Page 18 of Back for More
“Actually, I think you should just go ahead and order the supplies. Do up a design and a bid or whatever you call it.”
“An estimate?”
“Yeah.”
“Red cedar or vinyl?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Well, vinyl lasts longer and there’s less maintenance. But red cedar might look better back here. I think that’s what your mom would like.”
“Red cedar, then.”
“Would take a little longer to complete…”
“Take as long as you need.”
He grins. “Will do.”
“I better get inside for dinner.” Just as I’m about to walk away, I feel the urge to say, “Thank you, Toby. For taking such good care of the calla lilies and everything.” I fight back tears. God, that’s just what I need—for Toby to tell my new boss that I was bawling my eyes out. I force the stinging lump in my throat back to wherever it came from. “My mom loved this garden so much, and I’ve always felt closer to her when I’m out here.” I smile at him.
“It really is my pleasure, darlin’. Hope to see you out here more. And hey, if my boy doesn’t treat you right at the office, you let me know. I’ll have a word with him.” He winks.
“You got it.”
Toby’s so nice. I could never understand why Wes’s mother would leave someone like him. He’d be the best husband ever.
I’m not sure whose idea it was, but Vicky has set up dinner in the dining room, for my dad and me, each on opposite sides of the table, and it’s just as awkward as I’d expected it would be. My father doesn’t look much older than he did when I left. He’s still a handsome man, serious, and when he talks, he always sounds like he’s thinking about ten other things and ten other people he needs to talk to as soon as he’s done talking to me. But there are a lot of uncomfortable silences because we’re both trying to avoid looking at our phones or reading a book while we’re eating, to be polite.
Suddenly it occurs to me to ask, “You don’t usually eat alone in here, do you?”
He shakes his head and finishes chewing his steak before answering. “I usually eat in my study or in front of the TV when I’m home.”
This makes the tip of my nose tingle. I hate the thought of my dad eating dinner by himself in this big empty house every night while I was gone. “You must have dinner meetings sometimes.”
“Oh sure. A few times a week.”
“Good.”
I’m not going to ask him if he has dinner dates. I don’t think he does, but I don’t want to know. I don’t think he’d tell me if he did.
“We can eat in front of the TV if you want.”
He considers this for about two seconds before saying, “Okay. Let’s do that.”
We pile food onto our plates and relocate to the family room. It isn’t until we’re both seated in separate chairs and the TV’s on that he finally asks me how my meetings were today. I guess it’s easier for us to talk when we aren’t looking at each other.
“Good,” I say. “I really liked the people I’ve met there so far. I’m looking forward to meeting everyone and learning more about the company and what I can do there.”
“And Wes?”
I clear my throat. “Uh-huh.”
“And how was your meeting with Wes? Are you feeling confident about you two working together?”
“Oh sure, I don’t see why I wouldn’t be. We get along fine, and I’m quite capable of being an assistant once I figure out how to do everything, and I’m sure I can learn a lot from him.”
“I think so too,” he says. “Is this okay for you?”
