Chapter 2

 

 

“Can I take my skateboard, Mom?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

Standing at the foot of the stairs, Barbara glanced at her watch and called up to the second floor, “Because I’m not in the mood to take you to the emergency room, Scott Campbell!”

“Can I take my slingshot?”

“No, of course you can’t take that either. You … Wait a minute, what? What slingshot?” She straightened and looked up the staircase, where Scott’s alarmed and guilty face appeared on the landing. “What slingshot, Scott? I’m sure neither your dad nor I have ever allowed you to play with a weapon like that!”

Scott was still wearing his dirty jeans, even though she’d told him at least twenty minutes ago to change for the barbecue at his grandma’s house. Now, he made a grumpy face. “All the boys in my Boy Scout troop have their own slingshots. It wouldn’t be fair if I was the only one who couldn’t have one!”

Barbara prayed for patience, but one of her eyebrows dangerously arched of its own accord. “I’ll tell you what would be unfair. If I had to call Mr. Henley and tell him you can’t take part in the next troop trip because you’re grounded.”

The seven-year-old gasped with outrage. “That’s blackmail, Mom!”

“Alright, call the police and report me,” Barbara replied with more equanimity than she’d have thought possible. She ran a hand across her forehead. However proud she might be of her children’s cleverness, it was exhausting to argue with them. She dreaded when they’d hit puberty. She’d probably end up in an asylum before Scott graduated from high school.

“Mom,” he whined, standing on the landing with his arms crossed across his chest, his face pulled into a deep scowl.

“Scott,” she interrupted. “We’re going to your grandma’s now … and I mean right now! And if I ever find a slingshot in your pocket, young man, I’ll shoot every last one of your superhero figures with it. Are we clear?”

“You’re a really bad shot,” Scott threw back with a triumphant grin—which she thought was adorable despite her momentary irritation. She wanted to pull him into a bear hug and tickle him. She was a total failure when it came to being consistent with discipline, which was one of the many reasons she hadn’t gotten a dog yet, despite the boys’ repeated begging.

“Wanna bet?” she snapped with an expert eye roll. Then, in a markedly calmer voice, she said, “Please get changed now, honey. Grandma and the others will be waiting. And where’s your brother?”

“He’s sitting in his room drawing!” Scott’s voice was almost a shriek now. “Can I at least wear my Superman T-shirt?”

“You can wear your Superman pajamas, for all I care!” she yelled back. She was about to go check on Hamilton when the phone rang.

She felt a dull throbbing start up behind her forehead and hoped it would go away soon, instead of blossoming into a full-blown migraine. Ignoring it, she rushed down the hallway in her favorite sandals, which went well with her bright green summer dress. “Cam … Ashcroft residence,” she said and bit down on her lower lip, angry with herself for almost giving her married name yet again. Even after two years, she sometimes fell back into old habits. She’d had to tear up checks a few times after signing them Barbara Campbell instead of Barbara Ashcroft. If it hadn’t been for her damned pride and her white-hot anger, she would have kept James’s last name—if only for the boys’ sake. But she’d wanted to actively hurt James, however mean and abject that might sound.

“Barbara, this is Cynthia. Is this a bad time?”

When she heard Cynthia Mitchell’s voice, the throbbing intensified. Barbara had spent an annoying four hours with the woman only a week ago, trying to organize a fundraiser for single mothers. That had proven rather difficult, because Cynthia was known for spreading gossip and rumors. In the Middle Ages, a woman like Cynthia would probably have spent her days at the village water well.

“To be quite honest, I was just about to leave for my mom’s house with the boys,” Barbara said politely. “We’re having a barbecue—”

“Oh, how lovely,” Cynthia interrupted excitedly. “Will your brother and his lovely wife be there as well? Are the babies already home?”

Barbara sat down on the Chippendale stool next to the little telephone table in the hallway, keeping an eye on the staircase for a sign of her sons finally coming down. “My sister-in-law and her twins were discharged a few days ago,” she placidly explained to Cynthia. “They’re both boys, and they’re utterly adorable.”

“And what does your brother think about all the changes?”

Barbara’s smile was genuine, even though she knew Cynthia was out for fodder for her gossip mill. “Patrick is totally besotted. We all are, actually. They’re really the cutest.”

“I’m sure your brother appreciates having his babies around right from the start. He couldn’t have that with his daughter, after all.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. Cynthia’s point was easy enough to see. No matter how fiercely Barbara disagreed with the things her sister-in-law had done, and no matter how much she resented the fact that she’d left her brother without even informing him about the existence of his daughter for five whole years, blood was thicker than water in the end. To Barbara, that meant never gossiping about family members with anyone else, and standing behind her brother and his wife when confronted by friends and acquaintances. The fact that her relationship with Amy was still somewhat strained was nobody else’s business, least of all Cynthia’s.

She made her voice sound light and unconcerned, as she chirped into the receiver, “You should see Audrey! She’s totally in love with her little brothers. My brother and sister-in-law couldn’t be any prouder.”

“Mm-hm … That sounds really … nice.”

“Oh, it is,” Barbara assured her. But she couldn’t help wondering why she kept burdening herself with so much charity work, week after week, month after month, year after year, collecting funds for all manner of causes, when these organizations were stomping grounds for people like Cynthia and other snobbish high-society ladies. This really wasn’t Barbara’s world—meeting with Chanel-carrying, gossip-mongering trophy wives to organize charity galas for other Chanel-carrying, gossip-mongering trophy wives who sipped champagne and paraded their jewelry. In the beginning, Barbara had participated because she’d really wanted to help other people. Today, she was doing it to distract herself from her own problems and avoid thinking too much.

“Well then,” Cynthia sighed, “all that’s left for me to say is have a lovely afternoon, my dear. I really only called to ask you to set up a meeting with Marcus Lindsay.”

Barbara frowned, perplexed by that request. “Marcus Lindsay? The publisher? Why would I set up a meeting with him?”

She could hear Cynthia cluck her tongue on the other end of the line. “Because he’s hosting an upcoming fundraising gala, and he’d be the perfect patron for our next project. You know him, don’t you?”

Barbara felt uncomfortable thinking about Marcus Lindsay. She’d met the man months ago, and every time she’d encountered him since, he’d flirted with her. However flattering it might be for a man like him to show interest in her, she’d have preferred it if he didn’t flaunt it in such an obvious way. It made her self-conscious and nervous. And that was the reason she was anything but thrilled with Cynthia’s idea.

“I’ve only met him a few times,” she corrected Cynthia.

“Barbara …”

“Cynthia, I can’t just accost the man and ask him outright if he’d lend us his support. I hardly know him.”

“Excuse me? He’s one of your brother’s business liaisons, isn’t he?”

“But that doesn’t mean I can impose on him like that.” Barbara frowned. “If I’m not mistaken, your husband plays golf with the man. Why doesn’t he talk to him?”

Cynthia uttered a nerve-grating laugh. “Barbara, please! I can’t ask Erik to do that.”

“But you’re asking me?” Barbara sighed heavily, just as she heard her sons barrel down the stairs. It sounded more like a herd of cattle stampeding across a bone-dry prairie. “Listen, Cynthia, I really have to go now.”

“Alright, but please promise me you’ll think about it at least,” the other woman pleaded in a melodramatic voice. “I don’t want us to be sponsored by Ashcroft Industries yet again. At some point, it’s going to cost us our credibility.”

Barbara refrained from pointing out that her own credibility would likely suffer if she got Marcus Lindsay to agree to sponsor the project precisely because he had business ties to her brother. Instead, she hung up and turned to inspect her sons, relieved to see that Scott was not wearing his Superman pajamas.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Even though Barbara still had a problematic relationship with her sister-in-law and couldn’t swallow her pride and give up her reservations, she was awfully grateful for the attention Amy lavished on Hamilton’s drawings when the nine-year-old proudly showed them to his aunt. Barbara gave her sister-in-law extra credit for taking the time to appraise Hamilton’s creations and discuss them with him, even though she’d just birthed twins and was holding one of them in her arms. Not to mention she was a successful painter in her own right, with an art major and having had three big exhibitions over the last few months.

They were sitting around a table laden with food and drink in the park-like garden of the Ashcrofts’ home, enjoying the gorgeous weather. For the first time since the twins had been born more than a week ago, the whole family was together.

Barbara’s younger brother Stuart was sitting next to her, shoveling coleslaw onto his plate until it looked like a small avalanche while studying his older brother, who stood by the table rocking one of the newborn twins against his shoulder. “So you really took paternity leave in your own company?” Stuart asked, picking up the giant meat fork from near the grill. “You, of all people?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Patrick replied good-naturedly, though the dark circles around his eyes suggested he should be a lot grumpier, owing to a massive sleep deficit. He turned his face toward the tiny infant in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of the tiny head, which was covered by a white cap. “Why shouldn’t I take paternity leave? I have the privilege of being able to afford it.”

“Maybe because you’re a workaholic?” Stuart pointed out, waving the fork in the air. “Because you go berserk if you can’t control each and every thing that happens within the company? Because you’re always acting like a despot?”

“Speaking of despots,” Patrick snarled as he stroked his tiny son’s back, “I’d definitely prefer to spend the next few weeks with two newborns instead of suffering your despotic behavior at work. The twins only whine when they’re hungry, or their diaper’s wet. You, on the other hand, complain at every turn, Stuart.”

“I never complain,” Stuart said with a snort.

“Is that so? Then why did you go nuts when Josh from accounting—”

Barbara interrupted her brothers with a loud sigh. “Do we really have to listen to you two talk about work for the next four hours? Dad was never this enamored with his job, getting on our nerves with this endless work talk while we’re trying to have a nice meal!”

Stuart waved the fork around once again to make it clear he disagreed with her. “If you really believe that, your memory of our dad is very different from mine.”

“Or mine,” Patrick chimed in as he wrinkled his nose. “Dad was always talking about the company. It was even worse when he was with your father-in-law. My ears would bleed after five minutes or so.”

“But at least we had a lot to laugh about when Archibald was present,” Stuart pointed out wistfully, once again punctuating his words with the oddly expressive fork. “I was always fond of him. He was a cool guy for a man of his age. How’s he doing, anyway?”

“I guess he’s okay, right, Barbara? Isn’t he about to retire? If the rumors are true …”

Barbara refrained from reminding her brothers that Archibald was her ex-father-in-law, but she stared at the both of them with a peevish expression. Her sons, who, unfortunately, didn’t remember Barbara’s dad at all, were utterly besotted with their other grandpa and got extremely excited every time they saw him. Barbara, on the other hand, had taken to avoiding her former father-in-law, even though she’d always liked him before. These days, however, he never failed to steer the conversation into muddy waters, bringing up the divorce and his willingness to act as mediator. As if she could feel comfortable discussing her problems with James’s dad, of all people!

Since she wanted to remain calm in front of Hamilton, she merely shrugged. “I have no idea,” she replied lightly. “Archibald is as much of a workhorse as you are, Patrick, so it’s highly likely he’ll still be sitting behind his desk when he turns one hundred.”

“Ha!” Stuart triumphantly pointed the fork at his brother. “You heard her! You are a workaholic!”

Even though Scott and his cousin Audrey were currently chasing each other around the lawn, and thus couldn’t witness their uncle’s fork-enhanced oratory or his barbaric table manners, Barbara grabbed her brother’s hand and took the giant fork away from him without warning.

“Hey! I was just about to spear a steak from the grill!”

“Before or after you stabbed one of us?”

Stuart elbowed her in the ribs. “Very funny.”

Barbara nodded at Hamilton, who’d found a seat next to his aunt and was admiring his tiny new cousin. “Hamilton, honey, please don’t look to your uncle as an example, okay? Just ignore his table manners.”

She got a scowl and a haughty sniffle from her younger brother. “Excuse me, dear sister, but I’m extremely famished.”

“Oh?” The proud new father let out an amused chuckle. “What was her name, Stuart?”

“Patrick!” his wife scolded, nodding in Hamilton’s direction. The boy wore a fascinated smile. He’d stuck his finger into the sleeping baby’s little fist, and the tiny thing was holding on to it with surprising strength. Barbara studied them affectionately.

“Just an FYI, brother,” Stuart replied loudly, “I’m a gentleman when it comes to talking about my love life. I simply don’t.”

“Since when?” Patrick prodded gleefully, shifting his son to his other shoulder. He gingerly picked up a glass of iced tea and took a large sip.

“Leave your brother alone,” Amy scolded her husband, “and check on the meat before it burns.”

Stuart lounged backward in his chair and grinned. “Go, Amy! Show my brother who’s boss. First, he takes paternity leave, and now he’s relegated to the kitchen. Patrick, I regret to inform you that your man card has been revoked.”

Patrick snorted so forcefully that the whole table looked up. “If I wasn’t carrying Aaron and being watched by my nephew over there, I’d be happy to rub my man card in your big-mouthed face.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Stuart replied in a satisfied voice.

Amy leaned back in her chair and put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Don’t let him tease you, honey. You don’t need a man card. I’d like it much better if you checked on the meat.”

Barbara watched her brother offer his wife a smile, before he looked at Stuart with a frown of indecision. “Stuart, would you hold him for a second while I see to the grill?”

Stuart’s fingers looked like those of a blood-stained serial killer, so Barbara shook her head and rose from her chair. “Give him to me, Patrick. Stuart looks like a butcher.”

A muscle twitched in her older brother’s cheek. “Are you sure you want to hold him?”

“What kind of question is that?” She ignored his penetrating gaze and took the warm bundle from him. The baby didn’t even protest but snuggled up to her chest and twisted his small mouth into a smile. He yawned, smacked his lips, and then continued his nap.

Delighted, Barbara sat back down in her chair and rocked the infant in her arms. So far, she’d only ever looked at her new nephews, not held them. Now she savored the moment, not even bothering take offense at her younger brother eating like a pig beside her.

Everything could have been perfect then: She was sitting among her family, her youngest son was playing with his cousin, Amy was putting the other twin into the waiting arms of Barbara’s oldest son, and their mom was in the house fetching the surprise cake for the new parents.

But then Patrick yelled from the grill, “Hey, Barbara! You need to do me a favor and go to Marcus Lindsay’s gala next week.”

Her mood took a plunge for the worse. “I thought we weren’t going to talk business anymore today!”

“This has nothing to do with the company. It’s a fundraising gala, and that’s totally your business.”

“My business?”

“Yes. I need you to go and fill in for me.”

She pressed the baby to her chest and narrowed her eyes at her older brother, who was flipping steaks on the grill. “Why do you need me to go?” she asked, forcing herself to sound patient.

Patrick shrugged one shoulder. “Amy and I can’t go. Or, we don’t want to.”

“Let me repeat my question …” She cleared her throat. “Why do I have to attend this gala?”

Frowning, Patrick gave her a puzzled look. “A member of the family should attend. Amy and I are on parental duty, Stuart will be in D.C., and Mom doesn’t feel like it.”

“What gives you the idea I might feel like it?”

When her brother gave her an overbearing smile, she wanted to get up and shove him into the grill. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Barbara, but you’ve always been fond of all that charity fuss, haven’t you?”

“Fuss?”

Patrick sighed. “You know what I mean: boring speeches, endless food, rich people decked out in ten strands of pearls, limousines, photographers—all that.”

Even though Patrick had described the endless loop of galas rather accurately, Barbara disliked the arrogance he’d displayed as he dismissed them all—and she balked at being lumped in with the shallow majority. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but she swallowed her words for the sake of her son, who was currently learning from his aunt how to properly hold the baby.

So, instead, she countered with a lame refusal. “Well, I’m afraid there will be this one gala in Connecticut that has to make do without an Ashcroft in attendance. I’m not going.”

“Barbara,” Patrick protested promptly. “Why are you doing this?”

“Seriously, sister dearest,” Stuart chimed in. “Why are you being so bitchy? I’m sure it’ll be a great evening.”

“Then why don’t you go, brother dearest,” she said sharply, before lowering her head and burying her nose in the sweet-smelling bundle she was holding.

Apparently, her brothers had decided to gang up on her. “Stuart’s right,” Patrick said. “It’ll probably be a really nice evening. All you have to do—”

“As I said before, Patrick, I don’t have to do anything at all!”

Stuart groaned. “You have no idea how long Patrick negotiated with Marcus Lindsay, Barbara. It’s a matter of courtesy for a member of the family to show up at his event. We’ll look bad otherwise.”

“It’s really important,” Patrick agreed. “We want to start a joint project with this guy. His charity is a cause dear to his heart, so we don’t want to make him think we don’t care. That would look callous.”

“Then Mom can go,” Barbara replied peevishly.

As if on cue, her mother’s voice came from behind her. “Where can I go?”

Barbara turned her head. “To this gala next weekend.”

“I’ve already made enough donations this year—”

“Me too,” Barbara interrupted and pointed at her brother, who was playing both barbecue master chef and dispatcher of family members. “Your oldest son wants to force me to attend an event to ensure that at least one Ashcroft is present. I think you should go instead.”

“Me? I wouldn’t know what to do there.” Her mother shook her head and bent to take the sleeping baby from Barbara. “You know I tend to stay away from that kind of thing. No, you go and have a nice time.”

Barbara was very certain that she would not have a nice time. When was the last time she’d had a nice time at a fundraiser? When was the last time she’d had a nice time, period?

Her family was adamant that she attend the damn thing, but Barbara wouldn’t look forward to the evening at all.

Thankfully, Scott and Audrey came capering back to the table at that moment, making her forget her vexation for a while. Her seven-year-old begged his uncle to show him how to flip the meant while her adorable niece asked her to braid her hair. While she was occupied with the latter, she told herself that an evening with an endless supply of choice dishes and boring speeches wouldn’t actually be that bad.