Authors: Claire Adams
CHAPTER
FOUR
"
Riley
! Get down here now!" I
yelled up the stairwell. "I've got to be someplace in an hour, and I don't
have time for this nonsense!"
"Leah, don't
yell at me!" Riley hollered back as she tossed her backpack over the
upstairs banister before racing back to her room for one more thing. I ducked
as the pack came flying down the stairs and hit the bottom step with a loud
thud.
"What is in this
thing?" I muttered as I lifted it off the stair and carried it to the
front door.
"Leah, where
the hell are you going?" my mother yelled from the kitchen. She was hung
over from the previous night's drinking and was in a foul mood as usual.
"I told you I didn't want you girls making noise this morning! I need
peace and quiet!"
"I'm working
on it, Mama," I called as I watched Riley descend the stairs. I looked at
Riley and mouthed, "Ready to go?"
She nodded as she
grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. From the back, she looked
like a middle school boy. I wondered if she cultivated this image to keep the
world at bay or if it was simply the most honest expression of herself. I
worried about what was going to happen when she got a little older and the
expectations were that she mold herself into a girl, but for now, I did my best
to just let her be.
"Mama, we're
leaving now!" I called as I grabbed my keys from the front hall table and
shouldered my purse. I took one last look at myself in the hall mirror and
shook my head. I was dressed for a funeral and felt frumpy.
"Who
died?" my mother yelled. "I hope it was some rich relative who left
us a ton of money!"
"No,
Mama," I called back. "It was my boss, Mr. Yates. You remember him,
don't you?"
"Was he the
asshole that refused to promote you because you're an Irish girl?" my
mother asked.
"No, Mama,
he's the one who gave me a job when I was in high school," I said as I
stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and hallway. "You remember
him. He's the nice man who always gave us a turkey for Thanksgiving."
"Oh,
right," she grumbled as she looked up at me. "God, what the hell are
you wearing? You look like a slut! You'll never attract a decent man that way,
Leah! What is wrong with you?"
"I'm not
looking to attract a man, Mama," I said, biting my lip and hurrying out of
the room. "I'm going to a funeral."
"There are
always decent men at funerals!" she yelled as I shut the door and headed
to the car.
I ignored her as I
leaned against the door and tried to let go of the pain she'd caused. My goal
had always been to protect Riley as best I could, but sometimes it was
difficult.
"She said
something about how you're dressed?" Riley asked as I slid into the back
seat beside her.
She dug into her
backpack and came up with a bag of Skittles. I nodded, but said nothing. Riley
opened the bag of candy and held it out to me, shaking it as she insisted I
take a few. I put my hand out, and she poured the rainbow into my palm saying,
"There. That'll fix it for now."
"Thanks,"
I smiled as I popped the handful in my mouth and chewed furiously before giving
the cab driver the address of Riley's school.
"See? A
mouthful of Skittles makes everything okay," Riley grinned as we pulled
away from the curb.
"Indeed, it
does," I nodded as I forced a cheerful smile on my lips and wished it were
true.
"Do you think
Gram will ever stop hounding you about finding a man?" Riley asked.
Sometimes she was a typical twelve-year-old, and other times she cut right to
the heart of things with the wisdom of someone well beyond her years.
"I don't
know," I shrugged as I looked at her and brushed a stray lock of hair off
her forehead. Riley ducked her head and moved away from me. "Sorry, force
of habit. I don't know if Gram will ever change. I don't think so, but we can
always hope."
"Was she this
mean to my mom?" Riley asked as she stared out the window. "I mean,
was it Gram who made her go away?"
"No, no one
made your mom go away, kiddo," I said, knowing that while I wasn't lying,
I also wasn't telling the truth. "She made a choice to go, and she
went."
"Mmm-hmm,"
Riley replied, not looking at me. I watched her closely as she used her finger
to draw a smiley face on the window. Then quietly, she added, "Maybe she
made the choice because she had to."
"I don't know
why your mom made the choice to leave, Riley," I said as we pulled up in
front of her school. "I know she loved you very much, and that if she
decided to leave, it must have been for a good reason."
She turned and
looked at me for a moment before opening the car door and getting out. I
watched her carefully close the door, wave to me, and then head up the
sidewalk. Halfway to the door, she stopped and turned around. I waved as the
cab pulled away from the curb. Riley saluted me, then turned, and sauntered up
the steps and through the front door.
I wanted to go
back and wrap my arms around her and tell her how much I missed Molly, too, but
duty called. And I let the moment pass.
CHAPTER
FIVE
I
was finishing my
fourth scotch when Jimmy pulled up in front of the funeral home where my
father's wake was being held. I knocked back the last of the liquid courage and
stepped out of the car.
I knew my father
had been widely respected by his customers and employees, but this was more
than I had anticipated. There were limos and town cars as far as the eye could
see, and small groups of people gathered together in the parking lot, sharing
cigarettes and flasks as they quietly conversed.
I squared my shoulders
and walked through the front door where I was met with a noxious odor. It was
created by the hundreds of floral displays lining the hallway leading to the
room where my father's casket stood. I kept my head down as I quickly moved
toward the spot where my mother stood, shaking hands and receiving condolences.
"Mother,"
I said quietly as I moved in behind her.
"Jackson!"
she gasped as she turned and looked up at me. She looked tired. Her face had
been ravaged by grief, but she still had an ethereal beauty about her. Her
long, grey hair was artfully arranged in layers framing her face, and her
makeup had been professionally done in a way that allowed her to cry openly
without leaving rivers of mascara running down her cheeks. She was wearing a
black hat with a veil, a black knit suit, and black leather pumps. While she
looked like the consummate widow, she didn't look like the mother I remembered.
"I'm sorry
for your loss," I said as she threw her arms around my neck, clinging to
me. I could feel her fighting back the sobs as she held onto me. I wrapped my
arms around her and held her tightly as I looked straight ahead at my father's
casket.
"I didn't
know if you were coming home or not," she choked out as she let go enough
to step back and look up at me. There was pain in her eyes. I could see it, but
I ignored it.
"I didn't
know if I could," I said without emotion. "But here I am."
"I'm so glad
you came," she said as she laid a hand on my cheek and smiled sadly.
"I know your father would have appreciated it."
"I'm sure he
would have," I said flatly as I looked over at the open casket just to
make sure it was, in fact, my father lying in it. "He'd have liked one
more chance to tell me how much I messed up my life."
"Jackson,
please," my mother quietly pleaded. "Not today. Please, not
today."
"Fine,"
I said curtly. "Not today."
"Or any other
day," my brother added as he joined the family circle nodding at me.
"Jack."
"Lincoln,"
I said in the same tone. My older brother was the star of the family. He was
the one who had done everything my father had expected and had, for all intents
and purpose, been his right hand man for years. He was two years older than me,
but people often mistook us for twins. I didn't expect that to happen today,
though, since I'd decided to forgo shaving and had left my tie in my suitcase.
I'd done it on purpose, knowing that my father would have been appalled by my lack
of decorum.
"Good of you
to make it," he said looking me over and then shaking his head.
"Couldn't you have dressed properly for the occasion—or shaved, at the
very least?"
"I guess I
lack your impeccable sense of dress and hygiene, brother dear," I said in
a voice dripping with sarcasm. "But then again, I don't have a wife who
maps out every minute detail of my life for me and tells me how to
function."
"I wonder why
that is," Lincoln said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward and added,
"It couldn't be because you're incapable of forming any kind of
relationship that requires you to stick around longer than forty-eight hours,
could it?"
"No, but it
could be because I never had my head so far up my father's ass that I'd let him
pick out a woman for me to marry," I shot back in a voice filled with
venom.
"Boys!
Please, stop it!" my mother hissed as she grabbed our arms and pulled us
to the side of the room, away from the mourners. She looked back and forth
between the two of us, and said, "I don't care how you feel about your
father or each other or this family, but I will not have the two of you
fighting today. I won't have it! Do you understand me?"
Lincoln and I
dutifully nodded as she gripped our arms so hard we both winced. That's how
things were done in the Yates family. If you didn't get what you wanted the
first time, you used enough force to ensure that everyone eventually complied.
"Fine,"
I finally conceded. "I need a drink."
"No, you'll
come stand in the receiving line and talk to the people who are here to express
their condolences for the loss of your father," my mother said in a steely
voice. "Today you will do what I need."
She let go of my
arm and ran a hand over her skirt, smoothing away the imaginary wrinkles before
turning and heading back to the receiving line. Lincoln and I followed her like
obedient puppies and then stood guard on either side of her as she received
condolences from what seemed like an endless line of people.
"I'm so sorry
for your loss, Mrs. Yates," the chubby woman in the midnight-blue velvet
dress sobbed as she grabbed my mother and enfolded her in a bone-crushing hug.
My mother patted her back and let the woman hug her for a few moments before
stepping back and giving her a brave smile.
"Thank you,
Norma," my mother said. "I know Bernard appreciated all the wonderful
years of service you gave him. He always said there was no way on earth he
could have been so successful without your help."
"Aww, shucks.
He was such a good and decent man!" Norma drawled in a heavy Southern
accent. "Y’all know it's not fair that he's been taken from us!"
"No, it
isn't," my mother said quietly. "But there are no guarantees in life,
and I think Bernard lived as well as he could have for as long as he was with
us."
"It’s gonna be
like biscuits without butter," Norma moaned into her handkerchief.
"What are we going to do without him? Who will run the business?"
"Now, Norma,
you know that father had all kinds of things in place in the event that
something like this happened," my brother interjected as he pulled the
chubby woman away from our mother and propelled her down the line. "It'll
all be taken care of, so don't you worry about a thing."
Norma moved on to
my father's casket where she knelt down in front of it and wept like a child as
she murmured words into her folded hands that none of us could hear. I rolled
my eyes and turned my attention to the small brunette standing in front of me.
"I'm sorry
for your loss, Mr. Yates," she said as she looked up at me with a pair of
bright blue eyes, shining with tears. "Your father was kind to me, and
I'll miss him."
"Thank you,
Miss..." I trailed off as I stood staring at the spray of freckles that
covered her face. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she had a look that was
fresh and pretty. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders and curled around her
face in a way that made her resemble a Raphaelite angel.
"Leah
Walsh," she said holding out her hand. "I work for your father, well,
worked for him. He hired me right out of high school and trained me to take
over the manufacturing division. He was a kind man, and I'll never forget
him."
"Yes, well,
thank you, Miss Walsh," I said coolly. There was something unusual about
her, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, so I said, "Did you know my
father well?"
"Yes,"
she said with a puzzled look on her face. "We all knew him well. He was a great
man."
"Ah, so you
didn't know him at all," I said flippantly. Leah tipped her head and
frowned.
"Do you have
a problem, Mr. Yates?" she asked. "Because it seems to me that you
just might. No offense or anything."
"None taken,
Miss Walsh," I said grinning. "My only questions are if you've met my
mother, Elizabeth Yates, and whether you'd have dinner with me sometime?"
Leah blushed
slightly at my questions. She
nodded as
she repeated her condolences to my mother, who smiled graciously, thanked her, and
moved her on down the line. I watched her as she greeted my brother and
wondered what job she held at the company and whether I would be able to
convince her to have dinner with me sometime. She was a pretty, young girl—just
the kind to take my mind off things.
"Well, well,
well, if it isn't Jack Yates back from his globetrotting adventures," a
familiar voice said. I turned and found myself standing face to face with Sloan
Morgan.
"Good God,
Sloan? Sloan Morgan?" I asked as I stood staring at the gorgeous blonde in
front of me. She was tall and lithe, but she filled out her dress like a pro.
"Entirely too
long, my friend," she said as she stepped forward and ran her fingers
through my hair before leaning in and pressing her lips against my cheek.
"I've missed you."
"Have you
really?" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She was a stunning woman who
embodied all of the characteristics of a typical WASP, and my father had been
after me to marry her since I was sixteen-years-old. We had history, but I
preferred not to let myself think about it. "You look as beautiful as
ever."
"Why thank
you, Jack," she smiled, and I felt the blood begin pumping through my
veins. She knew she looked good in her black, cashmere wrap dress and stiletto
pumps. Always fashionable and always properly attired were two of her mottos.
She had been educated at Stanford and Princeton but had found it nearly
impossible to get a foothold in the male-dominated business world. Rumors
abounded about her sexuality and her involvement with the men she worked with.
With Sloan, one never quite knew what the truth was. Despite the rumors, Sloan
held her head high and kept working.
"What are you
up to these days?" I asked as she moved past me toward my mother.
"We should
get a drink and talk," she said as she gave me a pointed look.
"Let's do it,
then" I nodded. "Let me finish up here, and we'll go find somewhere
to talk. Wait for me?"
Sloan nodded as
she moved down the line toward my father's casket. I watched her and wondered
why I had put up such a huge resistance to marrying her. As I was thinking, I
caught a glimpse of my father lying in the casket and felt the familiar rush of
shame, followed by anger. I remembered why.
As the last of the
mourners moved past my family and paid their respects to my father, I followed
them. I stood over his casket and looked at his face. He looked like he was at
peace with his eyes closed and his hands folded across his chest, holding a
copy of the King James Bible in repose.
"Listen, you
old bastard," I whispered as I leaned in close enough so that only he
would be able to hear me. "I don't care what these people have said about
you. You were a rotten son-of-a-bitch, and I hope you rot in hell for all
eternity."
I winced as I half
expected him to rise up out of the casket and call down the heavens upon me,
but when nothing happened, I breathed a sigh of relief, stood up straight,
nodded once, and walked away. As I did, I saw the blue-eyed brunette staring
intently at me. I returned her gaze and nodded as I moved toward the back of
the room where Sloan stood waiting for me.
For the rest of
the night, I felt those blue eyes solemnly watching me as I tried my best to
drink my father's memory out of my mind.