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She visibly decompressed, almost slouching over, her eyes closing for a moment.
“Let me think about it for a minute,” she finally said, pulling herself together.
Pam smoothed her hands over her side, trying to regain her composure. It was unlike her to show weakness with Ryan. Especially regarding Jack’s car, because she’d wanted to give it to him for years. Pam had decided to divide Jack’s estate between Ryan and Alison. But Lisa had put the kibosh on that, saying that if Pam gave Ryan money, it would destroy their family unit. Lisa controlled the bulk of the money. It appeared their relationship had been ruined anyway.
“Wait here a moment, please,” Pam said, gently closing the door in his face.
She reached for the phone and keyed in Lisa’s number. Thankfully, she answered.
“Ryan’s here,” Pam said. “He’s asking for Daddy’s car. What are your thoughts on that?”
“So he told you.”
“I’m so sorry, Lisa. I don’t want this for you.”
“Whatever, Mother. I just offered him the nanny car. If he takes Dad’s car, he won’t be able to take the kids. What is he thinking?”
“Okay, I’ll use that as an excuse. I’m sorry it’s come to this, sweetheart.”
“Mother, it’s a long time coming. Goodbye.”
Pam placed the receiver in its charging cradle and returned to the door.
“How will you take the kids with a sedan?” she asked Ryan.
“Right. I didn’t think of that. I guess you called Lisa.”
“I have to think of her well-being, Ryan. She’s my only daughter.”
“Thanks anyway,” he said, and turned to leave without saying goodbye to her.
With a pounding heart and lips trembling, Pam felt sick as she watched him walk down the walkway to the street. Jack’s car was safe for another day.
On the way back to his and Lisa’s cottage, Ryan stewed, his hands jammed in his pockets. Thankfully, he didn’t see any of the neighbors on the walk. Back inside, he took the keys to the Highlander again and stuck them in his pocket, in case Lisa got it in her head to withdraw the offer to let him take it.
He looked around the cottage's great room. Nothing in there was his to take. He’d done several watercolors, but they belonged at the beach. His easel stood in a corner by a window overlooking the ocean, the cabinet that held his paints and brushes along the wall. He and Lisa had found the old piece together at a flea market in the village. He remembered the day.
“Look, Ry, this would be perfect for your paints. It already smells like linseed. What do you think?”
It was a primitive piece, about four feet high, made of pine boards. It might have been a jelly cupboard, the vendor had said. The rusted chicken wire inserts would need to be cleaned up, but Ryan had loved the patina, the worn knobs, and the red milk paint.
“I like it,” he’d said.
Lisa had been pregnant with Sierra then, and she had been so big, she’d waddled. He’d loved those days. Why was it so hard to adjust to the here and now?
“When are you leaving?” Lisa had entered the room, watching him.
He pointed to the cupboard. “I just remembered you finding this piece at that flea market. Why’d we stop going to them?”
“Because we have enough furniture,” she said, apparently not in the mood to reminisce. “You can go again and furnish your new place.”
“It’s already furnished with a bunch of plastic-coated crap.”
“Yep, that’s a rental for you. You didn’t answer. When are you leaving?”
“Now, I guess. There’s really nothing there for me. My life is here.”
She scoffed. “Ryan, you are so full of shit. Stop messing with my heart and go.”
