With a heavy sigh, I threw the offensive newspaper away and dropped my remaining bite of cinnamon bun on top of it. Taffy eyed the morsel as it disappeared into the belly of the trashcan and shot me a disappointed look.
As I rubbed the top of her head, reality descended upon me like lingering day-old barroom smoke and it made my stomach turn. Everyone in the family and all the employees who’d worked at the store year after year had put a piece of themselves into it. And, next to Mamma, me and Jenny, the business was Daddy’s love.
Although I couldn’t control what was happening with the store, reading the newspaper article made me realize I could control what was happening with my life. Things changed and sometimes life was sad, but good marriages endured. The store might close down, but Mamma and Daddy would still be together. They loved each other. And his phone call asking me to come home told me Robert loved me.
The storm had passed and it was time for me to sort through an aftermath of battered emotions. It was time to reconcile. It was time to return to New York, fix my marriage, and get back to the business of earning a living. And in the process, I would see if my love for Robert was strong enough to repair all the damage that he had done to our relationship.
But before I hit the road, I decided I needed to find out exactly who this Protter family was. The negotiator in me wondered if there was something Daddy had missed. A chip to bargain with. A way to keep the family business alive. I knew I was avoiding big issues of my own by keeping myself preoccupied, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave town with this unresolved.
I called Lori Anne to see if she wanted to accompany me on a visit to the Protter’s place of business, and luckily, she was free for a few hours. I needed the moral support.
* * *
Protter Construction and Development turned out to be an unassuming two-story building with a friendly entrance in the front and a large warehouse surrounded by a security fence in the rear. When we walked into the lobby, Lori Anne acted like she owned the place. But I felt like an intruder scouting the enemy’s camp. When the unseen receptionist asked how she could help us, I jumped.
“Sorry to startle you,” she said. “Did you have an appointment with someone?”
“No,” I told her, “but I’d like to see Mister Protter.”
“Which one?”
“Whichever one is in charge.”
“Well, that’s debatable, Hon,” she said with smiling eyes. “The elder Mister Protter has a say in everything that goes on and is certainly far from retired even though we threw a retirement party for him last year. Two hundred people, live band, farewell wishes, the works. But he still comes to the office every day. So I suppose he might be the one you want. But his son manages the daily operations of the business, although he’s hard to catch in. Or you might should just talk to one of the project managers, if it’s about a specific development. What is it you need, Sugar?”
Before I had a chance to answer, the front door swung open and he walked in. Him. Trent. The construction worker who scooped up my fallen ham biscuit crumbs and fixed my flat tire. The one with the mesmeric blue eyes. Wearing the same muddy work boots. And the loose fitting faded denim jeans that stirred my imagination like a long wooden spoon lifting up all the goodies at the bottom of a pot of homemade soup.
“Morning, Sophie,” he said without looking up from the plat map he appeared to be studying. “Tell the boss that the architect has come down with the flu, would you? He can’t meet with the inspectors until next week.”
“Poor thing,” she said. “I’ll have to send him a get well card.”
He looked up and did a double take when he saw me.
“Well, hello,” he said and the floor beneath me moved. “It’s Carly, right?”
“Good memory,” were the only words my brain sent to my mouth after the initial shock at seeing him. My fantasy man worked for Protter Construction and Development. So much for him playing the lead role in any more of my erotic dreams.
“You two know each other, Hon?” Sophie asked.
“He was kind enough to change a flat tire for me,” I answered, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Really?” Lori Anne said, looking back and forth between the two of us with raised eyebrows.
“Nail hole,” he explained, staring right back.
“They’re here to see Mister Protter,” Sophie told him.
“Well, he’s in his office. I’m sure he’s got a few minutes,” Trent said.
He nodded in our direction and was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.
“Wow,” Lori Anne said under her breath. “Who was that?”
“Obviously someone who has absolutely no ethics and would work for anybody, including developers who like to put families out of business.”
She harrumphed. “I don’t know about his ethics, but he’s got a damn fine body.”
Less than five minutes later, I’d been served a cup of coffee, Lori Anne was sipping herbal tea and we were both seated across from Mister Protter. About seventy, he had the look of someone who’d spent time in the military. His white hair was thick, short and precisely cut. Although his office was that of an executive, roomy with lots of wood and leather, he wore casual slacks and a golf shirt.
Without telling him who we were, I got right to the point of asking if it was Protter Construction and Development’s policy to put a family business out of business.
“What’s your name, Dear? I like to know who I’m talking to.” It was a reasonable request.
“Carly Stone,” I told him, suddenly glad I’d kept my maiden name instead of taking my husband’s. ‘Carly Ellis’ just wouldn’t have worked.
During a genealogy course in high school, Jenny and I made a bond to never change our name since Mamma and Daddy didn’t have any sons to carry on the family name. My sister had gotten married almost immediately after graduating from college, and true to her word, she’d kept her own name. I was proud of being a third generation Charlestonian from the Stone family, and followed suit.
“And I’m Mizz Stone’s personal assistant,” Lori Anne said, trying to lighten my mood by needling the man. “You folks here at Protter serve up a wonderful green tea. I’ll have to come back again sometime.”
“Thank you,” he said, not sure whether or not she was being serious.
“Stone Hardware and Home Supply is spitting distance to where your new complex will be going up,” I told him. “The one with a Handyman’s Depot.”
“I see,” he said in a distinctly southern accent, leaning back in his chair to evaluate me. He was not a man to rush things. “You must be one of the daughters. I’ve already spoken with your father on a few occasions.”
“You have?”
“He wanted to find out what the plans were,” he said, speaking so slowly that I wanted to reach in his mouth and pull the words out. I wanted him to spit the words at me, rudely, so I could unleash my fury in return. But his face was kind when he continued.
“And more specifically, what, if anything, he could do to stop the Handyman’s Depot. Your father is an impressive man. In different circumstances, we’d probably enjoy a day of fishing and a night of poker together.”
“And?”
“While I appreciate your visit, I can only tell you what I already told him. The Handyman’s Depot deal is already finalized, contingent only upon zoning approval. And, we just got that.” He took a long pull from a coffee cup, studying me over the rim as he did so. “My company is just doing what it does. We develop land. Stone Hardware and Home Supply sits across from a piece of property that’s ideal for development. Development brings competition. That’s the nature of the beast.”
He had a point and I didn’t have an argument. Not a logical one, anyway. I wasn’t even really sure what I’d hoped to gain from my visit to Protter, other than to be able to tell myself that I’d tried. I had done what I could. Which amounted to exactly nothing so far.
“I’ve just been wondering how you got
Patrick and Minnie Beth to sell you their land. My daddy had a gentleman’s agreement with them, that they would give him the first opportunity to buy as soon as they were ready to sell. It’s been a standing oral agreement for years and years. A legally binding agreement.”
“You know how those things are. If it’s not on paper, then it’s not enforceable.” He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “Besides, we bought the land from an individual investor, who bought it from the original owners.”
“So you didn’t buy directly from Patrick and Minnie Beth? Then who did you buy it from?”
He smiled, but it was friendly, not condescending. “As I understand it, the man was just some investor with local ties. I couldn’t give you a name without digging out the paperwork. You see, land acquisition is my son’s specialty. He does all that. I just put the development package together once the land is secured.”
“Of course.”
Knowing I had absolutely no ability to change anything, I felt inadequate and foolish. Making it worse, Mister Protter remained quiet and in no hurry to get rid of us. He just sat, patiently, studying me with an open expression.
“What would it take for Handyman’s to choose an alternate site? They’ve obviously set their sights on Charleston, but how attached are they on our little corner of the city?”
“Once again, you sound like your father. On his behalf, I contacted them to see if they would consider an alternate location because we could put another anchor in their space. An audio video superstore. A department store. Any number of businesses would do very well there. But they’re not interested in another location. They’ve done their demographic research and they like this dirt.”
So it was just like Daddy said. “It’s a done deal, then?”
He nodded, up and down. “The contract is signed. I’m sorry.”
For lack of anything better to do, I plucked a business card from a carved wooden hand sitting on his desk and pocketed it. “I just wanted to meet the person who’s responsible for demolishing a thriving family business and putting thirty people out of work.” I knew it wasn’t really his fault, but I needed to vent some frustration.
“You make me sound like a villain, when you put it that way,” he said. “But I’m confident those thirty people can easily find work in the new complex. In fact, Handyman’s Depot has very good benefits. Health insurance, paid vacation, all that.”
As we pulled out of Protter’s parking lot in the same car that would soon be taking me back to New York, my emotions ping-ponged between sadness at the realization that Daddy’s business couldn’t be saved, determination to salvage my marriage, excitement at running into the man who’d invaded my dreams, and guilt over my body’s response to him.
Sensing my bittersweet mood, Lori Anne decided we needed a drink and wanted to show me the new wine bar at McCrady’s restaurant. A national historic landmark, the building was more than two hundred years old and said to be the very first tavern in Charleston. I hadn’t been there in years and the wine bar was relatively new.
Exposed brick walls, dark wood tables, fresh flowers and warm lighting created a sexy atmosphere and my first thought was that it would be an awesome place for a romantic cocktail with someone. While the proper side of my brain filled in the blank with Robert, the other side of my brain conjured up an image of Trent. I chalked it up to being nervous about my impending reunion with my husband and busied my brain by studying the artwork on the walls.
Although there were nearly a thousand choices of wines by the bottle and twenty or more by the glass, Lori Anne and I ordered dry martinis with extra olives and toasted to happiness.
We planned a weekend for her to visit me in New York and see a Broadway show, she decided I needed some champagne-colored highlights around my face, which she’d apply on my next visit to Charleston, and we agreed to call or exchange texts every week.
After another hour of trying to catch up on all we’d missed during the last year and a half of each other’s lives, I dropped Lori Anne at her day spa and we said a teary goodbye. She wished me luck in working everything out and promised to kick Robert’s ass if things didn’t work out. I threatened to kick her ass if she told anyone about my marital woes, and promised to visit during the Fourth of July weekend, if not sooner.
Chapter Nine
I’d awakened early in preparation for a long day of driving, packed my suitcase and gone to fill my tank with gas. When I got back just twenty minutes later, chaos was erupting in the back yard. Three men were at the center of it and one of them was Robert. I pulled into the driveway just in time to see him taking a swing at… Trent.
The construction worker, with an indiscernible step sideways, smoothly evaded my husband’s balled fist. Robert swung again with the other hand. An uppercut. It failed to make contact with Trent’s jaw. Another swing. Another miss. Trent wasn’t returning any punches, but he wasn’t turning his back on my husband, either. Were Robert not my husband, I’d have found the scene comical.
Stephen, strategically positioned behind Robert, was trying to immobilize him. And Taffy, thinking it a new game, ran circles around the trio.
Trying not to be noticed, I eased past them to the back porch where Granny, Jenny, Mamma and the kids watched the commotion like spectators at a NASCAR event. Jenny shouted encouraging remarks to Stephen about keeping his hands up to protect his face, even though he wasn’t in the line of balled-fist fire. Mamma and Granny each held a cup of coffee and were commenting on Robert’s lack of boxing skills. The twins, sharing a porch step and a banana, divided their interest between keeping an eye on their daddy and seeing who could make the funniest face by squishing mashed fruit between their teeth. Southern women knew how to enjoy a good brawl.
“What is Robert doing here?” I asked anybody. “And, why is he trying to fight with Trent?”
A swing. A miss. Still, Trent was not fighting back.
“Whoever Trent is, I wish he’d punch the bastard,” Mamma said under her breath. She hadn’t yet forgiven Robert for screwing around on me.
“He may be the boy that called a lookin’ for Carly yesterday,” Granny speculated, clucking her dentures with the effort of retrieving something from her short term memory.
“What boy?” I demanded.
A stream of expletives drifted up from the yard and we couldn’t tell exactly which man they came from.
“I wonder if breakfast is ready,” Granny said, losing interest in the morning’s entertainment.
“What boy called, Granny?”
“No, scrambled are fine. I don’t like hard boiled eggs before noon.”
“Boy, Granny!” I said loudly. “What boy called on the telephone?”
“Oh…the boy. Yesterday, I had a nice chat with a darling young man who called a lookin’ for Carly. I told him how she and that fella of hers was all twisted up and intertwined like fertile grape vines. I saw them kissing like they do on that General Hospital, with the tongues just a goin’!”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or be mad. Once again, she had confused me with my sister. Robert, not knowing about Granny’s condition, jumped to the conclusion that I was having a fling with some man in Charleston and then had stumbled across the construction worker in the back yard.
What was Trent doing here anyway?
Mamma laughed out loud. “This is better than that time in high school when your two boyfriends got into it and your father had to break it up!” she lamented.
“They were both Jenny’s boyfriends,” I pointed out.
Stephen had finally managed to get Robert’s arms pinned safely behind his back, but Trent wasn’t letting his guard down.
“Where is Daddy?” I asked, realizing he was missing the entertainment.
“At the store. He left early this morning,” Jenny said, then shouted in her best cheerleader voice, “way to keep his arms pinned, Honey!”
Tired out but still struggling, Robert stepped backwards against Taffy, lost his balance and awk
wardly fell to the ground. Taffy zeroed in on him to lick his face. Game over, she was thinking. Can we play again?
Leaving him sprawled in the yard, Trent and Stephen walked toward the house.
“Lord have Mercy,” Mamma said. “There hasn’t been this much action around here since the two of you still lived at home.”
“My goodness,” Jenny said, blatantly checking out Trent as she got a better look at him. “What an incredible body! He could model our new line of outdoor wear on In Home Now. Who is he?”
They reached the porch. I made the introductions. Mamma, Jenny – Trent. Trent, my mamma and sister, Jenny. And your ringside assistant – Stephen. Jenny’s husband.
Mamma offered Trent coffee and asked if he’d eaten breakfast yet. Realizing he’d made an ass of himself, Robert stood in the yard, making a show of pushing Taffy away from him. Probably waiting for me to rush to his side to fawn over him and check for nonexistent injuries. I forced myself not to go.
Realizing the humans weren’t going to play the new game again, Taffy found us on the porch. After briefly sniffing Trent’s shoes and legs, she got to the business of licking his hand. I couldn’t help but to focus on the same hand, and as Trent’s fingers began rubbing the long fur behind her ears, I could almost feel his callused skin massaging the muscles at the back of my neck.
Stop it, I told myself. You have a husband in the back yard. Who’s come to apologize. Who wants to keep you.
“Who is that fellow and why was he trying to hit me?”
“That’s Carly’s husband,” Jenny was quick to answer.
“He put his weenie in the wrong bun!” Granny told him.
“You’re married?” Trent asked me, glancing at my naked hand. I hadn’t worn my rings since I’d found Robert naked on top of Corin, and he said he no longer wanted to be married to me.
“Not really,” came out of my mouth but a split second later I regained my senses. “Well, yes, but we’re separated.”
Choosing Charleston Page 7