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“How’s Selene?” he asked next, the wrinkles at the corners of his gray eyes deepening further.
“The boys aren’t coming home this summer. Use this time to figure out what you want, Franklin, because we can’t live like this anymore.”
“I will, if you promise to do the same, because this goes both ways, Selene.”
Shaking my last conversation with my wife from my head, I took in the opulence of my office, the business awards lining the display case along the wall. I peered down at the suit I wore and thought about the hundred others like it lining my closet. I glared at my leather-bound planner resting on the end of my desk, packed to the brim with meeting reminders and business dinner engagements.
I resented them all, resented everything they represented, and most of all, I resented that even in my temporary reprieve from a life I wasn’t sure I wanted to live anymore, I couldn’t escape them completely.
“You know how to reach me,ifnecessary,” I said, scooping up my cell phone and ignoring his last question. The well-being of my wife wasn’t his business, and I didn’t know how to answer it even if it was.
“Franklin,” he said as I reached the office door. I stopped with my hand on the handle. “I know the lines between us can often be blurred, and I know sometimes you look at me and see your father. You see his failings as a parent, and how much he and I are alike. But I do care about you, and I hope you know you can talk to me.”
Robert’s intentions were good, but he was of the same mindset as my father. It was what made them the best of friends. He wouldn’t understand what ate at me, and at the end of the day, we weren’t friends. At least not by choice. We’d inherited one another, and I was sick and tired of not having a choice.
“In some ways you’re like him too,” he whispered.
“He and I arenothingalike,” I said, pushing through the door because I couldn’t spend another minute in that office being suffocated by the weight of antiquated expectations, and because I knew if I’d turned to him, I would’ve been greeted with his pity and the realization that he was right.
***
Samuel waited near the curb for me, holding the back door of the SUV open. Wanting to put miles, instead of mere feet, between myself and Nexcom, I didn’t waste another second clearing the lobby’s revolving doors and sliding in.
We rode out of the city in silence until he pulled into the driveway of the waterfront property I’d recently purchased. I stepped out, inhaling the scent of the Pacific Ocean, loving the way the light breeze ruffled my hair.
“Samuel,” I called as he shut the rear door and prepared to climb into the driver’s seat.
“Yes, Mr. Kincaid?” Samuel had been my father’s driver; another person passed down to me—albeit a more welcome inheritance gift.
“Take the summer off. With pay,” I added when his sage eyes widened in alarm.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his salt and pepper brows lowering.
“Yes, I’m sure. Enjoy your grandchildren this summer. Take your wife on that Italian vacation she’s been not-so-subtly pestering you about. I’ll be fine.” Another invisible manacle fell from my wrists. How many more could I break free of? I wanted to rely on myself this summer. I wanted to drive, to walk, to ride the damn bus, and imagine my father turning over in his grave because of it.
Samuel scanned the two-story coastal home surrounded by evergreens on both sides, then swept his gaze along the tree-lined road we’d turned off of, probably noting how isolated I’d be out there. How alone I’d be. His forehead creased with further concern when he observed my ringless finger.
“I’ll be fine,” I stressed again when his expression shifted to one of indecision. “I swear it.”
“Only if you promise to call me if you need me or if you needanything,” he demanded.
I squeezed his shoulder, and he rested a weathered palm on top of mine. “I promise.”
With a stiff nod, he got into the SUV, reversing out and pulling off with a wave.
I sighed and turned to the back of the house, which faced the winding road, leaving the front of the home to overlook the ocean and mountain view.
Entering from one of the side doors, I moved beyond the mudroom, through the open kitchen and into the living room, unlatching and sliding back the glass wall to let in the sea breeze and early morning sunlight.
I tore my blazer off, tossing it onto the white sofa, the only piece of furniture I had in the house. My tie went next, and I kicked out of my dress shoes like they were on fire.
Slowly circling in place, wondering what I should do next, my gaze bumped up against the painting perched on top of the mantel.A Winter Meadow.
It called to me, like it had that day in the gallery, and I went to it now, just as helpless as I had been then.
I’d gone there in search of something to spruce up the place. I didn’t have anything specific in mind, but I figured I’d know what I wanted once I saw it. I almost walked out empty handed after spending an hour unimpressed by the unimaginative pieces hanging on the gallery walls.
But then I’d discovered a small, poorly lit alcove on my way to the restroom whereA Winter Meadowhung crookedly, with a price tag that couldn’t have been more insulting in comparison to what everything else in there was going for.
