Crossing Lines (25 page)

“Tell Marianne I’ll let her know something by the end of the week.”

A
fter hanging up the phone with Kevin and getting Michy into bed, Sam made her way to the bathtub where she cried her way through bouts of anger, despair, grief, and back to rage. She soaked so long, she needed to drain the cold water and refill three times. Despite all her losses over the past several years, she hadn’t cried since her dad’s funeral.

When her family liquidated the business and sold off everything she and her dad built, she went into shock. When shit hit the fan with Michael, she numbed to everything, and after the numbness wore off, she refused to shed a single tear over his worthless, cheating, lying ass.

Once the stockpiled tears started falling, she experienced the mother of all cleansings. Emotionally exhausted, she expected to collapse into a deep sleep, but as she crawled into bed—where Kevin’s scent surrounded her and she found reminders of their time together everywhere—sleep eluded her. By two, she’d come to the conclusion she might need to burn her bedroom furniture and start all over.

At three, she gave up and moved to the couch, where she managed to sleep in ten and fifteen minute spurts. Enough to make her miserable, not enough to count toward any real rest. At four, she got her cell and dialed Michael. He and Sheila disrupted her entire life, so she found it difficult to feel bad about costing them a few hours of sleep.

After twenty minutes, she learned that, if she believed Michael, Sheila had been the pursuer. Feeling neglected by Sam, he succumbed to Sheila’s advances on an overnight business trip to Charlotte. He wasn’t sorry the affair happened and wouldn’t change anything.

Her next phone call went out to fidiot brother number one, Trey.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

They hadn’t spoken since Christmas, so it made sense he would automatically assume something was wrong. Also, four forty-five a.m. phone calls usually meant a family emergency.

“I need to ask you some questions.”

Sheets rustled as he moved around. “Now? In the middle of the night?”

“It’s early morning, not the middle of the night. Why did you think I couldn’t run Seymore Builders?”

Betty’s voice in the background accompanied more rustling and a groan as he crawled out of bed. “This can’t wait until morning? Real morning?”

“No.”

There was a squeak, like a door opening and closing. “We just didn’t think you could do it alone.” His voice echoed, and she assumed he’d gone to the shitter… the perfect place for him to have this conversation.

“I worked there my entire life and knew the business inside and out, nearly as well as Dad.”

“You constantly ran things by him and never made any decisions by yourself—”

“I made all of my own decisions. I never had less than three projects going at one time, with a million small decisions to make throughout the day. We also had big-picture decisions to make, and those we talked out. After gathering information, we made our own decisions. It’s called brainstorming, dickwad.”

After a long pause, he said, “Sorry, Sam, we did what we thought was best for everyone.”

“No, you all did what you thought was best for
you
. You saw a chance to sell everything off and make a pile of money.”

“Mom’s the only one who benefited from any of the money.” His voice grew tight, defensive.

“Really? You didn’t take a fee for all of your time? How much has the initial investment grown? Even in this shitty market, I bet the total value has increased. Am I right?”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“Tough. Shit. I haven’t liked anything you’ve done for a long time. Like me, you’ll get over it.”

She disconnected but decided to give her mother the courtesy of not calling until six. She took a shower and dressed and tried to eat breakfast, but nothing sounded promising, so she gave up and sat at the kitchen table while watching the clock. When the big hand hit twelve and the little hit six, she picked up the phone.

Her mother answered much the same as the others. “Sam? What’s wrong?’

“I’m trying to work through some things, and I need your help.”

After a brief pause, her mother said, “Okay.”

“Why did you agree to sell off everything? Did you really believe I wasn’t capable of running Seymore Builders without Daddy?”

This time, the pause was long enough to cause a truckload of tension to build in Sam’s gut. Her daddy always said,
“Never ask the question if you don’t want the answer.”
This would be the perfect scenario to heed caution, but she needed answers. Good, bad, ugly… whatever the response, she wanted to understand why her mom sided with her brothers and left Sam out in the cold.

“You were more than capable of running the business.”

Sam gasped, more confused than before. “Then why did you sell everything out from under me?”

“I watched your dad spend many sleepless nights, watching the weather forecast, waiting to see if the wind would blow hard enough to dry the ground, wondering if the loan would come through or if the sale would happen in time to pay off the loan without accruing penalties.

“I wouldn’t have chosen that life for you, so after your dad died—of a heart attack from the stress—and your brothers approached me about selling, I agreed. Not because I doubted you, but because I wanted to protect you. You had Michael and Michaela, and what I thought was a wonderful life. I wanted you free of the stress and aggravation that came with the business.”

Sam was speechless. Her mother should’ve allowed Sam the choice, but she’d acted out of love and responsibility as a mother, protecting her daughter. Sam cut her eyes to the bedroom… Much the way Sam tried to protect Michaela from harm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her mother sighed. “I tried. You were so angry; you wouldn’t listen. After things fell apart with Michael, I realized my mistake. But it was too late. Everything was gone.” She paused to take a deep, shaky breath. “I could’ve taken the money and put you back into business, but I still didn’t think it was the best choice for you, especially not as a single mom, so I left well enough alone.”

Sam’s head was reeling. She’d gotten the response she expected from Michael and Trey, but her mother’s explanation left her ungrounded and flailing.

“Why did you need these answers now, sweetheart, at six o’clock in the morning?”

Sam and her mom weren’t as close as Sam had been to her dad, but in a house full of men, the two had needed to stick together to keep from losing their minds. She told her mom about Kevin and all that transpired over the past few days, at least the G-rated mom version, and then waited for her response.

The response was slow in coming, and she could tell her mom carefully considered her words before speaking. “Sometimes, people make bad decisions with the best of intentions.”

“Yeah.” Sometimes people made decisions without thought to others, like Michael and Trey. Sometimes, people like her mom… and Kevin… made bad choices while trying to do good.

“I’m sorry for calling so early. Thanks for talking to me and clearing all this up for me.” She brushed her hair away from her face and massaged her temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen before when you tried to explain. I guess I wasn’t ready to hear it.”

She disconnected the call as Michy bounced into the kitchen, ready for breakfast. One look at Sam, and her bounce thudded to a halt. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

Sam took a deep breath and opened her arms, needing her sweet, innocent baby girl close to her. “Nothing.”

“But you’ve been crying. You never cry. Not even when you gots hurt.”

“Yeah, but you know what? It’s okay to cry sometimes.” She brushed the baby-fine hair curled around Michy’s face away from her forehead and gave her a kiss. “I’m fine. Let’s get your breakfast and get you to school.”

While Michy ate, Sam rummaged around in the bathroom drawers and found the cover-up and foundation she never wore. She dabbed a little on her finger and went to work on the dark circles hanging below her red, swollen eyes. Combined with the pink nose, swollen lips, and puffy face, this was a lost cause. Maybe she should wrap her arm in a bandage, slap a few Band-Aids here and there, and claim assault by a bus. She already had the limp to back up the claim.

She wasn’t willing to let Kevin off the hook just yet and still wasn’t exactly sure what she intended to say to him. But as far as her life went, regardless of her appearance, she was a hundred pounds lighter and freer than she’d been in a long, long time. She supposed, regardless of what happened with her and Kevin, she had him to thank for her freedom.

T
he past eighteen hours were the longest of Kevin’s life. He couldn’t remember ever being so miserable and felt like his soul was slowly and methodically being sliced to pieces. Sam’s call last night brought a sliver of hope, but he hadn’t heard from her since, and neither had Marianne.

“You going home anytime soon?”

Kevin lifted his head from the easel of his upraised hands and looked across his office at Marianne. Although pissed about the screwed-up work situation with Sam, she understood where he’d been coming from with Lizbeth. She had his back, regardless of how badly he messed up.

He once told Marianne she and Sam were a lot alike. Right now, the only thing keeping him sane was the hope that if Marianne understood his motivations, Sam might also understand. He wasn’t sure she would ever forgive him, but if she got to the point of understanding and didn’t hate him… that would be a million times better than where they were now.

“Yeah, I suppose. I’ve been here all day and haven’t accomplished a god-damned thing. No need to keep spinning my wheels with more of the same.”

“I’m sorry it went down like this. I never thought I’d see the day my big brother fell in love…” She dropped her head and sighed, then looked up at him with a mischievous expression. “Maybe she’ll take this job, and your charm will eventually win her back.”

“God, I hope so.” Especially since hope was the only thing he had at this point.

He helped Marianne shut down the office and walked her to her car. “In the spirit of positive thinking,” he said, “I’m going home and making a pitcher of sweet iced tea.”

He told Sam he wouldn’t disappoint her again by not having any on hand. He would keep a damned pitcher of sweet tea in his fridge forever… just in case.

Two hours later, Kevin had made the tea, poured out all the alcohol in the house so he wasn’t tempted to revert to his old coping mechanisms, and managed to cook a halfway decent dinner. He’d just gone to the bedroom and stripped off his shirt when a knock sounded at the door.

Hope drove his heart to pump triple time, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and run through the list of possible visitors, so he wasn’t crushed when he found someone other than Sam at his door. He tried to call Callie earlier to ask a few questions about the furnishings in the Vanguard sales office. Maybe she decided to drop by, rather than call. His visitor might also be Wade.

The poor guy was as annihilated as Kevin. He came to work this morning, but when Kevin dropped by to check on him, he was such a mess Kevin sent him home. Although, he doubted Wade actually went home. The more likely scenario was he’d headed to Riverside to try and change Miranda’s mind, or to kill the son of a bitch she’d been messing around with.

Hello? Pot… meet kettle.

As he rounded the corner, the most beautiful site in the world greeted him. Well past her bedtime, Michy stood beside her mom, a mud pie in her hands, the sweetest smile in the world on her face. Her mamma appeared less sweet, a whole lot wary, and nervous.

He wanted to go straight to Sam, but Michy was the one bearing gifts, so he knelt in front of her and tried to control the crack in his voice. “Hey,
piccolina,
what cha got there?”

“Mommy said she messed up your other pie, so she helped me make this one for you.”

Sam and Michaela were so much stronger than him, because despite his best effort, he couldn’t hold back the tears stinging his eyes. Sam would never have helped Michy make this pie, let alone take her anywhere near him, if she didn’t intend to at least hear him out.