Читать книгу The Breaking Point - Mariella Starr - Страница 10

“It’s Monday, right?” Ales asked, laying his face against Faith’s breasts.

“It’s Monday, July 4^th, Independence Day,” she said. She glanced over at the bedside clock. “We have approximately two hours. Then, Ricco is going to come tearing through the house, wanting to tell us every detail of his weekend.”

“Hmmm,” was his answer. “I don’t think this has happened since our early days.”

“What?”

“I’m sexed out! We’ve had our own firework display going on this weekend, and we rarely left this bed,” Ales said, grinning. He rolled over and spread-eagled across the bed. “I couldn’t get it up if I needed to. Man, it was worth it!”

“I’ll say,” Faith agreed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I need you to go to work tomorrow. I need to recover from our sexathon, and I didn’t put a single stroke of paint on canvas this weekend.”

Ales rose over her and kissed her soundly. “You needed the distraction, and Ricco is on guard duty while I’m gone. If you work more than two-hours at a stretch, without an hour of rest between sessions, and more than six hours a day, I’m going to paddle your bottom good when I get home. Set the timers.”

“He’s worse than you,” Faith complained.

“It’s for your own good,” Ales said, climbing from the bed. “We do need to do this more often. Just because we’re working parents doesn’t mean we have to forget who we are to each other. We need to reverse our priorities, our relationship, and family first, work second. We need to take the time, and not let things fester between us. We need to do a date night. We need to get away from our daily routines.”

“Carrie and John do it, and it’s not easy with his fireman’s schedule,” Faith said. “Sometimes, they borrow his brother’s RV, park it somewhere, and enjoy a little bit of time away from the kids.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. It shouldn’t be that hard for us, we only have the one,” Ales said and kissed her again. “Maybe we can trade-off with them. As much as I hate to say this, we need to get dressed.”

“I’ll start dinner,” Faith said. “After two days of junk food, Ricco might be hyper. I hope they didn’t let him go too crazy with junk food.”

“You’re already worrying, and we agreed a long time ago to let him be a kid and try to keep our helicopter parent tendencies turned off. Unless he has an allergic reaction, and none have appeared so far, let him be a boy!”

He smacked her lightly across the bottom and Faith winced because her bottom really was sore. She’d had more sex in the last three days, then in the past six months. Since her being spanked during sex was part of how they liked doing it, those stinging swats on top of a real spanking had left her with a very tender sit down.

The next morning, Ales left for Cumberland at daybreak. It was a forty-mile drive, but he wanted to get in early to review his company’s current projects and workload. He’d been checking in every night long after Faith was asleep, but he knew there would be a backlog of things to handle.

Faith started painting as soon as his car pulled away from the curb.

At precisely eight o’clock, her phone rang, and it was her husband.

“Put your brush down, and go relax for an hour!” Ales said firmly. “I saw the lights go on in your studio when I stopped at the end of the street. Remember, I have spy’s watching you. Gotta go! Love you!”

Faith smiled at his casual ‘Love You’ remark. It had been a while since he’d remembered to tell her that too, and they had always been a demonstrative couple. She tossed her brush into a jar of cleaner and peered into Ricco’s bedroom on her way downstairs. Usually, an early riser, he was exhausted from his busy weekend and was sleeping in. They hadn’t been able to contain him the previous evening. She and Ales had listened to a verbal rerun of everything he’d seen and done, including nine innings of two different baseball games.

She started pulling together the ingredients to make a breakfast casserole that was both nutritious and liked by her guys. What her son didn’t eat would be frozen in serving sizes that both Ales and Ricco could thaw and heat in the microwave. While she was rummaging in the cabinets, she also assembled the ingredients to make brownies. Everyone liked brownies, and she wanted to treat Tracy’s family as a thank you.

Faith had brought her sketchbook with her. When she did things that required her attention, she relied on timers. Cooking was one of those things. Faith had the unique ability to focus so much on what she was doing that she could exclude whatever was going on around her. If she wasn’t in the same room as the timers, she didn’t hear them or remember that she had something cooking or in the oven. She had a long history of burnt offerings. Hence, the sketchbook. She would sit at the kitchen island, and sketch and she set multiple timers. She didn’t dare leave the room.

When the timers dinged, she removed the casserole and the large pan of brownies, setting them aside to cool. She opened her sketchbook to finish the charcoal etching when someone rang the doorbell.

“Hello,” Faith said, opening the door for Tracy and her mother. “Mrs. Winchester, I haven’t seen you in years! Florida must agree with you, you haven’t aged a bit.”

“It does, and you’re old enough to call me Laura,” the older woman said, pulling her into a hug. “You’re also old enough to know you shouldn’t tell lies!”

“I was telling Mom about your accident, and she had to come and see for herself that you were okay,” Tracy said.

“I have recovered,” Faith said. “I was just making brownies as a thank you to Tracy for the kid-free weekend. Ricco told me you were at Dwain’s over the weekend. Come in.”

“Are we interrupting anything?” Tracy asked.

“No, actually, you’ll be keeping me from getting into trouble,” Faith said. “I’m allowed to work two hours, and then I have to take a time-out supposedly to rest. It’s the doctor’s recommendation, but it’s my husband’s orders.”

“Do you have time to give us a tour?” Tracy asked. “I really do want to take my time and look at your paintings.”

“Have at it,” Faith said with a smile and took on a deliberate snooty stance and voice. “Who am I to deny my public?” They all laughed.

“Give me a minute to fix a fresh pot of coffee. Do you want to look around by yourself? Or do you want me to give you a tour? Nearly everything on the walls are drawings and paintings I gave my parents. Mom started hanging my artwork when I was about eight. I can remember my dad getting upset because she was spending so much money on framing the pieces.”

“Both Patricia and Richard were very proud of you,” Laura said. “Richard might have complained, but he was also the first one to drag in neighbors and friends to show off your latest masterpiece. Your father was quite the braggart about his little girl’s accomplishments. Patricia was forever dragging Michael, the postman, inside to see your latest. He, in turn, would tell all the neighbors that the Murphys had a new painting they were showing off, and they’d come knocking on the door to see it. Everyone in the neighborhood took pride in your work. Are you selling your work in any galleries?”

“I have a few pieces in the local galleries, in Cumberland and Frostburg,” Faith said. “I’m a teacher at Frostburg University, so I don’t have a lot of spare time to paint. This past year I was preparing for a show in October at the James Gallery in Pittsburgh, but the accident caused me to have to postpone it.”

Several hours later, Faith waved both women goodbye and sent them home with a large plate of brownies. She made her way to her studio, waking Ricco on her way. She sent him to eat breakfast and told him to join her when he was finished. They would paint together.

Ricco followed her instructions, but when he came into the studio, he spun the dial on the timer to ninety minutes and shrugged when she gave him a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, Dad said no more than two hours at a time and six hours a day. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you.”

“Really?” Faith exclaimed. “And, who is going to keep an eye on you?”

Ricco gave his mother a cheeky smile. “It’s Hancock, Mom. This whole town is full of watchdogs and nosey people. Everyone knows everyone and everything that happens. If I did something wrong, you’d know about it before I got home!”

“Good, I might have to transplant our neighbors to Cumberland, to keep my juvenile terror from getting into trouble! Here is a canvas and a new pack of acrylic paints. Paint me a masterpiece, because you are getting very good!”

“Will I ever be as good as you?” Ricco asked.

“How good am I?” Faith questioned. “The one thing you can depend upon in art is that some people will love your work, and some people will hate it. You have to paint what you see, and express yourself on the canvas. You’re eight, those skills will come with time, practice, and more practice. You are ahead of the game for most kids your age. Your understanding of perspective is terrific, and it’s one of the hardest skills to teach. You see it naturally.

“Remember, too, not everyone makes art a profession. I happen to teach it, and I love producing it in many mediums. Lots of people paint, draw, or do a lot of creative things just for the fun of it, and I guess I do too. Your dad is an artist with his architectural designs, but he doesn’t see them that way. His mind interprets the mechanics of how a building will look, and what it takes to keep it standing.”

When the timer went off, Ricco stopped what he was painting, and he began to clean his brushes.

“Mom!” he complained.

“Okay, okay,” Faith grumbled. “Just let me finish this.”

Ten minutes later, Ricco pulled his mother’s rolling stool from the easel. “Now, Mom, please! I don’t want you to get in trouble with Dad. I don’t like it when I hear you arguing!”

“I’m sorry, honey, but you need to realize that if your dad and I are arguing, it shouldn’t reflect on you,” Faith said as she laid her paint pallete in a plastic box, misting it with linseed oil. She closed the lid, so her mixed colors wouldn’t dry out before she could return to the painting. She tossed her brushes into a cleaning jar and began the process of closing the session. Ricco checked all the tubes of paint to make sure the lids were screwed on tight, and he put them back where they belonged. Her son had been helping her since he was a little boy.

“I still don’t like it,” Ricco said. “What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know. Dad said he was bringing it, but if he’s not here by seven, we’ll go ahead and eat,” she promised.

“I like it when Dad comes home earlier,” Ricco said, looking at her canvas. “How do you get the sunshine to streak through the trees?”

“Lots of practice, and ruined paintings,” Faith said. “I think it took two years to master that technique.” She hugged her son. “Come on, I really don’t want to get into trouble for working too long. Did I ever tell you how long it took me to work in watercolors?”

“Years,” Ricco answered.

“Many frustrating years,” Faith agreed.

“Then suddenly, you were able to do them successfully,” Ricco finished.

“I’ve told you that particular story,” Faith teased.

“Maybe, I’ll be an architect like Dad,” Ricco said.

“Kiddo, you have a lot of time to decide what you’re going to do when you get older. Now is the time to have fun. Why don’t you go over and play with Jayden for a while? When you come back, we’ll see if I can beat you at chess.”

“I always beat you,” Ricco bragged.

“So, you do,” Faith complained, pretending to scowl at him. “Go! I’ll make a salad to go with whatever Dad brings us for dinner.”

“I thought Dad said he was staying over at our house,” Ricco said.

“So, did I, but according to his latest phone message, he’s changed his mind. Hancock isn’t at the end of the world.”

“Promise you won’t start painting for an hour?” Ricco said.

“I promise,” Faith said, surprised by her son’s intuitiveness. She had planned to return to the canvas as soon as he left the house.

Instead, she finished the book she’d been reading, and fixed a salad. It was in the refrigerator, the table was set, and she was bored. She went to find her sketchbook and made herself comfortable in the sunroom.

Ricco and Faith were ten minutes into a television game show when they heard Ales open the door.

“Dad!” Ricco called, running to the door.

Faith smiled at her son’s reaction. It wouldn’t be long before Ricco’s pure enthusiasm for his Dad coming home from work would wane. She followed them into the kitchen, and Ales turned over the chicken carryout bag to his son and turned to kiss her.

“Gross,” Ricco said, grinning.

“I’ll remind you of that in a few years,” Ales teased. He looked at Faith, searching her face for any signs of fatigue. “How was your day?”

“Annoying, since you keep making me take breaks, and you’ve posted a guard,” she gave Ricco a squinty-eye look, but he grinned and crossed his eyes at her. “How was yours?”

“Busy and hectic. Andrew is a real talent, and we’re both glad we hired him. It takes a lot of pressure off Tyrell and me. We should have hired another architect several years ago. I spent part of my day on different sites, and the rest working with Andrew, and some new ideas. It will take a few days to get in the swing of things.”

“I expected you to stay over tonight in Cumberland.”

“I thought so too, but there are things we need to discuss,” Ales said softly. “Besides, after this past weekend, I need to be weaned off of your charms gently, not cold turkey.”

Faith laughed at his nonsense, although she could see he was troubled. “Later,” she promised.

The evening was another baseball game. This time it had been recorded. When it was over, Ricco was sent to bed, and they were alone. Ales turned off the post-game commentary, and Faith laid her sketchbook aside. She didn’t mind going to a game occasionally, but that was more for companionship with her son and husband, not because she liked sports in general. Usually, while her two sports enthusiasts were watching games, she settled in with a sketchbook or a book to read.

She tilted her head toward the stairs when she heard the second-floor bathroom door close and then Ricco’s bedroom door slam shut. She wasn’t sure how she could tell the difference, but she could.

“Okay, tell me. What has put that worried look in your eyes?” Faith asked.

“I’ll get to that in a few minutes,” Ales said, and he retrieved his briefcase and removed a folder. “Tyrell’s wife pulled this together for us.”

“Her name is Sheila,” Faith chided him softly.

“Sorry,” Ales said. “The truth is, Tyrell is my business partner and my best friend since college. I’ve confided some of my stupider stunts to him while you were in the hospital. He’s been my sounding board for ages. I talked to him, and he talked to Sheila. Since she’s a real estate agent, she pulled this portfolio together.”

“Do you want to move?” Faith asked, opening the folder.

“I hadn’t thought about it before, but it makes sense. You never really liked the house, and I bulldozed you into our buying it. I wasn’t treating you fairly, and after what happened, I remembered when we bought it. Like your car, it wasn’t a decision we made together. I made the decision. My goal was not to commute and to live in the same town where my business was located. I got what I wanted, but you didn’t. It wasn’t fair to you.

“Moving would be a compromise for both of us. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go back to Morgantown. These properties are well within a decent driving distance of both Cumberland and Frostburg. We’re starting a new phase of our marriage, so why not move and start over in a new house, too!”

“Can we afford to move?” Faith asked.

Ales nodded. “We bought our house in a down-swing of the housing market; it’s increased substantially in value. Also, our house is architecturally different from most of the housing in the area. Most of the housing is older homes, small post-war bungalows, or track homes, mostly ranch styles, or split-levels built in the 1970s or ‘80s. If we moved further westward toward Frostburg, and beyond the town or city limits, we would get a lot more house for our money. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look at what’s available.”

“We’d have to investigate the schools ahead of time. It’s a big decision to make,” Faith warned.

“Sheila would be able to give us all that information ahead of time,” Ales said.

“You didn’t want to live away from where your business was located,” Faith reminded him.

“I was wrong, and I’m trying to make amends,” Ales said. “Look through these listings. Sheila has notated the distance to both our work destinations.”

“You want to sell our house and move?” Faith repeated. She was surprised and not trusting what she was hearing.

“Yes, if we can find a place we both agree on. I think it’s a compromise, and some payback on my side,” Ales said. “I know you would love to live here. I wouldn’t mind living here, but a one-hundred-mile round trip commute to Frostburg for you isn’t going to work. I’m trying to be fair, and I’m walking a fine line, Faith. I want to do what is right because I have been taking advantage of you for the last couple of years.

“I was wrong, and I am sorry. I’ve been acting like a dictator, not a husband. My goal should be and will be, to do what is best for our family, not solely myself. You are never going to be able to walk into our house, and not remember what my mother did to your work.”

“I have been worried about that,” Faith said. “Ricco may not be too happy with having to change schools. He would have to make new friends.”

“It’s not the end of the world for a kid to have to move. We moved a half-dozen times when I was a kid. It doesn’t become that important until you’re in high school,” Ales said.

“I’ll look through these tomorrow, and we can discuss them when you get home,” Faith said. “I’ll go online too and see what else is available in the same general direction. Sheila is going to push what is listed by her agency. She’ll get a bigger commission that way.”

“If we sell our house through her, she’ll also be motivated to get a better price for it. I’ll be late coming home tomorrow night, maybe very late,” Ales said. “We’re holding an intervention with my mother tomorrow evening. You are welcome to be there, but...”

“I don’t want to be there,” Faith interjected, shaking her head. “I don’t want any interaction with Cybil.”

“I thought you’d feel that way,” Ales said. “I don’t want you there either, but that’s my protective instincts rearing up. You’ve had to deal with my mother’s problems enough, and you almost lost your life because of her latest actions. I’m still having nightmares of you lying in that hospital bed. An intervention isn’t going to be easy, but the three of us think it’s necessary. Mack and John feel the same. They plan to be there as support for their wives, because you know Mom is going to jump all over Jill and Carrie.”

“Can Cybil be forced into rehabilitation?”

“According to Dad’s lawyer, yes,” Ales said. “I’ve talked with Mr. Putney, and he explained the conservatorship to me in great detail. Dad and Mom appointed me the conservator of their estate years ago. It didn’t mean much to me at the time. They were healthy, and I wasn’t thinking in terms of my parents dying anytime soon. I didn’t know Dad was having heart problems.

“Mr. Putney said I’m within my legal rights to take charge of Mom’s finances, and I can make health decisions for her. Mom’s recourse is to take me to court to remove the conservatorship. That takes time, and she’d have to prove that she doesn’t need it.

“I’ve already been to the bank, showed them the legal papers, and requested copies of her accounts for the last three years, if I have to go back further I will. It’s going to take a while to sift through them. I’m not making these decisions solely; Jill and Carrie agree.

“The conservatorship was my parents’ idea, not mine. The papers were filed in the Allegany County Courts. Except for helping with Dad’s funeral expenses, I’ve never involved myself in Mom’s business. When Carrie took Mom for a manicure appointment today, I went over and took a lot of files and unpaid bills from dad’s office. I haven’t had much time, but it looks like she’s been mismanaging the house accounts. I found a notice for overdue property taxes and other warning notices. I’m going to have to go over there and go through everything.

“Also, I have to tell you, Mom lied about Dad’s pension being lowered. She’s been receiving monthly financial supplements from both us, and Jill and Mack. John and Carrie didn’t have much spare cash, but they have been buying her groceries, and occasionally paying her electric or gas bills. I hadn’t been inside Mom’s house for a while. She usually comes to ours. The main rooms look the same, but there are other rooms in the house that look like hoarder nests. Dad’s office is one of them. I was able to find what I needed, but I have to do a thorough search.

“We suspect all that extra money has been going for alcohol and maybe drugs. When the bank opens tomorrow, I’ll be changing the access to her bank accounts. When Dad set up the conservatorship, he was thorough. I have a legal right to do whatever it takes to protect Mom’s assets. It’s the same thing as being her guardian. After all the years of dealing with Mom, Dad might have suspected that if he died, she would need that kind of supervision.

“I accessed Mom’s internet contacts through Dad’s old computer. She has the passwords to certain online sites, written on post-its taped to the computer screen. She has several accounts with a Canadian drug company. I haven’t done the research into the legalities of it, yet. We’ll get into that tomorrow night.”

“Why didn’t we see this or even suspect it?” Faith asked. “Your dad has been gone since 2014, and Cybil has become more unstable and demanding every year. She’s had more accidents too, but we attributed those to her getting older and frailer.

“I made her very angry the week Ricco went to baseball camp. She stopped by to take Ricco to the ballpark, and I refused to allow her to take him. She was very wobbly, and she couldn’t seem to walk straight. It never occurred to me to think of alcohol or drugs as the problem. I thought she was having equilibrium problems. That’s what she’s blamed her unsteadiness on for quite a while. When I told her no, and suggested she needed to go back to her doctor, she swore at me, and called me horrible names. She looked so angry she scared me. I thought she was going to attack me!”

Ales sighed. “And, of course, you didn’t tell me, because I would have passed it off as her harmless behavior. I’m sorry, truly sorry.

“Jill, Carrie, and I have been asking ourselves that same question. How did we miss the real problems? Maybe, we didn’t want to see it. I may or may not make it back here tomorrow night. It depends on how the intervention goes. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“I don’t think the others are either, but I’m going to skip this family meeting,” Faith said.