Leigh Greenwood - Family Merger

“Kerry will never leave my bedside when I get sick,” Lisette said. “He’ll be holding my hand when I die.”

“Has your father dated?” Julia asked Cynthia.

“No.”

“He must have loved your mother very much,” Kathryn said.

“Both of them were only children whose parents died early,” Cynthia said. “I think they were friends more than lovers.”

“Would that bother you?” Kathryn asked.

“It would bother me,” Lisette said. “If Kerry doesn’t love me to distraction, I’ll divorce him.”

“Mama said she was happy because she had me to love,” Cynthia answered. “Maybe a woman doesn’t need more than that. What do you think?”

Kathryn realized what she thought was uncomfortably close to Lisette’s feelings. Her own mother had been content to spend most of her married life waiting for her husband to return from business trips. When the split came between her sister and their father, her mother had backed their father’s position without hesitation. Away at college at the time, Kathryn had been too furious to give any thought to her mother’s position, but now she wondered. Could a woman be happily married to a man who was away from home more often than not?

“I can’t speak for anyone but myself,” Kathryn said, “but—”

The sound of the doorbell caused her to break off. Lisette bounded up from her chair. “It’s Kerry. He can’t stand to be separated from me.”

“He must stay in the living room,” Kathryn called after her. “I’ll be in as soon as I fix my coffee.”

“Do you think their parents will let them get married?” Julia asked as the door banged shut behind Lisette. “They’re nuts about each other.”

“It will depend on what Kerry’s father says when he gets home.”

“Where is he?”

“On a business trip. No one seems to know when he’ll get back.”

“My dad was on a business trip, too, but he came home right away.”

Kathryn didn’t know quite how to interpret Cynthia’s expression. It seemed to be some combination of pride and anger. Kathryn concluded that Cynthia loved her father deeply but just didn’t happen to like him very much right then.

Lisette came back into the kitchen looking dejected. “It’s Cynthia’s father. He said he’s come for his sensitivity lessons.” She made a face. “Nothing personal, Cynthia, but that man’s not normal. It’s Saturday morning, and he’s in a suit and tie.”

Kathryn felt something in the region of her stomach flutter uncomfortably. “I didn’t expect him so early,” she said, getting up to put her coffee cup on the sideboard. “I’m not even sure I thought he’d come.”

“If my father says he’ll do something, he does it,” Cynthia said, as though that was not a trait she admired.

“Does he do everything in a suit and tie?” Julia asked.

“I’ve never seen him wear anything else outside the house,” Cynthia said.

Kathryn was about to say it was an attitude that was as outmoded as the twentieth century, but she was flattered Ron Egan had taken such care with his appearance. He could have come dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. That was not a wise thought. Just imagining Ron Egan in jeans and a T-shirt caused her belly to tighten.

“What’ll I do when Kerry comes?” Lisette asked.

“You can use the TV room as long as Mrs. Collias is in sight,” Kathryn said.

“She hates me,” Lisette wailed. “She never lets me—”

“Do anything foolish,” Kathryn finished for her. “That’s why I hired her.”

“I can watch her,” Cynthia offered.

“Your father might want to see you. Now I’ve got to go. Make sure you both finish your breakfast. Good nutrition is extremely important now.”

Ron turned from the window when Kathryn entered the room. It was 7:58 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of Gentleman’s Quarterly. Foolish, though, to be feeling like a young girl meeting a date.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” Kathryn said.

“I want to get this over so I can get back to Geneva,” Ron said, coming toward her. “I left my assistants to handle some very difficult negotiations.”

The thaw that had begun in her feelings toward him stopped. She didn’t know why he’d bothered to come home. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble by shouting at her over the phone.

“I’m sure there are lots of people in Geneva far more qualified than I to help you with sensitivity training,” she said. “If you’ll tell me where you’re staying, I’ll see if I can line up someone. I don’t know about Saturday flights from Charlotte to Geneva, but I’m sure Atlanta or New York—”

Ron looked at her like she had lost her mind. “Who said anything about my flying back today?”

Kathryn took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I interpreted your remarks to mean you planned to return almost immediately.”

“Well you interpreted them wrong.” He seated himself on a sofa. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I want to talk to Cynthia, and I want to be sensitive enough to understand how the hell she could get herself in such a fix.”

Kathryn broke out laughing. She didn’t know why. There was nothing funny about the situation, but she couldn’t stop.

“What are you laughing about?” Ron demanded.

“I don’t have a magic potion I can pour over you like Achilles’s mother.”

“She didn’t have a potion,” Ron said. “She held him by his heel and dipped him in the River Styx.”

Kathryn was impressed despite herself. “Sorry. I’ll try to avoid sloppy classical allusions.”

“I like mythology,” Ron said.

She wouldn’t have expected that of him, but maybe he associated himself with the godlike humans of antiquity. He’d certainly accomplished enough to give him an exaggerated opinion of himself.

“I’m more attracted to early nineteenth century English literature,” she said.

“The romantic period.”

“Yes, I suppose you could call it that, though the term usually refers to poetry.”

“What else would you call the Brontës?” He seemed to realize he was off topic and give himself a mental shake. “But I didn’t come here to discuss mythology or literature.”

“You came here to learn how to become sensitive in one easy lesson.”

“I don’t expect it to be easy.”

“Good. You can begin by not glaring at me. You have to be receptive to the feelings of others, able to interpret the slightest hint of what they may be feeling inside. As long as you’re angry at me, you’re too busy projecting feelings to be able to receive any.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“Look at your facial expression,” she said pointing to a mirror mounted in an ornate gold frame on the wall.

He was so slow to rise she thought he wasn’t going to move. But once he stood, he moved quickly.

“What’s wrong with my expression?” he asked.

“You look like you’re about to chew somebody out.”

“That’s how I always look.”

“Then it’s a good place to start. Smile.”

It was more of a grimace.

“Like you meant it. Imagine—”

“I don’t need any help knowing what to imagine.”

His smile was brilliant, warm, sexy. A mistake. It transformed him into a person she found even more attractive. “Okay, we know you can smile,” she said, turning away from the mirror. “Now let’s see how you sit.”

He sat on the edge of his chair, leaning forward from the waist as if he were ready to pounce at any moment.

“Relax. You look like you’re ready to attack the first person who disagrees with you, or so eager to speak you won’t be willing to listen.”

“I have to convince people they’re making the best decision they can when they accept my offer.”