Chapter Nine
Elena
Mymotherwasthewoman everyone wanted to befriend. She was elegant and kind, friendly and whip-smart. Her acquaintances were as widespread as her admirers. She didn’t have any friends, though. Only my father and I knew her beneath her surface. That was where the cracks were, and there were many.
My mother was as fragile as she was beautiful. She was a tragedy in motion, one word of bad news away from falling apart.
I loved her and hated her, but I was always careful with her. That was my duty as the only surviving Sanderson child, after all.
My visit home was as normal as they got around here. Dad had worked late, returning home at ten p.m. while Mom and I were watching a movie. He joined us until he received a call, then he was off.
So typical.
I spent the night in my childhood bedroom. It was as large as the entire top floor of my current house with a four-poster king-size bed, a seating area, desk, vanity, and a closet filled with so much designer clothing and shoes, it could have fed a small country for a year.
In the morning, Dad tapped on my bedroom door then pushed inside. He was dressed in a suit, straightening his tie as he strode in. I rarely saw him out of a suit, even on the weekends. He never stopped working, hence always being in work attire. If he owned pajamas, they were a mystery to me. It used to shock me when I’d spend the night at Pen’s and see her parents hanging out in their pajamas in the mornings. It was like a foreign planet to me.
I was in my bed, barely awake. My phone told me it was only half past the crack of dawn.
Dad shook his head. “You’re developing bad habits in college, Elena.”
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s barely seven, and Mom and I were up late watching movies. I need my beauty rest. Would you really begrudge me that?”
He chuckled, perching on the opposite side of my massive bed. “If you get any more beautiful, I’ll have to buy a gun. Do you really want me owning a gun?”
I burst out laughing. “Absolutely not. You’ll wind up shooting the delivery guy for leaving a speck of an oil stain on the driveway.”
Dad lowered his chin and wagged a finger at me. “When you spend a fortune to get the exact right color of concrete poured, only to have a goddamn stain on it the next day, you’ll understand my fury. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
“It’s the driveway.”
He folded his hands in his lap, his gaze drifting to the window. “It made your mom happy.”
That was all he’d needed to say. Despite his workaholism, he absolutely adored my mother and was hopelessly in love with her. Her happiness was his ultimate goal. The way he went about it was sometimes backward—like working long hours so he could give her the world, which conversely took away the one thing in the world that would have made her the happiest: him.
I let out a long yawn. “I’ll get up soon. Promise.”
He reached across the bed and patted my leg. “Don’t hurry back to campus. Spend some time with your mom.”
You spend time with your wife!
“I will. I’m in no rush to leave.”
He exhaled through his nose and checked his phone. “How are things going with the houses? You’re managing well?”
I nodded. “Things are quiet. I drive by the two houses on Lambert Ave on a regular basis. They haven’t needed anything from me since school started and the work on the houses was completed.” I held up my crossed fingers. “So far, so good.”
Our two other houses were rented by student athletes.Notthe football team. I was hoping that meant less partying and more responsibility, but time would tell. Since Dad had made me the property manager, I was keeping a keen eye on my rentals.
He slipped his phone into his pocket. “That’s what I like to hear.” His eyes snagged mine. “I’m proud of how you handled the remodels this summer. I have to admit, I assumed you’d run out of money and ask for more. You surprised me in a good way when you didn’t.”
Warmth spread across my chest and down my limbs. My father didn’t hand out compliments freely. They had to be earned. He wouldn’t be saying this if he knew about the near disaster of my deck project. Thank Prada I would never have to tell him.
“Thanks, Daddy.”
He rose from the bed, giving me an indulgent smile. “Have a good day with your mom, angel. Don’t be a stranger here. She needs you.”
Later, I found my mother in the kitchen. She was cheerful. The kind of cheerful that made my skin crawl because it wasn’t quite real. I knew this mood. It almost always came before a violent swing in the other direction. I crossed my fingers this would be one of the few times it didn’t.