Chapter Fourteen
Spence slammed his way into the house, stood in the entry staring at the rooms that were now filled with Bree—the living room sofa, the kitchen breakfast bar, the door to the greenhouse, the bedroom—and promptly stormed back outside. He went around the house to the backyard, not certain of where he was going or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to move.
As soon as he let himself in through the gate, Furgus bounded up to him. Spence crouched down to bury his hands in the long golden fur.
“What the hell just happened, boy? Huh? Can you give me a clue?” Because God knows that the dog would make more sense than anything Spence could come up with at the moment. “For months she’s been swearing she can’t stand her father. She wants him gone. She’ll help get rid of him, even. Then wham bam, fuck you, ma’am, all of a sudden she’s forgiven him.”
Okay. She had never said that, really, at least not that he could remember through his what-the-hell haze. But she had definitely said she wanted Rob to be okay. She didn’t want other people hurting him and driving him away.
“I mean, if she said she didn’t want other people to do it because they didn’t have the right, hey. I can totally get behind that.” He ran a hand over Furgus’s flank. “But even then, damn it, I have the right. Not as much as she does, but I do.”
Not that that mattered, either. Because he was pretty sure Bree wasn’t looking to punish her father anymore.
“And as for that whole line about Rob and Dad . . . Jesus. I thought she was too smart to fall for something like that.” He rubbed both sides of the dog’s belly, just the way he liked. “Damn it, boy. Why can’t anybody ever say what they mean? Or mean what they say?”
Everything was so out of whack. Carl kept insisting he loved Livvy even while he was screwing around on her. Bree kept saying she hated her father, then she turned around and said that, nope, he was back in her good books. And Spence, who had told Bree he wasn’t looking for a relationship because he liked the way it was, suddenly felt as if his world had become a lot emptier.
“Thank God I still have you, buddy.” He gave the dog a thorough scratch behind the ears, sending him into a frenzy of joyful wiggles. “You’re the only thing that makes sense anymore.”
Furgus twisted and licked his hand.
“Yeah. Love you, too, buddy.”
Life would be a whole lot simpler if only people were as smart as dogs.
* * *
Bree was putting the last books back on the shelves when she heard the door open again. Her brief flare of hope was cut off immediately by Annie’s tired “It’s me.”
Time to Big-Sister Up.
Bree slapped her cheeks, both to check for tears—none, thank God—and to smack herself back to what was important. Here. Now. Annie. When her baby sister wandered in with a giant bag in her arms and a weary smile on her face, Bree was reasonably sure that she seemed nothing but calm, cool, and collected.
“Hey, you.” Annie gave the room a fast and appreciative glance. “Oh my God, you so saved my bacon tonight. You are the queen of all big sisters, you know that?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I would think that was seared into your brain by now.” That sounded appropriately jaunty, didn’t it? “How is your kiddo, and his mom, and everything?”
“Mom is still in the hospital but doing fine. Dad’s plane landed on time and he is now home with Ryan. They are all exhausted and reeling a bit, but they’re okay. The big question is, how are you?”
“Me? Fine.” Just in time, Bree stopped herself from blurting out a series of follow-up questions: Why do you ask? Why wouldn’t I be fine? Why do men have to be such pigheaded fucks? “I haven’t made it to the gym in ages, so I am totally counting all this lifting and lugging as strength training.”
“As well you should. Want some dinner?” Annie wandered off toward the break room, Bree trailing behind like a homesick puppy. “I had a sandwich with Ryan, but his dad insisted on calling in an order to Cheesy Mac’s for me. And since you are the one who made all this possible, I totally insist on you joining me.”
She hadn’t been able to swallow a bite of the food Spence had brought for her. “Thanks, but I ate already.”
“You’re kidding. You mean I have to enjoy this feast all by my lonesome?”
“Sucks to be you.”
“Well, will you at least sit down and keep me company? Maybe share dessert with me so I can still fit into my jeans tomorrow? Because it’s a s’mores cheesecake, and if you don’t help, I will absolutely eat every bite and—”
S’mores.
Bree let loose with a low, moaning kind of inhalation, one that she tried to silence but couldn’t because it carried so much hurt and disbelief and fury that there was no way she could keep it contained.
Annie looked up sharply. “What was— Bree? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Bree mouthed automatically, but the words couldn’t get past the ball of sorrow in her throat. “Fine,” she said again, but this time it came out in the shape of tears.
Annie grabbed Bree by the shoulders. “Okay. I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong and I think you need to sit down and breathe and—”
“I still love Dad.”
If anything, the death grip Annie had on her shoulders only got stronger. “What?”
“The lying fucker. I still love him. And so I had to . . .” Some semblance of rationality trickled back in. Annie didn’t know about Spence, had no idea about any of what was going on, why the hell hadn’t Bree been more open with her sisters so that she wouldn’t have to go through all this shitty explanation now?
Lucky for Bree, Annie had years of experience in figuring out the meaning behind words that made no sense.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You”—she pointed to the sagging sofa in the corner—“are going to park your heinie right there. I am going to run upstairs to my secret stash and get the emergency supplies. Then I am coming back here and you are going to tell me everything. And somewhere in there I’m going to recover from the heart attack you just gave me, and then we’ll figure out whatever needs to come next. Okay?” She physically turned Bree and gave her a shove toward the sofa. “Sit.”
And because Bree had kind of stopped knowing how to do much more than respond, she did as directed.
She did, however, have the presence of mind to wait until Annie was running up the stairs before grabbing a pillow and burying her face into it to swallow up the worst of her sobs.
By the time Annie hurried back into the room, Bree had cried the rough edges off her shock and was able to form a real sentence. Especially when she caught sight of the items in Annie’s hands.
“Dove chocolate I understand, but vodka?” she asked in disbelief. “You keep that in a day care center?”
“No. I keep it upstairs in the space that will be my apartment as soon as I save enough money to finish remodeling it. It’s not counted in my day care square footage, kids never go up there, the door to the stairs is locked, and you would not believe how many crises teachers of small children can have. Best thing I ever did for the sanity of my staff was to stock that cupboard. Now.” She yanked the cap off the bottle, eyed the couple of inches left, shrugged, and drank straight from the bottle before passing it to Bree. “Down the hatch and start talking.”
So Bree did.
The vodka burned on the way down, but not as much as the words did as she forced them out. The booze warmed her from inside, but not as much as Annie’s hug when Bree started to cry as she described the task force meeting. The combination of alcohol and acceptance loosened her tongue and her guard—or was that due to Annie’s quiet understanding and the questions that let Bree know her sister truly, deeply wanted to help?
At last Bree was talked out. The bottle was empty, she was surrounded by soggy tissues, and she was pretty sure that if she cried anymore, the tears would have to be formed of blood, because she was completely dry. She let her head drop back against the sofa cushion, blinked up at the ceiling, and swallowed.
“And now . . . now, I’m sitting here with no idea what I’m supposed to do next.”
Annie was quiet for a moment before patting Bree’s hand. “Well,” she said slowly, “I’ll tell you what you’re not going to do.”
“Drive myself home when I’m in this state? Talk to Dad? Tell Spence I . . .” But she had no idea what she would say to him if he were to appear in front of her. I want you back? I want another chance? Hang on, maybe I can learn to hate my father again?
“You’re not going to tell me why the mention of s’mores cheesecake was what put you over the edge, because I’m getting some ideas and they are all making me cringe. Also, you’re not doing any of those other things you mentioned. Because, yeah. Bad plans all around.”
“The good ideas could come rolling in anytime now.” She unwrapped a piece of chocolate and put it on her tongue. “Why is this so hard? Spence and I, we never expected anything to happen. It was supposed to be just about having some fun, you know? And even though this isn’t the way I would have wanted it to end, it wasn’t supposed to be forever. We were both clear on that. It was just, you know. Finally seeing what would happen if we stopped trying to outdo each other for a while.”
“Seriously, Bree. For someone who knows so much about how people’s brains work, you really are a dolt sometimes.”
“Oh, stop with the pep talk. You know I can’t stand it.”
“Fine. Let me be blunt. That thing about you two trying to finally get along? Bullshit. You were finally grown-up enough to deal with something that started a long time ago.”
Oh hell. Was that true?
“You aren’t making this easier, Annie.”
“Not at the moment, nope.”
Did she have to sound so cheerful?
“But in the long run, you know I’m right.”
“I think I might have to throw up soon.”
“No, you won’t. I drank most of the booze. But let me remind you that you’ve been confused about a lot of things. You thought you hated Dad, now you don’t. You thought you couldn’t stand Spence, then it turned out you kind of had major hots for him. Maybe even more.”
“No. Nothing more. Just the hots.” She thought of the teasing, the way he’d stood up for her, the way he challenged her. “Okay, so we had fun out of bed, too. But still. It wasn’t ever supposed to be—”
“Oh for God’s sake, Bree. Stop obsessing over what was supposed to be, okay? Dad was supposed to stick around. Spence was supposed to rock your world and then go. You were supposed to stay in your ivory tower and surround yourself with books and spend all your time learning about feelings so you wouldn’t have to, you know, actually feel them.”
Wait. What?
“But things happen. Life happens. Feelings happen. And you can either spend all your time wandering around asking why nothing stayed the way it was supposed to stay, or you can look at how they actually are and say, okay. Here’s the situation. What do I do now?”
“Isn’t that what I asked you?”
Annie waved away the detail and unwrapped another piece of chocolate.
“Come on, Annie. Don’t hold out on me. Now that I can no longer trust my own emotions and I have no idea who’s a good guy and who’s a bad guy anymore, what am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing.”
Bree turned her head just enough to give Annie the most questioning glare she could manage with swollen eyes. “Nothing? You mean I’m supposed to just hand it over to the universe or some crap like that?”
“No. I mean you’re not ready to do anything yet.”
Bree hiccupped. “I don’t think heartbreak is something you train for, Anniekins.”
“Don’t be an ass, Bree. You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Maybe it’s the vodka, but honestly? I have no idea.”
“Oh, Bree. You have spent your whole life trying to wrestle it to the ground. You’re like the poster child for self-determination, you know? You never met a challenge you couldn’t master, package up, and gift wrap.”
Funny how Annie made those traits sound less than admirable.
“But this . . . you’re right. You can’t train for this, and you can’t push it. I mean, you’re sitting in a day care center. Everything you see around you is based on it being developmentally appropriate. Why don’t we give Legos to the babies? Forget the part about how everything they pick up goes into their mouth and they would all choke. They’re also not ready for them. They don’t have the fine motor ability to put them together. They don’t have the cognitive ability to create something in their brain and choose other parts to help create the mental picture. They haven’t developed enough for Legos to be an appropriate activity for them. But give them a couple of years and boom. They’re ready.”
“You lost me somewhere around the choking.”
“Breezy, you’ve had a double whammy. You found out you still care very much about someone who hurt you more than anyone else ever has. And then you found out that you care a lot more than you realized about someone who is too busy holding onto his own hurt to give you the kind of lo— the kind of relationship you deserve. I know that doing something is your default mode, but you know, you can’t just push yourself through things like that. You have to give yourself time to catch up. Time to learn the lessons you need to be able to take the next step without choking.”
“But I—”
“Sweetie. Barring some medical or developmental challenge, does every baby learn to walk? Of course they do. Not because of anything we do, really, but because when their muscles and their brains are ready, they figure it out.” She leaned forward, pointing at Bree. “You’re not ready to do anything yet. You have to build up your muscles. And when you’ve done that, you’ll know what you’re supposed to do next.”
Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the way Annie’s words seemed to echo something she knew, deep down, to be true. But Bree found herself nodding.
“So right now . . .”
“Don’t make a plan. Don’t rush out to fix anything. Just take it minute by minute and day by day, and trust that at some point, when you’ve had a chance to make sense of all the upheaval, you will know what you need.”
* * *
Spence went through the next few days in a blur of disbelief.
Not because Bree had ended it. No, the part he couldn’t wrap his head around was how much he missed her. How many times he caught himself reaching for his phone to text her, only to stop and remember. How many mornings he woke up curled around his pillow the way he used to spoon around her.
It was never supposed to be serious. Or lasting. So why the hell was he walking around feeling as if someone had ripped him up by the roots and dropped him someplace dry and hot and withering?
Thank God it was the hectic season at work. He needed to be busy, to spend hours talking about drainage and soil composition and sunlight. Those, he understood.
But eventually he had to go home. Home, where he watched too much TV and drank too much beer and, on one dark night, wondered if he should call Carl to see if he was doing okay. Now that they had both been dumped.
That was the night he decided the beer had to stop.
So it was almost a relief when Livvy called him up a week later and asked for a big favor.
“Anything,” he said.
“Carl’s birthday is next week. The kids always baked him a cake and decorated it themselves. I don’t want them to have to miss out on that, but I don’t know if—”
“Say no more. I’ve got this.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Spence. I’ll send over everything they need.”
“Uh, Liv? I know how to bake a cake. I have flour and cocoa and all that.”
“I know you do. And I know that you can teach them how to make a cake that makes the angels weep. But how about if you wait and teach them that on my birthday?”
“Message received. One duty cake coming up,” he said, and this time when he grinned, he felt like he meant it.
* * *
Emma and Max showed up at the appointed time with a bag full of supplies, two aprons, and attitudes so bad they made Spence look like a frickin’ cheerleader.
“Hey, guys!” Maybe if he faked some excitement, they would pick up on it. “Great to see you. This is gonna be fun. Let’s have a look at what your mom sent for you to—”
Emma interrupted.
“A store-brand cake mix. A can of frosting. A jar of sprinkles. And a jerk for a father.”
So that was how it was going to be.
“Em—” he began, but Max cut him off.
“Stop it, Emmie. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“I do so. Dad is slime, and I don’t want to have anything to do with him. The only reason I came over here was so Mom wouldn’t feel worse.” She flounced off toward the sofa. “This whole birthday thing is bullshit, and I’m not—”
“Whoa whoa whoa.” Crap. Two minutes and he was already in over his head. “Back it up, Emma.”
She stopped midway through pulling her phone from her pocket and gave him a look that told him he had to choose his words very carefully.
“First, that kind of language isn’t acceptable.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Have you listened to Mom? Like, ever?”
“Your mother is an adult and has earned the right to say whatever she wishes, especially in her home, where she sets the rules. Likewise, my house, my rules. And my rule is that until you are old enough to vote, you don’t use that kind of language here. Got it?”
“Whatever.”
“Thank you for that enthusiastic response.” Good God, how had Livvy not locked the kid in her room for the next decade? “Now put the phone away and get over here. Your mom wants you to do this and you’re going to do it.”
“Why?”
For the life of him, he didn’t have a good answer. “Why what?” he stalled.
“Why does she care about his birthday? Why does she want to make things like they always were? Why does she want us to make nice with him and act like we’re still this wonderful family?” Tears burned in Emma’s eyes. “I mean, he doesn’t give two shits about any of us, and especially not her. So why the fuck should we—”
“Enough!”
Ten minutes ago, Spence would have sworn that he would never yell at his niece loud enough to make her flinch. Seemed he was wrong about that, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to speak more gently. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of that going around,” she said in a low voice, and in that moment Spence got a glimpse of the woman she was going to become.
“Em?” Max, on the other hand, sounded as if he had regressed to first grade. “You don’t mean it, do you?”
Be nice, Emma. Please.
“Oh, Max. I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I mean, I know you still love Dad, and I guess I do, too, but I . . . I’m just so mad.” She gulped. “And I can’t say anything when we’re with Mom because she feels so bad already, and she wants us to still see him. But I don’t want to be with him. Not right now.”
“But he’s our dad.” Max’s voice quivered. “You have to love him.”
Spence was about to jump in, offer some kind of reassurance or whatever else he could pull out of his ass but stopped himself just in time. This had obviously been building for a while. And he’d bet that, yeah, neither of them were eager to make things worse by saying anything in front of Livvy. They cared about her. They were good kids.
And right now they needed the chance to speak without worrying about who else might hear them.
“I don’t have to love anyone,” Emma said with a defiant flip of her hair.
“But you do.”
Her scowl was followed by an immediate sigh. The grooves of hurt in her face morphed into lines of compassion. “Come here, Max.” She patted the spot beside her. Max scurried to the sofa, where his sister placed an arm around him and pulled him close. “I guess maybe I do. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t care, right?”
“Right.”
“I would still be mad at him. Because he made Mom cry, and that just . . . argh.” She squeezed his shoulders. “I know you want to make things nice for him. That’s good. But this doesn’t feel right. I know it’s his birthday, but I don’t want to act like this is just like any other year, because it isn’t.” Her mouth crumpled. “It won’t be ever again.”
That, Spence decided, was his cue.
“You know,” he said as casually as he could muster, given that he was kind of being ripped apart just by thinking the words, “I have a . . . friend . . . who was really hurt by her father when she was about Max’s age. And he did something even worse to his family.”
“I doubt it,” Emma said darkly.
“He broke laws, then made everyone think he was dead and disappeared for five years. Then the police found him and he went on trial. Then jail. And all of it was in the news big-time, because he was the mayor of the city where he lived.” He made himself grin. “Still think you have it worse?”
Emma’s mouth sagged slightly. Max, of course, had a completely opposite reaction.
“How did he make people think he was dead? Did he leave, like, big piles of blood everywhere? Was he hiding out in a cave in the mountains?”
“We’ll talk about that part later. The point is, he did a number on his family. And my friend was really mad at him.”
“Duh.” Emma executed a perfect eye-roll. But he figured he was getting through to her when she said, way too lightly, “So what happened? Did she ever see him again?”
“Yep. He moved back to—uh, to her hometown, actually.” No need to clue them in to identities.
“Wait. He did all that and then he, like, wandered back to her turf? Like nothing happened?”
“Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?” To put it mildly.
Max leaned forward. “So what did she do?”
Well, at least he wasn’t fixated on blood anymore. “She didn’t want anything to do with him for a long time. Did everything she could to stay away from him. But then, just recently actually, she, um, she had a change of heart. She figured out that her father was still . . . still important to her.”
Emma snorted. “Oh, please. She just woke up one day and said, oh, my dad is a horrible person but I think maybe I like him after all?”
“It, uh, was a bit more complicated than that.” And a lot harder to accept, given how unhappy it seemed to have made her.
Funny. He’d managed to skip over that part.
“She didn’t want to care about him,” he said, not quite certain if he was talking to the kids. “But she found out that some things . . . some things are out of your control.”
That must have killed her. Bree, the control expert, learning that even she was powerless when it came to emotions.
And the more he thought about it, the more he had some idea of how that must have felt for her. Because despite it all, he would give anything to have her walk through the door right now.
“So, we should bake a cake for Dad because someday we might stop being mad at him.” Emma still didn’t sound convinced, but at least she didn’t sound quite as disdainful as she had.
“No. You should bake a cake for him because none of us can predict the future. And because even though your dad did some pretty awful things, you still want him in your life. Even if you want to keep him on the far fringes for a while.”
“Like, outer reaches of the solar system,” she said, but she was off the sofa and aiming for the kitchen as she said it. “Come on, Maximus. Let’s get this over with.”
Spence rolled his shoulders as he followed them, shaking off the worry that had settled there as they talked. It seemed he hadn’t blown it completely. Thank God for small miracles.
It also seemed that he owed Bree some thanks. And maybe an apology.
Though given that she’d chosen her father over him, he wasn’t sure she would want to hear it.
* * *
Bree thought nothing of it when Jenna asked her to meet her at Neenee’s the next Friday night to take part in a Save the Date envelope addressing party. Bree had felt obliged to point out that the grooms and groomsmen could do this job just as easily as the brides and their attendants, but Jenna had replied that, yes, while the guys were expected to do their share, there were some things that were a lot more enjoyable when accompanied by laughter, mini quiches, and champagne punch. Since that was Bree’s favorite kind of get-together, she was quick to agree.
Besides, it beat the hell out of staying home and wrestling with the book and wishing Spence wasn’t so . . .
No. She wasn’t going to fall down that rabbit hole again.
She was so busy telling herself what not to do that she was halfway up the steps before it hit her that the only extra cars in the driveway belonged to Kyrie and Jenna.
Oh shit.
She stopped where she stood, wondering how badly she’d been had—and why—when the door burst open and Kyrie tumbled out.
“In,” Kyrie said, and grabbed Bree’s arm.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Mom wants to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t she just ask? Or call a Family Council, if attendance was mandatory?”
Kyrie paused on the top step. “Because it’s not serious enough for a Council.”
Well thank God for that. Family Councils were limited to major crises, and Bree wasn’t sure she had any emotions left to spare.
“And,” Kyrie said, “because it’s about Dad.”
Oh.
Bree had been so certain that the subterfuge meant she would be the one on the hot seat that she didn’t know what to say. She settled for scowling and letting Kyrie pull her into the house.
Once inside, she saw her mother and sisters clustered around the dining room table. Margie hovered in the corner closest to the liquor cabinet.
Probably not a coincidence.
“Okay. She’s here.” Jenna waved to Bree and turned to Neenee. “Now will you please tell us what this is about?”
Neenee sighed as she crossed her arms. “It’s about Bree.”