Authors: Elizabeth Goddard
Riley awoke to the trill of the phone on the nightstand. A glance at the clock told her she’d overslept.
She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
“Riley?” Her father’s drained voice jolted her wide awake.
She sat up in bed. “I’m here. What is it?”
“Your grandfather had me call you. He couldn’t stand to give you the news himself. I’m sorry. It’s your brother, John…. He’s dead.”
Carver, Massachusetts
“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”
“It’s not like we have to milk cows or anything, is it?” Riley rubbed her sleepy eyes and groggily dragged herself through Grandpa’s sixties-style kitchen. After two weeks, she was still trying to unpack and settle in and hadn’t yet grown accustomed to her grandfather’s early hours.
Ding.
Her grandfather pressed a button, and the microwave door popped open. The microwave didn’t seem to fit in this retro kitchen. He yanked out his coffee cup then proceeded to spoon instant coffee into the steaming water.
“Wouldn’t you prefer a cup of freshly ground French vanilla cream?” Riley pushed the Start button on the automatic coffeemaker. She should have set it for automatic brew last night but forgot.
“I haven’t got any use for that fancy, newfangled coffee.” Her silver-haired grandfather grinned at her, producing a wide display of crow’s-feet around his still-bright blue eyes. Thick gray brows arched as he puckered his lips to sip the steaming mixture.
Riley turned her back on him and stifled a laugh. She checked the water level on her own coffee. She never waited until it was finished brewing and poured her nondairy creamer into a large I Love California mug, then followed it up with the half cup’s worth of coffee brewed so far. She sipped it and turned to lean against the white counter. Her gaze skimmed the kitchen before resting on Grandpa.
No wonder his farm was in poor condition. Grandpa hadn’t upgraded anything in over forty years. Well, except for the fact that he’d bought a microwave. He’d kept the farm small, while others had expanded and diversified; some had even grown to handle all of the processing of their produce, whether cranberries or some other crop.
Her grandfather began shuffling pots and pans around in the cabinet, finally producing a large flat skillet. “Bacon and eggs?”
A twinge of nausea rolled in her stomach at the thought of bacon sizzling this early. She covered a yawn and glanced at the clock on the oven as she sat down at the table. Five thirty. “Thanks, but no. I’ll just have my granola breakfast bar.”
Though Riley’s reddish blond hair wasn’t quite long enough to stay permanently within the butterfly clip, she attempted to pin it off her neck. She groaned inside because she should be making breakfast for her grandfather, not the other way around. But she wasn’t much for cooking, nor was she big on breakfast. She had a feeling a lot of things were about to change.
A blond-haired, two-year-old boy toddled into the kitchen, rubbing his squinting eyes.
They already have.
“Morning, Aunt Wiley.” The sweet syrup of his voice poured over Riley’s heart, stirring her love for him and a fierce grief over his loss.
“When am I going home?” He climbed up into her lap, and she lovingly placed her arms around his soft, cuddly body in a tight hug.
Riley’s heart felt as if it would break in two at his question. How would she ever explain to him that his parents were never coming back? With sorrow-filled eyes, she looked up at her grandfather, who’d stopped placing slabs of bacon on the skillet. His mouth was turned down, revealing an entirely different set of wrinkles than when he smiled. He returned her stare and nodded his support.
The boy rested his head against her chest, and she caressed it with her chin while struggling for the right words. “I don’t know, Chad. Don’t you like your room here?” She winced at her completely inadequate answer.
Bacon crackled on the stove. “Sonny boy, would you like breakfast?” Grandpa tried to sound cheery for Chad’s and Riley’s sakes, but she didn’t miss the grief in his tone.
The child lifted his head and shook it. “Ceweal. Don’t you have my ceweal?”
Riley ruffled his blond hair. “Of course we have your cereal. You had it yesterday and the day before, remember?”
Her chest tightened with pain when she considered all that had happened in the last few weeks. After attending John and Sarah’s funeral, she’d flown back to California and packed her things and moved to Massachusetts to run the cranberry farm and care for Chad.
Riley placed him in a high chair and began gathering a bowl, spoon, milk, and his honey-toasted oat wheels from the pantry. It all seemed surreal as she performed the tasks without thinking. She watched Chad spoon his cereal into his mouth, finding it hard to believe that she was his legal guardian.
When she had agreed to take care of Chad should something happen to John and Sarah, it hadn’t entered her mind that their worst fears would come true. They’d been killed in a car accident. Sometimes people experienced a sense of foreboding. Had John felt an impending tragedy? Is that why he’d been so anxious to make arrangements for Chad?
She stood and shook away the grievous thoughts. Despite all that had happened, she was glad she could be here for Chad. And though the farm was in a sad state of affairs, she would do what she could to help her grandfather. That is, if he would listen to her. They’d already had a few heated discussions because he didn’t want to move into the twenty-first century. She shook her head. A positive result, though, was that she would be far away from Eric. And maybe, just maybe, she could find a little time to herself. Time with God.
Grandpa crunched his bacon and shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth. She hadn’t noticed when he sat down. “Tell you what,” he said between bites. “You go get ready for the day. I’ll cut this little boy’s hair.”
Riley gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.” She leaned her nose against the top of his blond curls. “I love his hair. Don’t you dare touch it.”
“He looks like a girl. Needs to look like a man if he’s going to live on my farm.” Grandpa stiffened as though he realized he might have said too much.
Chad looked at her grandfather over the edge of his cereal bowl, his face contorted. He wasn’t yet comfortable with his new home and didn’t understand. Riley wondered if he ever would.
She eyed the phone book on the counter. If anything, she needed to get advice about how to explain to a child that his parents were never coming back. “I think it’s a good idea, after all. Maybe you could just trim it a little. Nothing dramatic, okay?” She raised her eyebrows in question at her grandfather, making sure to keep the twinkle in her eyes.
Grandpa winked. “After our morning walk, then.”
Riley’s insides warmed. Her grandfather had gladly included Chad on his daily walks.
In her room she spent time reading her Bible and talking to God in prayer. After she’d showered and dressed, she grabbed the phone book. She wanted to get started early today, taking inventory of her grandfather’s situation by beginning in the office of Sanderford Cranberry Farms. She thumbed through the yellow pages. The ancient phone mounted on the wall shrilled, the sound sending her back to her time on the farm years ago. She let it ring, thinking to let the machine answer it because she needed to get to work.
After the tenth ring, she realized that Grandpa wasn’t answering—and neither was his answering machine, because he didn’t own one. She laughed and shook her head at the caller’s persistence then picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Yes, is this the Sanderford residence?” a familiar, smooth male voice asked.
“Um, yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“Ms. O’Hare, is that you? This is Zane Baldwyn.”
John’s business partner.
“We met… at the—”
“I remember.” She hadn’t meant to cut him off.
She recalled his trimmed black hair and cobalt blue eyes. Grief and confusion had been written all over his face. He’d been John’s friend for years. The reminder sent an ache through her heart and the acknowledgment that she’d have to make time to talk to him. But not today.
His stiff white shirt and navy designer suit had reminded her of Eric, and she’d felt an instant aversion toward him. She gritted her teeth. It was a premature judgment, but at the moment, she wanted to rid her mind of corporate images. “I’m sorry, I was just heading out the door. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me. Is there something I can do for you?” Moving from California and adjusting to her new status as a mother had put enormous pressure on her, giving her the sense that if she didn’t get on top of things, she’d soon be bogged down by it all.
“Look. I apologize that I approached you at such an inopportune time as a funeral.”
She shook her head as she recalled that he’d been tactless, inviting her to lunch as if he were hitting on her—at a funeral of all places. “I forgive you. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. I really need to speak with you.” He hesitated then added, “It’s about John, of course. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Too late.
“Bernard’s at noon?”
This guy was Eric all over again. She had no idea where Bernard’s was anyway. “I’m sorry. I really don’t have the time today. I’ve got a child to care for and a business to get familiar with. I’ve never been a mother before….” Riley covered her mouth, appalled at her babbling. “Can you tell me whatever you need to say over the phone?”
“No. Please, Ms. O’Hare… Riley. May I call you Riley?”
Chad came screaming into the kitchen, his hair shaved close to his scalp. Her grandfather followed. Riley gasped. “What happened to his hair?”
“Excuse me?” the voice from the receiver asked.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Baldwyn, I have to go.” Riley hung up the phone.
Zane Baldwyn slammed the cordless phone into its cradle. “Women!”
Chelsea peeked into his office. “Everything all right, Mr. Baldwyn?”
He’d told the young receptionist months ago to stop chewing gum. The habit was unprofessional. But he could tell by the way she spoke that she’d stored it away in her cheek, probably thinking he wouldn’t notice.
“Yes, fine. Thank you.” Her question reminded him that he needed to close his door if he wanted privacy. John had left his office door open the night he’d died in the car accident, enabling Zane to overhear a message he left for his sister, Riley. Though he didn’t know what good the information would do him if he could never talk to her.
“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re having girl trouble to me.” Chelsea began chewing her gum again, apparently having forgotten Zane’s request.
He sent her his practiced none-of-your-business look—the one he’d used countless times in the past on meddling employees in previous companies—because he was afraid his words would come out too harsh to the inexperienced recent high school graduate. She stopped in midchew to look down at the files she clung to; then she tapped them with her long, red fingernails.
“I’d better get busy on these.” She disappeared from the doorway.
He’d often heard her talking about her dates. Maybe she could help, after all. “Wait, Chelsea.” Zane sprang from his chair to follow her.
She rushed back through as he exited, and they collided, scattering the files over the deep maroon carpet. He could tell by the blush on her face that she might have a crush on him.
Great.
He had planned to ask her about how to meet with a woman who wasn’t interested in him. But now he wasn’t so sure that was a good idea.
“Here, let me help you with those.” Zane dropped to the floor to scoop up files with Chelsea.
The girl giggled. “Oh, thanks. I’m really sorry. I heard you call my name, and I was just coming back when—”
Zane held up his hand to stop her. “Chelsea, it’s okay. Really. Completely my fault.”
She batted her eyelashes and began smacking her gum. Zane paid close attention so that he would not accidentally touch her hand in the process of picking up the files. On second thought, maybe it would be a good idea to stifle any ideas that Chelsea might have about him.
“The reason I called you is that I changed my mind. I do, in fact, need to discuss something not of a business nature,” he said.
Chelsea slowed her chewing. An expectant smile lifted her flushed cheeks.
Oh no.
This wasn’t going as he planned. “There’s a woman.”
Her brown eyes peered into his. They were both on their knees, picking up files. Her face was entirely too close. Did he imagine a slight pucker on her lips?
Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “Another… uh… woman.”
Her lips formed into a slight frown, almost pouting, and she returned to the task of retrieving papers and files.
“The truth is… well… I’m not very good with women. There’s someone I’m trying to meet for lunch, and she turned me down. What can I do?”
Chelsea finished picking up the files, and Zane stood along with her. He handed the manila folders over. “Mr. Baldwyn, I’m not sure why any woman wouldn’t want to go out with you.”
Zane’s neck grew warm, and he tugged at his collar. “Well, thank you, Chelsea. I don’t know what to say.”
He strolled with her into the reception area of Cyphorensic Technologies. The luxury office suite had been his decision. In his opinion, the impressive mahogany-paneled walls depicted success.
With his business savvy and John Connor’s programming skills, he’d been convinced there was nothing to stop them. Now Zane believed he’d made a horrific mistake in inviting John to leave his stable, well-paying job to partner with him. He’d pounded himself with guilt day and night, wondering if John would still be alive today if he had stayed at his corporate job.
Even if he had not died in the accident, Zane knew that John’s marriage had suffered from the long hours he spent developing software for the company. Pain shot through his stomach, and he placed his hand over his midsection. He needed an antacid.
“Mr. Baldwyn?” Chelsea broke through his thoughts. She’d shuffled behind her desk now and gazed up at him with sad puppy eyes. “I’m sorry about Mr. Connor. I know that has to be what’s been bothering you.”