Secrets on Cedar Key (8 page)

“But because Andrew is now dead, it's all become a bit more complicated as far as the money in that account,” I said and started at the beginning to tell him what I had learned.

When I finished, he reached across the table to grasp my hand. “And how are you dealing with all of this?”

It was difficult to focus on his question when I could feel the warmth of his hand on mine.

“Probably not well,” I said after a few moments. “Not well at all. I still haven't even called Fiona.”

“There's no rush. I think you need some time to absorb all of this. Give yourself that time.”

He was right. But the longer I delayed speaking to Andrew's daughter, the longer all of this would be hanging over my head, and I verbalized this to Worth.

He nodded as he let go of my hand and sat back in his chair. “Do you honestly think that once you sign those documents that will be the end of it?”

Chalk up another trait I liked about Worth. He had a way of saying something that enabled me to face the truth; this very thought had been running through my mind for two days.

I blew out a breath of air. “I had hoped it would.”

“Have you given any thought to the fact that Fiona might want to meet you? Might want to meet her half brothers?”

I had, and that was when I would push the situation from my mind.

“Yes, but I've tried not to think about it. Because I honestly don't know how I feel about this or what I would tell her.”

“Exactly. This is why I'm saying you need time. Time to set everything right in your mind.” He paused for a moment, putting his hand on top of mine. “And don't take this the wrong way—but the attorney is right. No matter what, Fiona isn't to be blamed for any of this.”

I
woke on Sunday morning with the sun streaming through my windows. I stretched and glanced at the bedside clock. Seven-thirty. Later than I normally slept, but I knew that stress easily caused fatigue. I recalled Worth's invitation from Friday evening when he brought me home and felt a smile cross my face. He had asked if I'd like to take a drive with him later this morning to return his car to his home, and intelligent woman that I am, of course I accepted.

Walking into the kitchen, I was greeted by Oliver.

“Good morning, fella,” I said as I stroked his ears and headed to the coffeepot. I saw my mother sitting on the patio, poured myself a mug, and joined her.

“Good morning,” she said, folding up the newspaper she had been reading. “How are you this morning?”

“Good.” I inhaled the wonderful scent of salt air on the breeze. “What are your plans for today?”

“Since you'll be gone, I accepted Maude's invitation to lunch.”

“Oh, good. Be sure to tell her I said hello.” I heard the phone inside the house ring. “I'll get it.”

I answered to hear my younger son's voice. “John, how are you? How's everything in Beantown?”

His laughter came across the line. “I'm good, and so is Boston. How're you doing?”

“Fairly well,” I said, trying not to feel guilty for not sharing the news I now had. “So what's up? Your job is going well?”

“It is. The leaves are beginning to turn up here now. I think I'm going to like New England in autumn.”

Having been raised in the South, I could understand that. “Well, I hope you'll like it just as much once that snow starts falling.”

John laughed again. “Oh, I don't think I'll mind. Listen, Mom, the main reason I'm calling . . .”

I could hear the hesitation in his voice. “Are you okay?” Why is it when an adult child sounds nervous, a mom always thinks a terrible tragedy is about to befall him?

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he quickly reassured me. “It's just that . . . I hope you won't mind, but I won't be coming home for Thanksgiving this year.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage to say.

“Yeah, well, we only get the Friday off with the weekend, so a bunch of my friends thought we'd just all pitch in and cook Thanksgiving dinner together. One of the guys has a place in Cambridge, so we're going to go there rather than try to book flights for a quick trip home.”

“Oh, I see,” I said and hated that I sounded bitchy.

“Are you okay with this, Mom? I mean, I figured that Jason would be there, and I promise I'll be home for Christmas.”

“Yes, of course I'm okay with it, but, no, Jason won't be home this year either. Apparently, he has a girlfriend and they're going to her parents' home in Connecticut for the weekend.”

“Oh, really? He's going to September's family?”

My disappointment quickly morphed to jealousy. “You knew about your brother's girlfriend?” I questioned, feeling terribly left out.

“Yeah, they flew up to Boston for a weekend a couple months ago, so we got together for dinner.”

It was times like this that I knew how hurtful parenting could be. And yet, wasn't that the point of raising a child? To raise them so well that they are fully prepared to go out and face
their
world—even without you.

I cleared my throat and blinked back the moisture I felt in my eyes. “Oh, that was nice that they came to Boston. So . . . what did you think of her?”

“I liked her. She's very pretty, but even better . . . she's intelligent.”

I smiled and realized that one statement said volumes about how Andrew and I had raised our sons.

“So is it okay, Mom? That I won't be there for Thanksgiving?”

I smiled again. Here was my twenty-two-year-old son basically asking my permission to skip a family Thanksgiving, when no permission was even required.

“Well, you know Grandma and I will miss you and Jason both, but . . . of course it's okay. What's your contribution for the dinner?”

“Oh, another thing I meant to ask you—could you e-mail me Grandma's recipe for squash casserole?”

I shook my head and laughed. “Ah, you won't be down here in the South with us, so you want some of the South up there with you, huh? Yes, I'll send it off to you this week.”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you, and I'll talk to you soon.”

I stood for a few moments holding the phone in my hand and let out a sigh. I couldn't lie. I was very disappointed that this would be my first Thanksgiving without my sons. But I attempted to brush off my mood and headed back outside to tell my mother, who, of course, took it better than I had.

“Oh, that
is
too bad that neither boy will be with us, but I guess that was bound to happen eventually. But we'll be surrounded by family, Marin. This year it's Sydney's turn to do Thanksgiving, and I'm doing Christmas here. So Monica and Adam will also be there with the children.”

This did manage to brighten my mood a bit.

 

My face was uplifted, capturing the sun as the wind blew through my hair and Worth turned the Porsche onto SR 27 in Bronson. Unlike Friday evening on the island, with a speed limit of twenty, once we left Cedar Key and he was able to increase the speed on 24, I could really appreciate the car he owned. I felt like I was floating, and with Springsteen's voice coming from the Bose speakers, it was difficult to remember the last time I had had such a sense of freedom.

“Not much longer down 27,” I heard Worth say, and I nodded. I wasn't sure I ever wanted this ride to end. But about fifteen minutes later he was pulling into a long, paved driveway. A tunnel of live oaks partially obscured the enormous house at the end.

I sat up straighter in my seat.
Wow
was the only word that immediately came to mind as an image of Southfork from the TV series
Dallas
flashed before my eyes. The house was redbrick, two stories, and, just guessing, I'd say it was at least five thousand square feet.

Not wanting to gush and trying to contain my amazement, I thought,
I'm impressed,
but only said, “It's beautiful, Worth. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he said simply as he pulled the car into the circular drive.

We walked to the entrance, where he unlocked the door. When we stepped into the huge foyer, he punched a code into the pad on the wall, deactivating the alarm system.

“Welcome,” he said in a tone of voice that was absent of ego, gesturing with his arm. He could have been inviting me into a small, moderate home and not this elaborate domain that oozed money and success. “Come on in the kitchen. How about a mimosa? And then I'll give you a tour, if you like.”

“Sure,” I said, following him to the back of the house along a wide hallway framed on each side with photos. I wanted to stop and take time to stare at each face on the wall, but I kept walking.

I entered a designer kitchen that I was sure would be the envy of even Paula Deen. It was large, bright, and cheerful, with a multitude of oak cabinets surrounding the circular room and a huge rectangular oak island in the center.

“Have a seat,” Worth said, indicating the tall captain's chairs at one side of the island. He proceeded to open the oversize stainless steel fridge and remove a plate of various cut cheeses along with a bowl of green and black olives soaking in olive oil and herbs. “Help yourself,” he said, adding breadsticks and crackers to another plate.

“Do you need any help?” I asked, suddenly feeling like I should be serving
him
.

“No. Not at all. Just have to get this open.” He had removed a bottle of champagne from the fridge and expertly popped the cork without spilling a drop. Filling two crystal flutes halfway, he then topped them off with what I was sure was fresh-squeezed orange juice.

I had a feeling that a phone call to his cleaning lady had arranged all of this.

He leaned across the island, that sexy smile covering his face, as he lifted his flute toward me. “Here's to friendship and many good times ahead.”

I noticed that his words were a bit more personal than his toast of Friday evening. “To friendship and good times,” I repeated before taking a sip. I was right. It
was
fresh-squeezed juice. “Delicious.”

“Good. I'm glad you like it.”

I glanced out the windows that looked to the back of the house. A flagstone patio held chairs, tables, and at the far end an in-ground pool. Beyond that were acres of land.

“So,” I said. “This is quite the place. Especially for one person.”

Worth nodded. “Yeah. Now you can probably see why I want to sell it.”

I wasn't sure that I could. “Won't you miss it, though? Wouldn't it be difficult giving up something like this?”

He took a sip of his mimosa before answering, and I could have been mistaken, but the expression that crossed his face looked like sadness. “It's only a house,” was all he said. “Come on, take your drink and I'll show you around.”

We walked through the dining room off the kitchen into a huge great room. For as large as the house was, it didn't have a stuffy feeling. Two buttery yellow leather sofas were arranged in front of a fieldstone fireplace. Matching club chairs with ottomans were placed before enormous French doors giving a view out to the patio and pool. I noticed beautiful framed paintings on the walls that I was positive were scenes of Paris and the South of France. And on the large oak coffee table was a crystal vase filled with fresh deep purple asters and orange mums. The entire room gave off a warm and cozy ambiance.

“What a nice room,” I said, following Worth to another hallway.

He nodded. “Yes, I spend a fair amount of time in there when I'm home.”

I noticed a beautifully decorated half bath off this hallway, and Worth gestured to two guest bedrooms as we walked along. When we reached the end we stepped into a large room that could only be a library.

Standing in the center, I took in the four walls lined floor to ceiling with shelves and books. At one end there was even a brass rod with a mahogany ladder attached.

“Now, this is impressive,” I said, taking in the chintz easy chairs, tables, and lamps comprising the middle of the room. Two long, rectangular windows allowed just enough sunlight in, and I noticed that one of them had a window seat with three large cushions. A book lover's fantasy.

“I have to admit, I do love this room,” he said as I wandered over to browse some of the titles, which did reflect his preferences. History and politics, and against another wall I scanned Shakespeare and various books of poetry.

“Come on, I'll show you upstairs.”

We had made a complete circle, and I now found myself back in the foyer but entering from the east side of the house. To the left of the front door was an intricately carved oak staircase, and I followed Worth to the second floor. Two more guest rooms were off the long, L-shaped hallway, separated by a sitting room. Both were beautifully decorated, and I couldn't help but think perhaps Worth was right—all this room for one person did seem a bit foolish. I followed him back out to the main hallway, and at the far end we stepped into what I knew was the master suite.

I caught my breath before saying, “Oh, wow,” as my eyes took in the exceptionally large room dominated by a king-size canopy bed positioned to look through a wall of French doors to a deck and directly out to the woods bordering the property. I walked toward the doors and saw lounges and tables sheltered by a partial roof overhang, allowing both shade and sunshine. I shook my head and marveled at the beauty.

“It's a bit ostentatious,” I heard Worth say at my shoulder as he let out a sigh. “But . . . it was what Claire wanted.”

So that was his wife's name—Claire. I felt his hand at my back as he directed me toward the attached bathroom, and once again the word
wow
came to mind. A large sunken tub took up one entire corner, surrounded by potted plants, candles, and two steps leading into the tub. A glass-walled walk-in shower took up another corner, complete with two benches and double showerheads. A long vanity sink, toilet, and bidet completed the room, with a large skylight above me and oversize paned windows flanking the tub.

“I wouldn't say it's ostentatious,” I said. “All of it is absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you,” was all he said as I followed him back downstairs to the kitchen.

He reached for my empty glass. “One more?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” I said as I positioned myself on the stool. “Did you raise your daughter in this house?”

“Yes, we moved in here when Caroline was three months old, so this is where she grew up.”

“Lucky girl. Thanks,” I said, taking the champagne flute.

Worth nodded. “I think Caroline did always feel fortunate.”

I noticed that he didn't say the same about his wife. “Did you do the plans for the house and have it built?”

“Yes, I did all of the blueprints with Claire's input. She had been hoping to move in before Caroline was born, but the contractors had a few minor setbacks. As large as the house is now for me, being alone, we did entertain quite often with my business. We also had various fund-raisers held here for the university and other organizations. So it was nice that I had the space to be able to do all of that.”

I smiled as I got the distinct feeling that Worth was a strong believer in giving back.