came crashing back. Jack cleared his throat to choke back a lump of emotion he didn’t have time for. He didn’t need to look at the calendar to know that sometime next week, the month would slip from June into July. July second, to be exact. Today’s rain would clear by then, because sticky summer heat and unforgiving sunshine always accompanied the anniversary of their mother’s death. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it’s here again . He shook his head. Most times, he just tried to work through the day, with a visit to the cemetery and a phone call to his father, where they both muttered the usual meaningless sympathies.
“Jack? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“We talked about putting a special garden in the backyard, remember? Thought this might be the year for it.”
A garden ? Yeah, he remembered something about that. “Why now?” Jack heard the sound of his office door closing and glanced up. Well . Sometimes Suzie did display tact, after all.
Taz didn’t answer Jack’s question for a minute, and silence hung between them, darkness colored with question marks. “It’s been five years.”
Jack’s knee jounced up and jarred his desk. A paper cup of cold coffee tumbled to the rug, and sticky brown liquid curled into a wet spot under his chair. Five years ? When the hell had that happened? Couldn’t be. Impossible. It was only two years ago, three at the most, that he’d stood at Mom’s bedside and wrapped her fingers inside his.
“It hasn’t been five years.”
“Of course it has.”
Jack tossed the cup into the trash and rubbed at the wet stain with one toe of his wingtip shoe.
“You’d just taken that VP job at Bullieston,” his brother went on. “You’d finally gotten up the nerve to ask Paige out, after spending way too much time moping around over—”
“Okay. Yeah. I remember.” Jack didn’t want to hear his brother say her name. That name. The one from college. The one from Vegas. The one from forever ago that had resurfaced more in the last three hours than the last three years.
“So you’ll be there?” Taz asked again.
Jack rolled his head from side to side. Neck joints popped. Shoulders too. Do I have a choice ? “All right. Just let me know when. Did you call Will and Aaron?”
“Not yet.”
He nodded, anxious to get off the phone. Thinking about Mom…well, all it did was remind him of the person he’d once been. The adolescent trying to figure himself out, while she baked him fresh cookies. The college graduate trying to mend a broken heart, while she rubbed the back of his neck and told him one day he’d feel whole again. The corporate whiz boasting about his promotion, while she narrowed her eyes with a warning to keep both feet on the ground. At every turn, a memory of his mother, and with it a memory of the man he used to be. Since she’d left, he’d turned into someone else. Someone different. Someone he didn’t always like to see in the mirror. Jack muttered a goodbye and stuffed the phone into his pocket.
Pressing the intercom, he barked, “Suzie, get in here.” Back to work , he told himself. The rigor of a daily routine was the best cure for any kind of ailment. Sadness and tears were weakness, and emotion betrayed you. Say what you would about Jack Major, he wasn’t a weak man. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t easily swayed.
Not anymore.
*
Dillon locked the office door behind him and climbed into his pick-up. With messages returned, bills paid, and a call to the dry cleaner to see that his tux was ready, he had no reason to spend any more time at the office. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up , he mused. He peered through the windshield. Might as well beat rush-hour traffic home . On Friday evenings especially, the gridlock in and around Boston turned nasty early on. Though the townhouse he’d bought last year was a mere twelve miles away, at the wrong time it could take him up to an hour to reach it. Not today, I hope .
“Jack? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“We talked about putting a special garden in the backyard, remember? Thought this might be the year for it.”
A garden ? Yeah, he remembered something about that. “Why now?” Jack heard the sound of his office door closing and glanced up. Well . Sometimes Suzie did display tact, after all.
Taz didn’t answer Jack’s question for a minute, and silence hung between them, darkness colored with question marks. “It’s been five years.”
Jack’s knee jounced up and jarred his desk. A paper cup of cold coffee tumbled to the rug, and sticky brown liquid curled into a wet spot under his chair. Five years ? When the hell had that happened? Couldn’t be. Impossible. It was only two years ago, three at the most, that he’d stood at Mom’s bedside and wrapped her fingers inside his.
“It hasn’t been five years.”
“Of course it has.”
Jack tossed the cup into the trash and rubbed at the wet stain with one toe of his wingtip shoe.
“You’d just taken that VP job at Bullieston,” his brother went on. “You’d finally gotten up the nerve to ask Paige out, after spending way too much time moping around over—”
“Okay. Yeah. I remember.” Jack didn’t want to hear his brother say her name. That name. The one from college. The one from Vegas. The one from forever ago that had resurfaced more in the last three hours than the last three years.
“So you’ll be there?” Taz asked again.
Jack rolled his head from side to side. Neck joints popped. Shoulders too. Do I have a choice ? “All right. Just let me know when. Did you call Will and Aaron?”
“Not yet.”
He nodded, anxious to get off the phone. Thinking about Mom…well, all it did was remind him of the person he’d once been. The adolescent trying to figure himself out, while she baked him fresh cookies. The college graduate trying to mend a broken heart, while she rubbed the back of his neck and told him one day he’d feel whole again. The corporate whiz boasting about his promotion, while she narrowed her eyes with a warning to keep both feet on the ground. At every turn, a memory of his mother, and with it a memory of the man he used to be. Since she’d left, he’d turned into someone else. Someone different. Someone he didn’t always like to see in the mirror. Jack muttered a goodbye and stuffed the phone into his pocket.
Pressing the intercom, he barked, “Suzie, get in here.” Back to work , he told himself. The rigor of a daily routine was the best cure for any kind of ailment. Sadness and tears were weakness, and emotion betrayed you. Say what you would about Jack Major, he wasn’t a weak man. He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t easily swayed.
Not anymore.
*
Dillon locked the office door behind him and climbed into his pick-up. With messages returned, bills paid, and a call to the dry cleaner to see that his tux was ready, he had no reason to spend any more time at the office. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up , he mused. He peered through the windshield. Might as well beat rush-hour traffic home . On Friday evenings especially, the gridlock in and around Boston turned nasty early on. Though the townhouse he’d bought last year was a mere twelve miles away, at the wrong time it could take him up to an hour to reach it. Not today, I hope .
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