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He’d been up since before dawn, moving everything from the sunroom he used as an office to his bedroom. Satisfied that his temporary work space would provide a welcome escape from the past and present, he went downstairs to join Will and Annie for breakfast and wait for Sam’s return.
After an early-morning run, Sam dawdled over her cornflakes and coffee while she watched her mother study the jigsaw puzzle pieces strewn across the other side of the table. For the first time in forever, she was tempted to join her. The notion of withdrawing from reality and into her mother’s fantasy world had never held any appeal—until this morning. There’d be no puzzles in Sam’s dreamworld. It would also be a world devoid of lying, cheating, two-timing ex-lovers.
In spite of the psychiatrist’s diagnosis, years ago, that Tildy Elliott had an illness, a mental illness, Sam had always wondered if some past event had caused her to retreat into a fantasy world. Maybe something Sam’s long-absent and now deceased father had done, or something another man had done. Until her run-in with AJ yesterday, Sam had never thought of it in exactly those terms, but now as she watched this delicate woman intent on finding the puzzle’s flat-edged border pieces, Sam had a hunch that a man had to be behind her mother’s illness. Men were nothing but trouble.
On the weekend, Tildy had been as delighted as a child on Christmas morning when Sam brought the six new puzzles home. This one—a photograph of a castle somewhere in Europe—had immediately captured her mother’s interest. It also had a thousand pieces and would easily keep her busy all day while Sam was at work.
Sam dismissed the guilt pangs. When she wasn’t working, which was rare these days, she tried to get her mother out of the apartment or at least encourage her to do something other than puzzles, playing solitaire or watching television. But when she had to leave her here alone, she worried less knowing she was occupied, and she knew Tildy would work tirelessly on the puzzle until it was finished.
This morning Sam’s very existence felt a lot like those scattered bits of cardboard. Broken pieces of what had been, until yesterday, a whole picture, albeit a tenuous one. Much as she disliked puzzles, she would give almost anything to stay here and lose herself in the mind-numbing activity of putting that picture back together. Instead she had demons to face, and AJ Harris was one hell of a demon.
He’d inherited an incredible house but it needed a lot of work. Still, if she worked long hours and brought in a couple of assistants to help with the painting and wallpaper removal, she should be able to finish in three weeks. Barring any unforeseen problems. To her question about potential problems like mold or termites or faulty wiring, AJ had given one of his silent shrugs. Huh. The privileged pretty boy with the perfect home and an adorably cherub-faced, at least according to Kristi, little boy knew nothing about construction. No surprise there.
There might have been a time when she could have forgiven him for getting his father to do his dirty work, but knowing he’d then gone ahead and had a child with another woman while she’d had to give up hers? That was unforgivable. That was the agony she’d have to endure every day for the next three weeks. To make matters worse, he worked at home now. Somehow she would have to guard against drowning in the depths of his dark, soulless gaze. Keep her heart from hammering its way out of her chest every time she watched him cross a room, because to save her sanity she couldn’t stop picturing his magnificent male form, completely unclothed.
She jumped up from the table. Do not think of him naked. AJ Harris is not the most heart-stoppingly handsome man in the universe. He’s the arrogant jerk who ruined your life. An arrogant, adulterous jerk who’d been screwing her while he’d been busy getting his wife pregnant. Well, to hell with him. Sam had coped with a lot of crap in her life, and she would find a way to cope with this, too.
She gathered up the breakfast dishes. The soggy remains of her mother’s cereal went down the drain—she’d eaten a few mouthfuls, at least—and then Sam quickly washed her breakfast dishes and put them in the drain rack on the counter. Her mother’s head was still bent over the puzzle pieces. “More coffee, Mom?”
“No, thank you, dear.” She snapped another puzzle piece into place. “Look at this. The top edge and one side are almost done.”
Sam dried her hands on a towel and hung it on the handle of the oven door. “I see that. You’re doing great.”
“It’s always best to start with the outside edges and work your way in.”
While Sam pondered that as a possible metaphor for her life, she packed two bottles of water, a sandwich and an apple in her insulated lunch bag. “I left some tuna salad in the fridge for you, and Mrs. Stanton said she’d drop by to see you at lunchtime.” Mrs. Stanton was the neighbor across the hall. Years ago Sam had given the woman a key so she could come in at lunchtime to make sure Tildy had something to eat. Sam so often dreamed of moving into a decent apartment, maybe even a house with a back garden that might tempt her mother out of her reclusive existence, but what if the upheaval was the tipping point for Tildy’s fragile mental state? That worried her, and more important, there’d be no Mrs. Stanton to keep an eye on her.
Sam retrieved her work boots from the tiny hall closet, slipped into her jacket and picked up her clipboard from the hall table. “I’m leaving for work, Mom. Do you need to do anything before I leave?”
“Oh. I’m afraid we’re out of milk. The queen is coming this afternoon and she likes milk in her tea. Not cream. It has to be milk, you know.”
Sam sighed and returned to the kitchen. “I bought milk yesterday.” She opened the refrigerator. “It’s right here, see?”
Tildy’s glossy red lips spread into a smile. “Oh, thank you, dear. The last time she came, she caused a royal fuss because there was only cream.”
Sam never bought cream, but that was the thing about fictional events. A person’s memories could be anything she wanted them to be.
“She liked the cucumber sandwiches, though. And I’m out of cigarettes. Could you pick some up for me on your way home?”
“Sure.” As soon as hell freezes over. Her mother had been out of cigarettes for fifteen years. Sam had stopped buying them after her father left because they couldn’t afford them, she was tired of smelling like an ashtray and she worried her mother would set the place on fire.
From time to time Tildy still asked for them and it was simpler to say yes than to remind her that she didn’t smoke anymore.
Sam slipped an arm around her mother’s narrow shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. This morning she was still wearing her chartreuse satin dressing gown but as always she had teased her thinning silver hair into a poofy do and rouged her cheeks to match her lips. The tang of hair spray that shellacked her mother’s hair in place made Sam back away. “What are you doing today?” she asked. Aside from entertaining Her Majesty. “Any plans?”
“I’ll finish the puzzle.” She turned her attention back to the jigsaw pieces spread across the kitchen table’s worn Arborite. “And then I have to get ready for tea. I’ve decided to wear the green-and-gold plaid silk. You don’t think it’s too flashy, do you?”
Not if the queen is color-blind. The dress her mother referred to wear was every bit as hideous now as it had been forty years ago. “Everyone loves your plaid dress, Mom. You’ll look beautiful,” Sam lied, carefully sidestepping any mention of Elizabeth II.
“Yes, I’m hoping she’ll like it, too,” Tildy said. “It’s in terribly bad taste to upstage the queen.”
Of course it was.
Her mother’s delusions were richly populated with royalty and Hollywood stars, and occasional appearances by the Pope. Sam could almost understand her mother’s preoccupation with the likes of Robert De Niro and Steve Martin, even the British monarchy, but the significance of those papal visits eluded her. Her mother wasn’t even Catholic, although she could almost pass for pious in the habit she’d fashioned from an old black robe, a dingy white pillowcase and a rosary of pink plastic beads.
“I’ll see you tonight, Mom. If I’m late, Mrs. Stanton will drop by again.”
“That’s nice.” Tildy straightened then and stared down at Sam’s feet. “Why are you galumphing around my kitchen in those boots?”
“I’m going to work, remember?”
“Will you be back in time for tea?”
“Sorry. Not today.”
First thing, she had a meeting with Claire and Kristi, then she had to stop at the building supply store. The rest of the day would be spent avoiding AJ while she stripped wallpaper and patched the walls, and Kristi cleared countless decades’ worth of clutter out of the kitchen. If all went well, Sam would be home in time to fix dinner. If not, she’d have to call Mrs. Stanton and ask her to take Tildy a plate of whatever she and Mr. Stanton were having tonight. Her mother barely ate enough to keep a bird alive, and although Sam wrote her neighbor a check for a hundred dollars every month to cover the cost of food, she hated asking for favors. On the plus side, her mother had never shown any inclination to cook for herself, so at least no one had to worry about her starting a fire in the kitchen.
“See you tonight, Mom.”
Tildy snapped another puzzle piece into place.
“I love you.” Sam always said it, but her mother never reciprocated. No one ever had. Not her father. Certainly not AJ, and yesterday she’d discovered why. He hadn’t loved her. He’d been married to someone else.
Today was no different. “Don’t forget to buy milk,” Tildy said without looking up.
Sam didn’t reply, she just sighed as she let herself out of the apartment, locked the door and knocked on the one across the hall.
“Good morning, Sam,” Elizabeth Stanton said when she opened the door. She was a tall, boney-looking woman, fiftyish with salt-and-pepper hair, married to a man fifteen years her senior. “How’s everything this morning?”
“Same as usual. Mom’s working on a puzzle right now. I left some tuna salad in the fridge and bread to make a sandwich, if you can get her to eat one.”
“She usually will, as long as I cut the crusts off. I’ve got some leftover pumpkin pie from Thanksgiving so I’ll take her a slice of that, too.”
“If she calls to tell you we’re out of milk, just tell her you’ll bring some over at lunchtime. There’s plenty in the fridge, but she keeps forgetting about it.”
Mrs. Stanton displayed a prominent overbite when she smiled. “I take it she’s having tea this afternoon?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It’s harmless,” the woman said. “You should count your blessings for that because you can’t say the same for everyone who has her condition.”
“You’re right.” She had trouble seeing it as a blessing, but as curses went, it could have been a lot worse.
“I’ve been hoping the new medication will make a difference.”
“I am, too, especially for your sake, but you need to give it some time.”
“I know.” That’s what the doctor had said, too. “I’m starting a new job today but I’ll try to be home in time for dinner.”
“Have a good day, Sam. Let me know if you’ll be late and I’ll run across with some dinner for her, too.”
She closed the door, and Sam trudged down the hallway to the stairwell, leaving one set of problems behind and setting off to face another.
Will scooped a forkful of his eggs off his plate as AJ walked into the kitchen. “Daddy, I eating green eggs an’ ham. See?” He held up the food, then popped it into his mouth.
“I see that. It looks delicious.”
After Will had fallen in love with the Dr. Seuss story, Annie had cleverly concocted a recipe for scrambled eggs with chopped ham and spinach. “Good way to get some greens into him,” she’d said, and as usual she was right. Will loved it, and AJ had to admit he did, too. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to his son with his own plate of green eggs and ham.
“Will you be working today, Mr. Harris?”
He unfolded the morning paper and scanned the headlines. “This afternoon I will be—the gardening article I’m working on is due tomorrow—but I’ll take Will and Hershey to the park this morning.”
“Good idea. It’s supposed to rain this afternoon. Did those women say what time they’d be here?”
“Around ten-thirty. Claire DeAngelo called last night to say they had a meeting first thing, but they’d be here after that.” He intended to be out of the house by then. “The interior decorator, I think her name is Kristi, would like to start clearing out the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I plan to do a little Christmas baking before they arrive, then I can give her a hand.”
“Thanks. If there’s anything you’d like to keep, I want you to feel free.”
“That’s very generous of you. I’m mighty fond of a couple of your grandmother’s teapots.”
“Then I want you to have them.” It wasn’t as though there was any shortage of teapots in this house.
Will’s fork clattered to the table. “Going to park now?” he mumbled around his last mouthful of eggs.
“Remember your manners, William,” Annie said. “Good little boys don’t talk with their mouths full, do they?”
Will swallowed. “All gone.” To demonstrate, he opened his mouth wide.
Annie laughed and lifted him down from the table. “Come with me. We’ll wash your hands and face and get your jacket and mittens while your father finishes his breakfast.”
AJ watched them leave the kitchen, admiring her patience. He should be taking notes because it wouldn’t be long before he would be taking care of William on his own. He looked forward to it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have regrets.
Adopting his own son hadn’t been the first time he’d used the family fortune and status to get something he wanted, but it would be the last. His parents, make that his father, had issued an ultimatum the day he’d brought William home. He could keep his position in the business or he could keep his illegitimate son. One or the other. Not both.
His decision had been a no-brainer and he’d never regretted putting his son first. Grandmother Harris, horrified by her son’s hard-hearted stand, had opened her door to AJ and William. Her health was failing and he couldn’t turn his back on her, so although he had already purchased the house in Idaho, he’d moved in with his son and hired Annie Dobson to look after them. His grandmother was able to spend her final years getting to know her great-grandson in the home she loved. AJ had never regretted doing what he’d had to do to get his son, and he never would. He hadn’t regretted postponing the move to Idaho, either. Now, as long as he was careful, he wouldn’t regret letting Sam’s company sell this house. He hoped.
Chapter Four
Ready Set Sold’s downtown office was already open when Sam arrived, and Marlie, their office manager, was talking into her headset. Six months after opening the business they had advertised for an office manager and the decision to hire Marlie had been unanimous. Her name was short for Marline. She’d had impeccable references, a no-nonsense approach to dealing with clients, big hair and an even bigger heart. She referred to Sam, Kristi and Claire as “Marlie’s angels,” and they loved it.
Marlie’s wardrobe consisted of pencil skirts and matching stilettos in every color under the sun, and snug-fitting sweaters that made the most, and then some, of her generous proportions. In spite of the artificial nails, always painted to match her outfit, she could type like the wind. Today’s nail color was pistachio but the sweater was turquoise, which meant the polish probably went with the skirt. Sam couldn’t see it from where she was standing. Marlie greeted Sam with a shiny green-tipped finger wave and indicated she’d be off the phone in a minute, maybe two.
Sam slid two envelopes filled with receipts from under the clip on her clipboard and tossed them into the in-box on Marlie’s desk. Then she stepped into the tiny office.
Their office, on the second floor of an old building near Pioneer Square, consisted of a small reception area that served as Marlie’s domain and an even smaller office shared by the three business partners. Sam ran the construction end of the business out of her dilapidated old delivery-truck-slash-mobile-workshop she’d had since she worked on her own, and Kristi managed her design and home staging service out of her mommy-and-me minivan.
Claire used the office more than either Sam or Kristi did—often to meet with clients—and the space mostly reflected her style. She had arranged the stapler, tape dispenser and pencil holder on the sleek, dark espresso-colored desk with the same precision she did everything, which told Sam she’d been the last one to use the space. Kristi’s style was anything but exact. She liked to group unlikely things together and when she did, they were arranged for effect, not accuracy. On the rare occasions when Sam worked in here, she always put everything back the way she found it, regardless who had put it there.
Against the back wall behind the desk was a matching credenza, and above it hung three framed photographs of recent projects. This display was Kristi’s contribution and she changed the photos every month. In the current display was the house in Beacon Hill with Claire’s sold sign in the front yard, a before-and-after collage of a bathroom reno Sam had done in a house in Washington Park and one of Kristi’s clutter crew at work on an elderly woman’s Bellevue condominium.
Sam sighed. Next month the display would almost certainly include a photograph of AJ’s house—yet another reminder he’d made another brief, unwelcome appearance in her life. At least by then the house would be finished and he would be out of her life, again, this time forever.
Sam set her clipboard on the desk and scanned the schedule on the whiteboard while she shrugged out of her jacket and hooked it on the coat tree in the corner. Claire had obviously been here after they toured AJ’s house yesterday afternoon because the rough schedule they’d come up with during the inspection had already been added.
“G’morning, Sam.” An hourglass Marlie stood in the doorway, barely five foot five in spite of her spike-heeled shoes. “Did you get your messages?”
“Not yet. Anything important?”
“Darlin’, it’s all important. The movers called about fifteen minutes ago to say they’ve already emptied out the foyer at the Harris house. The building supply store called to say they’ll deliver the Hendricks’ new kitchen countertop by the end of the week. And …” She shuffled the message slips in her hand. “Oh, your mom called.”
Of course she had. She’d probably called Mrs. Stanton as well, and when Sam got back to her truck where she’d forgotten her phone, she’d probably find a message from her, too.
Marlie glanced up from her notepad. “She wants you to pick up milk on your way home.”
Sam sighed.
Marlie laughed. “Let me guess. You’re not out of milk.”
“We’re not. She’s having tea with … she’s having tea this afternoon and she probably didn’t think to check the fridge before she called.”
Instead of asking for more details, Marlie gave her a sympathetic hug. “How is she these days?”
“No change so far. The doctor said it could take several weeks before we’ll know if the new medication will make a difference.” Providing there’d be a difference. The doctor had warned there was no guarantee, but given how outrageously expensive these new meds were, Sam sincerely hoped there would be.
“You’re a good girl,” Marlie said. “It takes a special person to do what you do.”
“She’s my mom. I’d do anything for her.” Which was true, and she really did love her mother in spite of the almost-daily challenges. There were days, though, when she secretly wished their relationship was less of a dead-end one-way alley and more like a two-way street. Like today. Today it would have felt good to hear someone say “I love you, too.”
Marlie patted her arm and returned to the reception area. “I see you dropped off your receipts for the work on the Matheson house. Is this it or will you have more expenses?”
“No, I’m finished and Kristi should be, too. It’s in Claire’s hands now.”
As if on cue, the door flew open and Claire breezed in, quirking an eyebrow to indicate she’d heard her name. Good morning, she mouthed. With her briefcase slung over one shoulder and her Bluetooth in her ear, carrying on a one-sided conversation, she moved purposefully through reception and into the office and, in one fluid motion, slid her bag onto the desk, took out her iPad and started keying in information. The woman had more multitasking skills in her baby finger than all of Sam and Kristi put together.
“That’s two angels accounted for,” Marlie said, glancing at her glittery gold bangle wristwatch. “I wonder what’ll hold Kristi up this morning.” She said it with affection, not criticism.
Any number of things could delay Kristi. Her daughter, Jenna, couldn’t find her homework. The dog had barfed on the carpet. The minivan was out of gas. Kristi could march into the most cluttered and disorganized home and have it shipshape in no time. Her own life was a different story, though, and Sam suspected she thrived on the chaos.
Sam retrieved her clipboard and jacket and perched on the corner of Marlie’s desk, checking her notes and to-do list while she waited for Claire to wrap up her phone call.
She had already checked her notes at least three times this morning and was sure she hadn’t missed anything. They’d come up with a three-week timeline for this project and she wanted to finish by then, if not sooner. No surprises.
“You look like you’ve been to the gym,” Sam said when Claire emerged from the office.
Claire shook her head without taking her eyes off the screen of her iPad. Her dark shoulder-length hair had been swept back into a ponytail and she was wearing slim-fitting black exercise pants and a bright yellow tank top. “Not yet. I don’t have any appointments this morning, though, so I’ll go right after our meeting. Want to come with? I have a couple of guest passes.”
