Once and Again (7 page)

Jake had plenty of sins. Just none that he felt like spilling to Vern.

“Vernon,” Jake said, noting the seventy-one-year-old looked in damned good shape. He was sporting full-on golfing attire, including a newsboy cap. He wore it non-ironically, the way only a man of his age and position could.

Vernon’s gaze swept over him, his eyes mocking. “You’re not dressed for golfing,
son.
”

Son, my ass.
The anger curdling deep inside him was best ignored. It was hard, though. It came so easily. Especially here.

Jake nodded at the golf course, which lay just beyond the golf shop about a hundred feet away. “Better get playing. The back nine are closed starting tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, the renovation by the famous Walter Williams.” Vernon sniffed and flicked his thumb over his nose. “Can’t say I’m impressed.”

“This course hasn’t seen a PGA tour event in well over a decade,” Jake said. “Williams’s work will all but ensure interest.”

“And in the meantime, the course is unusable for the full season. No one’s happy about that.”

“You’re thinking too short term,” Jake said, though he didn’t even know why. He’d restated this argument half a dozen times over the last few weeks, and every time he had to say it again, Vernon and the rest of the Board gave him the same excuses.

“I’m thinking that some of our members may not live to see another season.”

“You’re making my case for me, Vern. This club is literally dying.”

“Look, son, I’m responsible for the well-being of the membership.”

“And
I’m
responsible for the well-being of the club. I can’t put the needs of a handful of elderly members above the needs of Briarwood.”

Vernon gave him the most patronizing look possible. “Not everything is about money.”

Bullshit.
Everything
was
about money. He knew it. Vern knew it. The whole Board knew it.

Jake shook his head. “Then you shouldn’t have put up the club for sale.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You thought you were selling Briarwood to one guy and you got another. Me. Deal with it. Your legal shit and emergency Board meetings aren’t going to stop the renovations now or in the future. And they’re not going to change the fact that I own this place, lock, stock, and barrel.”

“Watch yourself,” Vernon said, his voice a sharp threat. “Or you just might wake up one day to find Briarwood’s not yours anymore.”

Confirmation that Vernon and his crew were still trying to undo the sale. “I’d say ‘game on,’ but we both know it’s been brewing since you discovered who I really was.” Over Vern’s shoulder, Jake saw three men with golf bags approaching—Kurt Fredericks, Ruddy Reynolds, and Gerry Chaffee—Vernon’s close friends, who also happened to be members of the Board. “The rest of your foursome’s here. Enjoy your last round.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, feeling Vern’s gaze through his T-shirt, right down to the bottom of his stomach, where it just sat there like a fiery rock, burning his gut. Half hoping Vern was watching, he spat right in the grass and kept on walking…until he saw Carolyn, who was coming across the great lawn with a packet of papers in her hand.

Not her. Not now.

But instead of the wary, shocked look he’d begun to expect every time she saw him, her expression was filled with determination, and then, as she got closer, with concern. She came right up to him and searched his face.

“Is everything all right? You left so suddenly before.”

“I’m fine,” he growled. The men were still watching him, their stares searing his back like laser beams.

“Well, you don’t look all right. Your face is all red and—” She stopped, frowned, and peered around his body. “Oh.” The corners of her mouth went down more.

“Let it go,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

Quickly, she composed her face into a neutral expression. “Of course. I was going to stop by your office later to follow up, but I wanted to make sure all your questions about the event were answered. I’d be happy to talk everything over with you now, if you have a few free minutes.”

“I haven’t had time to think about it.”

“No matter. There are a few clarifying issues I want to discuss. Here,” she said, handing him the packet. “This is a printout of the PowerPoint I prepared. I thought it might be nice to have a hard copy for review. Moreover, we can talk about the cost in detail rather than in generalities now that we have the exact numbers in front of us.”

He saw what she was doing. Defusing a tense situation with grace. For once, he was grateful for her subtlety.

“I don’t have any questions,” he said, “but I could use a cup of coffee.”

“I can help with that,” she said, her face brightening. “And perhaps you’d like a scone to go with it?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Susumo makes excellent English scones for afternoon tea,” she said, gently taking his elbow and leading him across the lawn. Surprised at her assertiveness, he let himself be led. “Our Briarwood High Tea is a best-seller, and many parties actually request it for their events.”

Jake half-listened while she chattered on about lemon curd and clotted cream, and slowly collected himself. He treated her like shit and she responded with kindness. He knew that she knew exactly what was going on with him and the Board, and she’d made clear where her loyalties lay—with him. But why? Was this her way of saying
he
was something worth protecting?

They were in the back hallway now, right near the kitchen.

“Hang on,” she told him, before disappearing through the double doors. She was back in a flash, a triumphant look on her face. “Here,” she said, handing him a dense pastry. “Orange-cranberry. They’re very good. We can grab some coffee in the staff lounge.”

And now she was feeding him when she could barely afford to feed herself.

He followed her down the hall, forcing his gaze away from her ass.

She was doing this to save her own hide. She had to be. What else would account for the generosity, the consideration she was showing him? She needed the money from this job, so she was kissing up to him. And this was something he didn’t need. Not from her or anyone else.

“Carolyn,” he barked.

She turned, silky hair settling around her neck, her eyes wide. “Yes, Jake?” She was a pinup with a brain, everything he’d ever wanted.

And he couldn’t touch her.

“I gotta go.”

“No coffee?”

“No.”

He didn’t have to spell it out for her. Slowly, she nodded. “Let me know if you have any questions about the presentation, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said, even though both of them knew it was a lie. He didn’t need to ask her anything to know the event was going to go off without a hitch. All he needed to do was to get out of her way, let her do her job, and keep far, far away from her—not for her sanity, but for his own.

“Ah, it’s good to be back,” Preston North said, walking up the front steps of the Briarwood clubhouse on a fine Wednesday morning. “And it’s good to see you, too, you cheeky bastard.”

Used to Press’s ways, Jake just raised an eyebrow and shook his friend’s hand. Preston’s hazel eyes twinkled, as they always did when he found something amusing. “What’s so funny?”

“You. This.”

Jake knew exactly what Press meant. Jake was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt again, whereas everyone around him—Preston included—was wearing pastel shirts. Press even sported a blazer. He fit in perfectly.

“You’re the same as always,” Preston said with a grin. “Come on. I want to see your new place, for real this time. Not under the guise of the bidding.”

“Happy to give you a tour after lunch.”

“Fine with me,” Press said. “I’m starving.”

After they’d been seated at the best table—the quietest one in the corner looking out over the meadow—and the server had taken their order, Preston turned to him. “How are things going?”

“All right.”

“The Board was as pissed off as you thought they’d be, hmm?”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve had to deal with.”

“I can imagine.” Preston leaned back in his seat and took a sip of iced tea. “Maybe I can help.”

“How?”

“Let me in.”

“The deal’s closed. You ran it for me, remember?” And there’s no way he’d give up control. Not when he’d worked so hard for it. Not when he was putting up with so much shit for it.

“Yes, I know,” Preston said impatiently, “but you can still let me in.”

“Why?” Jake asked, genuinely curious. “You’ve been out of the loop for a while. Why jump back in now?”

“Working this deal got me all juiced up again. I’ve been sitting on my ass for way too long. When you called me a month ago to help you set this up, I got, I don’t know…reenergized.”

“So, what? This would be like a game to you?”

“No. Farthest thing from it. Just taking this,” he waved his hand around, “and transforming it into something incredible? Come on, you can’t tell me it doesn’t jazz you up.”

“That’s why I bought it,” Jake gritted out.

“Look, you fronted a hundred percent of your own capital, and now with costs for Portofino expanding, you have to be stretched thin.”

Of course Press would know. When he was in the game, he’d sourced all his own deals, and he ran the numbers himself. Still, Jake wasn’t going to give Preston the information he wanted that easily. “So?”

“So you could use our help.”

“
Our
help?”

“Yes.” Preston coughed into his hand. “Marcus wants in, too.”

“Marcus Colby? That asshole cut me out of the last deal.” He and Marc had also been tight in business school and for the first few years after graduation, but since Jake had branched out on his own, Marc had morphed into something akin to a rival. Marcus had also founded his own real estate investment company, Colby Holdings, which seemed to be doing well. Marc focused more on commercial than on residential, so they didn’t overlap much, but when they did, it usually got ugly.

“That deal went bad in a hurry,” Preston noted. “Look what Marcus saved you from.”

“It wouldn’t have gone bad if I had been involved. He could have had me, and instead he went in with Riverview Partners, and you know how I feel about those guys.” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “He sent you to butter me up, didn’t he? Too afraid to face me himself?”

“Look, you’re struggling with the Board, aren’t you? I know how these people think, how they operate.”

“You
are
these people.”

Press inclined his head, not even bothering to deny it. “Which can only be a good thing. And no one’s better than Marcus at renovations on a tight time frame.”

“I have it covered,” he said dismissively.

“You could use our money. It’s pretty much impossible to get a loan for this kind of project, what with the current state of the economy. Wouldn’t you like to have your bases covered, plus some capital free for other projects?”

Damn him.
Press knew exactly how to go for the jugular. Jake had made his reputation—and his money—on taking some serious risks. That was the only way he could have come so far, so fast. Yeah, he could scrape the money together somehow, but it would be tight. Too tight for the stage in the game he was in now. And Jake didn’t want to stretch himself thin, not with this. Press pushed his advantage.

“C’mon, Jake. It’ll be just like old times. You. Me. Marc. Ridiculously late nights. Copious amounts of coffee. Scratch paper all over the floor.” He grinned his irresistibly all-American smile, and Jake remembered again how Preston North had won the hearts of all the Manhattan socialites and their mothers.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

Preston slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s my man. Now,” he said, as their food arrived, “what’s this I hear about you and Holly Winston?”

Now
this
was a topic about which he had no problem feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, waiting for the server to disappear before taking a big bite of his turkey club sandwich.

“Oh, come on. She was devastated when you left for Miami, and now that you’re back, she can’t stop talking about you. Why not just give her what she wants?”

Jake swallowed. “And what might that be?”

“You. On a platter.”

“Mmm,” Jake murmured, shaking his head, “not interested.” He took another bite.

“Why not? She’s incredibly beautiful, rich, connected, and from one of New York’s best families. She also has a thing for guys with tattoos.”

“I like real women,” Jake muttered. Also, he liked women he should forget about. Women like Carolyn.

Preston was silent for a few minutes. Then he burst out laughing. “Jake, you are honest to a fault. And
that
is why Holly wants you so much. You’re the only man she knows who’d give her a run for her money.”

“Why don’t
you
go after her?” Jake suggested.

“Me?” Preston looked shocked. “No way. I’ve known Holls for years. We’re more like brother and sister at this point. And besides, she’d simply walk all over me. I do have
some
pride, you know.”

“We wouldn’t be friends otherwise,” Jake said with a smile.

Press smiled back, then got serious again. “So you’ll think about the proposal?”

He trusted Press. Marcus, not so much, but if Marc were in a deal, he’d give it his all—that he knew for certain. He nodded. “Sure, I’ll think about it. And you can tell that bastard Colby I said so, too.”

Jake pulled into a parking lot off Route 1, cut the engine to his truck, and stepped out. The building looked the same as it had the last time he was here seven years ago—a one-story whitewashed brick affair, similar to the others in the commercial area of Eastbridge close to South Norwalk. The place was obviously well maintained. The parking lot looked recently paved, the building had a fresh coat of paint, and the scrolled metal sign that said Gaffney Restoration was new. Business must be good.

Jake steeled himself by taking a deep breath before opening the door. He could have called, but it would have just prolonged the agony.
Do it quick. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.

Entering the shop, Jake was hit by the aroma of freshly cut wood and the distinct sound of a buzz saw. Joe at work. Except for the jobs that required him to be on-site, his brother did much of his woodwork in the back room. There was a big blond guy at the counter sketching something in a pad. He wasn’t as big as Joe himself—few people were—but he looked to be about Jake’s height—just over six feet tall. One of Joe’s new guys, no doubt. Joe had a strong reputation for mentorship, and he always had guys rotating in and out of his shop to get trained. They’d help him on jobs, and in return, Joe would teach them what he knew. After almost twenty years in the furniture and woodwork restoration business, he knew a hell of a lot.

The dude raised his head and regarded Jake evenly. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m looking for Joe. He in?” Jake said, even though he knew he was.

“Can I get your name?”

“Just tell him his brother’s here to see him.”

The guy didn’t blink an eye. “Let me get him for you.” When he left to head to the back room, Jake snuck a peek at what the guy had drawn in his pad. Intricate scrollwork surrounded a plate that held a surname—probably for someone’s mansion. The kid was talented.

The buzz saw went silent.

In a moment, Joseph Gaffney Jr. came through the doorway wearing a thick work apron, his protective eye gear pushed up on his head and his Golden Retriever, Dolly, on his heels.

Jake fought back the urge to flinch.

It never failed to amaze Jake how much Joe resembled their dad, from his black hair to his hazel-green eyes to his six-four frame to his size-fifteen feet. The two men were the spitting image of each other—at least they had been when Joe Sr. was a younger man and hadn’t yet ruined his body with alcohol and nicotine. Both were also carpenters. But that was where the similarities ended. As far as Jake was concerned, Joe Jr. was a decent, fair, hardworking man.

Joe Sr. was just an asshole.

Joe placed a giant, work-roughened hand on the counter and leaned on it. How such big hands could do such intricate woodwork Jake never understood. And for such a big man, Joe moved gracefully—no doubt a throwback to those days when he, Jake, and Kristy would have to sneak around the house so as not to wake their dad from a drunken stupor after he’d lost everything at the casino.

Dolly came up to Jake’s leg and sniffed it. Slowly, he reached down a hand and let Dolly smell that, too. Satisfied with her olfactory examination, the beautiful old dog lifted her head for a scratch, and Jake obliged her. After a few moments, she padded back to Joe’s legs and lay down.

“How’ve you been, Joe?” Jake asked, trying not to make this any more awkward than it needed to be.

“Can’t complain. Business is good. Dolly’s getting older. That’s about it.” Joe eyed him up and down. “You look good. Miami agrees with you.”

“Guess so. How’s Kristy?”

“She and the boys are doing good,” Joe said.

“Is Tom still deployed?” Tom and Kristy were married during Kristy’s second year of college. Tom was headed into the army and they didn’t want to wait. Of course their dad hadn’t given his blessing, but he had turned up at the wedding, drunk as a skunk. Joe Jr. had given Kristy away. It was the last time Jake had seen his dad.

“Yeah, but they’re making do. When he gets back, they’re considering a transfer to Fort Worth.”

“Good. His parents are there, right?”

“Yep,” Joe said. “You should call her. Find out yourself. Know she’d love to hear from you.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.”

Joe fixed him with a steady gaze. “So why are you here, Jake? Don’t recall getting a message from you saying you’d be in town.”

“I want to hire you to do some work.”

Joe let out a laugh. “What the hell, Jake? You dropped off the radar six months ago and now all of a sudden you’re here and you want to hire me? What in God’s name for?”

“For the Briarwood ballroom.” Joe just stared at him. “I bought the club.”

It took a moment for Joe to get his bearings. “Are you a glutton for punishment? Haven’t you had enough of that place?”

“It’s crazy, I know,” Jake said, “but when it went up for sale, I had to have it.”

“Huh,” Joe said, which Jake knew was his brother’s way of saying
you’re a fucking idiot.

“So are you in?”

“What? For the job? Jesus, Jake, I don’t know,” he said, scratching under his goggles strap. “I have plenty of work lined up.”

“I don’t trust anyone else. I’ll have the historical society breathing down my neck if it gets fucked up.”

Joe sighed. “What’s your time frame?”

“Negotiable.” Especially if he and the Board were still at odds.

“Let me think about it, all right?”

Jake nodded. “Sure. Take all the time you want.”

Dolly got up and plodded over to the door. There, she stopped and waited.

“Just let her out, will ya?” Joe said.

Jake pushed the door open and let Dolly out to do her business.

“So how long you in town for?” That was Joe—always willing to let bygones be bygones. He wished he could be more like that. Joe’s easygoing nature had gotten him far in life. Helped him weather their family issues and manage demanding customers when he started his restoration business at age twenty. He’d even managed to learn some woodworking skills from their dad before branching out on his own.

The only thing Jake had learned from his dad was how to make himself scarce when Joe Sr. was on a bender.

One time when they were younger, Jake had asked his brother how he coped so easily with their dad’s foul moods. Joe had simply shrugged and quoted him a line from a Bruce Springsteen song about rising above.

Jake still didn’t know how his brother had done it.

“I’ll be here for a while. I have a couple of trips to Miami planned. Got a big project going on down there that I need to be on the ground for, but I, uh, bought a place here.”

“Huh.” And there it was again.

“On Owenoke Street.”

“Fancy.”

“Come by and see it.”

“Maybe I will.” Joe paused. “You stop by to see Dad yet?”

Even thinking about him caused Jake’s jaw to tighten. “No.”

“You should. He’s in hospice care now, over at a place in Fairfield.” Joe paused. “He’s not doing so well.”

“He’ll pull through,” Jake said.

Joe shook his head. “He’s dying, Jake. That’s why he’s in hospice.”

Jake should have known that the double-whammy of emphysema and liver failure would get Joe Sr. in the end. “He should have taken better care of himself.”
And of us.

“You’re not going to go, are you?”

“Don’t know if he’d even want to see me,” Jake said.

“He’s been asking about you.”

“Yeah, well, he can keep asking.”

“Just think about it.”

He’d thought about it before, of coming back to Eastbridge to check in on his old man, see how he was doing, trying to treat everything like it was water under the bridge. But every time the idea popped in his mind, all the anger and resentment he’d built up inside crushed the desire to move on. It would be an understatement to say that Joe Sr. hadn’t been the best father to him. Most of the time, he hadn’t acted like a father at all. But instead of saying no, he found himself giving a short nod.
Okay.
Because Joe asked him to.