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Up until this moment, the day had been so relaxing. “Not interested, Dad.”
“Really?” He sounded baffled by the prospect of anyone turning down the life Jim Burke represented. “You’re satisfied living in New Hampshire, writing books, and working on an old house?” He shook his head. “It’s great to have hobbies or things to do outside the office, but is that how you want to spend the next twenty or thirty years? Wouldn’t you be happier living in Boston again? Meeting me and Mark or Harrison at the club for a round of golf?”
Dad didn’t sound upset, merely confused. A definite step up from their last conversation. “No.”
Dad rubbed his chin. Curt guessed his father worked at digesting the response he’d given. “When do you think you’ll finish the renovations and move back to Boston?”
Never. “I see no reason to move back.” He looked toward Taylor and his mom, chatting away like two old friends. Between them, Reese sat enjoying a slice of watermelon. “Everything I want is in Pelham.”
Chapter Fifteen
Taylor checked her cell phone again. No text messages or missed calls. Good. She forced herself to slip the device back into her purse before she called home a second time. She’d called this morning not long after sitting down at her desk. Mom had assured her everything was fine at home. Everything was okay at work. Curt sat next to her, so he was fine, too. None of that mattered, because her gut told her something different. She couldn’t explain it or shake the unease that had been bouncing around inside her since she got out of bed this morning.
“Are you still with me?” Curt asked.
They hadn’t planned on meeting for lunch today. Or, at least she hadn’t planned on seeing him for lunch. He arrived at her office building at noon, a picnic lunch in hand. Now, they sat on the same park bench they’d used back in April.
She pinched his arm. “If you felt that, I’m still here.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You haven’t said a thing since we sat down, and I just asked you a question. Is something wrong?”
I hope not. “I don’t think so. But all day I’ve had this feeling like something is wrong or going to be wrong. Ever get that?”
“Once in a while, but it passes.”
He put his arm over her shoulders. Usually the gesture made her feel loved and cared for. Today, unease overpowered any other emotions.
“Did you call home?” He’d come to know her so well since moving in next door.
“This morning. I talked to Mom before she left for the library. And I haven’t gotten any calls from her or anyone else.”
Curt gently squeezed her upper arm. “Then I’m sure everything is okay. Priscilla would call if it wasn’t.”
He’s right. Mom called even if she had to pick Reese up from school because she was sick. If Mom couldn’t get through, she always left a message letting her know. “You’re right. Sorry. What did you ask me?”
“I need to get a birthday present for Reese. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Not really. She wants to take guitar lessons, so Mom bought her a child-sized guitar. And she wants a scooter, so I got that. Maybe ask her. I’m sure she’ll think of something, even if it’s just another stuffed animal. Peanut can’t have enough friends, you know.”
“I really doubt Peanut needs more friends. I’ve seen his entourage.”
“Try telling her that.”
“I did have one idea. How about tickets to see the New England Revolution play?” Curt asked, referring to the professional soccer team. “I checked the website before I left, and the next home game we could make is in July.”
His suggestion required no consideration. “She’d love that. Her soccer team went last year, but she missed it. Strep throat. To say she was disappointed would be an understatement.”
“I’ll order tickets tonight. Maybe I’ll get Peanut a friend, too, so she has a present to unwrap next week. What do you think about a zebra? I haven’t seen her with one of those.”
“I don’t think she has one of those.” Considering all the stuffed animals in Reese’s bedroom, it was difficult to know for sure. “But don’t quote me on it.”
A cell phone beeped, letting its owner know they had a message, and Taylor pulled out her phone. “Not me.”
Curt took his phone out. “It’s Peter, my realtor.” He typed back a short message and set the cell aside.
He said he had no intentions of selling the house. Is he looking for another project? His current one isn’t even close to being halfway done. Has he decided to give up on it and move on? “Plan on buying something else?”
“No. Selling.” He picked up the phone again when it beeped. After reading the message, he put it back down.
