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“And after that you were banned,” Finn stated.
Levi snorted in his sleep.
“Well, I am glad to see British happy,” said Irish.
“I am not sure it’s my doing,” Donovan replied. “But I do know she’s fun to be around.”
Scots stretched his legs across his wife’s in the love seat. “Exactly how much time are you planning on spending with our little sister? Ouch,” he cried out when his hair was pulled. “What?”
“I get it,” Donovan chuckled. “I have sisters, too.”
“Well, how long do you plan on staying in town, Mr. Ravens?” Joan asked. “Aren’t they missing you at Ravens Cosmetics?”
Identity exposed, Donovan widened his eyes. “I did not mean to omit anything.”
“You didn’t, not really. I used to model,” said Joan. “I did a few print ads for your grandmother—pre-children, of course.”
“I would have said recently,” Donovan answered honestly. British’s mother blushed the same way British did. “To answer your question, I am on a hiatus right now. I can go back whenever. Right now, though, I am dying to see the STEM-Off go through.”
“If British is letting you get involved with the GRITS team, you must be pretty special,” said Irish. She fiddled with the items in a box. “You are aware of Christian, right?”
“I am. He sounded like a wonderful man.”
Everyone agreed.
“I am impressed British let you help with the girls,” said Finn. “After Christian died, British put all her energy and dedication into her work and teaching STEM to the girls, even if she had to do it at that youth center.”
“And the insurance money Christian left her,” added Scots. “Don’t forget that.”
“Burns my ass the way she’s been frozen out by the science department,” said Finn.
This burst of information piqued Donovan’s interest. The idea of someone not treating British fairly didn’t sit right with him. He balled his fists against his thighs. He needed names and he needed them now.
“Oh, look,” Irish cooed, “here’s a photo of British.” She leaned across the distance and handed Donovan an old photograph. Out the corner of his eye he caught British coming down the stairs, but her movements seemed to happen in slow motion.
“No-no-no-no-no,” British repeated. But it was too late. She arrived at the arm of the couch with her hands over her face.
“British,” Donovan said, standing. In confusion, he shook his head. She lied. Why would she lie after everything they’d talked about? “All this time you’ve been shooting me down about being the spokesmodel for Ravens Cosmetics, making it seem the job was beneath you?” The initial knee-jerk reaction was anger but compassion struck him as soon as he saw the pain in British’s face.
“You were offered a job to be their spokesmodel?” Joan asked, standing, as well.
British rolled her eyes at her mother and huffed, “I’m not that person anymore.”
“Once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen,” Donovan told her. “You’re perfect.”
“Yeah...well, it’s hard to imagine I’m perfect when the whole reason Christian is dead is because of me and my stupid beauty queen obligations.”
So many questions entered Donovan’s mind. Why or how did she think she was responsible for her husband’s death? The quiver in British’s voice broke Donovan. All he wanted to do was hold her until all her pain went away. He felt helpless for not knowing what to say or do. “Oh, British,” everyone in the room chorused.
Tears welled in British’s eyes. Donovan felt like a jerk, especially when she stormed outside through the sliding-glass door.
Chapter 8
A fall breeze blew leaves on top of the aqua-blue water of the pool next to her parents’ deck. British shivered against the back of the blue-and-white Adirondack chair she sulked in. There was always a reason why she didn’t want to come home for the holidays. Her parents and siblings made too much of a big deal about British not seeing professional help after Christian passed away. She accepted his death, knew she was widowed and subconsciously believed his death was her fault. At the time of his death British still volunteered in pageantry. Her intent was to encourage young beauty queens to reach for more than a title and break the glass ceilings in the scientific fields.
Five years ago, however, British forgot her crown at home. It was easier to hold everyone’s attention if British wore her tiara and her lab coat. Christian offered to drive home and get it, which he did. Christian swerved to avoid hitting it and ran into a tree. Her tiara was found on the seat of the passenger’s seat when a deer ran across the road. She guessed this holiday weekend exposed her suppressed thoughts and had manifested when Irish brought out the old photograph. Maybe she overacted.
The first year without Christian, everyone had stepped on eggshells not to mention his name. They’d taken down the wedding photographs, like she didn’t have any at her apartment. But then tonight, to bring up the pageantry to Donovan? Ugh, she groaned inwardly. Had she not overheard part of the conversation while she’d finished the bedtime stories upstairs, there’d be no telling what other things Irish would have spilled. British argued with herself, shaking her head. She should have never agreed to come over.
