Faithful to Laura (31 page)
What a waste.
He folded the tie and placed it on the arm of the chair. Maybe Cora could take the suit back. Or at least donate it. He never intended to wear it again.
“What a lovely party.” Cora waltzed into the room. Her eyes were glazed, her smile wide. “It’s been so long since I’ve had something this important to celebrate.” She looked at Sawyer, her smile slipping a bit. “I do wish you would have been a little friendlier.”
“I thought I was friendly enough, considering you blindsided me.”
“Clearly you need some lessons in the fine art of small talk.” Cora sat down in the chair beside him. “But you have an innate charm of your own. Kerry had it too.”
“Didn’t I inherit anything from my father?” Sawyer challenged her.
Her smile disappeared. “Nothing of import.”
Sawyer nodded. He suspected the relationship between her and his father hadn’t been a good one, since she never mentioned him. Now she had confirmed it.
“I don’t want to talk about your father,” she said, leaning back against the chair.
“Then let’s talk about my mother, and why she never told me about you.”
Cora sighed. “Not tonight, Sawyer.”
He popped up from the chair. “Then when? Tomorrow? Next week? Three months from now? How long are you going to put me off?”
“I’m not putting you off. And I don’t like your tone. Apparently the Amish don’t feel the need to respect their elders.”
“You’re wrong. You don’t know anything about the Amish. Or about me. Or, for that matter, about respect. You haven’t asked a single question about my childhood. Or what it was like after the Bylers adopted me.” He sat back down and tapped a fist against the arm of the chair. “I’m not sure you even care.”
“I do care.” She tilted her head to one side. “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I think you care that you have an heir.”
Cora stood. “I don’t have to listen to this. I know you’re tired. After the day we had, we both are. Let’s get a good night’s sleep. Things will look different in the morning.”
“And will you answer my questions then?”
But she was already walking out of the room. “Good night, Sawyer.”
Sawyer stared at the gas fireplace. His mind went to home, and to Laura.
Had she left for Tennessee yet? Had she reunited with her parents? He was glad she decided not to pursue Mark anymore. But he missed her. And she was so far away.
He tried to imagine the Bylers in this posh place. His grandmother’s “friends” at the party had mostly been people in her employ—her attorney, accountant, and CEO of her company and their wives. How would they have reacted to Laura? Would they have accepted her?
He knew the answer without thinking. They barely accepted him, wouldn’t have given him the time of day if he hadn’t been Cora Easley’s grandson.
Dinner had been some kind of weird duck liver covered in a savory foam. He didn’t know which fork to use. Which glass to drink out of. What he wouldn’t give for some chicken and noodles. Even a pizza.
He had to get out of here. His grandmother’s attorney, Kenneth Hamilton, had given Sawyer his card before he left. Well, if Cora wasn’t willing to give Sawyer the answers he needed, he’d find them somewhere else.
The next morning he headed straight for the living room, expecting to see Cora there. He’d slept in later than usual, past eight o’clock. Surely she was up by now. But the living room was empty. So was the dining room, and the sitting room that opened up to a balcony overlooking the city. He followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen, where Manuela was placing a cup on a tray.
“Good morning, Mr. Thompson. I was just bringing you your breakfast.”
Sawyer looked at the food-laden tray. Bacon, eggs, toast. This was something he could dig into. Without thinking he reached for the toast. At Manuela’s questioning glance he shrugged. “I’m starving.”
“Would you like to eat in here?”
“Where else would I eat?”
Manuela gave him a quizzical look. “Señora Easley always has breakfast in bed.”
Was that how his mother grew up? Eating breakfast in bed? Getting dressed up and going to parties? She never mentioned any of that to him. She and his dad never talked about their childhoods. Looking back, he could see how they had deflected his questions, deftly changing the subject each time he asked about grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins—any family member. Eventually he stopped asking.
“I hope you’ll find this satisfactory. Señora Easely usually has dry toast and a boiled egg each morning. When she called and said you were coming, I figured you would want a little more than that.”
“Thank you.” He sat down at the bar, a smooth granite slab that probably cost more than he could make in a decade working at the Bylers’. He polished off the breakfast. Much better than the chintzy supper he’d had last night.
His mind drifted to Anna and Lukas. They would have already had their breakfast. His father would be at the shop, downing his third cup of black coffee. Christmas was in a couple of weeks. Who would paint the rocking horses? He shouldn’t have left them right before the holiday.
Homesickness assaulted him. He shouldn’t have left them at all.
Sawyer stared at his empty plate. He’d leave for Middlefield tonight. Even if he didn’t have answers. If he couldn’t get a flight, he’d rent a car. He couldn’t wait to get home.
He rose and walked into the living room, his bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. Other than the echo of Manuela doing the breakfast dishes, he was surrounded by silence. Emptiness. The fancy decorations and expensive furnishings couldn’t hide the coldness here. The Bylers might not have much, but that was by choice, and their house was filled with warmth. With love.
That’s what he wanted. Not money. Not some company that would own him and consume his life. He wanted to be surrounded by his family and friends.
Lord, thank You for showing me the way
.
“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Thompson?”
He turned at the sound of Manuela’s voice. “Is Cora—my grandmother—still sleeping?”
“No, sir. She went out early this morning.”
“Probably on another shopping trip,” he muttered.
“Not shopping.” Manuela frowned. “She’s at the doctor.”
Sawyer’s brow lifted. “Doctor? Why?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Thompson. Señora Easley, she is very private about those things.”
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“No, Mr. Thompson. Can I help you with anything else?”
He shook his head and she left. He walked to the doors that opened up over the city. He pressed his hand against the cold window. Snatched it away. Great, a handprint Manuela would have to clean later. He took the tail of his shirt and wiped the print off.
Was his grandmother sick? If so, he hadn’t been able to tell. She had plenty of spunk. Then he thought about her hand shaking as she held the champagne glass. The number of drinks she’d had at the party last night. She never lost her poise. But she couldn’t have been sober either.
Sawyer shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. It was probably just a routine checkup. Nothing to worry about. And nothing to keep him here. He would still go back to Middlefield—and then on to Tennessee, to find Laura.
Sawyer couldn’t spend the morning sitting in the apartment waiting for Cora to return. She had a TV, but he hadn’t watched one since he was a kid. Even in high school he hadn’t gone to the movies, preferring to save his money for other things.
Against his better judgment, he went out for a walk. Once again the city closed in upon him, frantic, rushed, claustrophobic. When he returned, he saw Cora sitting in the living room. The fireplace wasn’t on, but she wore a thick sweater with fur trim. He didn’t doubt the fur was real. He walked toward her, yet she didn’t turn to look at him. Just stared at the empty fireplace in front of her.
“Hello,” he said, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to call her. Mrs. Easley? Cora? Grandmother?
No. She didn’t deserve that title.
Her head jerked. She looked at him as he went to sit down. She smiled. “Did you enjoy your walk?”
“I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it. But it was nice to get fresh air.” Sawyer frowned. “What little I could find.”
“Doesn’t the city invigorate you?” Her grin widened. She shivered.
“Want me to turn on the fireplace?”
“I’ll take care of it.” She picked up the remote and clicked it on. “That’s better.”
“So why were you at the doctor? Are you sick?”
Cora seemed taken aback by the question. “You’re being nosy.”
“Nosy?” He leaped up from the chair and paced across the room. “You won’t tell me about my mother. Or my father. Now you won’t let me know why you went to the doctor. Did you ever plan to tell me anything?” His gaze narrowed. “Or was this just a ruse to get me here?”
She put her fingertips to her temple. “I have a headache—”
“Another excuse.”
“I will not be spoken to like that in my own house.”
“Don’t worry. I’m leaving.” He started to stalk away.
“Sawyer. Wait.”
He turned. “What?”
Her face seemed to have aged ten years. “I’m not used to answering . . . personal questions. If you must know, my appointment was a routine checkup. Nothing more than that. And as for your other questions . . .”
He crossed his arms, waiting.
“I really do have a headache. If you’ll indulge me for a couple hours longer, I’ll tell you all you need to know.” She moved toward him. “Please. I need to lie down for a little while.”
He looked down at her. Her ramrod-straight posture had slumped a little. Perhaps she wasn’t faking the fatigue. “All right. But when you wake up, I want to know everything.”
“You will. I promise.” She touched his cheek. “You should shave,” she said. “You look so . . . uncivilized.”
Sawyer paced. It had been an hour since Cora had gone to her room. He was tired of waiting. His nerves felt like they were about to break through his skin. Manuela had disappeared too. Antsy, he walked into the kitchen. Opened one of the cupboards. It was almost empty, save for a couple jars of caviar, three jars of green olives, and a box of water crackers. Did this woman not have any real food? Then again, she probably ate out, when she wasn’t having food brought in.