A Savannah Christmas Wish

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The door banged open.

Daniel shook his head, as if he’d awakened from a dream.

Cheryl, a B and B employee, pushed a cleaning cart into the bathroom. “Oh!”

“Hi, Cheryl.” Bess wadded up the bloody paper towels and tossed them in the garbage with shaking hands. “Daniel was cleaning my cut.”

“I’ll come back.” Cheryl pointed out the door.

“No.” Bess’s face had to be bright red. She risked looking at Daniel.

He stared at the floor. “We’re done.”

She and Daniel filed out of the bathroom together.

“Thank you,” she murmured as they walked into the ballroom.

“No problem.” He almost ran to the French doors, but stopped, shaking his head. “The engineer called. We’ve figured out how to add the balconies.”

“Fantastic.”

He stared anywhere but at her face. “So I’ll...I’ll let you know when the architect gets the blueprints back.”

“Great.”

“’Bye.” He hurried away, his boots clattering down the stairs. He sure was hell-bent on getting away from her.

* * *

DANIEL POUNDED THE steering wheel. He’d stroked Bess’s soft skin. Her earthy, flowery scent had wrapped around him, almost luring him to kiss her.

He was smarter than this. She wasn’t good for him. Hell, he’d planned to check on the work over at the Landing on Skidaway Island, but he’d forgotten because of Bess. This was what happened when he was around her. He forgot his priorities.

At least he hadn’t forgotten Mom’s invite to dinner. They could eat and have a pleasant evening. Maybe Pop had good news from his doctor.

Parking in front of his parents’ house, he released a deep breath. If Pop was better, everything could go back to normal. His dad could manage Carleton House—and Bess.

Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about not kissing her anymore.

As he locked his truck, Nathan’s truck pulled in behind him. Shoot. More aggravation.

“Hey, little bro.” Nathan bounded up the steps ahead of him.

Daniel’s shoulders tensed, and his fingers curled into fists. “What are you doing here?”

Nathan opened the door. “Mom wanted me here for dinner.”

Daniel paused in the hallway. Why make Nathan drive from Atlanta?

“Dinner’s ready,” their mother called from the kitchen.

Pop dozed in his recliner.

Nathan grabbed a beer from the fridge. He wiggled the bottle at Daniel. “Want one?”

“No.”

“Sit. Sit.” Debbie put a serving dish on a trivet on the table. “Samuel, dinner,” she called.

The recliner snapped upright with a thud. Pop came to the table. Was he dragging more? Were the purple bruises under his eyes darker than last week?

Daniel took his place at the scarred wooden table. Mom had pulled out the brightly colored place mats she’d bought on a Bahamas cruise. Her “happy” place mats, she called them. Cold fingers gripped the base of his spine.

“Sit,” she called in a too-cheerful voice. “Abby gave me her chicken piccata and mushrooms recipe.”

Setting out the platter, she waved. “Dig in.”

Mom’s tone reminded him of when Nathan had cut classes or been suspended in high school—she always lighten up the tense dinner conversation with chatter.

The food circled the table. Daniel’s stomach twisted. When he only took a small piece of chicken, Mom frowned.

“Is Abby feeding you, too?” she asked.

“Pop’s not around.” He forced a grin on his face. “Someone has to eat what she bakes.”

“Humph.” But she stared at Pop with sorrow-filled eyes.

“Thanks for coming.” Pop patted Nathan’s shoulder. “I know it’s a drive.”

“I didn’t come for you, old man.” Nathan held up his fork. “I came for Mom’s cooking.”

Pop laughed. Mom bit her lip. And as usual, Nathan was oblivious.

Daniel nudged his brother’s boot under the table.

Nathan glared at him.

He couldn’t pretend nothing was wrong. “What did the doctor say?” Daniel’s voice was as harsh as a ripsaw.

“We’ll eat first.” Mom’s eyes narrowed.

“I can’t.” Daniel’s silverware clattered on the table. “I can’t make small talk and joke around if something’s wrong.”

“You can’t do that when nothing’s wrong, either,” Nathan muttered.

“Enough. It’s not doom and gloom.” Pop set his fork down. “Doc Kramer has taken a boatload of blood and other...items I will not mention at your mother’s dinner table. I’m definitely anemic.”

“Anemia’s curable, right?” Daniel asked.

Pop shrugged. “Apparently mine’s severe. They’re still trying to figure me out.”

“I told the nursing staff they’d never figure him out.” Mom’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“So why are we here?” Daniel waved his hand around the table, but what he meant was, Why is Nathan home? His twin had screwed up all his life. He’d even messed up working for the family business. It was why he worked in Atlanta now. Nathan had lost his place at the proverbial table.

“I...I can’t get everything done.” Pop ran his hand through his hair. “I need help.”

Daniel’s stomach churned. “I’ll do whatever you need.”

“We know. You always do.” Mom patted his hand. “But we have too much going on to put it all on your shoulders.”

Daniel stared at Pop, but his dad was staring at Nathan.

No.

“Can you come home?” Pop grasped Nathan’s hand. “I know there were...problems before. But I need you here.”

Problems? “You’re kidding.” Daniel spit out.

Pop shook his head. “No.”

“Nathan slept with a client’s wife. He showed up to work drunk.” Daniel pushed his chair away from the table, the scrape as sharp as nails on a chalkboard. “We don’t need Nathan.”

“I’ve changed.” Nathan stood, too. “I won’t make the same mistakes.”

“What new ones will you make?” Daniel snapped back.

They both planted their fists on the table, leaning over the cooling food.

“Sit!” Their mother ordered.

Daniel glared at Nathan, but sat for his mother.

“Your father and I have discussed this.” She pointed at Nathan. “You’ve proven yourself in Atlanta. Can you come home and manage some of the projects? Be a leader and an example to the crews?”

“Absolutely.” Nathan’s glare was like knives ripping through Daniel’s chest. “My boss relies on me, even though I’m not the chosen one.”

“At least I never stepped out of line,” Daniel shot back. “The cops never came to the door because of me.”

“Why would they? You were perfect.” Nathan turned to their father. “I’ll give notice in Atlanta and come home as soon as I can. You can count on me.”

“Count on you for what? To drive our business into the ground?” Daniel’s voice was shrill.

“I’m not twenty anymore.” The china and silverware clanked as Nathan pushed his plate away. “Can’t you give me a chance?”

“You had a million chances and never changed.”

“Stop,” Pop barked.

The fridge compressor kicked on.

Pop sank back into his chair, exhaustion and disappointment creasing his face.

“I’m sorry.” Daniel wasn’t sorry for expressing his displeasure, but he was sorry he’d worn out his father.

Pop waved a hand.

“It’s your company.” Daniel pushed away from the table. “You do what you want.”