“Well? Let's dig in,” Mom sighed, and Robin passed the wine to Rebecca, who looked as if she could use a good belt. “Honey?” Mom asked Rebecca as she passed the salad bowl to Rachel. “Did you speak with Grayson?”
“Nooo. I guess Bud's got something going on—they aren't around much.”
Rachel leaned over to spoon salad onto Dad's plate; he angrily snatched the utensil from her hand. “I can do it!” Rachel dropped the bowl like a hot dish. Dad helped himself to salad, shifted his glare to Rebecca. “What's this about Mr. Bud? Isn't he crying for you to come and take his son off his hands?”
The question seemed to rattle Rebecca; unsteadily, she reached for the wine she had poured. “I didn't talk to him.”
“Didn't talk with him yesterday, either,” Dad said and impatiently motioned for the Stroganoff.
“I know,” Rebecca answered and took a long sip of wine. She grimaced, put the glass down, and looked at her hands. “Mom, Dad, there is something I need to tell you.” Mom immediately put her fork down and looked at Rebecca. Dad accepted his plate from Rachel and stabbed at the noodles. “I didn't want to tell you this week, what with… well, everything,” Rebecca said, looking at Dad from the corner of her eye. “But… but I can't—I need to get back to Dallas .”
“Why?” Dad demanded through a mouthful of noodles.
“Because B-Bud has left me for another woman.”
Her stunning announcement was met with a gasp of shock from Mom, deadly silence from Robin and Rachel, and curiously, only a look of relief from Dad. “Good riddance!” he boomed and shoved a forkful of noodles into his mouth.
Rebecca gaped at him.
“Aaron!” Mom cried, horrified.
With a shrug, Dad pushed more noodles into his mouth, swallowing them whole. “He's a fucking loser, Bec. You never should have married him in the first place.”
“Dad!” Robin exclaimed.
“Bud Reynolds is a bigger bastard than his old man, and trust me, that is quite an accomplishment. Good riddance, I say. It's about damn time you found your own way in this world, Rebecca, instead of relying on men to make it for you.”
“Oh. My. God!” Rebecca whispered hoarsely and buried her face in her hands.
Shocked to the core by Rebecca's announcement, and perhaps more so by her father's coldhearted response, Robin stared at Dad, speechless. The old man had never been short on opinions, but this… this bordered on cruel, cancer or no cancer.
'That's inexcusable, Dad,“ Rachel said indignantly, voicing Robin's thoughts. ”You have no right—"
“I have every right,” he snapped, turning on her. “I have every right to say that Rebecca married a loser, that you are wasting your life with your books and that creep you call a boyfriend!” he said, stabbing his fork in the air for emphasis.
“Aaron, stop it!” Mom cried. “Stop it right now!”
Dad suddenly winced, like he had been hit in the gut, and dropping his fork, pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Dad!” Rachel exclaimed, putting her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
“No, I'm not all right,” he said, in obvious pain. “I am all wrong.” He lifted his head and looked at an ashen Rebecca. "I just meant to say that I never thought much of him, baby. You're beautiful and gifted, and you could have the whole world at your feet if you'd only reach out for it.
Get rid of that bastard. Go find someone who will cherish every damn moment they have with you, and settle for nothing less. Nothing less! You deserve that and more!"
They all gaped at him. Except Rebecca, who stared at her plate. Dad winced again, quickly shoved more noodles into his mouth as if he were afraid they might disappear. The room fell silent as the meal was resumed, save the occasional clink of silver on china. Rebecca had passed on the food in favor of the wine; Robin could hardly eat, either, appalled more than usual by her father.
Only Rachel seemed to have an appetite, and it was she who broke first, unable to endure the awkward silence that had surrounded them. “I… I learned something sort of interesting a couple of weeks ago,” she said uncertainly. Mom and Robin gratefully gave Rachel their full attention.
“Did you know that according to Nordic legend, a troll has four fingers on each hand, and four toes on each foot, and can have as many as nine heads?”
Rebecca lifted her head at that, looked at Rachel as if she had lost her mind. Which, Robin thought, she most certainly had. What was it with her and make-believe?
Rachel nodded. “I was reading about them in an old Breton manuscript—”
“Do you mean to tell me I am paying a goddamn fortune for you to read about trolls?” Dad rudely interrupted.
“Well, I… It was just something I found interesting and I thought—”
“Here's something interesting—just what exactly are you going to do with a degree full of useless nonsense? I swear to God, Rachel, you are wasting your life!”
“It's not useless!”
“Like hell it isn't. What do you think you can do with something like that?”
“Teach!” Rachel cried, shrinking in her chair.
“Yeah, teach, teach about trolls, for Chrissakes,” he said, shaking his head. "If you ever finish. At the rate you are going, you'll gain fifty pounds before you do anything remotely close to finishing school. But I suppose I am to blame—if I wasn't so ready to bankroll your perpetual
schooling, you might have made something of yourself."
“Oh, Dad,” Rebecca said wearily.
“Wh-what does that mean?” Rachel demanded. “I am something! I teach graduate classes!”
Dad gave a shout of incredulous laughter. “You wanna try living on that?” he snarled. “Maybe you think Brian is going to help out? Wake up, Rachel! That's life out there, not trolls and fairies and castles!”
Rachel colored. “His name is Myron,” she muttered, dipping her gaze away from him, and dropped her fork onto her plate, her appetite apparently gone.
It was more than Robin could bear. “Jesus, Dad, you are in fine form tonight, aren't you?”
Dad shifted his gaze to Robin, braced himself against the table, and leaned forward. “Just calling them as I seem them, Robbie.”
“Look, we all know you are sick and feeling terrible, but—”
With a snort of laughter, Dad cut her off. “You have no idea what you are talking about, baby girl.”
God, how condescending. She hated when he spoke to her like that. “Don't I? You've been snapping at us for two days now, disapproving of everything we do.”
“Well, forgive me if I am a little testy, but I am dying of cancer!”
“Dad, you are feeling so sorry for yourself that you think you can say anything—”
“I can say anything!” he roared, slapping his palm against the tabletop so hard that the silver clattered loudly against the china. “I can say whatever I want to say in the short time I have left, I can tell my children that I have ruined them! You're all too weak and self-indulgent to make it without me!”
“Aaron—”
“Don't, Bonnie,” he warned her. “I've had enough of her arrogance!” he shouted, gesturing wildly at Robin.
So now suddenly she was arrogant? “Oh, that's rich!” Robin cried indignantly.
“You don't believe me? It was your damn arrogance that cost us the Herrera account!”
Robin felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn't told him—Evan. Goddammit! She suddenly came forward, her elbows hitting the cherrywood table. “That is so unfair! Whatever Evan told you, it was a mistake—”
“Your mistake! You were the one playing in London while one of my oldest accounts was trying to get something very basic and very fundamental fixed!”
“I wasn't playing in London , I had gone there to check on two accounts—”
“No, to run away from Evan Iverson, just like you run from all of them—”
Robin gasped. “That is none of your business!”
“It is my business, or are you so arrogant you have forgotten even that?”
“Oh my God!” Robin cried, and fell back against her chair, disbelieving. “Dad, when are you going to let me live my life?”
“Right now!” he exclaimed heatedly. “Don't you see? I want you to live, Robbie! Stop running away, take the risk! But you're too goddam full of yourself—” Stop it!" Mom cried out.
“No Mom, let him go,” Robin said, her voice suddenly shaking. “Let him tell me what a rotten daughter I've been, how I've done nothing for that company, how I've failed to give it my all and marry his golden star Evan! Come on, Dad, tell me what a failure I am! And while you are telling me, let me tell you that I have been working around the clock to bring you a new client, one bigger and better than any you have got! I have been working like a dog to bring you Atlantic Cargo and Shipping!” she cried, almost shouting in her triumph.
And it stopped Dad cold. He stared at her, inhaled sharply. “ Atlantic ?” he finally managed in a hoarse whisper. “Oh God, what have you done? Are you insane? Do you even know who Atlantic is?”
“Only the biggest shipping company between here and the Far East ,” she said smartly, in spite of the terribly cold
and sudden feeling of uncertainty. “And they are looking for a new partner in ground transport.”
“They are also the biggest competitor of Canada Shipping and Ocean Transport. God, Robbie, do you have any idea who pays your salary? Who pays mine? Did you ever stop to think who Atlantic 's chief competitor might be?”
“Wh-what?” she asked weakly, feeling the ground shift beneath her. Beside her, Rebecca muttered something unintelligible; Rachel guzzled her wine. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” he said, suddenly sounding weary, “is the reason we don't have the Atlantic account already is because we have CSOT. When those two ships dock, it just won't do to transport the biggest competitor to our chief client, will it? Why? Because we are a large part of the reason CSOT is so successful, Robin. Because when they dock, we get their freight to the distributors FASTER AND CHEAPER THAN ATLANTIC !” he roared.
“Oh God,” she whispered, stunned that she could have missed something so basic.
Dad pressed his hand to his forehead, seemed to be in pain—physical or emotional, Robin wasn't sure. “Fuck it—I should have taught you,” he said miserably. “But I stuck you in a vice presidency and sent you off to Europe to run around and look pretty.”
Whoa. Did she hear that right? He had sent her to Europe to look pretty? “W-what?”
“Well, surely no harm has been done,” Mom tried. “I mean, Robbie, you didn't sign anything, did you?”
Stunned, hurt, and whacked right off her pedestal, Robin could hardly think. 'Wo, Mom,“ she responded impatiently. ”I didn't sign anything, but I made certain assurances… oh, never mind, you wouldn't understand—"
“That's exactly what I am talking about!” Dad snapped again. “Arrogant!”
Robin jerked her head up, glared at her father. “If I'm arrogant,” she said between clenched teeth, “I learned it from the master!” She suddenly shoved to her feet, tossed her napkin aside. “I'm so out of here!”
“Robin!” Mom exclaimed, coming quickly came to her
feet, prepared to follow. But Robin was too quick, out the door before Mom could stop her, spurred on by the sharp pain of her father's disdain.
Behind her, Bonnie bestowed a very heated gaze on Aaron. “You just never seem to get it, do you? You will reap what you sow!” she snapped, and went after Robin.
There was no amount of appeal from her mother that would change Robin's mind to leave Blue Cross Ranch. She was sick to death of tiptoeing around him, of watching him wallow in self-pity. She packed quickly, tossed her things into the back of her car, and said a quick good-bye to her sisters, promising to call soon.
She hugged her mom and reluctantly bowed to her pressure to at least say good-bye to Dad. Robin poked her head into the library to tell her sulking father she was leaving, but naturally, he wasn't about to let her go without one last dig, and even that was delivered under the pretense of an apology.
He was sitting in a big leather chair, hunched over. “I shouldn't have yelled,” he said instantly. “I know you were trying to help.”
“Yeah, well,” she muttered, shrugging, uncertain what to say, because she had, apparently, been very wrong. She felt like a monumental fool, a silly little girl playing grown-up games. She could just see Evan's little smirk in her mind's eye, hear him say in that way of his, I tried to tell you…
“But I just wish you weren't so arrogant, Robbie,” her father continued, shaking Robin loose from any remorse she might have had. “That arrogance costs you too much—just look at your life and tell me it isn't so.”
For a moment she could only stare at him, reeling from the pain of his inexplicably complete disapproval, a stinging criticism that had, as far as she was concerned, come out of nowhere. A million things went through her mind, things she should say, things she should definitely not say, but in the end, all she could manage was, “Bye, Dad.” And she
walked blindly out of the library without looking back, out of his ranch house and to her car, uncertain when—or whether—she might ever see her dad again.
She drove nonstop to Houston , testing the upper bounds of her Mercedes, unconcerned for her own safety or that of anyone else on Interstate 10, uncaring about anything except to get as far away from Comfort and Aaron Lear as possible.
She reached Houston after midnight, but she was too keyed up to return to her empty house, especially now, when she was so desperately in need of someone to say she was not a horrible person, that her dad did love her, that she meant something to him. She went instead to her office and made a pot of decaf.
She toyed briefly with the idea of calling Evan, but dismissed the notion quickly (And what exactly did Dad mean, running from Evan? Had Evan said that?). Robin flipped on her computer—there were a dozen new messages since this morning, all of which she bypassed, and went directly to the company's database. As painful as it was, she looked to see how much the rate she had quoted Darren would have undercut CSOT. The two companies, Atlantic and CSOT, had the same distribution lanes, the same class freight, almost the same ports. Yep, she was quoting three to five cents cheaper per pound to Atlantic . Dad was right. She was arrogant. And stupid.