The Bridesmaid Wore Sneakers. Cynthia Thomason
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smiled. “Does that look mean you’re going ahead with our plan?”
Liam closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath. “Yes, I’ll give it a try.”
“Wonderful. So, again, how did the first meeting with Jude go?”
“We talked and it went fine,” he said. “She seems like a nice girl. In fact, I’m stopping at the barn on Monday to find out more about the foundation.”
“Good, good. Get her to show you the books, see where all my money’s going and give her some pointers.” Martin stared at his middle daughter as she picked up the microphone to speak. “Don’t intimidate her, though. That’s not what I want. I picked you for this job because there’s a gentlemanly quality about you that I like. Jude hasn’t been happy for a while, and I don’t want you making it worse.”
So besides throwing Liam under the bus, the good doctor was practically threatening him? But unknowingly Martin had just voiced Liam’s own concerns—that he might end up making Jude’s attachment to the foundation even stronger, her loneliness even worse, especially if she felt emotionally connected to every dime she gave out. “I’ll certainly try,” he said. “But remember, you said you would level with her as soon as possible. Monday wouldn’t be soon enough.”
“Not so soon, Liam. She won’t open up with me looking over her shoulder. She thinks I trust her judgment, and if she believes I’m questioning her ability, it will cause a rift between us. I know my daughter. This will work much better if she gets to know you, if she appreciates your expertise in this area. Then she won’t just be dealing with an interfering daddy.”
Liam didn’t like deception of any kind. He dealt with figures, and numbers didn’t lie, but he had to agree with Dr. Foster in this case. Family situations were often delicate. Jude actually might accept criticism and advice from someone like him much more readily than she would her father. Or she might not.
“I know a lot about how foundations work, and I can help her, but I’ll be more comfortable if we don’t let this game play out for too long. You’ve got to be honest with Jude once I’ve set the groundwork for improvement.”
“I’ll tell her everything soon enough,” Martin said. “But the first thing we need to do is pinpoint the problems, get her to see where mistakes are being made. And I’ll step in and tell her I hired you when the time is right, a few days, maybe a week at most.”
A week? Liam supposed he could play along with the doctor’s plan for a week. Like Martin, Liam believed that the spending was out of control and Jude did need sound guidance. Her father obviously cared for her. Liam had promised his father, and he definitely wanted to go to that world economic conference in Stockholm... “Okay, Dr. Foster. One week. And then no more charades.”
Liam was met by his father when he came back into the dining hall. “You met Jude?” Lawrence asked.
“I danced with her,” Liam said. “And then we talked outside for a few minutes.”
“And you’re going to help Martin with this problem?”
Liam nodded. “We’ll see how it goes.”
“Okay, then,” Lawrence said. “I told you I’d fill you in on a few details I’ve learned about Jude through the years. Have a seat.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Liam said. This arrangement was already tinged with deception. He didn’t want to add gossip to the mix. “I don’t anticipate any big problems.”
“Okay, but one word of warning. This is a business deal, son. Martin is paying you handsomely. Don’t get interested in Jude romantically. Go after that pretty little one, Carrie. Martin wants her to stick around home anyway.”
“I’m not interested in anyone, Dad,” Liam said. “It was just a conversation. But even if it were more, I don’t think I’m in need of romantic advice. Neither one of us has been very successful in that arena.”
“No, I suppose not. But your mother never approved of that daughter. Always thought she was wild and daring, even going so far as to get in scrapes with the law. She’s nothing like the other two. She’s not your type, son. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Good, because I don’t think I’d like it if you were saying anything else.”
He walked away from his father and tried to tamp his irritation. Suddenly he felt the oddest urge to defend a bridesmaid in running shoes.
“GOOD MORNING AGAIN, MAGGIE.” With a breakfast tray in his hand, Martin Foster crossed the soft plum-colored carpeting and stopped at his wife’s bedside. He set the tray on a nightstand and fixed Maggie’s tea the way she liked it—a little cream, one sugar.
“Rebecca is going to be late this morning,” he said, explaining why he would feed Maggie instead of her nurse. “But that’s fine with me, gives us a chance to talk more about the wedding.”
He glanced over at the twin bed situated close to his wife’s larger one. Martin slept in the narrow bed every night now that the master bedroom had been converted to a sickroom. The sheets were still rumpled, but the weekend nurse would see to light housekeeping chores.
He tipped a teaspoon of tea toward Maggie’s mouth. She opened, swallowed and seemed eager for more.
“Later today, I’m going to make some large prints of photos I took with my phone so you can see how grand the wedding was, how happy our Alexis is with her new husband.” He hoped the pictures would stir some reaction in his wife. Maybe in some deep, quiet place that the Alzheimer’s had taken her, she would recognize the family who still loved her. But probably not.
He dipped a toast corner in tea and offered it to Maggie. She chewed automatically, swallowed. He followed that bite with scrambled eggs. So far, his Maggie was eating well this morning. He wouldn’t feel so badly about leaving her to go out for a while to run errands.
“Carrie’s leaving tomorrow,” he told Maggie. “This time, the forestry department is sending her to Michigan for an assignment. We’re lucky Carrie’s employers are so understanding about her asthma. They try to send her places where the triggers are seasonal so she can avoid them. The cool temperatures in Michigan this time of year should be beneficial.
“I wish I could think of a way to persuade her to change careers and find a job that is safer for her but you know how determined she is. She’s so much like you in that respect. She thinks she can take on the world, one tree at a time. Our Carrie only seems to flourish in the outdoors where every breath can threaten her health. But I’ll load up her duffel bag with medications and call her every week to be sure she’s taking them.”
Martin raised his wife’s head and put the teacup to her lips. She blinked rapidly while taking several long swallows.
“Now, Jude is another matter,” he said, scooping scrambled eggs onto a spoon. “I took a big step with regard to her yesterday. I’ve hired a crackerjack financial planner to look at the foundation’s books. Lawrence Manning’s boy, Liam.”
He searched Maggie’s face for some sign of disapproval. If Maggie hadn’t been ill, she probably would have chastised him for putting any part of Jude’s future in the hands of a relative of Alicia Manning’s. Maggie had never gotten on well with Lawrence’s now ex-wife, whom Maggie referred to as “Fox Creek’s self-appointed royalty.” When Lawrence and Alicia divorced, Maggie had privately congratulated Lawrence.
“Liam is going to take a look at the books, see if he can’t curb some of the spending.”
He paused as if waiting for Maggie to say something. Realizing his foolishness, he said, “I know what you’d say to me if you could speak. You’d tell me I should just talk to her myself. Well, I can’t. You were always the one who disciplined the girls. And as far