Olivia Miles – Recipe for Romance (страница 8)

Lucy’s car was parked at the top of the driveway, and Scott couldn’t fight the twinge of resentment he felt toward her. She had won—dragged him here against his will. She didn’t understand the circumstances that had kept him away, but why the heck couldn’t she just respect his wishes? Wasn’t he doing enough for her already?

Scott gritted his teeth. It’s now or never. He pulled on the latch and thrust the car door open, closing it behind him with quiet force. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode up the cracking path to the faded green door, wondering if he should knock or just try the handle. Hesitating, he knocked twice, peering through the slender window that framed the door for any sign of activity inside. Seconds later, an older woman with gray hair and a plump middle entered the front hall. When she saw him through the glass, she stopped walking and her hand flew to her heart.

His mother.

Instinctively, he pulled back from the window. He ran his fingers coarsely through his hair. The last time he had seen her she was an attractive woman in her late forties. Now she was sixty. Rationally he knew it had been a long time. He just hadn’t realized the toll the years had taken on her.

The door flung open and his mother’s bright blue eyes locked with his. Blinking back tears, she leaned forward and grabbed him, squeezing him tight to a body that still felt familiar.

As soon as he could, he pulled back, standing uncomfortably in the door frame, allowing her gaze to roam over him with nostalgic appraisal, as though she had just stumbled upon a once-cherished childhood toy in the attic. He hated this. He hated this. He had thought he had cut off his feelings a long time ago—that he would be strong enough to deal with this reunion if it ever came—but the ache in his chest proved otherwise.

“It’s so good to see you,” his mother said breathlessly, and Scott managed a weak smile.

“The house looks nice,” he offered, stepping into the hall. He glanced around. Everything was exactly the same. Every painting hung on its same hook, every chair sat planted in the same position. Yet somehow, it was all different.

“Ah well, I’ve been meaning to get someone out here to take care of the yard now that...” she trailed off and inhaled sharply, closing the door behind him and then smoothing her hands over her skirt.

Scott balled his hands at his sides. “Is Lucy in the kitchen?” he asked, following the smell that was wafting from the back of the house.

Lucy was standing at the big island in the middle of the room, tossing a salad. Her eyes were unnaturally bright when she smiled. When she said hello, her voice was a notch higher than usual. It was then that he realized she was nervous. Well, she was the one insisting on this awkward arrangement. He wasn’t sure why she thought it would be easy. For any of them.

“I see you’re all cleaned up,” she observed.

Scott shrugged. He had hoped to avoid thinking of Emily for just one night, but that was impossible. Being here in this house only stirred his emotions to the surface. “Keep tossing pies at me and I’ll never get into the office to get the library project under way,” he warned.

“Don’t worry,” Lucy replied. “That’s it for the promotional stunts. But between you and me, I think you were a bigger hit than the mayor would have been.”

“Glad I could help.” He glanced around the room. “Where are George and Bobby?”

“George’s at the diner. Bobby’s studying for a test tomorrow.”

Scott nodded. Topic closed, the room fell silent again. He released a heavy sigh. “Where’s...”

“Dad?” Lucy lifted an eyebrow. Tight-lipped, she returned her attention to the salad. “He’s upstairs.”

His mother appeared in the arched doorway that led to the dining room. “He’s so pleased to know you’re here,” she added.

That makes one of us.

Scott rolled his shoulders, pushing back the resentment. He was angry at his parents—angry to the bone—but damn it if a part of him didn’t ache when he thought of them. It was easier, with time and distance, to just focus on the bad—on the event that had severed his ties with them for good. But all it took was one hint of his mother’s smile, the lull of her voice, to make him wish with all his might that things could have been different, that he could have just loved his parents and let them love him. That he didn’t have to look at them and be reminded of everything that had been lost instead.

He set his jaw and turned to the window, looking out over the backyard that stretched to the wood. Tulips had sprung up around the edges of the house providing a cheerful contrast to the situation within.

“Your father won’t be able to come down for dinner,” his mother was saying as she pulled three place mats from the basket on the baker’s rack. “We’ll take some soup up to him after he rests.”

They wandered silently into the dining room, his mother taking her usual place at the head of the table closest to the kitchen, he and Lucy sliding into their childhood seats on autopilot. Scott unfolded the thick cloth napkin and placed it in his lap. “Looks delicious, Lucy,” he said as she handed him a plate with a large steaming square of lasagna.

“Lucy’s been keeping us well fed,” his mother said through a tight smile. “More food than one person can eat, really,” she continued, her voice growing sad. “Have you been over to the office yet?” his mother continued.

It both amazed and saddened Scott that his relationship with his mother had come to this: polite, stilted conversation. As though there was never a bond between them—not a shared love, not a shared life, not a shared secret.

He took a bite of the lasagna. “Not yet.” He forced his tone not to turn bitter when he said, “Given Dad’s commitment to the company, I think it’s safe to assume everything is in place for the library project and I can just take over where he left off.” A heavy silence fell over the room.

Lucy bit on her lip and then asked tentatively, “Why don’t you go upstairs and see him after we’re finished with dinner?”

His stomach twisted, but he nodded. Wordlessly, he finished his meal, slowly pushed back his chair and followed his mother up the stairs, his pulse taking speed with each step. He kept his gaze low, noticing how the floorboards creaked under the weight of each step. Lucy stayed downstairs, under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen, but he knew better. She was down there wringing her hands, saying a hundred desperate prayers that progress would be made, and that all would be forgotten.

Oh, Lucy.

“He might be sleeping,” his mother whispered as they approached the master bedroom. She stopped, her hand clutching the brass knob. “Let me just go in and tell him you’re here.”

Scott stepped back and his mother slipped through the door, leaving it open an inch. Through the crack he could hear her soothing voice telling his father that “Scottie” was home and wanted to see him. If his father said anything in return, it wasn’t audible from this distance.

His mother tipped her head around the door frame and nodded. With one last sharp breath, Scott entered the room, his blood stilling at what he saw. His father, once a strapping, robust man with a handsome face and personality that could intimidate even the strongest of men on a construction crew, had withered into a frail wisp of his former self. His skin, once bronzed from days spent on job sites, was now an alarming shade of grayish-white. Propped up on two pillows, his eyes were hollow and dark.

Scott crossed the room, his body numb.

“Dad.”

“I knew you would come home.” His father’s voice strained with effort, but it was still deep, still authoritative. “I knew someday you would put this business with the Porters behind you and finally come home.”

Scott’s pulse hammered. “I haven’t put this business with the Porters behind me and I never will,” he said evenly.

“Scott!” his mother cried out, but he couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. Even now, after all this time, the man still refused to acknowledge what he had done. The part he had played.

“A man died,” Scott insisted, silently pleading with his father to set things right once and for all. “A man with two daughters and a wife. And I was the one who took him from them,” Scott said quietly, feeling the anger uncoil in his stomach as the words spilled out. “You knew I was responsible for the accident that day and you kept that information from everyone. From the police. From Lucy. Even from me.”

“You were nine years old, Scott. We were just trying to protect you—”

“No.” Scott shook his head forcefully, trying to drive out the words, the excuses. “I should go, Dad.” Before I say anything I’ll regret. “You need your rest.”

Scott paused with his hand on the door, and then slipped into the hall. His mother grabbed him by the elbow.

“Thank you for seeing him, Scott. It means so much to us.”

Scott’s eyes flashed on his mother. “Why can’t he just admit it, Mom? Why can’t you? You denied the Porter family insurance money that was owed them.”

She visibly paled and looked away. “It was an accident, Scott.”