Читать книгу Because of Audrey - Mary Sullivan - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

“AUDREY!” THE PANIC in Dad’s voice had Audrey dropping the dress she was sewing and running downstairs. It was seven in the morning, and she’d been up since six.

After her run-in with Gray yesterday at the greenhouses, she’d planned to wear something bold today to bolster her morale. The red dress with the huge white polka dots that she was hemming would have been perfect, but she would opt for something else.

She rushed into the living room. Dad sat in his favorite recliner rubbing his shins.

“What happened?”

“Walked into the coffee table. Why did you move it?”

She hadn’t. His eyesight was failing rapidly if he couldn’t see the monstrosity in front of the sofa that could house a small village.

“You have to remember to turn your head when you move. Learn to use your peripheral vision.” Macular degeneration caused vision loss in the center of the field of vision. Dad could no longer see and recognize faces, not even his own daughter’s. Or his own, for that matter. Good thing. It was probably a godsend that when he looked into a mirror, he wouldn’t see how much he’d aged in the past year.

“It’s hard walking forward while turning your head sideways,” he said, voice ripe with frustration. “I try.”

“I know you do. It’s a huge adjustment.”

She sat on the table and lifted his pant legs. “You’ll be sporting some impressive bruises tomorrow.”

She glanced up at his impassive face, his vibrancy drained by his affliction.

“The skin isn’t broken. I’m sorry, Dad. There’s nothing I can do.” She rubbed his shin gently to soften that news, then stood and walked to the hall. “I’m going back up to my sewing.”

“Don’t.”

She stopped in the doorway and watched him expectantly. Stress had ravaged his once handsome face. Deep creases bracketed his sullen mouth. Oh, Dad.

“Read to me,” he said, sounding so much like a little boy asking for a bedtime story she almost smiled. She had wanted to work in the greenhouses before heading into Denver today.

But Dad needed her.

The more and more trouble he had with his eyesight, the more childlike he became in his demands. An avid, lifelong reader, Dad could no longer read to himself. He resisted listening to the audio books she got for him from the library. She knew it was more than stubbornness. It was fear. If he started using them, it would be an open admission of how much he had lost in his life.

And he had more worry hanging over his head. Dry macular degeneration had already caused a blind spot in the center of his vision. If his condition changed to wet macular degeneration, blood vessels could grow under his retinas, leaking blood and fluid, and distorting what was left of the little vision he still had.

The doctors couldn’t predict whether it was a given.

Poor Dad.

It would be arrogant of Audrey to believe she understood how taxing Dad’s life must be these days. Her eyesight and her health were perfect.

“Dad, I have to get to work. I can read to you this evening.”

“You call that work? That shop? Mucking about with flowers?”

Audrey braced herself, heartily sick of this old argument. “The shop allows me to live in Accord with you.”

“I don’t need you to live with me. You didn’t have to come home.”

Oh, Daddy. Of course she did. She’d returned to town as soon as Dad had been diagnosed a year ago. How could she not have come home? Dad might be stubborn and unrealistic in his views that he could live alone, but she loved him. They belonged together, especially in his time of need. She was all he had left.

“I can get around this house just fine,” he insisted.

“And town? Do you get around town fine?” Dad sucked in a breath. She wasn’t being cruel. Just realistic. “You refuse to leave the house. How would you get your groceries?”

“I’d have them delivered. Or hire a kid to pick them up.”

But they wouldn’t be Audrey. They wouldn’t read to him because he could no longer read to himself. They wouldn’t cook him the meals he loved. Or force him to eat the healthy stuff he hated. Or spend time with him in the evenings.

Audrey held her tongue and picked up the print book from the end table. It tied into Dad’s fascination with World War II. Audrey didn’t get how Dad could listen to talk of war when his own son had been killed in Afghanistan.

She opened to the section on the Berlin Airlift.

Please, please, please, let me read something uplifting.

When she started reading, though, Dad said, “Not that stuff. Turn to the Invasion of Normandy. All the good stuff, all the turning points happened in the battles.”

“But the good stuff for me is the wonder of the airlift and human interest stories like Uncle Wiggly Wings.”

The stern set of Dad’s mouth eased. “You’ve always been too soft.”

“It’s not just the human interest aspect. I love the politics. The airlift was significant, huge, the beginning of the Cold War.”

“I know, but read about Normandy.” His tone softened. “Please.”

It destroyed Audrey to read about lives lost. They were more than numbers to her. They were all young men like Billy. She missed her brother and his goofy sense of humor. She wished like hell that he’d never joined the army. There wasn’t a man on earth less suited to it than Bill.

Dad had his own way of dealing with his grief. Hearing about war, about the logistics of it, as though he could control it in some odd way by understanding it, seemed to be his way of dealing with the loss of his son.

So, she read to him about battles and casualties.

After retrieving Jerry from his kennel out back, Audrey left the house. Jerry could no longer live indoors with Dad. He’d tripped him one time too many. Not on purpose, but simply because Dad couldn’t see the dog sleeping on the living room floor.

To save everyone’s nerves, she’d started keeping him outside. She didn’t know what she would do once the weather turned cold in the fall.

Jerry sat in the passenger seat, and Audrey rubbed his ears before dropping him off with Noah for the day.

She was late getting to the greenhouses and watering her plants, and even later still getting on the road to Denver

The reason for her trip to the city was twofold. She’d set up interviews with three occupational therapists to take on Dad as a client in September after she’d won the floral competition and that monetary award. It would make a couple of months of in-house occupational therapy affordable. The year’s contract would mean she could finally contribute to the household.

A therapist could teach Dad how to take care of himself, how to cook despite the darkness and the blurriness. How to do his laundry. How to get out of the house. Maybe a stranger could have luck where Audrey hadn’t in persuading Dad to use a white cane. Or not. Audrey could only try. The alternative was to give up, and that was out of the question.

Dad wouldn’t even go outside to walk down the street he’d lived on for nearly forty years.

Eventually, hoping for improvement in his eyesight, they would have an operation to pay for, if only Dad would give in and try it. It would take a miracle to convince him. She was taking a break for a while. Eventually, she would have to broach the subject again.

Audrey had a lot riding on getting that award. Too much. She couldn’t afford to consider that she might not win.

She’d sunk all of her savings into buying the greenhouses, stocking her shop and paying rent on the store. She had yet to make much of a profit. She needed to cast her net wider than just Accord to make enough money to be comfortable.

A win in the competition would sure make that easier.

The second purpose of the trip was to take a look at the area in which she would set up her booth in the competition. She had the dimensions, but it was hard to judge without actually seeing what she had and how to use it to the best effect. She had an appointment with the woman organizing the show.

* * *

JEFF HEARD AUDREY drive away, and leaned over the far side of his armchair to pick up the breakfast he’d hidden there. Audrey fed him healthy pansy food. Egg-white omelets with spinach in them. Yuk. He wanted real food. Bacon and whole eggs.

Careful to avoid the coffee table, he walked toward the hallway with small steps, like a toddler just learning to walk and afraid of falling down. At least a toddler would have excitement mixed in with the fear, the joy of getting up off the floor and really moving.

Jeff was going backward, not gaining but losing—everything—with nothing to look forward to but more darkness and less mobility.

Crap, shit, goddamn. For a man who didn’t like profanity, he sure was using a lot of it lately. He’d never let his children swear when they were growing up, but now he cursed all the time. He had a pansy-assed way of doing it, though. He couldn’t even say them out loud.

He swore a silent blue streak now because it was the only thing that relieved this damn frustration. Momentarily.

Feeling his way along the wall, noticing where the seams of the wallpaper he’d put up well over thirty years ago pulled away from the plaster, he wondered who was going to fix it. Who was going to take care of the things that could go wrong in an old house? Who was going to maintain what he’d spent a lifetime treasuring?

Audrey?

Between the shop, the greenhouses, sewing, cooking...and taking care of him, when would she have time? The girl was already stretched to the limit.

His fingers traced the flocked roses on the walls. Irene had chosen the paper. Too old-fashioned now. Had been even back then, but his wife had been that kind of girl. A romantic.

Like Audrey.

After Irene had died, he’d preferred his son’s humor, his devil-may-care, full-speed-ahead brand of life.

Oh, the laughs they’d had.

Billy.

Jeff shook his head violently. Tears weren’t allowed. They weakened a man.

Billy had understood that. He’d joined the marines. Billy had been a man to admire.

In the kitchen, Jeff dumped the omelet into the garbage and eased his way around the cupboards until he found a frying pan. He was going to make scrambled eggs, and he was going to use the yolks.

He managed to locate the container of margarine in the fridge. Margarine! What the heck was wrong with good old butter? His parents had eaten butter all of their lives and had lived into their eighties.

He cocked his head sideways to use what little peripheral vision he had. Made doing everything hard. He found the eggs, managed to break four of them into a bowl and beat them. He felt them slosh over the edge onto his hand. Careful.

After a fruitless search for the salt, he gave up. What had Audrey done with it? He didn’t recognize his own cupboards, his own groceries anymore.

He placed the pan onto the large front burner. The control knob was the one on the bottom. Right?

He turned it to low.

Opening the margarine, patting his way around the counter because he was a bloody blind man, he scooped a pat of it out with a knife and scraped it on the side of the pan. He heard it sizzle. Good, he’d gotten it inside instead of on the burner.

Resting the bowl on the edge of the pan, he poured the eggs in. They bubbled and spat, and immediately the room filled with the scent of burning eggs and acrid smoke.

What the—?

He grasped the handle of the pan, smoke smothering his nose like a hot blanket, and tossed it into the sink. Only years of living and working in this room made his aim true.

By feel, he turned the burner knob until he thought it was off. He must have turned it on to high instead of to low.

Bugger, his mind screamed. Shit.

He wasn’t a man anymore. If he couldn’t get around, couldn’t even cook his own meals, he was barely half a man.

How many ways was he a failure these days? Too many to count.

* * *

GRAY DRUMMED HIS fingers on the steering wheel of his Dad’s old Volvo and cursed the vehicle from here to eternity.

It had broken down halfway between Accord and Denver. For twenty minutes, he’d been waiting for the tow truck he’d called. Time was passing, and it didn’t look as if he’d make it into Denver today, leaving another day without this blackmail issue settled one way or the other.

Sure, he could wait for the DNA results, but for how long? Since he didn’t trust the woman, he planned to stop at a lab in Denver to pick up a test kit on his way to her home and have her do it in front of him. How she could cheat was beyond him, but he wasn’t taking chances. And, today, he could see her, test her with questions, judge her responses. Maybe denounce her outright and put the issue to bed, so he could move ahead with the other problems in his life.

“Action,” he stated aloud. Life was about action. Business was all about making incisive timely decisions, and here he was sitting on the side of the highway, stymied.

When he noticed his fingers doing their neurotic dance, he grasped the steering wheel to stop them. He couldn’t sit still these days. Ants crawled under his flesh.

Where had his cool, calm manner gone? Where had he gone?

A vehicle pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the highway in front of him. Not a tow truck. A hot-pink Mini.

A woman got out.

Audrey.

Of course, it had to be Audrey. It couldn’t have been someone he liked, or at the very least, someone with whom he wasn’t fighting.

She ran along the shoulder, careful, he noted, to approach on the passenger side away from traffic, calling, “Harrison?” In response to the concern on her face, he immediately rolled down the window. When she saw that it was he who was stranded and not his father, her expression eased.

“Get in,” he said.

She climbed in slowly, as though reluctant to join him.

“What happened?” she asked as she sat next to him, bringing with her a cloud of her gorgeous heady perfume.

A momentary shame, a memory of how he’d left her yesterday, flooded him. In her shop, he’d scared her, and it showed now on her face. Untrusting, she crowded the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

At her puzzled frown, he continued, “For frightening you yesterday. I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. I hadn’t thought you were that kind of person.”

That shame burned a hot spot in his chest, and he said, “I’m not. I’m under a lot of pressure these days.” He glanced at her and then quickly away. “But that’s no excuse. Sorry.”

“Okay.”

He could feel the lovely heat of her full body warming his right arm even though she was a couple of feet away from him. Her face, though? That was pure, innocent. Did she understand what she did to men? Did she get how sexy that contrast was?

He looked out his window toward the cars streaming past them, counting them, doing anything to distract himself from her as a woman. And God, she was a woman.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Denver.”

Denver. Exactly where he needed to be today.

“For the day or overnight?” he asked.

“Just for a couple of hours. I’m interviewing occupational therapists for my dad.”

“Dad says Jeff’s got macular degeneration.”

“Yes. He has trouble doing anything on his own, and I need someone to come in to train him to take care of himself. I’m trying to build up my business. I’m away from the house hours on end every day.”

Must have been tough to deal with. Gray still had his reservations about paying Jeff a retirement rather than making the man go on disability. He planned to pay Jeff a visit one day soon to determine how severe his vision problem was. No need to share that with Audrey, though. No sense in giving them a warning that he was coming. He needed to know exactly how bad or how good Jeff was. Was the retirement really necessary?

Audrey was going to be in Denver for only a couple of hours, but that was all he would need to determine whether the woman blackmailing Dad was a fake.

If he asked to hitch a ride with Audrey, would she ask what he was doing in Denver? Did it matter? He could always lie.

Despite plotting behind her back to check out her father, he asked, “How would you feel about having company for the drive?”

“You?” He heard the glint of humor in her voice. She had a beautiful smile that lit up the interior of the car. “I don’t mind, but on one condition.”

Gray tensed. “What?”

“No talk about my selling the land. No pressure. No mention of it at all.”

He glanced at her and noted signs of tension around her mouth and eyes, despite the humor. She had issues, too. Worry about her dad, he guessed. If it was more than that, he didn’t want to know. They were on opposite sides of a business battle, and that precluded any and all intimacy, including simple curiosity about her life. Enough said. He ignored the tension on her face.

“No talk of selling.” He’d pushed her yesterday. She’d said no. If the blackmailing woman he talked to today was a fake, some of the pressure would be off. He could take his time persuading Audrey to sell for the future benefit of his parents and Turner Lumber.

“I’m waiting for a tow truck. Are you in a rush?”

“I have an appointment, but I have a little ti—”

At that moment, they heard the truck pull up behind them.

Gray got out to talk to the driver, who popped the Volvo’s hood and looked at the engine.

He tested the battery and it was fine.

“Not sure what your problem is,” he said. “Maybe the alternator.”

“My parents need a newer car.”

“Hey,” the guy responded. “These things happen to all cars. This one’s in good shape. You should see some of the junk I’ve picked up off the roads. This car’s been cherished.”

Yes, Gray knew that. His dad took care of his vehicles, and they lasted forever. Too bad it had to break down today, though.

“Do you want it towed to Denver?” the tow truck driver asked. “My buddy’s got a shop. He does great work.”

I’ll just bet he does and you get a kickback. The thought was uncharitable—Gray’s frustration working overtime—but probably accurate. The guy was just trying to make a living.

“No,” Gray replied. “Take it to Accord.” He named the mechanic his dad had used for years and gave directions.

Audrey moved her car forward so the driver could pull up and hook up the Volvo.

Gray paid using a credit card, retrieved his briefcase from the Volvo and then folded himself like an accordion into Audrey’s passenger seat.

“Cripes,” he said, “I need a can opener to get in here.”

She stared at his body while he climbed in. Even though it was surreptitiously done, Gray caught the admiration. She found him attractive? Well, well. Interesting.

Would he consider using it against her? You bet. Anything to help his cause.

He stared around the interior, suspicious. “You said you scrimped and saved to buy that land, and yet you’re driving a Mini. They aren’t cheap. And how can you possibly run a florist shop and greenhouses with something so impractical to drive?”

“It was one of my few splurges. This, and the vintage Chanel suit.”

“The one you were wearing yesterday with that ridiculous hat?”

Audrey laughed. “You have something against pillbox hats?” She sobered. “I didn’t know Dad was having vision problems when I bought this. He hid them for a long time. Had I known, I would have used the money differently.”

“I imagine, especially given the business you now run.”

“When I have to make deliveries, I use Dad’s pickup truck.” Her smile dimmed. “It was his pride and joy. It’s got enough chrome on it to sink a ship.”

Was? “What’s wrong?”

“With his macular degeneration, he’ll never drive it again.”

That bad? The sadness throbbing in her voice had Gray looking at Audrey differently. She put on a good front.

“What are you doing away from the store today? Shouldn’t you be in town drumming up business?”

“I’m closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. My big days are on the weekend.”

“Why were you in the shop yesterday when I stopped in?”

“Just because the store isn’t open doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do.”

She broke the ensuing silence. “Big business in Denver today?”

“What do you mean?” There was no way in hell he was telling why he was heading into the city.

“Are you conducting a big business deal in Denver? Do you need a lot of time?”

To either find out the blackmailer was lying and rip her to shreds, or determine that she might, might, be telling the truth? “Nope. An hour should be more than plenty.”

Considering that Gray had broken down more than halfway to Denver, and the drive total was an hour long, they traveled for a good fifteen minutes in silence, because Gray found it hard to concentrate on conversation when Audrey’s scent and heat and sheer feminine presence filled the cramped interior like thick humidity from a summer storm.

Gray had a fondness for making love in the summer, loved the slip and slide of sweaty bodies during sex.

For the rest of the drive, he tucked his hands under his thighs and gratefully counted telephone poles to kill the temptation to reach for the curves that would make sweaty summer sex sublime.

Sex with Audrey would be nuclear. How could he be so sure of that? He just knew. With her sense of drama and his pure lust, between the two of them they could conjure up one hell of a summer storm. Thunder, lightning, a tornado or two. The whole nine yards.

Once in downtown Denver, he asked to stop at the lab where he needed to get the test kit.

“I’m sorry to ask, but can you wait?” It was too far to walk from the lab in this industrial and commercial development to the woman’s house. Man, he hated being dependent on people.

“How long will this take?” she asked.

“Five minutes.”

She relaxed. “I have time. Go ahead. I’ll wait and then drive you to your other address.”

He almost stumbled getting out of the car, to escape those hot images that had driven the temperature in the small vehicle into the stratosphere, despite the air conditioning going full blast.

In the lab, he bought a DNA test kit, then returned to the car.

Ten minutes later, Audrey dropped him off in front of a coffee shop. They arranged a pick-up location, then she drove away.

Paranoid creature that he was, Gray had purposely asked her to leave him a couple of blocks from the woman’s address. He didn’t want anyone from Accord knowing about her, least of all someone who might somehow use it against him in their battle about the land.

He walked the rest of the way, his outrage growing with each step.

Even if, if, this woman was for real, she had no right to blackmail his father. She was no better than an opportunist taking advantage of an old man, trying to stir up trouble in a stable, respected family.

He felt better with each step.

Action.

First, he’d take her by surprise by showing up. She wouldn’t expect him. If she expected anyone, it would be Dad, an old man past his prime. Possibly, she thought she could manipulate him. She wouldn’t expect Gray, though.

Next, if the kid was home, he’d get a good look at him. Photographs lied, could be interpreted wrongly.

Third, he’d get that DNA test. He was sweating again, the shirt he’d put on fresh this morning already drenched.

Fourth, he’d find out why she needed so much money. Four hundred thousand dollars. Mom and Dad were well-off and Gray was a successful businessman, but that amount staggered him. Floored him. His pace picked up.

And last, he had to figure out the worst-case scenario. What if she did take her photos and birth certificate to the papers? Who outside of Accord would care? Mom and Dad had often attended fund-raisers in Denver and had been part of an active community. Were they still? How many of their peers were still alive? Would it matter if this got out?

This morning, Mom had been so excited about the latest book she’d bought about Jackie Kennedy. She’d sat in the living room in her gracious and graceful glory with her cup of tea, a civilized woman who’d raised a civilized son. But, at this moment, he wanted to do serious damage to a woman who threatened his family.

When it came right down to it, what people thought didn’t matter, neither those in Accord, nor Mom and Dad’s acquaintances in Denver. What mattered was Mom and what this would do to her.

If it were true.

He stopped in front of an old, run-down house, breathless because he’d been practically running in his need to settle this.

Gray double-checked the address on the slip of paper on which he’d jotted it. Yep, right place.

A rusty bike lay on its side on the front lawn, but otherwise, the house was tidy, the grass trimmed.

Everything needed a coat of paint, but both the walkway and the veranda had been swept recently.

Acid churned in Gray’s belly. He knocked on the front door. Despite his resolve to get rid of this woman and the anger that ate at him, his pulse beat erratically in his throat.