Leigh Riker - Man Of The Family

“Let me guess. You let her off the hook—and decided to return the watch yourself.”

Griffin fell back on his usual rationale. “I know she misses Rachel. So does Josh, but he was pretty young when she took off. He doesn’t have the same store of memories Mandi does.”

Sunny shook her head. “I’m not buying it.”

“What?”

“Listen to yourself. You’re making excuses for Amanda. Again.”

“Look, Counselor, all I can say is I’m sorry.” He held out the watch, then waited for her to take it. She didn’t touch him when she did.

Sunny’s eyes chilled another few degrees. “You’re sorry? What did you do—except throw me out of your apartment yesterday? I’d like to hear an apology from Amanda. She should take responsibility.”

He frowned, inching backward again. “You have your watch back.”

“Yes. But for some reason, taking this watch was Amanda’s way of getting back at me. For what, I don’t know.”

“That’s not like Amanda.”

She stared him down and said, “I don’t imagine it’s pleasant to realize your daughter has a problem, but you said yourself she misses her mother. Have you talked to her about that?”

“Tried,” he said. “She stonewalls me.”

“And you retreat. The way you’ve been backing toward that door the whole time you’ve been here.”

“Anyway,” he began, taking another step that proved her right. His pulse was pounding now, slow and hard.

Sunny moved toward him. “I tried to tell you the signs yesterday, and what did you say? That Amanda wasn’t unhappy. You just admitted she sometimes lies. How happy is that?”

“Well...and maybe her new friend isn’t the kind I’d like her to have—”

Sunny looked exasperated. “Doesn’t that tell you something? You don’t do her any favors by looking the other way.” She held up the watch, its beaded band sparkling in the light. “Or by returning this yourself instead of holding your daughter accountable. If she gets away with this—and it is theft—what comes next? Breaking into a store some night with her ‘friend’? Knowing you’ll cover for her again?”

His palms were sweating. Sunny Donovan must be something to see in a courtroom.

“Guess I’m not your candidate for Father of the Year.”

“This isn’t about you,” she said. “I don’t think you’ve really heard a word I said.” She paused. “And of course—I’ll say it for you—it’s none of my business.”

“Right,” he said. “I didn’t ask for your advice, and I’ve gotta go. Josh will be out of school soon.”

She was still standing in the front hall when he shut the door.

He and the kids would not be coming to any cookout.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SOON AS Griffin shut the front door, her cell phone rang with a melody from Porgy and Bess . Why hadn’t she changed it? Nate was no longer the man she would love until she died.

Sunny ignored his call...again.

Nate had made his choice. Now she was making hers. A clean break seemed the wisest course, at least until they had to deal with selling the apartment.

She wandered into the kitchen. A quick look out the windows showed a dark line of clouds heading this way, but the weather was the farthest thing from her mind. She sank on to a chair at the kitchen table and replayed her conversation with Griffin. Had she come on too strong?

She really had to stop acting like a lawyer on billable hours.

Her father was nowhere in sight, but her mother was at the sink, clattering dishes on the drain board and muttering to herself.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” This being her standard answer when something was, Sunny didn’t even blink. Her mother would pry every last bit of information from someone else, but getting her to open up was always a hard, if not impossible, task.

“You might as well tell me,” she said.

Her mother banged a pot into the open dishwasher.

“You didn’t want to talk about Nate when you got home,” she reminded Sunny. “Now I should rattle on about something that doesn’t need talking about?”

“Get it off your chest, Mom.” She paused. “Why were you and Dad fighting?”

To her surprise her mother didn’t try to pretend otherwise.

With a shaken sigh she looked out the windows at the gathering storm, then turned from the sink, drying her hands on a towel before she joined Sunny at the table. “I think we should move. Your father doesn’t.”

Speechless, Sunny stared at her.

“Sell the house?” she finally echoed. “But why? I grew up here. It’s the only home I remember.” The place she needed now, even when that meant sleeping on the old sofa bed. “You love this house,” she said. So do I .

Her mother looked down at her perfectly manicured hands.

“Mom, you’re a homebody. You enjoy spending time here and fine-tuning this room or that. Only Dad’s den has been off-limits.”

Her mother gazed around the homey kitchen with tears in her eyes.

“We bought this house when you were seven, and we’ve been here a quarter century.”

“Yes, and it’s still my home, too.” Soon it would be the only one she’d have.

Thunder rumbled outside, making her mother flinch. “You know about the hurricane that took off our roof. Coming from the airport you must have seen the destruction all over town.”

“It was pouring then. I could barely see through the windshield.” Even if she could, she would have tried to avoid taking in the old neighborhoods.

“That was enough for me,” her mother said. “But some of our friends, you remember the Richardsons, lost everything. And I heard Laura’s mother needs to replace her entire roof.”

At the mention of her friend’s name, Sunny stiffened.

“They all lived closer to the beach than we do,” Sunny’s mom said, “but I think we should put the house on the market while it still has value.” She glanced at the ceiling. Above was the partially ruined second floor and Sunny’s old room with water marks running down the walls, but...

“As if you’ve never weathered a storm before.” Sunny couldn’t quite take the idea in. “Where would you go if you did sell? I mean, not that I think you should...”

Her mother’s face had clouded up.

“You’re on his side?”

“Mom, I know we have our differences—” one of them Sunny’s long-ago move to New York “—but I’m on both your sides.”

A twinge of guilt raced through her. Or was she simply making sure she had a place to hide? To lick her wounds?

Her mother scoffed. “You’re a prosecutor. You always take a side.” She sniffed again. “The Richardsons have gone north to live near their son and grandchildren.” Which served to remind Sunny of another bone of contention. Her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her of the grandbabies she still yearned for. “They’re not coming back,” she said as if the Richardsons had died. “I miss them, but I think they’re safer there.”

“Hurricanes can hit New England, too,” Sunny pointed out. A clap of thunder brought her upright in her chair. “In the time I’ve lived in New York, we’ve had ice storms, floods, a few blizzards, even a mild earthquake. I wouldn’t say it’s that much safer.”

But her parents’ argument still nagged at her. “My childhood—and Chris’s—was practically idyllic.” Sunny took a deep breath before she could continue. “Good schools, a big yard to play in, lots of birthday parties, long days at the beach, friends, and always the certainty that our family, unlike so many others, would stay intact.” If her mother’s need to keep things on an even keel had sometimes troubled her, Sunny had always felt loved. She’d had her dad’s more laid-back nature for a buffer.