Because of Audrey. Mary Sullivan
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pay him a reduced salary. An early retirement.”
“Even though he was short of fulfilling his requirements?”
“He’s going blind.” Gray flinched at Dad’s harsh tone. “Jeff worked for me for twenty-nine years. His macular degeneration precluded him from working his final year.”
“He would qualify for disability. Why make the company bear the financial burden of his care?”
“He would make a pittance on disability. He has medical bills. He needs an operation that will cost a fortune. He’s middle class, not a millionaire.” Dad pulled the second oar out of the box but threw it onto a growing rubbish heap when he discovered it was broken. “Paying Jeff is no burden. He worked hard for me and, by extension, since you enjoyed the secure childhood and higher education the business bought, for you. The least we can do is show our appreciation.”
Dad was too softhearted to run a successful company in today’s environment. Disability was designed for this situation, for people like Jeff.
Gray opened his mouth to argue further, but Dad forestalled him. “Selling those greenhouses to Audrey was the right thing to do. Give it some thought and you’ll agree.”
Before he said something too harsh, Gray left the garage. For sixty years, his dad had done everything right, but in the past year, it seemed he’d been getting it all wrong. Or maybe longer. The further Gray dug into records and finances, the more he realized that Dad had been making risky investments and dubious decisions for a while.
Also, he’d caught him lying more than once. No, that wasn’t fair. They weren’t lies, just convenient half-truths so that Gray had to double-check everything Dad told him to find the truth for himself.
His stomach burned.
Did Mom have antacid tablets in the house? He could use a couple. Or the whole bottle.
Inside, he found her sitting in the living room. Where Dad’s grooming was suffering with age, Mom still looked perfect.
Dressed to the nines even this early in the morning, she wore a silk blouse with a soft pastel print and a tweed skirt, her still slim legs encased in stockings and her feet in stylish black heels.
She sat on the sofa reading a romance novel. She had just turned seventy-five, for Pete’s sake. He didn’t need to catch her holding a book with a photograph of a half-naked man clutching a busty woman on the cover.
Even so, when she peeked at him over the rims of her reading glasses, her once-vivid blue eyes faded now, his heart swelled. A cloud of white hair framed a tiny face. Her welcoming smile warmed him. This amazing woman had given him everything, the absolute best childhood.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, and he meant anything. For his parents, especially Mom, he would do whatever was asked of him. “A cup of tea?” Mom loved her tea.
“I’m fine,” she answered. “I’ve already had four cups this morning.”
“Mom,” he said, hesitating because he didn’t want to offend, but needing to know. “What’s happening with Dad?”
She didn’t seem surprised by the question. “He’s tired. He’s had a lot of weight on his shoulders for a long time. He needs to let go and relax.”
“He said it started when he turned eighty.”
She set her glasses down on top of her book. “Oh, it started well before that. He’s been tired for years.”
Startled, Gray asked, “Why didn’t he tell me? I would have come home sooner.”
Those faded blue eyes studied him shrewdly. “Would you have?”
His mind flew to an image of Marnie with her hands on her hips, obstinate in battle with him. “Yes,” he said, but he’d taken too long to answer.
“Truly?”
Gray slumped into the armchair. “I don’t know. Marnie didn’t want to live here. She loved Boston.”
“You would have had to have made a choice. Your parents or your fiancée. I understood that, Gray, so I didn’t tell you about your dad’s state.”
Gray leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Mom, I love you and Dad. I would have worked out something.”
“What could you have done? You loved Marnie, too, and Boston is not within commuting distance. Would you have lived six months here and the other half of the year there? Like a child in joint custody? What kind of life would that have been, especially once you had children?”
“I don’t know. I would have come up with a solution.”
Mom closed her book and put it on the side table, giving him her full attention. “Why did it take so long for you and Marnie to set a wedding date? You were engaged for five years.”
Mom had always been too perceptive. Getting away with anything in his adolescent years had taken real skill and subterfuge on Gray’s part. “There were things we couldn’t agree on.”
“Like where to live?”
A heavy sigh gusted out of him, and he admitted, “Like where to live. That was the biggest obstacle.”
“So, even though your father and I tried to protect you, you were caught up in our drama anyway.”
“You were aging. There’s nothing anyone can do to prevent that. You’re my responsibility, Mom.”
“Such a shame that we had only one child.”
“What else could you have done? I came along so late.” He was a surprise for his parents after they had long given up hope of conceiving.
Mom smiled, and her eyes got misty. “Yes. We were lucky to have you.”
The conversation had become too maudlin for Gray. He didn’t want to think about feeling alone as a child, about how much he missed Marnie, or about how old his parents were.
“What do you know about Audrey Stone?” he asked.
Mother perked up. “She’s the most interesting thing to happen to this town in years. I’m so glad she came back home to live. Have you seen her?”
He’d run out on breakfast, so he explained what the emergency had been.
“What was she wearing?” Mother asked, clearly excited.
“Wearing?” She’d thrown him. He’d just told her that Audrey had the means to scuttle a huge deal for the family and Mother wanted to know what the woman was wearing?
He rubbed his hands over his face. As dear as his aging parents were, he didn’t have time for their eccentricities.
“Well?” Mom persevered.
Gray pointed to a large illustrated hardcover on the coffee table. In a full-page photo on the cover, Jackie Kennedy wore the pink suit she’d had on the day her husband was assassinated.
“She wore a suit like that, but it was gray with white trim.”
His mother caught her breath. “A vintage Chanel? I always knew Audrey had class.”
He thought of the full curves shaping the suit. Class? Yes, but also a whole lot more.
“No hat?”
He mentioned the red hat that had matched her lipstick and her nail polish and the glimpse of her toenails he’d seen through her open-toed black suede pumps, which looked as though they’d come straight out of the forties.
“Describe the hat.”
When he finished, Mother nodded her approval. “A pillbox. You don’t see those anymore. Was she wearing gloves?”
Thinking of those bright red nails, he shook his head.
“Ah, well,” she