Tea and Primroses

by Tess Thompson

  “That doesn’t sound entirely convincing.”

  “Mother didn’t like him. She said not to marry him, that she never understood one thing he ever said.” She looked into Declan’s eyes. “He’s different.”

  “Different than what?”

  “Than most people, I guess. He’s very smart. A computer guy.”

  He shifted so that he was looking directly at her. The breeze drifting into the room smelled of the sea. “Why did you say yes?”

  She shrugged, looking down at her hands. “He came after me, which is refreshing considering the pool of men out there. All these guys with commitment issues. Pacific Northwest guys are too passive to claim you.” She faltered, wishing she hadn’t revealed so much already. But she continued, unable to keep the truth from Declan. He always had a way of opening her up. “He asked, I guess.”

  “I asked.”

  She met his gaze. “It wasn’t that simple. You know that.”

  “It was to me.” He gazed at her, unflinching. He crossed the room and brought her hand to his chest. “Don’t marry him just because you want a baby.”

  “That’s not it. Dammit, you can’t just walk in here after disappearing for six years and start telling me what to do.” She jerked away from him.

  There was a light knock on the door. Conrad Hutchinson, her mother’s attorney, put his head inside. “Sutton, can I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” Conrad shut the door behind him. He wore his standard impeccable blue suit and attractive tie. Today it was light blue with lavender flowers. Sutton was fairly certain his wife dressed him. He was approaching sixty and had been her mother’s lawyer from the beginning of her success. “Oregon born and educated,” she often said to Sutton. “I know I can trust him.”

  Conrad held out his hand to Declan. “It’s good to see, you, Dec. Long time.”

  Declan shook his hand. “Good to see you too.”

  “I’m glad you’re both here,” said Conrad. “The will concerns both of you.”

  Besides his beautiful clothing, there was nothing remarkable about Conrad. He was almost bald with just a fringe of white hair near his neckline, hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and an extra twenty pounds he wore mostly around his middle. But he was smart and decent, considering that he was an attorney. He handled only her mother’s personal affairs; she had an attorney out of Los Angeles that handled her movie deals. That lawyer was not her mother’s people, thought Sutton, absently. There wasn’t an Oregon bone in that man’s body. He bled Hollywood.

  They led Conrad to the couch and each took a chair.

  He opened his briefcase and took out a stack of papers. “I’ll lay it out for you both very simply. Your mother, Sutton, was worth roughly one hundred million dollars.”

  What had he just said? “Did you say hundred million?” How was this possible?

  “Your mother’s only extravagance, ever, was this house,” said Conrad. “She put all her money from the movies and book sales into a fund managed by a reputable investment house. The money, as it tends to do, grew quite nicely over almost thirty years.”

  “I had no idea,” said Sutton, looking over at Declan.

  “She did not expect to die in her fifties,” said Conrad. “Her goal was to continue to grow this ‘nest egg,’ as she called it, for the two of you.” He opened his briefcase. “She left what she referred to as ‘small amounts,’ namely in the amount of five million dollars each, to Peter Ball, Jack Ball, Gigi Mallon, and also to Louise and Aggie. Additionally, last year, she set up a trust to fund a scholarship program for low-income students in the states of both Oregon and Vermont, with particular attention on the arts and literature. She populated it with five million dollars, all of which will be managed by a foundation with the idea that it will continue to fund scholarships with dividends and the like. The rest is to be split between the two of you, along with the house. The deed goes to both of you.”

  “Why would she split it between us instead of giving it to Sutton?” asked Declan.

  “She considered you equally her children. And felt a great responsibility to you, Declan, after your mother passed away.” Conrad thumbed through the stack of papers and then handed an envelope across the desk to Declan. “This is a letter to you. I suspect it expresses some of her feelings.”

  Sutton glanced over at Declan. He was pale and visibly shaken. He said, “But I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t ask for it. It’s not right. It should be Sutton’s.”

  She reached across the arm of her chair, covering his cold hand with hers. “But I don’t need it all. I don’t need any of it, Dec. And I knew this was coming. She hinted at it in her letter to me.” Sutton smiled. “But she didn’t tell me about the others.”

  “She was very specific about the others, Sutton. Your mother wanted them to know how important they’d been to her all these years. As you know, she was very close to Louise and loved those boys almost as much as she loved you two. And Gigi, well, she practically grew up in this house. Your mother loved her very much.”

  Sutton choked up, tightening her grip on Declan’s hand. “Those were such happy times for me.”

  “For your mother too.” Conrad took another letter from the stack of papers and gave it to Sutton. “This is a letter for the other ‘kids,’ as she called them. She asked that you read it to them.” He rose to his feet. “I won’t keep you. The details are all here in the legal document.”

  They walked him to the office door. After he was gone, Declan leaned against the wall, the letter clutched in his hand.

  “I can’t take your mother’s money.”

  “But you must.”

  He stuffed the letter in the back pocket of his jeans. “We’ll see about that.”

  You’re the most impetuous, restless, proud man I’ve ever met, she thought. “But she wanted you to have it. You don’t have to spend it all at once, for Heaven’s sake.”

  “I make my own way.”

  “Declan Treadwell, if it weren’t the day of my mother’s memorial I would deck you right now.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SUTTON CONTINUED TO GLARE at Declan. Her hand twitched with the sudden urge to smack that smug look from his face. Or, kiss him. One or the other. He glared back as the door opened. It was Roger. Sutton cringed, seeing him dressed in the Pacific Northwest high-tech guy uniform of jeans, T-shirt, and those awful walking sandals with the Velcro. He looked ridiculous next to Declan’s European chic with his crisp white shirt and perfectly draped black pants.

  Declan extended his hand, introducing himself.

  “Ah, yeah, sure,” said Roger. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to Sutton. “What’re you doing in here?”

  “We’re talking. Dec just got here,” said Sutton. “We’re going over some details.” She felt defensive and guilty.

  “Well, people are looking for you,” said Roger.

  “This isn’t a party where Sutton has to circulate. No one expects that,” said Declan, his eyes lidded.

  Sutton put her hand on Declan’s arm. “It’s all right. I should go out there. We can do the ashes tomorrow.”

  “What time?” asked Roger. “I’ll need to get back to Portland for a meeting by three.”

  “She wanted it just family,” said Sutton.

  Roger’s eyes darted between them and then he nodded his head. “Yup, fine. Makes sense.” He pointed toward the front room. “You coming?”

  “In a minute,” she answered. “I need to talk to Declan about another couple details.”

  At the door, Roger snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, Louise told me to tell you Aggie and Peter are here. Peter wants to talk to you both.”

  “Thanks, Roger,” said Sutton, without meeting his eyes.

  Roger didn’t reply, simply left, leaving the door wide open.

  Declan slammed it shut and marched across the room to the desk, perching on the edge and crossing his arms across his chest. “Jesus, Sutton. You can’t tell me this is the guy you’re go
ing to spend the rest of your life with? He’s an idiot.” This was said just louder than a whisper, with gritted teeth.

  She scowled at him, trying her hardest to sound confident. “He’s just socially awkward, that’s all. He’s actually very sweet.”

  “Tell me this. Is he going to move here? Or will you have to move back to Portland? Give up the dream of opening your bakery here?”

  She avoided his eyes by moving to the open window, shivering in the breeze. “We haven’t really worked out all the details.”

  He crossed the room and grabbed her by putting his hands on the outsides of her arms. “I’m not letting you marry him.”

  She shook his hands away. “Dec, please, not now.”

  He let her go, stepping away. “This is why it’s better for me to live across the world from you. I need a drink.” He turned on his heel and left the room. The door shut hard behind him.

  Sutton sank onto the bench, their bench, and stared at the floor, rubbing the hot places on her arms where he’d touched her.

  After a few moments, there was a soft knock on the office door. Wiping her eyes, she got up and went to the window. “Come in.” The weather was stunning and it hurt, this blue sky and bluer water, these waves crashing in their perfect rhythm, because her mother would have loved it, and knowing that she would never again see this stretch of beach made Sutton want to scream.

  The door opened. Patrick Waters, carrying a plate of food, closed the door with his foot. “I thought you might be hungry.” His voice was gentle, unobtrusive but masculine.

  “Thank you. I’m not really hungry.”

  “Ah, well, of course. I’ll just put it on Oregon’s desk.”

  “What did you just say?”

  He smiled, tugging on his ear. “That’s what I called Constance.”

  “Oh. Did she call you Vermont?”

  “No. Just Patrick. Which is what you should call me.”

  “Why did my mother never mention you to me? Or her time in Vermont?”

  He shuffled his feet and tugged on his left earlobe again. “Well, I’m not sure.”

  But the way he said it made her think he did know. He went to the desk and picked up the clock her mother always kept there. It was old-fashioned, with a feminine face and a smooth, polished cherry wood case. Her mother had wound it every day.

  “Is this one of yours?” asked Sutton, suddenly knowing.

  “First one I ever made.”

  Just then, Louise came in, carrying a plate of food. She was pretty and, like Constance, didn’t look like she could be in her middle fifties. Her blond hair, long when they were children, was cut in an attractive bob. She had lively eyes and a gentle way of moving and talking. Her eyes were red and swollen from days of crying. “Sutton, I brought you some food.” She stopped when she saw Patrick standing by the desk. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company. Declan told me to bring you something to eat.” She said all this with her eyes on Patrick.

  “Louise, this is Patrick Waters. Patrick, this is Louise. My mother’s oldest and dearest friend.” But the rest of the sentence was lost. At the sound of the name Patrick Waters, Louise dropped the plate of food. It crashed on the hardwood, breaking the plate and scattering bits of sandwich, some kind of green casserole, and chocolate cake near Louise’s feet. Seeming not to notice, Louise simply stared at Patrick, as if frozen. Like she’d seen a ghost, thought Sutton.

  “Louise, are you all right? Do you need me to get Ben?” Ben was Louise’s new husband; they were married just six months ago in this very house.

  But Louise seemed not to hear. Patrick moved closer to her, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Louise. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Louise continued to stare at him for a moment and then, like someone awakening from a hypnotized trance, seemed to suddenly notice the food at her feet. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, Sutton.” Louise dropped to the floor and started picking up pieces of plate and food.

  “Don’t clean it, Louise. I’ll grab one of the servers. They’ll have a rag or something.” Sutton left and searched the front room for a server. Catching a young woman’s eye, she asked if she would get a cleanup cloth and meet her in the office.

  When she came back to the office, Patrick and Louise were sitting on the couch. He held her hand, looking remorseful. Louise was weeping.

  Sutton stood by the door, unsure whether to interrupt or not.

  “But how? How did I not know?” asked Louise.

  “She planned on telling you this week.”

  “We thought it would be me first, you know. I can’t get my head around that.” Patrick’s voice broke.

  “You have no idea how she suffered over the years.”

  He wiped under his eyes. “It hurts me to hear that.”

  Louise continued to cry. “It’s just that it doesn’t seem fair.”

  The server approached behind her; Sutton moved aside so she could enter the room. Patrick and Louise both looked up and saw Sutton. Louise started and rose abruptly to her feet, a look of guilt passing over her face. “Well, I should get back to the guests. I’d love to talk more later, Patrick. I have so many questions.”

  “Of course. I’m staying at a hotel up in Cannon Beach.”

  “You’ll stay a while then?” asked Louise.

  He nodded, looking as if he wanted to say more. “For a while longer, yes.”

  After Louise left and the server was cleaning up the mess, Sutton perched on the side of the desk, scrutinizing Patrick, a dozen questions coming to her mind but she didn’t have a chance to ask anything because Roger came back. “Sutton, what’re you still doing in here? I told you the guests were asking for you. And I know no one.”

  Sutton rose to her feet. “Patrick, this is Roger. Roger, Patrick.”

  Roger held out his hand without any sense of curiosity about who Patrick was, Sutton thought with a hint of irritation. Roger was the least curious man she’d ever met. This came with being sure one knew everything. The men shook hello before Roger turned to Sutton. “Hey, I have to jump on a conference call for work. I’m going to take the call upstairs. It could take a while.”

  “Fine,” said Sutton to his back as he exited the room. She sighed, suddenly exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the couch and cry until she fell asleep.

  Patrick was looking at her with one eyebrow raised. “So that’s Roger?”

  “Yeah. Did my mother tell you about him?”

  “She did.”

  Sutton flushed. It was obvious from the way he answered that her mother hadn’t kept her opinion of Roger to herself. “I’ve been in Europe for two months. He asked me to marry him before I left. I said yes. And now, well, now I’m not sure. My mother would have been able to help me but she isn’t here and I’m lost.”

  “Just tell him the truth. Maybe ask for some time. But, listen, it’s better to break it off now than marry him knowing you’re uncertain. Most important decision you ever make in your life is who you marry.” He cocked his head to the side. “And there’s Declan.”

  “You know about that too?”

  He nodded, pursing his lips as if slightly embarrassed. “Your mother had a strong opinion. About everything.”

  “About everything.” Sutton smiled. “I wanted to talk to her about Roger. But I never had the chance.”

  He took a card out of his breast coat pocket and set it on the desk. “Here’s my card. Has my cell and email on there if you need to get ahold of me. Now, come along. I need another drink.”

  “Me too.” She stopped him, though, before they reached the doorway. “Patrick, who were you to my mother?”

  He looked down at her, his face soft, his eyes misting. “I loved her for most of my life.”

  The shock of that statement settled in her chest but she didn’t have time to ask anything further, because they were swallowed up into the swarm of people offering condolences and she lost Patrick in the crowd. Sutton spoke with several g
uests before Gigi was beside her. She put another glass of white wine in Sutton’s hand and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Peter Ball and Declan are on the patio. They want to talk to you.”

  “Is Jack here too?”

  Gigi nodded. “Yes. I haven’t had the courage to say hello to him yet. I feel so awful after what happened and I don’t know what to say to him. We were all so tight back in the day but I’ve let too much time pass without calling or anything.” She hesitated. “Well, I wrote to him, of course, you know, one of those awful cards saying how sorry I was.”

  Jack was now living in Legley Bay and working as a high school math teacher after his wife was murdered when he was finishing his doctorate back east. Shortly after her murder, he’d spent some time at a mental health facility after an attempted suicide. The suicide attempt had shocked them all; it was hard to imagine guileless and innocent Jack capable of such darkness. They’d all been close growing up, a gang of kids spending hours at her mother’s house for barbeques and beach parties. Jack had been like their mascot back then, four years younger than Declan and Peter, and always tagging along no matter where they all went. Jack and Gigi had both been academic class stars in high school, nerdy and intellectual, valedictorians of their years. It was hard to believe over ten years had passed since then. And so much had happened for all of them, mostly bad, it seemed.

  They were on the patio now. The sun was lower in the sky than the hour before, bothering Sutton’s red and raw eyes.

  “I’m going inside to check with the caterer about a few things,” said Gigi. “Will you be all right with the boys for a bit?”

  “Of course.” Declan and Peter sat at the table, under an umbrella, talking quietly and intensely. They were both so much older than the last time they’d sat in the same spot on her mother’s deck. How did time tick away so quickly? How was it possible that Declan had been away for six years? And Roma? It seemed, so often even after all these years, that she might be in the house, that Sutton had only to open a door and she might be there, cooking something at the stove, or dusting Constance’s books, or watering a plant. When Sutton visited in the late afternoon, she expected the smell of one of Roma’s batch of cookies to greet her. But instead it was quiet and without smells, merely the sound of her mother’s keyboard coming from the office. But that would no longer be there, either. Her legs weakened and the awful hollow ache came again. How could she ever enter this house again knowing her mother was no longer waiting?