Page 146 of Still Bruised
“I didn’t know you knew my parents.” He’d been kidding earlier at the shop when he’d called her an old family friend. It had only been meant to put her at ease for cutting the line.
“Oh, we wereveryclose friends years back,” Foster’s mother said. “Long,longago.”
“I wasn’t aware.”
“Well, it was before you and Foster were born,” she said. “We… well, we kind of drifted apart. Life is funny like that sometimes. You live in the same town, yet the world takes you into two different directions and suddenly, you don’t know people you wholeheartedly adored anymore. It’s sad, really.”
Jude sensed there was a deeper story there, but a little voice told him he wasn’t ready to hear it.
Foster’s mother took his hand. “Let’s just say, I know how much they wanted a child in their lives and how overjoyed they were to finally have you. You werecherished.”
Jude fought a tickle at the backs of his eyes. His parents had given him nothing but love and he missed them terribly, especially when the holidays came round. With them both being only children, he was the last Margulies in their family line.
Given his sexuality, there would likely be no more, either.
She smiled. “You’re coming to dinner.I insist.”
Jude met her stare, noting a bit of challenge in it. Instinct had him ready to refuse, but agreeing would mean he’d get to see Foster. He still wasn’t sure if Foster wanted to see him, though.
I guess there’s one way to find out.
“How could I possibly say no?”
“You can’t,” Mrs. Price said, grinning. “Dinner’s usually around four but you can come earlier and watch football with the boys if you want.”
He suddenly remembered the twenty-five pounder he’d just shoved in her fridge. That meant a big gathering. Foster was one thing, but if he had to deal with a houseful of strangers? He wasn’t quite so sure. “How many people are you feeding?”
“Oh, about twenty or so.”
Jude inwardly cringed.
“Oh, don’t you worry. It’ll only be the four of us at dinner.
“Where’s the other sixteen?”
“I make up plates for the Eastfield firefighters who work Thanksgiving and deliver them after supper’s over. There are two stations, and they usually have about six folks covering each one. I send a couple of extra plates to each just in case my numbers are off.”
“That’s really sweet. I wish I’d known. I’d have donated the bird.”
“Maybe next year,” Mrs. Price said with a wink. She patted his hand. “You’re a sweet boy.”
Jude opened the door to head out.
“Four o’clock. Don’t forget.”
Jude smiled over his shoulder. “I won’t forget.”
Foster was utterly exhausted.The previous week had been relatively busy, in preparation for the holiday. Now that it was around the corner, he’d taken the train in three hours early the last two mornings and had arrived home almost as late—just to ensure his desk wasabsolutelyclear. Spears and Walker not only took the day before, of, and after Thanksgiving off—but the whole following week, too. The team there was abuzz, accustomed to the bonus holiday time. Many had made extensive travel plans to foreign destinations, taking full advantage.
It left him feeling nervous.
Foster had offered to be the point person since he had no plans—most brokerages had one for holidays to monitor the markets fordanger—but he’d been told it was covered. By whom, he did not know. He was used to a plan being in place. There didn’t seem to be one, and that made him incredibly antsy. The NYSE was closed on Thanksgiving, but only the single day—and foreign markets didn’t close at all. They’d all be open the following week when Spears and Walker was closed.
A brokerage closing for an entire week during active trading was unheard of. Foster was only a sell-side analyst, not an active trader for the company, but if he was, he’d be losing his mind at the thought of a week without checking in. Not that team, though. They had visions of the Bahamas, Ibiza, and St. Kitt’s dancing in their heads.
The laid-back nature of the company—the virtual work, the relaxed atmosphere, and the interesting corporate culture—had all contributed to his desire to work there. Brokerages were high-stress, high-tension atmospheres, and he’d wanted something different. Spears and Walker had been that something different, and he absolutely loved it there.
But closing for a full week without a solid plan in place and no idea who was watching the henhouse was leaving him frustrated. There was laid-back, and then there was irresponsible. Bash had assured him that their investments would be fine. The man had decades of successes under his belt, so perhaps Foster shouldn’t worry so much.
