For a Good Time, Call

by Anne Tenino

  Whatever scintillating comeback Kirk was going to serve up was cut short by the sound of the doorbell.

  Seth hadn’t been in his apartment when Nate had knocked. Judging from the extra cars in the driveway—all of them much higher end than Seth’s Civic—Sentinel House wasn’t empty, but despite Morgan’s warnings about rushing to “get it done” over getting it right, Nate didn’t want to wait any longer. If Seth wasn’t inside, maybe Pearl would know where he was.

  The door cracked open and Pearl peered up at him. She’s been crying. Outrage flared in Nate’s chest. What sick bastard would have made her cry? Unless . . . was she upset because Seth was upset? Could this be Nate’s fault?

  Why not? Everything else seems to be.

  “Hey, Pearl. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was . . . ah . . . looking for Seth. Do you—” The door opened farther to reveal Seth standing behind his grandmother. “Oh. Hi.” He glanced between Pearl’s tearstained cheeks and Seth’s stony expression. “This is a bad time, isn’t it?”

  “You think?” Seth opened the door the rest of the way to reveal two men looming in the vestibule.

  From their resemblance to each other—and the fact they shared the same nose as Seth and his grandmother . . . The Brothers Larson, I presume. The one in front was scowling at Seth, and the one in back was scowling at the one in front. Given that Seth was scowling at Nate, he felt like the caboose in a fury train.

  “I was hoping we could talk. That you’d still want to talk.”

  “Nate, this is really—”

  “Nate?” the one in front boomed. “Is this the Nate who spread all those lies about our ancestor?”

  “Uncle Kirk,” Seth said through clenched teeth. “As I’ve said before, they aren’t lies. We have evidence.”

  “Evidence? Or ‘alternative facts’? Regardless, it’s irrelevant. Our duty, both legally and morally, is to protect our heritage.”

  “Jesus.” Seth rounded on his uncle as if Nate weren’t even there. “Don’t you mean your status? Your precious reputation as a leading citizen?”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re not interested in making Grandma happy. You don’t even care about this house, not really. You just want control so you can keep up appearances for the least amount of money.” Seth put his arm around Pearl’s shoulders. “Otherwise you’d be glad to dissolve the trust. Then you wouldn’t be responsible for Grandma anymore.”

  “The trust is for the protection of her assets,” Kirk bellowed, getting right up in Seth’s face. “It’s for Mother’s benefit.”

  “Seriously?” Derision fairly dripped from Seth’s voice. “Show me the benefits to her, because I don’t see any, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t either. Seems like the only one benefiting from the trust is you.”

  Okay, clearly Nate had walked in on another battle in the Larson family civil war, and it didn’t look like this one was going anywhere either. Seth and Pearl needed some kind of wedge, something that threatened not only the family reputation, but its foundation.

  Get it right.

  Nate took a step forward to stand next to Pearl—he hadn’t worked up enough courage to stand next to Seth yet. “You know, if you’re trying to negotiate a solution to a family conundrum, don’t you think all members of the family should be represented?”

  Kirk barely glanced at Nate. “My niece and other nephew don’t concern themselves with this town any longer, and my sister-in-law is in total agreement with me. Our sisters and their children understand this isn’t their affair.”

  “I wasn’t talking about them,” Nate said. “I was referring to your second cousin.”

  That caught everyone’s attention. “Is this more of your genealogy garbage?” Kirk growled. “Because we don’t care about some poser in Kalamazoo who might be named Larson. It’s not an uncommon name. Our family is totally accounted for and it’s—”

  “Missing an entire branch. There’s another direct male descendent in Fennimore’s line, and he’s right here in Bluewater Bay.”

  All the Larsons’ jaws dropped at that news. “What? Where?” Kirk spluttered. “Who?”

  “The great-grandson of Fennimore Larson by the woman who was framed for his murder.” Nate paused for effect—not that he needed it, but sue him: he had theater in his blood. “Finn Larson, executive producer of Wolf’s Landing.”

  “What the fuck?” Seth’s outcry didn’t match his uncle’s for volume, but it cut right through the other noise and into Nate’s heart. Shit. He doesn’t sound happy.

  “Language,” Pearl murmured.

  Nate glanced at Seth, but although his mouth was working, no words were forthcoming, so Nate plowed on.

  “Depending on the specific terms of the trust, if it refers to ‘heirs and assigns,’ Finn might be one of the de facto beneficiaries. You know—” Nate pretended to look around the entry with an appraiser’s jaundiced eye “—I bet he’d love to film some scenes from Wolf’s Landing here. There’s a plotline coming up next season with a wealthy reclusive werewolf who’d live in exactly this kind of house.”

  Kirk’s face resembled an eggplant by this time, although Nate couldn’t get a read on Seth’s dad, and as for Seth? Not promising. Pearl was the only person who seemed marginally entertained, and even she looked a little strained around the eyes.

  “Of course,” Nate continued, “there might be some damage if we have to stage any fight scenes here, but our crew is really good at replicating historic artifacts. You’ll never know the difference.”

  Kirk drew himself up, inhaling until he was puffed up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon. “You will not reveal this . . . this nonsense. To anyone.”

  “You know, sir, this ‘nonsense’ isn’t yours to control. I don’t know what the legal ramifications might be, given the generations separating Finn and Fennimore, not to mention the shocking treatment of Finn’s great-great-grandmother, but Finn has a right to know that he’s a part of this family. What he—and you—do with that information may redefine the way the name ‘Larson’ is viewed in this town forever. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to make those negotiations amicable?”

  “You— He—” Kirk whirled on Seth. “This is all your fault. You and that . . . that genealogist. If you’d just left well enough alone—” He glared at his brother, buttoning his overcoat with quick, jerky movements. “Very well. Sell the damned house. But I warn you, Philip, I refuse to dissolve the trust, and I’ll do everything in my power to protect it.”

  Seth’s dad—Philip—nodded. “Suit yourself, Kirk. I guess Finn and I will see you in court.” Then he grinned and tossed off a two-fingered salute.

  As Kirk marched past them and out the door, Nate dared a glance at Seth, offering a tentative smile.

  Seth didn’t return it. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”

  “Um . . . sure.” Nate followed Seth outside, his belly in the vicinity of his toes, in time to see Kirk’s Mercedes peel onto the street, narrowly missing a passing Volkswagen. Seth led the way around the porch until they were out of sight of both the front door and the driveway.

  Seth stopped, but didn’t turn around, and Nate’s stomach dove farther—maybe all the way to the center of the Earth. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Seth’s voice was low and tense.

  “You mean about Finn? I started to tell you this morning, but somehow we got derailed.” There was an understatement.

  “How long have you known about this?”

  “Since . . . since before the crabbing trip. The same night I found your number—” Better not go there again. “I was . . . ah . . . looking for the right time.”

  Seth spun and faced him. “You’ve known for days and you think this was the right time? Jesus, Nate.”

  “But . . . but it worked, right? Your uncle gave in, so your grandmother will get to sell the house.”

  “Gah!” Seth clutched his hair. “Yes, it worked. Thank you, even, but that’s
not the point.”

  “It’s not? But the results—”

  “Fuck the results. You didn’t give me a choice. You bulldozed your way into the conversation, then you decided it would work, so you just blurted it out. Finn Larson? Jesus.”

  “You said that.”

  “I know. But Jesus.”

  Nate tried to scare up enough saliva in his dry mouth to swallow. No success there. “I only wanted to help. I mean, you didn’t seem to be making much headway otherwise.”

  “We were, actually. But you barged in and what, had to be the hero? Because you always know what’s best for me? For us? For everyone?”

  All the air left Nate’s lungs, as if he’d been gut-punched for real. Seth was putting him on the outside—not part of us, therefore firmly in the them camp. “I’m screwing this up royally, but you walked out, Seth. You walked out. I had to at least make a push to—”

  “Stop.” Seth dashed his hand under his eyes. “I just can’t, okay? What you said before and now this . . . I need time to—to think. I can’t fuck this up again.”

  Time. Okay, that wasn’t an absolute get the fuck away from me and never come back. He’d take it. “How . . . how much time?”

  Seth planted his hands on his hips and looked away. “You’re telling me you really want to try and work this out? Us?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He swallowed. “Then I’ll let you know.” Seth glared at him out of eyes brimming with tears, then turned and took two steps away before he stopped again, not looking at Nate. “And for God’s sake, if you can possibly control yourself, please let us handle talking to Finn Larson. Jesus.”

  He walked out of sight around the corner of the house. Even after Nate heard the front door close, he couldn’t make himself move. Maybe “time” means ten minutes.

  But after ten minutes, twenty, thirty, of shivering on the porch without any sign of movement from inside, he finally gave up and trudged back to the Jeep. He really hoped that Seth’s time would be measured in hours rather than days, weeks, or—God forbid—years.

  How can I get it right if I can’t even get it the fuck done?

  Back inside, Seth found Grandma and his father in the den at the rear of the house. He and Grandma sat here in winter sometimes, because the fireplace made it so cozy. Bonus, it was where Grandma’s tiny stock of liquor was stored.

  He poured them each a shot of whiskey. Make it a double. Even for Grandma.

  “I’m a professional,” Seth told her when she tried to refuse the glass. “Bartender’s prescription.” Bitterness flared up his throat for a split second, but he firmly shoved Nate out of his mind again, standing next to the empty hearth and sipping his drink in the very-much-less-tense silence.

  Until Grandma said to Dad, “That Nate, he’s a nice boy. Seth’s seeing him, did you know?”

  Dad glanced up, for the first time showing interest in something other than his knees. “That so?” His brow wrinkled up. “How come he didn’t stay?”

  Deep breath. Carefully he set his highball on the mantle. It was that or chug it. “We’re . . . taking a break.”

  “Oh no,” Grandma murmured. “Tonight’s really been a shit-storm, hasn’t it?” She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.

  “Mom!”

  “Language,” Seth snapped. She kind of deserved that after earlier.

  Snorting at them, she held out a hand toward Seth. “Help me up, please. I’m a tipsy old woman.” He cupped her elbow and let her use him for leverage. Spine bowing more than usual, she stood unsteadily in front of her son’s chair.

  “Philip, I’ll get you some fresh sheets for—”

  “I can do it.” Seth crossed his arms over his chest to show he meant business. “You go to bed.”

  She didn’t argue, which told him just how much tonight had worn on her.

  “I don’t have any clothes,” Dad said conversationally after Grandma left. “I can go by the house in the morning for a suit, but I’ve never really taken to sleeping in the nude.”

  “I’ll get you something. Sweats and a T-shirt?” They were the same size, and about the same build, although his father had put on more weight around his middle than Seth remembered him having. They really hadn’t seen much of each other, had they? “Dad, thanks for—”

  “Seth, I’m very proud of you,” he interrupted, but didn’t let Seth react. “And I know where Mom keeps the linens. Just get me something to sleep in.”

  “Hang on.” He didn’t need to go all the way out to the garage. His own clothes dryer had a dead door switch, so he’d been using the one in the house. His last load should still be in it—he’d thrown it in and turned it on before going over to Nate’s the day before yesterday.

  Man, that seemed like forever ago. Too much had happened between then and now, with the blow up this morning, then what his family had piled on, and then Nate again.

  Groaning, Seth bumped his forehead against the dryer, which he’d just crouched down in front of. He couldn’t remember walking into the room, he’d been so absorbed in revisiting the disaster of today. In wondering if he could work things out with a guy who thought life was something to be constantly “fixed.”

  Whatever. He yanked open the door and found that yes, exactly what his dad needed was waiting for him.

  Back in the little sitting room, Dad’s head was lolling on the back of the armchair and his eyes were closed, although he blinked heavily and rubbed at them after Seth walked in.

  “Are you going to bed? It’s, um—” Seth glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s eight thirty.” Although he’d love to be tired enough to sleep. Forget everything.

  “Is it? Huh.” Yawning, Dad scratched his abdomen under the dress shirt he still wore. His smile was so relaxed Seth could almost forget they’d just had one of the worst collective family fights ever. “I’ve got my laptop and some work in the car to keep me busy, but I think I could sleep.”

  “I can’t,” he responded unthinkingly. “I’m fine on my own,” he added.

  But Dad shook his head and pushed himself up out of the chair. “How about I pour us each another drink? I told you at the bar that I wanted to talk, and now seems as good a time as any.” He licked his lip in a gesture Seth hadn’t seen in years. That was what he did when he was considering important things. Weighty decisions.

  “’Kay.” It would be better than going over and over everything Nate had said today—the shit they’d both said. So he sat in what had been Grandma’s chair and accepted his refreshed glass when Dad handed it to him.

  His father sat down with a satisfied groan and sipped at his drink.

  Slouching, Seth did the same, relaxed for the first time in hours. The alcohol had finally started to work through his system.

  “I’ve asked your mother for a divorce.” Once again, Dad’s tone was completely conversational. I’m proud of you, I’ve asked for a divorce, the forecast is calling for rain.

  Seriously? “Oh.” The most surprising thing about the news was that it surprised him at all. Although ninety percent of his surprise was that Dad had taken the initiative. He had a strong urge to pat his father on the back. “Wait, when? Tonight?”

  “No. Six months ago.” He glanced at the end table, where a phone was sitting. “She did text me tonight, though, agreeing to it.”

  “A text. Classy.” He held his breath, waiting for his dad to get angry about the inappropriate amusement, but instead Dad snorted a laugh, although he sobered up within a half second.

  Mom’s the one who’d be angry. His dad seemed to be expecting more questions. “You’ve been waiting for an answer for six months?”

  “Not really. For the first four I was going to counseling with her to try and work things out. Her idea.” He blew out a long breath, letting it puff his cheeks. “That ended because our therapist said she couldn’t work with us if Debra wasn’t willing to make any compromises. The last two months, I’ve mostly been . . . persuading her to agree.” He
looked Seth in the eye and added softly, “I didn’t want to force the issue because I had a feeling I was going to be fighting my brother at the same time.”

  Oh. Oooh. “So that’s why you haven’t opposed him over the house?” It made a weird sort of sense. Fighting a war on two fronts was tough, especially when your enemies were in cahoots. Except Seth had never expected him to oppose Kirk in the first place. Of course, before the house issue, Kirk had never made such a self-serving decision about Grandma’s welfare. Not one that Seth knew about. Yeah, all of his self-serving decision before then only affected my welfare.

  “I knew your mother would back him to the hilt.” Dad sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in that gingerly way of men who didn’t want to lose any more. Dad didn’t have a comb-over, thank God, but as Seth sat there, he realized his dad must normally use as much product as he did—it was sleek and flat against his head. “You know, ‘they’ tell you to set an example for your kids, and tonight I was watching you protect Mom and . . .” He shook his head and played with the rim of his glass, circling it with a fingertip. “I didn’t teach you to protect the people you love.”

  There’s that protection thing again. Once more he shoved thoughts of Nate away for now and focused on what his father had said. “Grandma taught me.” If the guy was going to be that honest, he probably wanted honesty in return. Plus, Seth had a few things to get off his chest. “Dad, what I learned from you was to not rock the boat.” That was sugarcoating it a bit.

  The look Dad gave him from under his brows made it clear he knew his son was being polite. “Believe it or not, I thought I was showing you how to get along. A lot of the world is run by assholes—”

  “As we have daily proof in the form of your brother.”

  Dad grinned a second before continuing. “I wanted you to know that you shouldn’t let it get to you. I think what my behavior modeling did was let the assholes get you.”

  “Dad . . .” He was pretty sure his father was saying his mother was an asshole. She is, kind of. Jesus, his life had a way of wandering into uncharted waters a lot, lately.