Chapter Fifteen
“I was thinkingof bringing the kids around for a swim on Saturday, if that’s all right with you,” I told my father. It was the day after my fight with Harrison, and I’d stopped by after work, ostensibly to check on my mother, but mostly because I was reluctant to go home and face my husband. I had no appetite for a repeat of last night’s fiasco.
Hadn’t I striven my entire life to avoid such a scene?
“No showings?” my father asked. We were sitting at the kitchen table, my father nursing a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade.
“Not this weekend.” I’d called Roger McAdams first thing in the morning and told him a minor family emergency had come up and we’d either have to reschedule or I could recommend another agent. He said he hoped everything would work out, and that he was happy to wait another week.
He may have been sanguine about the delay, but I wasn’t. Having to cancel my appointments to soothe my husband’s wounded ego both saddened and enraged me. Still, I felt I had no choice. It was either that or face days, possibly even weeks, of resentments and growing estrangement. If I could prove to Harrison that my family’s needs came first simply by cancelingmy weekend appointments, then that’s what I would do. Surely he would see the error of his ways and apologize for his unjust accusations.
Of course, I was wrong. Since when has appeasement ever worked?
“I would have thought that, with the market being so hot, you’d be run off your feet,” my father said, sensing I was holding out on him, and never one to let things simply slide by.
“Well, Ididjust finalize an eight-million-dollar sale on a house in Forest Hill.” I tugged at one of the silver-and-pearl hoop earrings I’d bought myself as a reward.
If I’d been expecting to be congratulated, I was quickly relieved of that notion. My father merely shrugged. “Piece of cake in this market,” he said. “You probably should have held out for more.”
“What’s that I just heard?” Elyse asked, coming into the room, looking fresh and lovely in a floral-print skirt and a white off-the-shoulder blouse. “You sold a house for eight million dollars?” she asked me. “Congratulations. That’s fantastic.”
“It’s no big deal,” my father said.
“What are you talking about, Vic? Of course it’s a big deal. Well done, Jodi! You should be very proud of yourself.”
“Thank you,” I said, bracing myself for my father’s angry rebuke. Astoundingly, none was forthcoming.
“And what’s this I see? You didn’t offer your daughter a glass of lemonade?”
“That’s all right,” I demurred. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Nonsense. I made it fresh this afternoon and it’s not too sour, not too sweet. You must try some.” She retrieved the pitcher from the fridge and poured me a glass. “Well?” she asked as I took a sip.
“Perfect,” I said. “Exactly the right amount of tart.”
“Just like the woman who made it,” my father said, and Elyse laughed.
I pushed aside a vague feeling of unease. Was my fatherflirting? I wondered, then immediately dismissed the notion as absurd. The man was almost eighty, for God’s sake. Although he’d been quite the womanizer in his day, I recalled, understanding even as a child that his philandering was the source of many of my parents’ worst fights. “That’s a lovely blouse,” I told Elyse, trying to still the echo of their angry voices in my head.
“Isn’t it?” she agreed. “Your father saw it in a store window and insisted I go have a look.”
“I knew she had the perfect shoulders for it,” my father said.
“And he was right,” Elyse agreed.
“I always am,” my father said.
“Oh, Vic,” Elyse said with a laugh, turning back to me. “Can I get you something to eat? A piece of apple pie, perhaps?”
“She doesn’t need pie,” my father said before I could answer.
“Right again,” I said, taking another sip of lemonade to avoid throwing the glass at his head.
“Jodi is planning to bring the kids over for a swim on Saturday,” my father announced.
“How wonderful,” Elyse said. “Would you like me to stay and look after them?”
“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “Weekends are your time off.”