“You smoke too much,” Alice said out of pure habit. Sadness swept through her. She always said it.
Al never listened.
“Gotta have some vices,” he croaked.
“Yeah, because you’re such an angel otherwise,” Alice laughed. He joined her, his familiar rough bark of amusement making the ache in her chest swell.
“Your mom and I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth. We haven’t heard from you since last Christmas.”
“I know. I’ve been really busy with finishing up my program and trying to find a job.”
“You got yourself that fancy degree. I hope you ain’t going to find out it was all for nothing.”
“No,” she said quietly. “Uncle Al, it wasn’t for nothing. I did get a job. With Durand Enterprises.”
This time, the silence stretched even longer. She could almost hear his mind going into overdrive.
“Uncle Al?” she asked, damning the tremor in her voice. She scrunched her eyelids closed when they started to burn. “I think maybe you better go away for a while. Leave the trailer. Maybe take that trip you always wanted to take to see Arizona and New Mexico. You . . . you don’t have to tell anyone else. Just go.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Alice?”
“I am. I . . . I won’t be able to control what happens in the near future, Al. Please. Just leave there.”
“Do you want to talk to your mom?”
“No,” she cried out sharply. The thought of hearing Sissy’s voice panicked her. “Please don’t tell her I spoke to you. Don’t let on what we talked about. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t think I ever want to talk to her again.”
She heard Al’s heavy, wheezy exhale. “I suppose you want an explanation,” he said after a moment. “I’m not sure I can give it. I more suspected all these years than knew anything concrete.”
Alice couldn’t respond. Her throat had tightened uncomfortably.
“If it helps any to know it, I’m glad you found out. You should have the life that was taken from you. You deserve it. You never did belong here. I think you knew that better than anyone. That didn’t stop me from wishing sometimes that you did belong with us.” His voice broke slightly at the last, increasing Alice’s misery. She’d never heard Al show any emotion aside from anger or gruff fondness.
“Will you please go, Uncle Al?”
“It’s going to be all right. You listen to me about that.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Take care of yourself.”
“You do the same. Don’t you let anyone else do it, either. That’s one thing the Reeds taught you. Don’t trust anyone else to your happiness. It’ll only lead to misery.”
Alice shut her eyes and felt a tear skitter down her cheek.
God, Al was right. They’d taught her that lesson so well, she wondered if she’d ever be able to unlearn it.
EIGHTEEN
Upon his and Kehoe’s return to Michigan Thursday afternoon, Dylan immediately went to his office at Durand headquarters. The trip and the new plant had generated a mountain load of work for him. It was after five by the time he entered his office. His administrative assistant, Mrs. Davenport, was waiting for him. Mrs. Davenport was a very efficient, spry woman in her mid-sixties. She’d been Alan’s secretary for ten years before he’d passed. She had a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue, the latter of which she used on Dylan on a daily basis without an ounce of fear or compunction.
He absolutely couldn’t function without her.
She sprung up from her desk the second before he crossed the threshold, her notebook in hand, and started ticking off tasks for him.
“Marcus Jordan needs you to call him right away about the latest numbers from Indonesia. Jason Stalwalter has called three times in the past two hours in regard to a new junior exec recruit from the camp,” Dylan’s rapid pace toward his office flagged, “Janice Ahehorn fro
m the new plant is having some major staffing issues—”
“Hello to you, too, Mrs. Davenport.”