Firmly put in his place, and more determined than ever to fix the hurt and damage he’d done to this family, he gave a firm nod. “I hope this new venture works out for you all. Take care.”
No one said goodbye to him, or even responded with niceties. They all watched him with crossed arms and matching frowns.
He walked away then, feeling their hard stares burning into the back of his head. He’d make this right. And luckily, he had a month to do it.
3
Hours afte
r Sullivan left, Clara still couldn’t shake the tension nearly suffocating her. A month? Sullivan planned to stay a month? She didn’t know how she could possibly keep Mason out of sight for that long. However, she also knew Sullivan, wholly and completely, and she knew he wouldn’t stay that long in River Rock. The moment things got hard and he was forced to face all the reasons that had made him leave before, he’d book it again. All she needed to do was keep Mason close until that happened. She knew all too well what it felt like to be loved by Sullivan. It was an all-consuming thing, and she also knew what it felt like to have all that ripped away because he couldn’t emotionally deal with it. She didn’t know why he was here to ride out his suspension, and she didn’t particularly care. Mason’s well-being was her only concern. She wanted to go to her son and hold him close, but she needed the night to clear her head and to remind her fluttering heart that her love for the Sullivan she once knew died the day he left River Rock.
When she had left her sisters wrapping up their workday, she headed for her bedroom. The space was practical but comfortable. She’d had the double bed for more years than she dared count. The old, worn beige-and-white quilt was made by her grandmother when Clara was twelve, and she had picked up the refurbished antique white furniture at a flea market and repainted it herself. Clara sat on her bed and pulled out the letter left for her in Pops’ will.
“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.” Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
* * *
Their grandfather left letters for both of her sisters too, though Clara had never asked if he’d left a confusing quote for them as well. Two years had passed now since their Pops left this world, and Clara knew as much about the quote as she did the day she opened the envelope at the reading of his will. She exhaled the confusion from her head, wishing he was there to explain it all. Pops was a wise man, full of useless knowledge in addition to the important stuff. Somewhere in this quote, Clara knew she’d find the comfort she needed in life; she just hadn’t got there yet.
“Clara,” Amelia called from downstairs.
She hurried off the bed, folding up the letter and sticking it back in her nightstand. When she made it to the staircase, she found Amelia standing at the bottom with a large pitcher full of margarita mix. “Seriously, why do you both keep feeding me booze? Do I look like I need a drink that badly?”
Amelia smiled. “Yup.”
“Great,” Clara muttered, trotting down the staircase. When she entered the kitchen after Amelia, she immediately spotted Maisie sitting around the old, worn oak kitchen table and inhaled the citrusy scent of limes. Back in the day, family meetings were held here with their grandparents. The tradition had lived on, and there was something about the table that always felt safe. “I’m okay, you know,” Clara said to her sisters. “You don’t need to stay,” she said to Maisie.
Maisie was moving her stuff out of the house in a couple of days to live with Hayes in a gorgeous home by the creek. Her youngest sister smiled. “Please, like I could pass up margaritas.”
Clara forced a smile and took her seat across from Maisie. When times got tough, some people chatted over coffee, some over chocolate, the Carter sisters drank margaritas. And usually, a lot of them.
Amelia began pouring the drink mix into the margarita glasses and asked, “So, thoughts on today?”
Maisie shrugged. “I think it went well with Ronnie. He seemed impressed by the brewery.”
“I agree it went well,” Clara added. “Now we just wait to see what kind of contract he offers us.”
“But we’ll take it, right?” Amelia asked, finishing up with the last glass. “No matter what it is.”
“We’d be crazy not to take it,” Clara agreed, reaching for one of the glasses. “We’ve got no one else interested. But, at the same time, we need to play hardball too. We deserve a good contract. Let’s make sure we remember that.”
“Hardball,” Maisie said with a firm nod. “On it.” She took a huge sip of her drink, her eyes fluttering shut.
Clara laughed softly, which admittedly, felt good. Maisie wouldn’t know how to play hardball if she tried. She was too…free. “You can leave this part to me. I’m good at negotiating.”
“You are,” Amelia said, licking the salt off her lips. “And we appreciate everything you’re doing for us and the company.”
“Thanks,” Clara said before taking a sip of her drink. The tequila hit first followed by the citrus sourness of the lime and then the sharpness of the salt.
She followed it up with another sip when Maisie asked, “Now let’s talk about Sullivan.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Clara insisted, setting her glass back down on the table.
“Sure, there is,” Maisie said with a sly smile. “Like how good he looks?”
Mouthwateringly delectable. “He doesn’t look terrible,” Clara conceded.
Amelia asked, “Was it weird, seeing him again? You must have felt something. It’s been so long.”