Honesty - SF8

Ryan O’Flaherty stumbled up the basement stairs of her family home on a cool, foggy August morning, wishing that she could return to bed but knowing that a long day of work awaited her. Her hair was thoroughly mussed, partly from sleep and partly from the long hours of lovemaking that she and her partner had blissfully engaged in the night before.

Said partner was still out cold, uttering one small unhappy grunt when Ryan pulled herself from their bed. Before going upstairs, the tall, lean woman had tugged on a pair of loose sweatpants and a T-shirt, knowing there was a possibility that her father was at home. Her brother would definitely be at work on this Friday, so the muffled sound of voices from the dining room puzzled her a bit.
Mmm…Aunt Maeve’s here
, Ryan thought with pleasure when she recognized one of the voices to be female. She looked at her rumpled self and decided that her appearance wouldn’t shock the woman, who had seen Ryan look substantially worse on many occasions.

Crossing the small living room while she absently scratched herself, the dark woman nearly screamed when she saw that her father was not speaking to her aunt after all. Catherine Evans sat at the table, looking casual and alert as she conversed companionably with Martin.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Martin teased upon seeing his scruffy daughter.

"Catherine!" Ryan cried, completely stunned to see her mother-in-law in her home. "How…why…um…hi," she finally got out, her pleasure at seeing Jamie's mother overriding her shock.

Casting a long appraising look at the lanky woman who stood in front of her, Catherine mused, "So…this is the vision that my daughter wakes to, hmmm?"

Blushing lightly, Ryan gave herself another quick glance, admitting the truth. "This is about as good as it gets, Catherine. Scary, huh?"

Sharing a broad smile with the slightly embarrassed woman, Catherine assured her, "I think my daughter has done very well for herself, Ryan. Now that I’ve met your father, your stock has gone up even further."

It was clear to Ryan that her father was the latest victim to the charms of Catherine Evans, and she spared a moment to offer up a prayer of thanks that her aunt was not in attendance. Seeing your fiancé blushing like a schoolboy in the presence of a very charismatic, very attractive, very wealthy woman wasn’t a good way to start the day.

Taking a seat at the table, Ryan acknowledged, "Da is the pick of the O’Flaherty litter, Catherine."

Blushing even more, the senior O’Flaherty got to his feet and made for the kitchen. "Starving as usual,
Siobhan
?" he called over his shoulder.

"I’ve only been gone ten days, Da," she scoffed. "I couldn’t possibly have changed something so elemental to my personality."

"Do all of your children have such a…healthy appetite, Martin?" Catherine asked over the muted clatter of pots and pans.

"Oh my, yes," he called out. "Many’s the time I wished I could drop them off at Bell Foods for the day. They nearly ate me out of house and home."

"I wish I could disagree, but it’s all true," Ryan shrugged. Looking at her mother-in-law, she cocked her head slightly and asked, "I’m still a little groggy, but I’m quite sure I don’t know how it is that we’re having breakfast together."

Catherine blushed a little as she told the whole truth. "After your cousins dropped me off last night, I started to feel quite depressed," she admitted. "Being around you girls and the baby was so wonderful for me that I could hardly bear the thought of being in that big house all by myself. Your perceptive cousin Annie sensed that I was having a hard time saying goodbye, and she generously offered to stay over. We had a marvelous time, and Caitlin got to go swimming again," she said, a fond smile stealing over her patrician features.

"Annie’s a good woman," Ryan agreed, letting her love for her adopted cousin show.

"She’s a darling girl," Catherine decided, "and Tommy is a very good father. Caitlin is so clearly in love with her daddy."

"Oh yeah. Daddy is number one in her heart," Ryan agreed. There was a moment of silence before she asked again, "That still doesn’t explain how you wound up here, Catherine."

"Well, we all got up early so they could start for the beach. I was up, I was dressed, and I thought it would be fun to help you girls out today. Tommy gave me a list of everything you might need, and I went to the adorable hardware store he recommended and bought everything we need to clean their house properly."

Ryan’s mouth was gaping open so comically that her father couldn’t help but gently close it when he entered the room with her breakfast. "We have a fly swatter, Sweetheart. You don’t have to use your mouth."

While Ryan got to work on her breakfast, Martin said, "I’m off work and Mrs. Driscoll has an unexpected free day also, so we’re at your disposal to help today, too."

"Oh Da, I can’t impose on you and Aunt Maeve like that," Ryan complained.

"Nonsense! No one is more concerned about the safety of that baby than Maeve. And if Maeve’s concerned, I’m concerned," he declared. "Isn’t that the way this works,
Siobhan
?"

"It is indeed, Da," she agreed as she gave him a wide smile. "You’re catching on quickly."

By noon over half of the work was finished, but all five crewmembers were tired, dusty, and ready for a good long break. "Hey, I’ve got an idea," Jamie said, as they all shared the front porch steps. "Why don’t we pack it up for the afternoon and invite all of the cousins over for a big barbeque in the backyard. We can cook while they all work!"

Martin smiled over at Ryan as he said, "She’s a quick learner, this one is,
Siobhan
. She’s quickly figured out the benefits of a large family!"

Late that night Jamie was sitting on Ryan’s lap in Tommy’s backyard. The house was spotless, all of the linens had been washed, the curtains washed and ironed, and every toy and article of clothing was neatly returned to its proper place. They had managed to feed twelve hungry men and were in the process of filling each of the workers with just enough beer to keep them happy.

None of the aunts or uncles had come, nor had Conor or Brendan, but Catherine’s mind was still reeling from the introductions that had seemingly gone on for hours. The older woman pulled one of the lawn chairs next to her daughter and let out a sigh. "How long did it take you to learn all of these colorful names, Jamie?" she asked in exasperation. "It’s nearly impossible to tell these handsome young men apart, much less assign names to them!"

Laughing gently, Jamie acknowledged her mother’s plight. "It seems hard now, Mom, but when you spend a little time with them, you hardly notice how much they look alike."

"That’s what I told you, Jamie," Ryan agreed. "I hardly see any similarities at all!"

"Now that’s stretching it," Jamie demurred, chuckling at her partner’s claim. "I think of them as a big litter of puppies. They all look alike at first, but when their personalities are revealed, they become distinct."

"Odd analogy, but it’s apt," Ryan agreed, realizing that she was both the bitch and the runt of the litter.

Before Catherine departed, she pulled Jamie aside for a little pep talk. "Even though I’ll be in Italy, I want you to know that I’ll come back on a moment’s notice if you need me, Honey."

"I appreciate that, Mom. I really wanted to talk to Daddy today, but his secretary said he won’t be back in town until Monday. It’s not going to go well, but I promise I’ll try to stay civil. I’m going to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he’d better keep his nose out of my business. It’s up to him how he responds."

Casting a worried glance at her daughter, Catherine pursed her lips, knowing that a full-scale confrontation between father and daughter was inevitable. "Just try to remember that he loves you, Jamie, even if it doesn’t seem like it sometimes."

Putting on a stern face Jamie said, "That doesn’t cut it, Mom. Saying that you love me while you treat me like chattel is not acceptable. The rules to this game have changed."

When they returned to Berkeley on Sunday evening, they nearly collided with the cab that was depositing Mia in the driveway. "Jamie!" she called, her face lighting up with delight.

"Mia!" she hollered with the same intensity. They ran for each other and screamed like 12-year-old girls while Ryan ambled over and stood by patiently, waiting to be noticed.

When the joyous reunion showed no signs of ceasing, Ryan finally asked, "If I carry your bags, can I get a hug too?"

The sunny, impish face turned in her direction seconds before a slightly demonic look took over. Ryan knew something was coming but was still unprepared for Mia to take a running leap at her. But leap she did, and only Ryan’s extraordinary reflexes allowed her to catch the woman before she broke something major. "You’re right, Jamie," Mia cried. "She is as quick as a cat!" Her legs were wrapped around Ryan’s waist and her arms draped around her neck as she made her proclamation.

"Hey, are you gonna tell all of your friends to test me like this?" Ryan complained. "Luckily, you’re both light as feathers."

"Look what I got!" Mia demanded as she leaned back in Ryan’s protective embrace. She yanked up her knit shirt and revealed not only a tanned and toned belly, but a shiny silver ring piercing her navel.

"Yeoow!" Ryan cried. "That must have hurt like a bitch!"

"You have no idea," she agreed, shaking her head solemnly. "If I hadn’t been drunk and high, I never would have done it!"

"There’s not enough alcohol in the world," Ryan vowed, accompanied by Jamie’s knowing smile.

"Sunblock?"

"Check"

"Energy bars?"

"Check"

"Gatorade?"

"Check"

"Umm…"

"Honey, stop obsessing," Jamie reassured her partner as they loaded up her big golf bag in the Lexus on Monday morning. "I should be the one who’s nervous," she reminded her.

"I know, I know, but not being able to come with you is driving me nuts!"

"I think it’s for the best, Love. I’m a little nervous about playing in front of a crowd right now, and I think seeing you would make it worse."

Giving her partner a puzzled glance, Ryan privately mused,
Why would you want to participate in a sport if it made you nervous to play in front of people?
Aloud she asked,
"
Now tell me again how they do this?"

"The golf team has three openings. As of Friday, fourteen women had signed up to compete for them. We play 36 holes of stroke play today…"

"That’s normal golf?"

"Yes, that’s normal golf. You count all of your strokes and see who has the fewest at the end of the day. The top eight women then compete starting tomorrow in a four day match play tournament."

"That’s where you win holes, right?"

"Right. Each hole is a discrete event. So even if you have 20 shots on one hole, you only lose that hole; your bad score doesn’t continue to haunt you. There are, of course, 18 holes, and you stop when it becomes impossible for the other person to win. They refer to the winning score as three and two or five and four to indicate that the winner has one more point than there are holes left to play."

"Gotcha."

"The eight women play four matches, starting on Tuesday. The three women with the most wins make the team."

"What if there’s a tie?"

"Then Scott considers scores of the matches. He adds up the points you made, so it’s to your advantage to beat people decisively."

Ryan shot her a crooked grin as she pointed out, "It’s always to your advantage to do that, Honey."

The sandy-haired man leaned back in his sumptuous leather desk chair, a lit cigar protruding from his mouth. His firm had a no-smoking policy in the building, but everyone agreed that the restriction didn’t pertain to the managing partner. His feet were planted on the desk so that the smooth, soft leather of his custom-made shoes was the first thing that Helen, his secretary, saw when she entered the room.

She gave him a tentative look, unaccustomed to the relaxed posture from her high-energy boss. "Um…there’s a call for you on line one," she indicated.

"Who is it?" he asked absently, his attention focused on something that only he could see.

"He won’t say," she said. "He said that you were expecting his call, but he won’t…" she trailed off as he lethargically slid his feet from the desk and leaned forward, propping his head on his hand.

"No problem, Helen. I’ll take care of it." The woman gave him a puzzled look, nodded once, and excused herself, a furrow firmly etched into her brow.

As the door closed, he picked up the receiver, eschewing the speakerphone that he usually chose. "Jim Evans," he said.

"Dick Williams of Williams Investigations," the caller responded. "It’s been a while, Mr. Evans. I was planning on calling to congratulate you on being the governor’s choice to replace Senator Sommers."

"How did you know…" he began, but trailed off. Dick Williams knew nearly everything about nearly everyone, and Jim knew he wasn’t exempt from the snare of his information net. "I have a job for you, Dick, if you’re able to assure me of complete confidentiality."