Regan's thoughts returned to the present as the limo pulled to a stop and the door opened on well-oiled hinges. The driver reached in to help her from the car then went to get their bags from the trunk. Her nieces toppled out the front door and into her arms, followed at a slower pace by Missy.
"You rascals," she scolded, "I told you to wait until Aunt Regan got inside. At least let her get out of the car." She made eye contact with Regan and started shaking her head as if to admit she never stood a chance.
"Did you bring presents, Auntie Ree?" the girls were asking, falling over each other to get to her first. Hugging them both, she gave them a non-committal answer and reminded them they had to behave, getting exactly the response she desired.
"But we were very very nice," the eldest insisted while her sister whined, "I was super-duper good, Auntie Ree." Rubbing their heads and hugging them close, Regan had a nostalgic moment.
"Missing all this chaos?" Missy queried with a laugh. Reaching around a child clinging to Regan’s leg she hugged Regan before bestowing a perfunctory kiss on Brandon’s cheek.
“Welcome to Chicago and our crazy Thanksgiving,” she told her future brother-in-law.”
"Thanks, Melissa, it's great to be here. Reminds me of home."
“Please call me Missy. Everyone does.” Scooting her daughters away, she walked arm in arm with Regan into the house.
Motioning behind her to make sure that Brandon was following, Regan allowed her sister and nieces to pull her along. Stephen, Missy's husband, stepped into the doorway as soon as they passed through it, greeting the senator with a hearty slap on the back.
The two men immediately fell deep in conversation, and Regan cringed when she heard Brandon discussing campaign financing. Did the man have a one-track mind? Discussions of money were grating on her nerves. But when she looked at Stephen, he looked engaged and interested. Taking a deep breath, Regan convinced herself she was oversensitive. She joined the crowd gathered in the family room.
"Turn off the TV, please," she begged, hugging her mother warmly and kissing both of her powdery cheeks. Missy quickly took control, insisting her children turn off the cartoons and go upstairs to watch in the spare bedroom. They shot out of the room like lightning, quieting things down substantially.
“Now I can hear myself think,” Regan announced.
“You have been away from the ruckus too long,” her sister chided, handing Regan a perfectly mixed, perfectly chilled martini. “Here, this will help. Liquid courage,” she told Brandon, handing him a glass.
“Don’t need it, Missy,” Brandon assured her. “But I’ll happily take the drink.” Missy laughed and winked at Regan.
Score one for Brandon, Regan smiled as she sipped the cold liquid. Spotting Tyler chatting with Wyatt across the room, she gulped her drink, setting off uncontrollable coughing. Brandon patted her back, repeatedly asking if Regan was alright until she told him not to fuss. Regan moved toward Wyatt hoping Stephen would keep Brandon occupied a few more minutes.
The two men went silent as she approached, exchanging a knowing look between them. "Talking shop?" she asked, hugging her brother. She was not sure whether to embrace Tyler or not. Things felt awkward, especially with Brandon present. The seconds of hesitation passed and then it was too late, so she just nodded in his direction.
"We were," Wyatt admitted. He looked over at Tyler and Regan watched a secretive look pass between them with disappointment. "But we can happily change the subject."
"No need on my account," Regan assured them. When did everyone become so secretive? It made her uncomfortable. Had so much changed in so little time?
“We don’t mind. Tell us about your new life in Washington,” Tyler suggested. He spoke politely like a casual acquaintance. Regan felt ice settle in the region of her heart with an accompanying sadness that threatened to overpower her.
"No, you'll hear enough of that later. I guess I'll leave you to it."
If the men were surprised when she retreated so quickly, they didn't show it. They immediately fell back into their discussion, voices low, heads bent close together.
Regan returned to where Brandon was still discussing campaign costs with her brother-in-law. "Give the man a break," she told Brandon, sliding her arm through his and standing close. "You are here for Thanksgiving, not a fundraiser."
“But I can do both, Regan,” Brandon objected, completely missing the point.
Regan took a more direct approach. “Not today, Brandon, please?”
The conversation turned to art – in particular, Stephen's upcoming photography exhibit at the Howe Museum. Missy chimed in, her passion for the museum evident. "It will be amazing. You can see it while you are in town. It should be a boon for the museum. It will attract a younger audience, and hopefully they will seed a new donor base."
"How come Missy gets to talk about money, but I don't?" Brandon pouted. Regan dropped his arm, turned on her heel and headed out of the room mumbling, "it's completely different, and you know it."
Frustrated with the lack of warmth she felt so far, Regan wandered down the hall to her father's inner sanctum hoping to rekindle some family connection. She knocked lightly, entering before she got a reply. The sight of her father, seated behind his massive desk but dozing in his leather chair made her smile sadly. His health and stamina were not what they used to be.
Closing the door softly, without disturbing him, she went to the kitchen. The staff was getting the giant turkey and trimmings ready, her mother overseeing with all with the authority of a four-star general. Thanksgiving at the Howe's was a full-blown production. This year, including the children, they would be almost twenty people.
Today might be dangerous in the kitchen, but tomorrow the family would merely turn on the oven and enjoy the day.
“Can I help?” Regan asked, although she knew the answer.
“It’s all under control dear,” her mother responded. “Sloane and Randall are coming tomorrow with the baby. We will need to dig the high chair out of the basement. Could Brandon help with that?”
“I can’t wait to see them. Who else is coming?”
"Just Tyler's parents. It will be cozy – family - just the way it should be. Brandon's family must be disappointed that you did not go to them for the holidays. You know, this will be a problem in future years."
Regan could not squelch the emotions moving across her face. The concerned expression on Julia's face told Regan she was doing a lousy job of hiding her feelings. Her mother's words confirmed it.
"What is it, honey? Talk to me." Wrapping her arm around Regan's shoulder, Julia led her daughter away from the commotion, where cries were going up to start practicing for the annual football game.
Leading her into the dining room, the table already set with a Brussels lace cloth and napkins, fine china and the good silver and crystal, she pulled out one large chair and motioned to Regan to sit in another.
“We won’t be disturbed in here,” Julia began, “so just tell me what’s going on.”
“I want children,” Regan began, her chin wobbling as the tears fell down her cheeks. “I have always wanted this,” she motioned around the room, hesitating in the direction of the family room.
“You’re crying because you want children?” her mother asked, confused.
"I think I am making a terrible mistake, Mom. I don't know if I love Brandon. But I do want a family, and I am not getting any younger. Brandon is perfect."
“He may or may not be perfect, Regan, but that is not the question you need to be asking yourself.”
“I don’t understand.” Regan wiped her fisted hands over her cheeks to dry them only to have more tears follow. “If he’s perfect I should just marry him, right?”
"The question, my love, should be ‘is Brandon perfect for me'? My strong mother's intuition tells me that I know the answer to that one. And it's a resounding no."
“Not so resounding, Mom. I am so damn confused.”
“Are you?
These tears don’t look like tears of happiness. What makes you hesitate about Brandon.
"He'll be such a good father, Mom. I have seen him with his family. He is loving, devoted to his nieces and nephews and close to his parents.”
“Family is important, Regan,” Julia agreed.
"And he has been so supportive of my goals. He helped get me in front of Congress, helped me land this plum job. He is always talking about our Harvard educations, our accomplishments."
“And yet,” Julia countered, “he asked you to give up your CEO job to move to Washington.”
“Well, it wasn’t like his job could move, Mom.”
"True," Julia conceded, leaning back in her chair. "Not without giving up his political ambitions."
"Brandon is his political ambition, Mom. He wears his aspirations like a custom-made suit. His father was a senator; his grandfather was a senator. It is in his blood."
“His father also had to forfeit his position because of another woman, Regan. Brandon is a handsome man. He’s been around the block. I am not suggesting that he would cheat on you, darling, just asking if you have discussed it with him.”
"We haven't been quite that open about it," Regan admitted, picking up a fork and twirling it nervously until her mother took it from her hand and placed it back on the table. "He has given up all his other women, Mom. He understands that politics and sex are a lethal combination. He is always there for me."
“You don’t make that sound like a good thing, Regan.”
"I worry that he is there for me for political expediency. I project the right image, and it's good for his career to be married. And there is the money."
"This sounds like you are suspicious, honey, not like you are in love. You have a lot to consider here." Julia leaned over and took her daughter's fisted hands in her own, smoothing them out, turning her left hand over to admire the massive engagement ring resting on Regan's finger. "He certainly knows how to pick out a ring."
Regan laughed half-heartedly. "Brandon is certain, Mom. He knows he wants me. He wants to shout it from the rooftops. The sooner we get married, the better. He is that sure we are perfect together."
“Isn’t there, perhaps, someone else you think might be perfect?”
"I know what you're thinking, but Tyler doesn't want me." Or did he? There were those texts. There was that magic weekend together. But he sent her away without a second thought. "He let me go, Mom," Regan blurted as the tears started fresh. "And you and Daddy don't like him. You haven't liked him for years."
"That's not true." When Regan opened her mouth to argue, Julia put a soft finger scented with expensive hand lotion over her daughter's lips. "You need to hear me out, Regan." Her mother leaned forward in the upholstered chair and removed a piece of imaginary lint from the table. Finally, she spoke up. "Your father convinced me when you were still in high school that Tyler was in some sort of trouble. Wyatt knew nothing. We grilled him, so we know that. But your father was certain, certain enough to convince me with no proof. We expressed our disapproval, but fortunately, Tyler went away for the summer, and then left for college. The problem, as far as we were concerned, was solved. You two went your separate ways."
“But you said nothing to me, Mom. Why didn’t you say something?”
"You were young, Regan; young enough to rebel. You know how teenagers can be. Tell them they can't have something, and they will do anything to get it."
Regan nodded her head in agreement. "I think that would have been me," she admitted. "I was sure I was in love." Regan flashed her mother a bright smile and wiped her tears for the last time. She forgot her self-pity in her absorption with her mother's tale.
“Was he in trouble?” Regan queried. “Why tell me this now?”
"Wyatt has been closeted with your father today, and he has been calling all week. Something is up, and it has to do with Tyler."
“What?” Regan’s asked in alarm, “What’s happened to Tyler? Is he alright?” Julia squeezed Regan’s hands in her’s to offer reassurance.
"He's fine, honey. He'll play football like a rambunctious teen."
“But what’s going on, do you know?”
“All I know is that your father seems to want you at the helm of LHRE and back here where you belong.”
“I have a job I adore, Mom, and a fiancé who makes his home and his life in Washington. I can’t come home. Is there a problem with the business? I thought Tyler was handling everything.”
“It’s not the job, sweetie, it’s you. Your father now believes you belong with Tyler, not Brandon. Whatever obstacle stood in his way before are gone.”
“But…”
"No buts, Regan. We will not be the excuse you require. You need to examine your true feelings and listen to your heart."
“I’m trying, Mom.”
Rising from her seat, signaling that the conversation was over, Julia hugged her daughter. "I better check on things in the kitchen," she announced as she exited the room, leaving Regan no more confident of her mind – or her heart – than before. Now Regan had more questions and the sound of Tyler Winthrop's shouts from the yard, permeating the background of her life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tyler
"I'm not keeping you from any Christmas shopping, am I?" Tyler asked, resisting the urge to place his hand on the small of Regan’s back to usher her into his office. The hug at the doorway had been awkward enough, although they had gotten along fine yesterday.
"Not at all. You know me. I hate the crowds. Black Friday or not, I'll wait or go online. What about you?"
"I'm fine, still recovering from your mom's dinner." Tyler patted his flat stomach with a satisfied grin. It was amazing, as always."
“It was good, wasn’t it?” Regan responded, carefully smoothing the skirt of her perfectly tailored suit before sitting at the small conference table near the window. “I think she used a new stuffing recipe.”
"I think so, too. Good thing we play football before we eat. I am too stuffed to move after," Tyler confessed, pouring her coffee and adding a touch of cream, precisely the way she liked it. Did Brandon know how she took her coffee?
“What a terrible game.” Regan stared out the window, sipping her coffee, chatting comfortably but avoiding making eye contact. Good, she was nervous. Maybe that meant she cared.
"Terrible? How can you say that? We won by three touchdowns," Tyler laughed.
"We won by three touchdowns and four injuries," she corrected. "That was the toughest game of touch football I can recall. Did you guys have to be so rough on Brandon?"
“He threw down the gauntlet with all his bragging. What else could we do but take him down a notch or two? You know how competitive Ivy, Randall and I can be.”
"I do," Regan conceded, "but both he and Ethan are limping today, Missy has a huge bruise on her arm, and Stephen has a swollen hand. You guys were brutal."
"Maybe we were a tiny bit overzealous," Tyler admitted. Regan laughed and raised her head from her cup at last. Don't stare, he warned himself. She will know everything if she looks into your eyes.
"So where is your senator today? Was he okay with sharing you?"
Regan's blushed at Tyler's question, a rosy pink stealing across her perfect complexion. So she was feeling it too. There had been an undeniable pull between them all day yesterday, although they were never alone. She finished his sentences; he laughed at her jokes before she got to the punch lines. They were ‘sympatico' just as they had been when they were a couple, and it felt natural.
“He’s hanging out with Charlotte. She’s showing him the sites and catching up. They haven’t talked much since she and Alex visited.”
“That was ages ago.”
"Exactly, so this was ideal. Char wanted them to have time together, and we needed time, too." There was that blush again. "Maybe we should get down to business."
"We are waiting for your brother. He should have been here by now."
“Oh.” Was tha
t disappointment in her voice? “Ethan is joining us? I hadn’t realized, although it makes perfect sense.”
“Not Ethan, Ree. Wyatt is joining us. I asked him to help out today.”
“Wyatt?” Her confusion was obvious. “What does Wyatt have to do…”
"Sorry I am late," Wyatt announced, dropping his heavy coat on the couch then throwing himself onto the leather cushions with a sigh of relief. "Traffic was a bitch."
Donna entered the office on soundless ballet slippers, giving Wyatt a thorough once over, taking his coat, and hanging it in the coat closet. She offered him coffee and did her cleavage-exposing pour to Tyler’s amusement. All the time, Regan looked to the two men for explanations that didn't come.
"Mom outdid herself, didn't she?" Wyatt began as he made himself comfortable. He accepted the coffee with a dazzling smile that sent Donna into a tailspin, then lounged back with it cradled in his hands, crossing one long leg over the other. "I thought that meal was her best."
"Stop with the small talk," Regan commanded as the door closed behind the assistant. Turning a steely gaze on her brother, she asked: "What the hell are you doing here?" Looking back at Tyler she added, "What is going on?"
Tyler fidgeted with the papers in front of him, looking to Wyatt to take the lead. His friend indicated this was all on him. There would be no help from Wyatt’s corner. Tyler took a deep gulp of air and started speaking. "Well, Ree. There is something we figured you should know, but it's a long story…"
"A really long story," Wyatt added with a broad grin. "A twenty-year story."
“You want to tell it?” Tyler shot at his friend. Wyatt shook his head. “Then shut the fuck up and let me.”
“What is going on with you two? Seriously, do I need to be here while you two duke it out?” Regan made as if to rise from her chair.
"Okay, I apologize.” Tyler lowered his voice. “But this is not easy for me, Ree, so just sit down and listen."
“I’m all ears,” the blonde muttered under her breath. Still, she settled back in the chair and pinned her attention on Tyler.
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