Читать книгу The Good Father - Tara Taylor Quinn - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

CHLOE WAS WATCHING a British arts show on cable when Ella got home just after eight on Friday night. It had been a long day and since she had to work in the morning, she excused herself to bed before her sister-in-law got close enough to smell the wine on her breath.

To ask any questions about where she’d been.

She wouldn’t keep her having seen Brett a secret from Chloe. Chloe knew that Ella’s contacting her ex-husband, Jeff’s best friend, was part of the plan to help save her marriage. The main part, since nothing was going to change if Jeff didn’t get help and, so far, Jeff was still unable to admit that he needed it. Which was where Brett came in.

If anyone could help Jeff see the truth, it would be Brett.

And he’d agreed to speak with Jeff.

Their plan was on track.

The future looked hopeful.

All of which she’d share with Chloe in the morning.

Tonight Ella needed the privacy of her locked bedroom door and pillows to muffle her sobs as she lay herself down to sleep. She was weepy from the wine. From the emotional roller coaster that day had been—first the situation with Nora and then seeing Brett for the first time in more than four years.

In the morning she’d be her usual cheery self. Or so she told herself as ten o’clock rolled around and she was still lying there, mind racing with memories, a nuance in a voice, a look in the eye, the warmth of a hand.

She told herself again at one. And around two she dozed. To dream of Brett. And jerk herself awake before she could fall into a deep sleep that would only leave her disoriented when she woke. She dozed on and off for the rest of the night. And was up twenty minutes before her alarm was due to go off.

Up, focused and fully in control.

An uncomfortable night filled with distressing images, useless longings and long-forgotten feelings was to be expected after a first meeting in four years. Nothing more than a throwback to what had been. It wasn’t permanent. Or even part of present-day reality.

She’d let it go. And Brett’s hold on her would let go, too.

Each step she took forward took her further away from him. From a pain she’d never escape if she tried to hold on to even a small vestige of what she’d thought they had.

She was wearing cartoon-character scrubs with a matching scrunchie around her ponytail, volley clogs, and a shield of calm when she walked into the kitchen to the smell of broccoli quiche at half past six.

“Is Cody up this early?”

Chloe’s schedule had been mirroring her son’s since they’d moved in with Ella.

“No, and if we’re quiet, he won’t be until after you’re gone. You looked beat last night, and I wanted you to have a good breakfast and a little peace before you have to get back at it this morning.”

That shield Ella had erected slipped. People who lived alone weren’t used to being noticed. Or spoiled.

But she was glad she had a minute with Chloe.

“Sit with me?” she asked as her sister-in-law dished up a divine-smelling egg-and-vegetable mixture that stimulated an appetite that had been nonexistent when Ella had left her room seconds before.

Pouring two cups of coffee, Chloe placed one in front of Ella and sat with the other still in her hand, taking a sip.

She had to tell Chloe about Brett. But first, “I was at The Lemonade Stand again yesterday.”

“With a patient?”

She couldn’t say much. And didn’t. Telling Chloe only that her visit had to do with the High Risk team, she said, “I talked to Lila while I was there. Lila McDaniels. She’s the managing director.”

“I remember. You read me her résumé when Brett first started interviewing for positions...”

She’d been in on the beginning stages—the dreaming. Then the dream coming true. The search for a site. The legalities and architectural plans. Even the initial weeding through of potential applicants.

And then her world had fallen apart. Brett had filed for divorce. He’d moved out before they broke ground.

“You remember that?”

“Yeah. Because she had such high credentials, work history that sounded like she was an incredibly well-rounded person and no personal background at all. She had no family or anything that would interfere with the long hours, she didn’t mind spending nights at the Stand when needed, and she had the same last name as my best friend from grade school.” Chloe grinned.

Ella had had reservations about the woman. About her lack of a three-dimensional life. She’d expressed her apprehensions to Brett. He’d obviously found her suitable in spite of Ella’s fears, and his decision to hire her had clearly turned out to be the right one.

“Anyway, I was thinking...you know the core belief at the Stand is that women who’ve known abuse suffer from a lack of self-confidence, which makes them self-destructive, and that, if you counteract those negative influences with positive ones—actions they can feel, not just words that oftentimes go in one ear and out the other—then they’ll be better equipped to know what it feels like to value themselves.”

Chloe put her cup down. “I value myself, El. You know that.”

“I do.” Ella was eating while she spoke. Because she had to go soon. And because she’d had nothing for dinner but a piece of bread with cheese. “I value you, too,” she added with a grin. “This is delicious!”

Life had a way of turning you on your end if you let it get too serious.

Chloe shrugged. “It’s a simple recipe. But I knew you had to leave early, and I didn’t have a lot of time.”

In her short time in Santa Raquel, Chloe had made braised pork chops that melted in your mouth, a vegetable, rice and tilapia dish that they’d finished off the night she’d prepared it, and a chicken salad that Ella wanted in her freezer at all times. Just in case.

And this morning she had things to discuss. “So the grounds at the Stand are resort style, the pool, the bungalows—all elegant. But the cooking—it’s typical cafeteria stuff. You know, feeding-the-masses type of fare.”

Chloe nodded. “Feeding so many people at once, it can be difficult sometimes to make dishes that everyone will like.”

“But you could do it, couldn’t you? Plan menus and give them recipes that would appeal to the masses, but still be that step above ordinary?”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Ella. “You trying to get me to move to the shelter? Surely you don’t think I’m in need of full-time care...”

The question threw Ella. Mostly because it hadn’t even crossed her mind. Jeff was the one who needed help in their situation. They’d gotten Chloe and Cody out in time. Chloe had been strong enough to pack her bags and get in the car.

“The women at the Stand—in large part—are there because they aren’t safe on the outside yet, or because they don’t have any place else to go while they rearrange their lives. You don’t fit either category. They’re starting over. You’re not.”

The look of relief that crossed Chloe’s face startled Ella. Didn’t Chloe trust her to get her back home? Did she think Ella wanted her to leave Jeff permanently?

Or was there more going on?

Filing the questions away, in the interest of time, she said, “I heard Lila say something yesterday to the...woman...I was there with, something about the cooking, and it made me think of you. I thought maybe you’d be glad for a somewhat professional pastime while you’re here, and it would be good for Cody, too, because while you’re working, he could play with the kids in the private day care at the Stand.”

She wanted to give Chloe a sense of herself apart from her family. The woman could own her own restaurant, or run a kitchen in an already established high-end eatery. Maybe, if Chloe were independent, she wouldn’t be as vulnerable to Jeff’s outbursts.

Maybe if she stood up to Jeff, he’d get himself well sooner...

The thought stopped her short. Where in the hell had that come from?

“You really think I could help?” Chloe was saying, and Ella felt ten times sicker, thinking that Jeff’s behavior was in any way Chloe’s doing.

She knew better.

“I already spoke to Lila,” she said now, taking her plate to the sink and rinsing the remainder of her breakfast down the drain. The disposal would have a gourmet breakfast. Something it wouldn’t appreciate at all.

Like Brett hadn’t appreciated having a partner in his corner, loving him above all else, willing to watch his back, to protect his heart...

Pulling a card out of the front flap of her purse, she slung the bag over her shoulder and tossed the card on the table. “Lila’s at the Stand all day today. She said if you’re interested, give her a call.”

With a smile, a hug and a quick goodbye, she was out the door before she made any other stupid mistakes.

Like telling Chloe that seeing Brett again had gotten to her just like her sister-in-law had feared it would. Which was why she hadn’t mentioned the meeting at all.

She was tired.

Out of sorts.

Damn Brett.

* * *

BRETT CANCELED HIS golf game Saturday morning. He wasn’t a huge fan of the sport, but preferred the course to boardrooms when the same business could be accomplished either place.

Instead, he pulled on jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt, and got his Harley out of the garage. He didn’t ride much anymore. But he always kept the thing serviced. There were just some times a guy had to be a guy.

This was one of them.

The three-and-a-half-hour trip to Palm Desert was a godsend. Even with the damned helmet clamped to his head. He was wired for sound and played old Eagles tunes as he sped across the desert. The rumble of the machine between his thighs was like a shot of pure adrenaline. It was the first long ride he’d taken since the divorce.

Clearly time to rectify that lapse.

He didn’t call first. Wasn’t sure why; he just didn’t. Still, Jeff was at home, mowing the grass, when Brett roared up the quiet street where his best friend’s five-bedroom house stood on more than an acre of crisply manicured lawn.

“Brett? By God, man, what the hell are you doing here?” Hopping off his zero-turn mower, Jeff jaunted toward Brett, his hand extended.

They shook hands, and then, still gripping Brett’s hand, Jeff pulled him in for a hug. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “Man, you look great!”

“So do you.” Feeling a bit choked up, when he rarely felt any emotion at all, Brett stepped back. But he couldn’t do anything about the grin that was spreading across his face. “It’s been too long, man,” he said.

Jeff might be married to a great cook, but he was still in shape.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Jeff was grinning, too. Giving Brett the up and down. “And on your bike. I figured you sold that. Ella said you offered it to her in the divorce.”

Because he’d offered her everything.

She’d refused to take any of it. His money. His help. His prized possessions.

“Nope.”

“You still ride much?” Jeff was circling the bike now. They’d taken a few trips together. A long time ago.

“No, but I’m thinking about changing that. You got a bike?”

Jeff sold his bike when Cody was born. He’d put the money toward a backyard pool and hot tub and insisted on showing Brett that and then the rest of the house he’d bought when he’d made his first big stock deal, telling Brett that Chloe and Cody were gone that afternoon.

Pulling a couple beers from the fridge, he handed one to Brett and led the way back outside, to the table and chairs on the paver patio by a built-in fireplace and rock water feature.

The things, the beauty of Jeff’s home, weren’t anything Brett couldn’t have himself. The swing set, playhouse and sandbox—all made with matching wood—caught his attention. He didn’t realize he was staring until Jeff said, “Cody and Chloe...they aren’t just gone for the afternoon.”

Brett had already decided how he was going to play this. At least until he knew more. “I know,” he said, meeting his friend’s gaze head-on. “I ran into Ella in town. You knew she moved to Santa Raquel, right?”

“To take that job, yes, I did, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Brett. The way she just moved right in on you. I swear, I didn’t even know about it until she was already moving in to her place. I’d have advised her against accepting the position if I’d known in time.”

Brett would have found it odd that Ella hadn’t asked Jeff’s opinion if it wasn’t for what he already knew about Ella’s decision-making process regarding her move.

“Anyway, she told me that you’d called and told her that Chloe had left. She asked me to look in on you, Jeff. She’s worried about you.”

“She’s called a couple times since then. I didn’t pick up. She and Chloe...they’re close...and I don’t want to put her in the middle of this.”

Brett couldn’t tell if Jeff had any idea where Chloe was or not. But he’d get back to that.

“So what is...this? Why’d she leave you, man? Chloe’s nuts about you.” Or she had been the last time Brett had seen them together. Which would have been before the divorce. More than four years ago. Only a couple years after Jeff and Chloe had married.

Jeff waved a hand in the air, shaking his head. “We can talk about my problems later. For now, tell me why you’re here. I mean, I thought you weren’t coming around anymore because of Ella, but you say you ran into her. Dare I hope that this visit means what I think it means?”

Brett’s foot fell off his knee with a thud. He’d been so fired up to help his friend, coming up with the words he’d say to protect Ella’s secret, while proving to her that she was wrong about Jeff, that he’d missed the other side of this story.

“You and Ella getting back together?” Jeff asked, lifting his beer can in a toast before sipping. How a guy could drink through a grin plastered from one side of his face to the other, Brett didn’t know, but Jeff managed it.

“No!” Brett’s response was emphatic. Strong. Because it had to be. “No way, man. Don’t even go there. She just asked me to look in on you. She’s worried. Like I said.”

Jeff nodded. Still grinning. “Well, whatever, I’m sure as hell glad you’re here. I’ve missed you, man.”

Brett had missed Jeff, too. Far more than he’d allowed himself to realize.

So when Jeff asked if he could stick around, grill some steaks, maybe shoot some pool later, offering him the bed in the guest room, Brett agreed to stay.

Not for Ella. Or Chloe.

But because, for the first time in years, he felt as if he’d come home.