida. Kiss her until she remembered him and what they’d had.
With a muffled groan, Kade fought against the heated wave of desire that rose inside of him. Caron was leaving him again, but at least this time there was no surprise. She was staying true to her word. She’d done the job he asked of her and now she was going home.
Kade stretched out on the couch, resting his head on his pillow and staring at the ceiling.
He’d survived losing Caron Hollister once before. He’d do it again.
THIRTY-FOUR
This was her last day in her office at Webster Select Realty and she’d never bothered to bring in a plant as Kade had suggested.
Caron rested her elbows on the desktop, surveying the bare walls. If things went as well as Kade expected following the success of the tour, he’d be hiring a full-time Realtor who would decorate this office. Hang some pictures on the walls. Stash favorite snacks in the bottom drawer. Have Miriam order business cards.
In just a few short hours, the Peak Tour of Homes would be over. Her job almost done. There’d be a few more phone calls—reminders about picking up loaner furniture and confirming the two U-Hauls she needed on Saturday, as well as connecting with the team of movers to load and unload things, and she’d be almost to the end of her responsibilities. Then she’d check in for her flight back home on Sunday.
Would there be any time for her and Kade to talk? To somehow say goodbye and end this standoff between them?
“Caron?” With a metallic buzz, Miriam’s voice came through the intercom on her phone console.
“Yes, Miriam?”
“You’ve got a call on line one. A Russell Hollister.”
Caron’s hand froze over the phone panel. Her father? Why was he calling her—and at work?
“Thank you, Miriam.”
The small red light beckoned, even as Caron hesitated taking the call. She hadn’t seen or talked to her father in weeks. But his easy dismissal of her and his disapproval of her decision to work for Kade even temporarily had shadowed her, adding fuel to her determination to do well.