3
M
ick
hadn't been home for a month, not that Chesapeake Shores felt much like home
anymore. He'd spent most of that time in a frustrating battle of wits with
officials over building permits for his latest planned community north of San
Francisco. Given the number of hurdles, he was beginning to question the wisdom
of going through with the development. Then again, he'd put his reputation on
the line for this one, and what would it say if he folded up and went away
without a fight?
He'd just finished a meeting with his associates from O'Brien Company,
his contractors and the subcontractors about the latest delay when his cell
phone rang. Glancing at caller ID, he saw that it was his mother, who rarely
ever called him these days. In the past she'd only called in an emergency, and
there'd been plenty of those with five kids in the house.
"Hey, Ma, how are you?" he said, walking away from the other men so
he could have the conversation in private.
"Fit as a fiddle," she said. "Wish I could say the same for your
daughter."
Mick felt his pulse speed up. "Is something wrong with Abby? Or
Bree?" he asked. Then added almost as an afterthought, "Or is it
Jess?"
"Interesting that your concern for Jess came last," she said, her
tone accusing. "That's always been the problem between you two. Sometimes
I think you forget you have three daughters. It's little wonder the girl works
so hard to try to get your attention."
"I hope you didn't call just to give me another lecture on how I've
shortchanged Jessica. We've had that conversation too many times to
count."
"Then it amazes me that it has yet to sink in," she retorted.
"And actually that's exactly why I called. When was the last time you
spoke to her?"
"A few days ago, I suppose," he said, searching his memory, but
unable to come up with anything more precise. That gave some credence to his
mother's accusations, but he wasn't planning to admit that anytime soon. He
hadn't spoken to Abby or Bree, either.
"More like a month, I imagine," she said. "If I had to guess,
I'd say it was when she drove you to the airport. I doubt you've given her a
second thought since then."
He winced as the barb hit its mark. "Okay, that's probably right. What's
your point? She's a grown woman. She doesn't need her dad checking up on
her."
"Checking up on her, no," his mother agreed with undisguised
impatience. "But how about checking in just to see how she's doing, maybe
asking how the inn is coming along, inquiring if she could use any help in
getting it ready to open? Would those things be too much to expect from a
loving parent, especially one with an entire construction company at his
disposal?"
Mick bristled at the suggestion that he wasn't interested in his own daughter's
life or that he'd been unwilling to help her out. "Jess made it plain she
didn't want my interference. You sat right there at the kitchen table when I
offered to send one of my guys around to look things over and she turned me down
flat."
"Mick, for a bright man, you can be denser than dirt," she chided.
"Maybe she didn't want one of your men over there. Maybe what she needed
was
you.
"
Mick might be past fifty, but he still hated being called on the carpet by his
own mother. He'd rather face down a hundred bureaucrats than be made to feel
that somehow he'd let down his family. It wasn't as if he didn't know he'd
failed them by making life so miserable for Megan that she'd left him. He
hadn't been able to fix that, and it was likely that whatever was going on
right now with Jess wasn't something he could fix, either. What kind of man was
he? He'd built an international reputation as an architect and urban planner,
but he couldn't keep his own damn family together.
"Ma, why don't you just say whatever's on your mind? Is Jess in some kind
of trouble? Does she need money? One of my crews? What? You know I'll do
whatever I can to help. All she needs to do is ask."
His mother sighed heavily. "Mick, you know she'll never do that."
"Why, for God's sake?" he asked, frustrated. "Who else should
she ask? I'm her father."
"Exactly. And she's been trying to prove herself to you since the day her
mother left. She thinks that was her fault because she was too much trouble,
because she wasn't smart enough."
"Jess is smart as a whip," he protested, exactly as he always did.
"Well, of course she is, but learning came hard for her. She thinks that
was what sent her mother running. Kids as young as Jess was back then always
think a divorce is their fault."
"You've been watching Dr. Phil again," he accused. "Don't try to
psychoanalyze my relationship with Jess."
"Well, somebody has to fix it. It's way past time. How soon can you get
back here?"
"A few weeks, maybe. Longer unless you tell me what the hell is going on
in plain English that my poor denser-than-dirt male brain can comprehend."
"Don't smart-mouth me. I'm still your mother."
Mick nearly groaned. "Ma, please."
"I think it's possible she's going to lose the inn before she even gets the
doors open. If that happens, it will break not only her heart, but her
spirit."
The news caught him completely off guard. Even he recognized how that could
affect his daughter, assuming it was true and not just the product of the local
gossip mill. "What makes you think she's going to lose the inn?"
"I've heard rumors the bank is considering foreclosure. And before you
dismiss that as nothing more than speculation, I'll tell you my source was
reliable."
Mick's frustration mounted. "Dammit, I knew she was getting in over her
head, but she signed all the paperwork and plunged into this without talking
any of it over with me."
"Because she needed to prove to you that she could do this all on her
own."
"Well, exactly what will she have proved, if the bank forecloses?"
"Michael Devlin O'Brien, don't you dare come back here if all you're going
to do is throw her mistakes in her face. She needs her father, not a judgmental
businessman."
Now it was Mick's turn to sigh heavily. If what his mother was saying was true,
it put him between a rock and a hard place. "Ma, we both know I could fix
whatever's going on with one call to Lawrence Riley, but you know as well as I
do that Jess won't thank me for it."
"True enough," she admitted. "But we have to do something, Mick.
Jess needs to make a success of this."
"Do you really think she could lose the inn? Maybe it's not that
bad."
"Jess called her sister, that's how bad it is. Abby's here now trying to
help, but from the grim expression on her face this morning, it could take more
than some sort of financial wizardry on her part to fix this. Come home, Mick.
Whether she admits it or not, Jess needs your support right now. And of course,
if you flew home tonight, you'd be able to spend some time with Abby and your granddaughters."
"Tonight?" he asked, trying to work out the all-but-impossible
logistics in his head. "I doubt I could get on a flight on short
notice."
"Spend some of that fortune you make on something important for once. Hire
a private jet, if you have to."
He thought of having one daughter and his only grandchildren under his roof
again, of being there when another daughter might actually admit she needed
him, and made a decision. His mother was right. If ever there was a time he
belonged at home with his family, this was it.
"I'll see what I can arrange," he said at last.
"That's good," his mother said. "And let's just pretend, you and
I, that we never had this conversation."
Mick laughed for the first time since the uncomfortable conversation had begun.
"You're still a sly one, aren't you, Ma?"
"I pride myself on it, in fact."
*
* *
Abby spent all day Saturday buried in paperwork at the inn.
As her sister had assured her, the projections were positive, but Jess clearly
had little sense of money management. If she'd wanted fancy, top-of-the-line
shower curtains or thick, luxurious towels, she'd bought them, even if it broke
the budget.
Not that she'd ever put a budget on paper in the first place or even the sort
of business plan that Abby would have expected the bank to require. Obviously
she'd been flying by the seat of her pants, and the bank had let her get away
with it because she was an O'Brien in a town where that meant something. Any
national bank would have adhered to much stricter guidelines than the
Chesapeake Shores Community Bank apparently had followed.
Abby sat Jess down at the kitchen table on Saturday night and laid it all out
for her while Gram was upstairs reading the girls their bedtime story.
"You have little to no operating capital. How were you planning on buying
supplies for the restaurant? Or soaps and toiletries for the rooms, for that
matter?"
"Credit?" Jess said weakly, looking as if she were about to cry.
"I haven't maxed out my credit cards yet."
Abby bit back a groan. "You'll dig a hole so deep doing that, you'll never
get out. Like it or not, I'm going to give you an infusion of cash and a strict
budget. Assuming, that is, that we can get the bank to go along with this. I'm
just praying that they haven't officially started foreclosure proceedings. I'm
going to be on the doorstep over there at nine sharp Monday morning and we'll
see where we stand."
"I'll come with you," Jess said. "This is my project."
Abby agreed reluctantly. "Okay, but let me do the talking, unless they ask
for information I don't have."
"Fine," Jess said, not meeting her gaze.
Abby studied her sister. Jess's cheeks were faintly flushed. Maybe it was just
embarrassment that she'd let her finances get so messed up, but Abby thought it
was something else. She looked guilty.
"What aren't you telling me?" Abby asked her. "Has the
foreclosure process gone further than you've admitted? Are there more bills you
haven't wanted me to see?"
Jess hesitated, then declared, "No. You've seen every single piece of
paper, every bill I owe."
"Then why do you look guilty?"
"Guilty?" She widened her eyes in an attempt to look innocent.
Abby didn't buy it. "Don't even try that act with me. I've known you too
long and too well. That's the look you used to get when you'd snuck out the
bedroom window at night to meet Matt Richardson and Gram called you on
it."
Jess's flush deepened. "Okay, maybe there is one other thing you should
know before Monday."
"Tell me," Abby ordered, the knot of dread forming yet again in her
stomach. "Don't you dare let me walk into that meeting and get
blindsided."
Before Jess could reply, the door burst open and their father strode into the
kitchen. Jess looked from him to Abby and back again.
"I see the cavalry's arrived," Jess said sourly. She scowled at Abby.
"Did you call him?"
"Of course not," Abby said, trying to soften Jess's reaction by
standing up to give her father a warm hug. She beamed up at him. "Why
didn't you let us know you were coming home?"
"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision," he said, casting a wary look
toward Jess. "Something going on you didn't want me to know about?"
"Nothing," she said firmly, shooting a warning look at Abby that
pretty much tied her hands. With obvious reluctance, Jess stood and gave Mick
an obligatory kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Dad. Welcome home. I'd love to stay
and catch up, but I need to get home."
"Last time I checked, this was your home," he said.
"I'm staying at the inn now," she said, as she gathered up all the
papers on the kitchen table and shoved them into a briefcase. Clearly she
didn't intend to take a chance that Mick would lay eyes on them.
She was already heading for the door when she said, "I'll talk to you
tomorrow, Abby."
Abby wanted to argue that they still had things to discuss right here and now,
but clearly Jess didn't want anything revealed in front of their father. She'd
just have to wait until Sunday to find out what Jess had been keeping from her.
As soon as her sister was out of earshot, Abby turned to her father. He looked
tired, but otherwise robust. There were threads of gray in his curly,
reddish-blond hair, but his broad shoulders and trim waistline testified that
he was still maintaining his fitness regimen even with all the traveling and
dining out he did. His complexion was ruddy from working outdoors and there
were a few more lines around his blue eyes, which were filled with concern as
he stared after Jess.
"Gram called you, didn't she?" Abby asked him.
He hesitated for a split second, then nodded. "She wanted me to know you
and the girls were here. I caught the first flight I could get, so I could
spend a little time with you. It's been a long time since you've graced us with
your presence down here."
"Too long," she admitted. "Was that all she told you?"
Mick went to the counter and poured himself a cup of tea, then sat down without
replying. He stirred sugar into the strong brew and took a sip, then met Abby's
gaze. "Sure. Is there something else going on?"
"Don't play games with me, Dad. You're really back because she told you
Jess is in trouble."
His lips twitched at that. "Did she really? Are you a mind reader now? Or
did you eavesdrop on a private conversation?"
"Of course not."
"Then take what I'm telling you at face value," he ordered. "It's
better that way. Now tell me where my darling girls are."
"Asleep, I hope," she said. "And we're not going to wake them up
at this hour. I'll never get them back to sleep if we do. They'll be too
excited if they see you. You can spend all day tomorrow with them." She
gave him a stern look. "And no spoiling them rotten, either. I think you
bought all the toys in FAO Schwarz the last time you were in New York."
"It's a grandfather's privilege to do a little spoiling," he argued.
"That's what we're meant to do."
Abby rolled her eyes. A few days of all that extra attention from Gram and now
Mick, and the twins would be little terrors by the time she got them back to
New York.
She realized that Mick was studying her over the rim of his cup. "You look
worn-out, Abby. You're working too hard."
"That's the nature of what I do."
"Does it leave you enough time for those sweet girls?"
"Not really," she admitted, then added pointedly, "but you
should know better than anyone what it's like to make hard choices, to do
what's best for your family." In some ways they were two of a kind, which
she supposed made at least some of her criticism sound hypocritical.
"I do know about hard choices," he said, not taking offense.
"And you should know as well as anyone what the cost was. I lost a woman I
loved. And not a one of you could wait to leave this place. So what good did
all this money and success do for me in the end?"
"Jess is still here."
"And not a day goes by that I don't wonder why."
"I think I know the answer to that," Abby said. "She loves it
here, more than the rest of us ever did. And she's still trying to prove
herself to you, here, in a place that once meant everything to you. I think she
believes it will create a bridge between you eventually."
"There's nothing she has to prove. My love for you, Jess, Bree and your
brothers is unconditional."
Abby saw that he honestly believed it was that simple and that obvious. She
decided to be candid for once, rather than skirting around the real issues this
family had. "Dad, when Mom left, you might as well have. From that moment
on, you passed through our lives when you could spare a few days, but you
didn't know anything about us. For Connor, Kevin, me and even Bree, it was
hard, but we were almost grown by then. Jess was still a little girl."
He frowned at that. "What are you talking about? I knew everything there
was to know about all of you. I knew when you were sick. I knew when one of you
won an award at school or scored a touchdown. I was there for graduation. I
paid the bills for college and saw the report cards."
Abby's temper stirred. "And you thought those things were all that
mattered? A private investigator could have told you any of that stuff, though
of course in your case it was Gram who filled you in. We needed our father
here, cheering for us, drying our tears, calling us on it when we made
mistakes."
His cheeks flushed and his tone turned defensive when he reminded her,
"You always had your grandmother for that."
"And she was wonderful. She did all of those things, but she wasn't you or
Mom." Abby shook her head, resigned to the fact that he would never
understand. "What's the point of fighting about this now? It's all water
under the bridge. We survived. Not every kid has an idyllic family, and our
lives were certainly better than most."
"I did the best I could," Mick protested.
She gave him a pitying look. "Perhaps you did, but you know what? Maybe
it's because I'm the oldest, but I remember a time when you were better than
that."
She stood up then, rinsed out her own cup and put it in the dishwasher.
"Good night, Dad. The girls are going to be thrilled to see you in the
morning."
She wished she could say the same. Though she knew with everything in her that
he'd come home to try in some way to help with Jess's predicament, she had this
awful feeling that his presence was only going to make things worse.