As I strolled toward the direction of my step-father’s voice, I passed the formal living room that Sebastian had insisted on furnishing with look-alike Louis XIV chairs and chaises. Father had hated it and whenever he was home, he retreated to the den where he lay on an old sofa and watched TV.
For months, Sebastian sat in there after dinner saying the atmosphere was calming, but I was convinced he just enjoyed being surrounded by expensive things, reminding him of how rich they were. Eventually, he’d joined Father in the den and complained about the cheap furniture.
One wall was bare and on poking my head in, the bright sunlight streaming in the large picture windows picked out rectangular marks on the paintwork above the fireplace and wispy cobwebs, suggesting a painting had been removed.
Running my fingers over the wallpaper, I remembered staring at the painting, figuring out what the artist was saying. My step-father told me I needed an eye for modern art to appreciate it and one day, when it increased in value, he’d sell it and make a fortune.
Something else was different. I studied the room, rewinding images from my memory as I worked out what was missing. The carpet. Father had been so proud of it, winning it in an auction. It was one of his most prized possessions.
Sebastian was rearranging the house the way he wanted it, getting rid of the things Father loved. If I ever came here again, there might be nothing left that reminded me of Father. Perhaps I could pocket something before I left, but my consciencewouldn’t let me. Besides, I couldn’t hide it from Dad and he’d make me march back to the house and return it.
Standing in the den doorway, I gazed around the room with papers piled on every surface. Sebastian was on the floor, rifling through folders. His creased tee was out of character because he instructed the staff to iron his underwear, the sheets and the towels. He raked his fingers through his hair and scribbled something on a piece of paper.
A cup of coffee was beside him, along with a half-eaten sandwich. PB&J? Since when did my step-father lower his standards and eat something so basic?
I cleared my throat, and he jerked backward, the papers he was holding flinging into the air before lazily floating to the floor and joining the others.
“What happened to Father’s carpet in the living room?” Seeing my step-father rattled, I blurted out the accusation.
“I—I sent it to be washed. The place near the country club.”
Liar, liar pants on fire. There was no specialized antique cleaner in town. Father had sent it to the east coast the one time Sebastian spilled wine on it.
“I was wondering if you’d made the payment to the hospital. We can’t go ahead with the operation without the funds.” That wasn’t a lie. The doctor phoned me every day asking if I’d secured them. Dad towed his oxygen tank around the house, needing it close by, and he was spending most of the day in bed.
Sebastian flapped his hand at me and grumbled he’d get to it.
“This is my father’s life.”
He swiveled toward me and spat out that my father was already dead. “The man in your apartment is your dad.”
I bit my lip, stifling the abuse that I wanted to hurl at him, that he deserved. The phone beeped and Sebastian returned to his papers while I read the message from Devyn.
How’s it going?
Okay. I’d fill him in when I got home, but after Dad was asleep.
While Devyn had promised he’d sell the car, the one Dean had named Betty—I had no idea why but Dean had told me when he came into the café one day—it wouldn’t be enough. Besides, it was in Roy’s name.
And I hadn’t mentioned it to Devyn because it might sound like I was accusing him of not coughing up enough money. But he had hinted he’d beg his father for the money.
But he couldn’t do that without outing that we had found one another. Dad’s health was my priority. I had to put him before Devyn.
“Got any juicy deets on Roy?”
He furrowed his brow. “Roy?”
“Rein’s son. The guy I assume I’m marrying.”
“Not really, but the wedding has to be soon.” He really was distracted as he picked up a piece of paper, put it down and picked it up again.
“Why?”
“Because… ummm the business deal… the reason we’re doing this. I can’t let it slip away or…”
I got up and sat in another chair, one closer to Sebastian, and squinted at the papers, but he slammed a cushion over them, saying they were private.
“Mind if I make myself a sandwich? I haven’t eaten lunch.”
