“I just need to straighten up.”
“You need a hazmat team.” Although a hazardous materials team probably would condemn the place. Darius rubbed his eyes. “Get dressed. I’m not eating here.”
Simon looked around as though waking from a deep sleep. “It’s Thanksgiving. No place will be open.”
“We’ll find something.”
“Fine,” Simon muttered as he shuffled into his bedroom.
Minutes later, Darius sat at a booth in Trinity Falls Cuisine with a hastily dressed Simon. There were a few other patrons, mostly men, some alone, some with friends; a couple of students from TFU; and one or two couples.
The server had just brought their Thanksgiving plate specials: sliced turkey, stuffing, and broccoli. Simon attacked his plate as though he hadn’t eaten real food in months. Darius enjoyed the silence for as long as he could.
“Have you seen your mother?” Simon came up for air.
“I had lunch with her.” Such as it was.
“How is she?”
“Fine.” Darius cut into the soft sliced turkey. “You, apparently, are not.”
His father gave him a sharp look. “Yes, I am.”
Darius forked up stuffing. “Your apartment is a cry for help. It looks like you’re having some sort of emotional breakdown.”
“I’ve been busy starting a new life. I haven’t had time to fix the place up.” Simon went back to his early dinner.
“Mom’s starting a new life as well. The house has never looked better.” Was that a low blow?
“Your mother is still living in the house I half paid for.” Simon’s voice was tight with anger. “Meanwhile, I have to furnish an apartment and get to know a new neighborhood. I never thought I’d be paying rent in my retirement.”
“You said it was your decision to leave.” Darius sipped his iced tea. “You’ve made your bed. Now you get to sleep in it.”
“Your mother pushed me out.”
“What would you have done if you were her?”
“I wouldn’t kick someone out of his own home.” Simon gulped his soda, then slammed his glass onto the polished wood tabletop. “I’d have tried to work things out.”
“To do that, you’d have to take responsibility for the mistakes you’ve made.”
“What about the mistakes
she
made?” Simon pointed his fork at Darius.
“What mistakes?” Darius frowned.
“She never understood me.” Sighing, Simon stared morosely at his meal.
“Grow up.” The words burst from Darius without conscious thought.
“What?” Simon’s jaw dropped.
“Grow. Up.” Darius leaned in. “You’re like a spoiled child. Everyone else is responsible for your mistakes but you.”
“How dare you!”
“Mom never understood you, so she’s the reason for your multiple affairs.”
“I didn’t have—”
“June never complained, so she’s the reason you didn’t take care of your son.”
“I’d’ve—”
“Instead of blaming them for your failings, you should be thanking them for carrying you all these years.”
“
What
?”
Darius’s face was hot. His muscles shook. Another Thanksgiving meal wasted. Why had he chosen today to confront his parents?
“It’s obvious from the filth in your apartment that Mom’s been cleaning up after you for the past thirty-four years.”
Simon’s eyes bulged from his head. “That’s bullsh—”
“And despite your lack of attention—or maybe because of it—Noah’s growing into a good man.”
“Don’t talk to me that way. You may be grown, but I’m still your father.” Simon’s voice was rough with anger.
“Then be a role model I can be proud of. Instead I have nightmares of following in your footsteps.”
“You could do a lot worse.”
Simon couldn’t believe his own words, could he?
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Darius hailed their server for the check. The verdict was in; this was officially the worst Knight family Thanksgiving ever.
CHAPTER 14
Almost twenty minutes after dinner, Irene escorted Bruce into the sitting room, where Peyton waited with her father for their Thanksgiving dessert.
Bruce Grave looked like everything he wanted to be: wealthy and well connected. His lightweight V-neck oatmeal sweater and skinny gold slacks draped his model-slender frame. His soft, ebony curls gleamed. His fair skin was still ruddy from the cold.
Peyton had settled onto one of the pale silver–cushioned armchairs. Her father, dressed in a simple black cashmere sweater and black pants, had taken the other. That left the settee for Bruce and Irene.
Darkness had fallen outside. Carlson had pulled the heavy cream drapes closed over the room’s two windows. A standing floor lamp provided ample light. But the room still felt shrouded in secrets and shadows.
Carlson and Irene appeared watchful as Peyton came face-to-face with the man who was her ex-fiancé—and who would remain that way. Bruce’s expression was guarded. Whose idea was it that he try to reconcile with her? Was Irene that determined to get a husband for Peyton? Did Carlson want his protégé to take care of her? She could almost feel sorry for Bruce. Neither Carlson nor Irene took failure well.
“Hello, Bruce.” Peyton slipped her hand into the right front pocket of her cotton-blend pants and brushed it over the ring box.
His brown eyes took in her snow-white crewneck sweater and leaf-green, straight-leg pants “You look lovely.”
Too little, too late
.
Bruce waited for Irene to settle onto the spindly silver settee before taking the space beside her. He played the gentleman when it suited him. Pity it didn’t suit him more often.
Images of Darius giving her his coat when they were trapped in the archives, escorting her to her door each time he brought her home, tucking Ms. Helen’s hand into the crook of his arm to help her to the parking lot ran through Peyton’s mind. He was chivalrous to his bones.
Peyton blinked. The images disappeared and she was back in her parents’ salon. “Shouldn’t you be spending Thanksgiving with your own family?”
“Peyton, don’t be rude.” Irene adjusted her sapphire skirt as she crossed her long legs.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Peyton stood, crossing to the glass-and-sterling-silver coffee table in the middle of the room. “I’m just wondering what Bruce hopes to accomplish with this visit.”
It was clear whose side her parents had taken. Their lack of support depressed her. Peyton served the bowls of pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream.
“I would have thought my motive was clear.” Bruce tried a debonair smile as he took the spoon and bowl of pie and ice cream from her. “I’m here to win you back.”
He looked so sincere, gazing deeply into her eyes. She would have fallen for his act—if she hadn’t known him.
Peyton gave him a wide-eyed look. “Is that all right with Leila?”
Bruce’s pretty face stiffened. “What does Leila have to do with us, honey?”
“She was with you in your office the evening I called to break off our engagement, remember?” She served her mother the pumpkin pie à la mode.
“We were working.” Bruce’s dark brown eyes appeared confused.
Peyton laughed without humor. She was strong and in control as she never had been before. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“Why does it matter whether his secretary was in his office?” Irene gestured toward Peyton with her dessert bowl.
“Leila wasn’t working
with
him. She was working
on
him.” Peyton gave her father one of the two remaining desserts, then returned to her armchair with the last bowl.
“What does that mean?” Carlson added pie and ice cream to his fork.
Peyton studied the suddenly speechless Bruce. Was that fear she saw in his eyes? It should be. “His devoted secretary was giving him oral sex while he was speaking with me—”
Bruce’s soft features darkened. His laughter was forced. “That’s absurd.”
“That’s disgusting!” Irene’s sharp tone denounced her.
“That’s ridiculous.” Carlson’s growl condemned her.
Peyton heard again the rustling sounds as Bruce squirmed in his chair. She recalled his breath panting and hitching into the phone.
“I heard the two of you whispering on the other end of the line.” Peyton wasn’t certain from where her words came; months of frustration boiled over. “You were moaning as she sucked you to completion.”
“Peyton!” Irene’s blush rivaled her ruby sweater.
“I don’t have to listen to these accusations.” Bruce’s voice shook.
Peyton arched a brow. “If you stay here, you do.”
“Peyton.” Carlson tried a reasonable tone. “You don’t have any reason to be suspicious of Bruce. I’m in the office with him sometimes six days a week. I’ve never noticed any romantic gestures between him and his secretary.”
“Their affair isn’t the kind of thing they’d publicize in front of you.” Peyton glanced at her father.
“Is that the reason you ended our engagement? You think I’m having an affair? With Leila?” Bruce gave a scornful laugh.
“No.” Peyton returned her dessert to the tray on the coffee table. “I broke our engagement because I don’t love you. But one of the reasons I don’t love you is that you’re a cheating dog.”
“Honey, how can you say that?” Bruce stood, spreading his arms. “Yes, Leila is a very beautiful woman, but I proposed to
you
. I love
you
.”
“You see, Peyton?” Irene pressed her hand against her chest as though preparing to swoon. “How can you doubt his love?”
“Easily.” Peyton turned away from her mother and back to Bruce.
“Do you have any evidence to back up your suspicions?” Carlson sounded impatient.
So was she. “Do you mean like videos, photos, or panties in his condo? No.”
“Then what makes you think Bruce is a cheater?” Her mother sounded confused.
“Why don’t you tell them, Bruce?” Peyton returned her ex-fiancé’s stare.
“Tell them what?” His mendacious eyes were wide pools of innocence. “Honey, you’re starting to sound crazy.”
“I was crazy before. Now I’m thinking straight.” Peyton pulled the ring box from her pocket and crossed to Bruce. Taking his hand, she placed the box in his palm and wrapped his fingers around it. “I’ll decide who I’m going to marry. And I’ve decided it won’t be you.”
Peyton strode from the salon and made her way to her old bedroom. It had become her parents’ guest room when she’d moved out years before. She’d never felt so empowered. She was in charge now. She would live where she wanted to live, be who she wanted to be, love who she wanted to love. She couldn’t wait to return to Trinity Falls—and Darius.
Thanksgiving evening, Darius straightened his shoulders as the front door of Doreen Fever’s country-style home opened.
“You look like shit.” Ean stood on the other side of the door, concern in his olive eyes.
“Thanks.” Darius crossed the threshold as Ean stepped back, opening the door wider. In contrast to the brisk chill outside, the Fever home was comfortably warm.
Excited conversations and laughter almost drowned out the sound of the football game being played on television sets in various rooms around the house. Straight ahead, Darius recognized the neighbors gathered in Doreen’s living room. They exchanged smiles and nods as he waited for Ean to close and lock his mother’s front door. For years, the Fever family’s open house was a popular way to spend Thanksgiving evening. It offered great company and even better desserts.
“It was that bad?” After putting away Darius’s coat, Ean led him farther into the home Darius knew as well as his own. Their lifelong friendship allowed the men to converse in comfortable shorthand.
“I should have gone to Florida with Quincy and Ramona to spend Thanksgiving with Q’s parents.” Darius nodded at a few more people as he wound his way toward Doreen’s kitchen. The air was rich with the scent of confectioners’ sugar, chocolate, cinnamon, and other spices. “He sent me a text this afternoon.”
“I got one, too.” Ean spoke over his shoulder. “I wonder how he’s adjusting to Philadelphia. He didn’t seem that happy when he came home last week for Dr. Hartford’s retirement banquet.”
Darius followed Ean into the kitchen. “I’m concerned about him.”
“Quincy will be just fine.” Doreen stepped forward, offering Darius a plate with a healthy chunk of her famous Trinity Falls Fudge Walnut Brownie.
“Doreen, you’re a saint.” Darius took the plate and fork his friend’s mother handed him. Then he crossed to Ms. Helen seated at the kitchen table in a bulky green sweater and pale brown slacks. He kissed the elder’s cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Helen.”
“It’s good you came, Darius.” She squeezed his shoulder.
“It was bad?” Doreen’s brow knitted with concern.
Darius looked from Doreen to Alonzo beside her. Ean stood with Megan. Like her son, Doreen was referring to Darius’s first Thanksgiving with his separated parents. He had nothing to give them.
Darius sliced into the moist, soft pastry Doreen had served him. “Your brownie will make everything right again. You should offer the recipe to the U.S. State Department. It could bring about world peace.”
“All right, all right. I’ll let you change the subject.” Doreen shook her head with indulgent amusement. “I’m just glad you’re here. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”
“Wherever your desserts are, I won’t be far behind.” Darius swallowed a bite of brownie, letting the chocolate and sugar improve his mood.
Alonzo chuckled. “Thanks for the warning.”
The front doorbell rang again. Doreen and Alonzo excused themselves to answer it.
Megan hooked her arm through Ean’s and met Darius’s eyes. “The open house wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Ean grunted. “Except there’d be more pastries for everyone else.”
Darius gave Ean a grateful look for his attempt at humor, then addressed Megan. “How’s your first Thanksgiving without Ramona?”
Megan’s smile was warm. “It’s a little strange. But she’s happy and I’m thrilled for her. She keeps saying she can’t wait to join Quincy in Philadelphia.”
Ramona had sounded a little too enthusiastic when she’d made the comment during Dr. Hartford’s banquet. Had she been trying to convince herself or everyone else?
Darius sliced into his brownie again. “Is she nervous? This is the first time she’s visiting Quincy’s family as his girlfriend.”
“She’ll be fine.” Megan chuckled. “I gave her a pep talk.”
Darius raised his eyebrows. “What did you—”
“Darius.” Doreen interrupted them as she and Alonzo rejoined the group. “Look who’s joined us.”
At the last minute, Darius remembered to hold on to the paper plate that carried his brownie. His wide-eyed gaze locked with Ethel’s. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
Ethel surveyed the dining room. “I’ve heard of Doreen’s Thanksgiving open houses for years. I thought I’d come by and see what all the fuss was about.” Her expression made it clear she still didn’t understand why people made a big deal of the event.
Doreen’s smile was gracious. “You’re always welcome, Ethel.”
“Could you excuse us for a moment?” Darius took Ethel’s arm to escort his mother from the kitchen to the relatively empty dining room. “What are you doing?”
Ethel jerked her arm from his hold. “Why did you haul me out of the room like a sack of potatoes?”
“Doreen has hosted these dessert parties for decades. Why did you choose this year to come?”
“Everyone else in town is here.” Ethel waved an arm to encompass the few people in the dining room. “Why shouldn’t
I
be here, too?”
The doorbell rang again, underscoring Ethel’s point about the number of guests who attend Doreen’s get-together. It also reminded him that he was missing the football games.
“All right, Mom.” Darius forced his shoulders to relax. “Just please don’t disrespect Doreen in her own house.”
Ethel raised her chin. “I would
never
do such a thing.”
Darius gave her a dubious look. He started to respond when he sensed someone beside him.
“The whole family’s here.” Simon’s voice boomed with good cheer.
Darius’ shoulders dropped as he turned to face his father. Maybe his parents thought meeting here was a great idea, but he couldn’t think of anything worse. In the past, he’d used Doreen’s event to escape from his family. Tonight, there was no escape.
“
Family
? What family?” At least Ethel kept her reply to a low hiss.
“Do we have to do this here and now?” Darius felt the familiar heat of embarrassment rising in his face. He was afraid to look around to see who else in the dining room was aware of the latest Knight Family Flare-up.
“This isn’t
my
doing.” Ethel defended herself to Darius, even as her glare held Simon in place.
“I’m always the one at fault. Is that it?” Simon shot back.
“That’s
right
.” Ethel wouldn’t give an inch.
The front doorbell rang again. The crowd was large and growing larger. Who else would be exposed to the Knight Family Feud?
“Why don’t the two of you separate?” Darius placed a hand on each parent’s shoulder. “Doreen has opened plenty of other rooms to her guests.”
“Why do I have to leave?” they asked in unison.
If they didn’t have an audience before, they had one now. Darius dropped his hands, fisting them at his sides. If one of them didn’t move to another room, he’d drag both of them from Doreen’s home. He didn’t care how much attention that spectacle would garner.
“I don’t care which one of you goes to another room,” Darius said through clenched teeth. “But you can’t both stay here, not if you’re going to snipe at each other all evening.”
Tense seconds that felt like minutes ticked by as Ethel and Simon locked gazes.