Finding Master Right(19)
“Either you freaked her out, or she freaked herself out later.”
“Who knows? She’s not talking to me.”
Ambrose winced. “That face. People write entire country albums about the look you have on your face right now. Did she steal your dog, your horse, and your pickup?”
“If she did, I’d have a legit reason to stay away from her.” Banner took a swig of his soda, wishing it were beer.
Which would be worse—if she showed up next Saturday, like they’d agreed on, or if she didn’t? Maybe the chemistry was a onetime thing. Maybe the giddy feeling he’d gotten when she’d sat on his lap to watch the movie, and the intelligence and humor he’d seen in her while they talked were all just about him being lonely and deluding himself. He barely knew her, really. Becoming infatuated with her now wasn’t very smart. “Let’s go get me drunk.”
“No drunk dialing her. Deal?”
He walked to the pool’s edge and picked up his phone. Instinctively he checked it, then held it out to Ambrose. “Yeah, you’d better hang on to this.”
His friend shook his head. “Hopeless.”
***
Banner rang the buzzer at his mother’s sprawling modern house, even though he knew the formality annoyed her. It had never been his home. When he was a kid, they’d lived in a regular place in the middle of town.
His dad had been a bit of a workaholic, trying to give them a good life. He wasn’t home long enough to fix anything or mow the lawn, so it’d looked out of place in their tidy neighborhood. He had learned how to do that stuff from Victor, the old man who lived next door. He’d tried to fill in as the man of the house from the time he’d hit middle school. It wasn’t until he was old enough to learn the family business that Banner had developed a relationship with his father, and that ended almost as soon as it started.
Not long after his father had died, Banner had made his first few million and bought the family this house. He’d thought his mother deserved to have nice things after so many years, but more importantly it got her out of the house that had belonged to the man she’d worshipped, who’d been fond of her but never really had time to return her devotion. The indifferent way his father had treated his mother was the hardest part of forgiving him.
The door was answered promptly by Shannon, his mother’s caregiver. The pretty girl barely had the chance to smile in greeting before Rook skidded past her, barreling into Banner’s chest. Banner grabbed his little brother in a headlock and gave him an obligatory noogie.
“Stop!”
Banner did, but then threw him over his shoulder and headed for the great room.
“I’m too old for this, Banner. Put me down.”
“Suddenly, this is too undignified for someone your age?”
“I’m fourteen, not six.”
It was difficult not to point out that Rook was about the size Banner had been at eight or nine. Rook was built more like their father, small and thin, whereas Banner had taken after their mom’s brothers.
The great room was empty and spotless, other than a collection of Rook’s art supplies and his easel by the bay window. He put the boy down near his workstation and studied the grays and blacks of the bleak winter forest the paper held. Beautiful, in a quiet, sad way. His use of light and shadow were exceptional.
“You said charcoal, right?” Banner fished in his satchel and handed over the box.
“Thanks! I was on the verge of having to switch to pastels.”
Banner considered how to best frame the work when it was finished so they could hang it in the house or at his office. Hopefully, Rook was interested in selling it. He was more than good enough to sell his stuff, but he never wanted to show it to anyone. “That might have ruined your depressing motif.”
“I know, but Meadow refused to let me use her eyeliner, so the only other thing I could think of was dirt.”
“You’d have to go outside for that.”
“Yup. I told you I was desperate.”
Banner laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I’m glad I could help, then. Has Mom been up today?”
Rook’s face fell. “No. Shannon and I got her to wake up, but she’s still in bed and staring off into space, mostly.”
“Not for you to fix.” He hugged Rook and didn’t let him go until he pulled away. “Don’t forget I’m bringing you to the art show downtown on Thursday. Where’s Meadow?”
“Yeah, I won’t forget. I have my clothes picked out already.” Rook gave a shy laugh, then started to open the box of charcoals. “Meadow is directing the guys who are working on winterizing the grounds.”
“How’s Dylan?”
Rook’s expression brightened. “He’s fine. I texted him earlier. He’s playing Minecraft right now, but he’s coming over later.”
“If you ever have any questions . . .” Banner gave him a pointed look. For a moment Rook looked at him blankly. Then he realized what he meant.
“Oh jeez. Shut up!” Rook shoved him. “What do you know about gay sex? Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
“You can keep asking, but the answer is still no. Sadly, I’m straight.”
“So you can tell me what? What to do with a woman? Like I care. Besides, I already know everything. I’m not a child, and we have the fucking internet.”
“Language, sir. There’s no reason to cuss.” The internet? Not good enough. He’d have to talk to him about it soon.
Rook rolled his eyes and waved him off.
Banner walked down the hall, noting the gleaming surfaces and general tidiness. Meadow was very strict about the house looking perfect, and Banner suspected that she was worried their mother would become her old self again one day and be critical of how her daughter had been keeping things.
Out of habit, he checked his phone. The only message was from Ambrose, urging him to drop by later. Neither of them was used to Konstanin, who was the chronic texter, being away for so long. He’d almost given up on hearing from Kate. Either she’d show up this weekend or she wouldn’t—checking his phone wasn’t going to make a difference.
Shannon met him partway, carrying a tray of food that looked like it had been shuffled around but not really eaten.
“She’s awake?”
“Yes. She’s been up awhile, but she’s not in the mood for company. You know how it is.”
“And not eating?”
Shannon shrugged. “I do what I can.”
Banner smiled at her. “I know you do. You treat her the way I would if I could be here all the time. Actually, you’re probably more patient.”
The caregiver chuckled and flashed a dimple. Charming girl, but safely married. “Compared to my sons, this is a cakewalk.” She nodded a good-bye and headed toward the kitchen.
Desiree Jennings’s door stood open, although she probably wouldn’t invite him in, if he gave her the choice.
“Mom, are you awake?”
She lay in bed, looking weak and frail. “I’m not feeling well today, Banner. Can we visit tomorrow instead?”
He glanced across the room and was unsurprised to find the shrine to her husband still intact. A candle burned before it as though the light could summon him back. No counselor had succeeded in convincing her to move on with her life, and even the love and care of Banner and his siblings hadn’t drawn her back into the world of the living.
Undeterred, Banner pulled back the curtains and light flooded the room, despite the overcast day. “You need to get out of bed for a while, or you’ll get bedsores again, remember? And the physiotherapist has said you need to get more exercise or your legs won’t get any stronger.”
“I can walk just fine for what I do. I was never a person for sports. What does she expect me to do? Take up tennis?”
“You’re rich now. Isn’t that what rich women do?”
“I’m not rich. You are.” She patted his arm when he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re just kind enough to take care of us.”
“Up, up, up!” Gently, he helped her swing her legs over the side of the bed, thankful that she still slept near the edge to leave room for his father, if only because it made it easier to help her get to her feet. “If you don’t get moving you’re going to need a walker soon.”
“I don’t have anywhere I want to go, so what difference does it make if I need a walker?” She allowed him to haul her up, the perpetual tracksuit she wore mostly disguising how painfully thin she was. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and she blinked rapidly as a ray of light from a window reached her.
The usual frustration nagged at him. If someone wanted to die, how did you make them live?
“Did you go to Rook’s parent-teacher meeting yesterday?”
“No. I wasn’t well.” She clung to his arm until she had steadied herself, then let go and turned away.
“Mom, you know I had to work late. That’s the only reason I asked you to go.”
“He gets excellent grades. Why go? I would have had to shower and dress up.” She sighed as though the prospect of attending to her personal hygiene was exhausting.
“If we don’t go it looks like no one cares about him. You went to every single one of mine and Meadow’s. Why not Rook’s?”