Risking Trust (22 page)

Roxann’s mother poured steaming decaf coffee into the delicate cups she loved. Roxann tended to be more of a thick mug coffee drinker, but the pretty floral cups fit her mother. Even dressed in a running suit, her mother carried the sophistication of a woman who’d been cared for. Tonight she wore her shoulder length blond hair pulled back at the base of her skull and her eyes, normally a deep, warm green, looked faded, washed-out. Fatigued.

“What’s wrong with your car?” Mom asked, setting the carafe in the middle of the table. That often seen habit gave Roxann the feeling of home and safety and a belief that the world had not gone nuts.

Her mother’s kitchen stretched across the back half of the house, but the dark oak cabinets and the corner hearth gave it a cozy feel. The house, despite the Stickley furnishings and precious treasures that filled it, seemed empty without her father, but being there helped Roxann feel close to him.

“The car is in the shop.” Not a total lie. She left out the part about it being torched by a psychopath. Her mother had enough on her mind without worrying about a destroyed car and what it might mean for her daughter.

Roxann didn’t know if the pressmen were responsible, or maybe someone close to Carl, but they had succeeding in terrifying her.

Unfortunately for them, her fear had boiled to anger and she wouldn’t quit until she had some answers. Who knew what that meant for her personal safety?

“It’ll be good to get your father’s car on the road. It’s been sitting in the garage since—” Mom broke off.

Since he died
. “I know.” Roxann forced a breath through her collapsing throat.

Mom fiddled with her cup. “I was thinking I should sell it. It doesn’t seem right to have it sit there.”

“Really?” Sell it? How could she even think of selling it? Her father cherished that car.

“I’m not sure what to do. What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Did they have to talk about this now? “Let’s think about it some more. I might keep it for myself.”

“Oh.” Mom’s eyes welled up and she reached for Roxann’s hand. “That would have made your father happy.”

That tore it. She turned away. Too much pain.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

Roxann closed her eyes and counted off ten. “I’m fine.” She opened her eyes, breathed deep and sensed her control coming back. “I talked to Max this morning. He didn’t have much to say.”

“You know Max. I wish he’d find a wife. He’s my brother, but he can be a dead bore with that harping.”

Roxann clamped a hand over her mouth. Her mother railing on Max was an unexpected pleasure. His freeze-out was still raging. She’d called him to get a read on his mood and was met with single word answers. He’d have to get over it.

“Mother, sometimes you’re hysterical. Max is mad about the press coverage. The mayor must be bugging him.” She took a sip of her coffee, eyeballed her mother over the rim of the cup. “
You’ve
never said how you feel about our recent coverage of City Hall.”

“Your father left you in charge and I won’t question that. I don’t disagree with your decision, but the situation bothers me. I know Carl’s wife from the club and she is a loyal, loving woman. She deserves better.”

“I’m sure she does. That’s not our fault though. Max needs to lay off.”

Her mother held her hands out. “I’d prefer not to have family problems, but I know you wouldn’t have allowed the story to run if it weren’t true. It was a business decision. Your father would have run it. Max will adjust.”

Roxann nodded. A business decision. Her mother didn’t know the half of it. Their bottom line had plummeted—far—due to the cost of off-site printing. At least the single copy sales had spiked on the days an Alicia Taylor or City Hall corruption story ran, but the newspaper’s future couldn’t rest on newsstand sales.

Roxann needed an influx of cash. Fast. The bank had declined her request for an increase on their credit line and no other bank in the city would touch them right now. She would have to put her personal holdings and newspaper stock up as collateral. It wouldn’t come close to bailing them out, but it would buy her time. The presses would be fixed within the week, hopefully, and then they’d get back to business as usual.

“Just so you know, Mom, the story is accurate. I don’t know what it has to do with Alicia Taylor’s murder, but we’re moving in the right direction.”

Mom set her cup back in the saucer. “Would you have pursued this story if you hadn’t had a relationship with Michael?”

Knew
that
was coming. “Absolutely. This is big news. My personal feelings have nothing to do with it.”

“But no one wants to know they once loved someone capable of such a thing.”

Mom sat still and erect, as if they were talking about spring flowers rather than someone’s murder. It seemed ridiculous on several levels and Roxann felt a tightening between her shoulders.

“Where’s this going, Mom?”

“You never let yourself deal with your feelings about him. You’ve never talked with me about it, but you can. I hope you know that.”

“Thank you.” Roxann smiled. She hoped it was a smile. “But there’s nothing to talk about. He’s helping with the story and we’re getting to know each other again.”

Liar.
She enjoyed having Michael around. Her cheeks went hot as she thought about their nights of lovemaking and the way he simultaneously brought out the best and worst in her. Adventure came back to her life, and his presence freed her from her neurotic tendencies. And wasn’t that the most welcoming experience she’d ever had?

Still though, they hadn’t reconciled why he’d left her and she couldn’t completely give herself over until she had answers. A quiet hum drifted through the air and Mom waited, her eyes unwavering.

Roxann twisted her lips. She was mentally whupped. Again. The constant emotional collisions drained her. “I always thought the hurt would go away and I’d stop wondering why he left. It never went away. I guess I compartmentalized. Now the questions are nagging at me again. I need to find out what happened and put it behind me. I’m sick of being afraid to love someone.”

Mom poured more coffee. “Have you talked to Michael about it?”

Roxann snorted. “He won’t tell me. He says he can’t. Whatever that means. This is part of the problem. He’s still hiding from me. I trust him to protect my business, my home and even me—” she jabbed her fingers into her chest, “—my physical being, but when it comes to my heart, I have a war inside me over whether to trust him.”

Mom stiffened.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Something is bothering you.”

Mom slouched a little, then sat straight again. Steadying herself. What the heck?

“I think I can help.”

O-kay
.

Her mother slid her hand back and forth, back and forth on the table. Nervous. A tingle of alarm crawled up Roxann’s arms.

“What is it?”

Mom closed her eyes, thought for a second then opened them again. “There’s no easy way.”

“Mother, you are seriously freaking me out, so you’d better say whatever it is, and fast.”

“I think I know why he left.”

Roxann had no words. Nothing. Nada. The tornado zipping through her had sucked them up.

“The night of your father’s fiftieth birthday, he told me he’d had a talk with Michael.” Mom hesitated. “He was trying to help, but it didn’t turn out that way.”

The ball of panic simmering in Roxann’s belly began to expand. “What are you talking about?”

“It started out innocent enough. Your father wanted to see what Michael’s intentions, so to speak, were. His employment plans and such. What he expected from his future. We knew you were in love and your father had concerns.”

Roxann battled to focus. “What exactly was said during this
talk
?

“As you know, Michael was a bit hot-headed back then. He took exception to your father asking and I guess they had words. I don’t know all that was said, but your father was very angry.”

“It was none of Daddy’s business.”

Their eyes met briefly before Mom looked away. “That never stopped your father before. He wanted things for you.”

“And he didn’t think Michael could give me those things?”

Some irony. Michael’s company was now worth more than the
Banner
. This conversation wasn’t all that shocking to Roxann because she’d known, down deep, her father had never totally approved, but the idea that her father approached him without her knowing screamed of betrayal.

Michael wasn’t a doctor or a senator, and the great Paul Thorgesson couldn’t have that for
his
daughter. Damn him. And now, she couldn’t even confront him with this. Roxann counted to three.
Rebuild, rebuild, rebuild
. “The military had taken an emotional toll on Michael. He was trying to find a place for himself and Daddy had no right to interfere. It was my life.”

Her father had caused the breakup. She’d relied on him. Trusted him. And he’d betrayed her. No.
Start at the toes, tighten, tighten, tighten.
All the way up to her shoulders she went until her body turned to rock.

“Your father wanted to get him a job. A good job.”

“He
had
a job. Construction wasn’t good enough I guess? Daddy wanted a doctor or a lawyer, not someone emotionally unbalanced because he’d made a commitment to his country. He deserved a thank you, not to be treated like a loser.”

Mom stood and stretched a hand out. “I told your father I thought it was wrong and he should have kept out of it. Obviously, the conversation didn’t go as your father expected and Michael used some rather graphic language to tell your father to…well…”

“Shove it?” Roxann offered. “Good for him. I can’t believe I’m just hearing this. All those years lost. I could have fixed this.”

It was hard to imagine how different things would be if they, including Michael, had been honest with her. Such stupidity.

A deluge of memories hammered at her.
Whap. Whap. Whap.
Over and over again until she thought she’d be sick from the beating. She remembered the party and Michael’s sudden irritability. His suppressed anger.

His need to leave.

He’d shrugged off her inquiry as to why his mood had gone south and drove her to her apartment, leaving her to worry about him and his inability to express his rage. The ferocious anger had frightened her back then. And now she knew why. Her father had made it clear to him that he was unwelcome when all Michael wanted was to find a place to belong.

Her father had humiliated him.

After the party, Michael had vanished for three days. Three days of unreturned phone calls and Roxann overanalyzing every conversation, wondering what she’d done wrong. He eventually came back with his car packed.

No explanation, just goodbye.

“You and Daddy let me be miserable, let me wonder why I wasn’t good enough and what
Alicia
had that I didn’t. You both could have saved me years of heartache. I don’t understand.” She cleared her throat because—
dammit
—a noose had grabbed hold of her. “I just don’t understand. How could you and Daddy have done this to me?”

The color in Mom’s face faded, but Roxann felt no remorse for her harsh words. The course of her life had been changed because of her father’s haughty attitude and she had a right to be angry.

Running a hand over her forehead, Mom said, “I’m sorry. So was your father. He knew what he’d done, but he was terrified of losing you. It was the only thing he ever feared and he couldn’t face it. I should have made him tell you, but I didn’t want him to be unhappy. We were worried you’d go after Michael and never come back. I know it was selfish, but as time wore on, we felt it was too late to tell you.”

“And to see me happy, rather than as the publisher of the
Banner,
would have been unacceptable? You were right. I’d have given up the newspaper, that’s how much I loved him. All my options were taken away.”

Roxann covered her face with her hands. Unbelievable. She’d been deceived by her parents. And by Michael. These were the people who loved her?

And suddenly, her chest locked up. She opened her mouth, but nothing came, no air, no words, nothing. She stood in her parent’s kitchen wanting to rage at her father’s selfishness, but no, he was gone—dead—and she could barely come to terms with that, never mind being mad at him and unable to express it. How had her life gotten so mangled?

Her mother waited in silence, a grieving widow trying to deal with the mess her husband left behind. Then, as quickly as the fierce anger had taken hold, it evaporated.
Poof.
Screaming at her mother wouldn’t help.

Quietly, she retrieved her purse and, with cement feet, walked through the mudroom where she lifted her father’s keys from the hook before heading into the garage.

“Roxann, you’re upset. Please don’t drive.”

Upset? She was beyond upset. She didn’t even know what this was. “I need time alone. I have nothing to say now.”

She smacked the button on the garage door opener and slipped into her father’s car. The lingering scent of jasmine from his cologne clung to the interior and she drew a scalding breath. He was everywhere. And nowhere. Damn him for interfering. It suddenly occurred to her that no matter how proud he’d been of her, how affectionate and loving, he couldn’t stay out of her life. He had always pushed her, guided her decisions on schools, jobs and friends. Molded her to what he thought she should be. Now she couldn’t even confront him over an injustice that had changed her life.

Her mother lunged toward the car. “Please don’t go.”

But Roxann waved her away and backed out of the driveway. She stared at the house and its stately white columns and brick façade. The lawn and bushes expertly manicured. A not so perfect home.

The faultless image she’d conjured of her father had been shattered. His meddling ways, no matter his intention, had stolen her joy and now she was forced to grieve for the man he was and the man she
thought
he was. Everything had changed.