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“No. I just miss her, that’s all.”
I reach out, putting my hand on his arm, and he glances up at me. “Can you do something for me, Dad?”
He puts down the puzzle piece he’s holding and focuses on me. “Sure, sweetheart. What do you need?”
“Can you tell Mom that you miss her?” He frowns, like he doesn’t understand. “She needs to feel loved.”
“She is loved.”
“I know that, Dad… and so does she. But knowing it and hearing it are two different things.”
“And she needs to hear it,” he says slowly, like the thought is sinking in, as he shakes his head. “We’re so preoccupied just…” He stops talking and looks to me for help.
“Getting through the day? Dealing with all the crap life’s thrown at you since you had your stroke?”
He smiles. “All of that, and more.” He reaches across, placing his hand over mine and giving me a squeeze. “You’re right. I need to get her to stop dashing around and sit down with me for five minutes so I can apologize for being so grumpy.”
“You’re not grumpy.”
“Yeah, I am,” he says. “I don’t mean to be, but I am. And while I’m about it, I also need to tell her she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved, and how utterly perfect she is.”
I smile. “She’d like that, Dad.”
He squeezes my hand again. “Now, if you go make some coffee, I’ll get on with these daffodils.”
I glance at the picture on the box. “They’re not daffodils. They’re tulips.”
“Your mom calls them daffodils, so they’re daffodils.”
I chuckle, getting to my feet, and kiss the top of his head. “Whatever you say, Dad.”
Hunter’s waiting for me when I get into my office, and just the sight of him has me feeling a little flustered.
My drive back from Falmouth last night was pretty straightforward and I must confess, although I was really worried about my parents, I’m less so now. They seemed like different people yesterday, and I guess that must mean Dad found the time to sit Mom down and remind her how perfect she is. Even now, the thought makes me smile, and Hunter tilts his head, my expression clearly confusing him.
“How was your weekend?” he asks.
I’m not about to share my family secrets with him, so I just settle on, “It was fine, thanks,” and then add, “How was yours?” as I step into the room, moving closer to my desk.
“It was…” He pauses, like he’s thinking. “Enlightening.”
I don’t know what that means, but before I get the chance to reply, two things happen; the first is that he steps forward, moving closer to me, and the second is that the phone on my desk rings, making us both jump. Hunter sighs, pushing his fingers back through his hair, and I pick up the phone.
“Hunter Bennett’s office. How can I help?”
“Is Hunter there? It’s Preston Tucker.”
“I’ll find out if he’s available. Can you hold?” I don’t wait for his reply and put the line on hold, turning to Hunter. “It’s Preston Tucker for you.” I remember him from the meeting of account executives, and smile as Hunter rolls his eyes.
“I guess I’ll have to take it,” he says, and turns, going into his office. I give him a minute and put the call through. Then I sit at my desk, stash my purse in the bottom drawer and finally turn on my computer.
I wonder how long Hunter had been waiting for me. I’m not late, but surely he can’t have been standing out here for too long… can he? And what did he want? Asking about my weekend was nice of him, but if the number of emails in my inbox is anything to go by, we’re too busy for pleasantries. Dear God, there are hundreds of them.
I let out a groan, just as my cell phone beeps. I can hear it, even though it’s tucked away in my purse, and although I know I ought to ignore it, I can’t. It could be Mom.
I open the drawer and reach in, retrieving my phone and turning it over. The number isn’t one I know, and it’s certainly not my mom, and I feel my stomach lurch when I realize the message contains attachments.
This is like déjà vu.
