Return to Me (10 page)

Elena picked up her fork. “I wouldn’t be in any hurry to go to work if I were you.” She speared a glazed carrot. “From the look of you, Roxy, you couldn’t handle anything too complex right now.” “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” their father said, “if you show her the

ropes.”

I don’t
want
to show her the ropes. She doesn’t belong there. She’s screwed up too often. She quit when she worked there before. She doesn’t love the business the way we do. Besides,
look
at her. She could be using drugs, for all we know.

“Elena’s right about one thing, Roxy. You do need to get more rest. Why don’t you plan on coming into the offices on Monday? That’ll be soon enough.”

Roxy lifted her eyes and met Elena’s gaze across the table. “Is that okay with you?”

“If that’s what Dad wants.” Elena hated the way she felt. She hated the petty nature of her thoughts. Why was she acting like this? She should be celebrating her sister’s return, and instead she behaved like a petulant child. She loved Roxy, despite everything. “Well, then.” Jonathan beamed at his daughters. “I’m glad that’s settled. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have my family together

again.” He lifted his water goblet. “God has been good to us.”

=

Disillusionment and uncertainty were stamped upon Roxy’s beau- tiful features, and it broke Wyatt’s heart to see them there.

Roxy Burke had been the most self-assured, charismatic per- son he knew. With a toss of her auburn hair and a smile on her full, sensuous mouth, she could make a man’s heart stop at thirty paces. When she entered a room, every head turned. Men, women, kids — they all noticed Roxy and were drawn to her. True, she had a combustible nature, quick to anger, quick to forget, but her laughter was infectious. Wyatt used to do or say things to make her laugh for the sheer pleasure of hearing it. As for the singing voice the Lord gave her, there weren’t enough adjectives in the diction- ary to describe it. The winning contestants on
American Idol
had nothing on Roxy.

As they ate their supper of pork tenderloin scaloppine, glazed carrots, and baked potatoes, Wyatt wondered what happened to Roxy in Nashville. Why didn’t she make it big? She had the looks and the talent. What happened to turn her into the shell of her for- mer self he saw now? Then again, maybe he didn’t want to know.

He glanced toward the opposite side of the table where Elena was cutting her pork into small, bite-sized pieces.

Two sisters, very different from each other. Wyatt had loved them both. He’d proposed to both, years apart, but only Elena accepted. What if Roxy had said yes seven years ago?

Best not to wonder.

This page is intentionally left blank

Ten

Time was interesting, Roxy mused. A second was always a second. A minute was always a minute. An hour, an hour. A day, a day. Yet time could be a jet or a snail. It could race or drag.

Today, time dragged.

Roxy rose late, ate another large breakfast under Fortuna’s watchful eye, then showered and dressed in a new pair of Levi’s and a purple polo shirt. But after that the day stretched before her with nothing to do. Fortuna didn’t want her to lift a finger in the house.

She could go shopping again, she thought as she f lipped through the channels on the flat-screen TV in the game room. Working in the corporate offices would require business attire. Suits like the one Elena wore to dinner last night.

She stifled a groan at the memory. Even a blind man could see Elena wasn’t thrilled Roxy would be working with her.

What else can I do? Flip burgers at the local drive-in?

She
could
flip burgers. She’d done that before. But it wasn’t much of a career path. If she couldn’t sing for a living
⎯
and it was quite clear
that
was not written in the stars
⎯
then she needed a job where she had some sort of future.

The telephone rang twice, then stopped. A moment later, For- tuna called from upstairs. “Roxy, it’s for you.”

“Got it.” She pressed the mute button on the remote and tossed it onto the coffee table before sliding across the sofa to pick up the portable phone. “Hello?”

“Roxy Burke, is that you?” a female voice asked in a near squeal.

“Yes.”

“Can you guess who this is?” “I’m sorry. I don’t — ”

“It’s Myra. Myra Adams. Well, it’s Myra Silverton now. I got married since you left town.”

Roxy grinned. How could she not recognize Myra’s voice? “Married? I thought you went to South America.”

“I did. But I came back. Like you.”

“How did you hear about me? I only got in Tuesday night.” “My mom saw Wyatt at the courthouse about an hour ago. He

told her you’d come home and are living at your dad’s.”

News had a way of traveling fast. Roxy wondered what Wyatt told Mrs. Adams that caused the woman to get on the phone right away to call her daughter.

Myra didn’t seem to notice Roxy’s silence. She always was able to keep a conversation going all by her lonesome. “So what’ve you been up to, girlfriend? I kept expecting to hear your voice belting some new country hit on KIZN or KQFC.”

“Yeah.” Roxy made a sound, half laugh, half grunt. “I kept expecting it too. Just didn’t happen.”

“I’m dying to see you and catch up on everything. In fact, I should be mad at you. You never wrote, never called. But I forgive you. How about lunch? My kids are in preschool on Fridays, so I’ve got some free time today.”

“You’ve got kids?” Roxy tried to imagine that. She failed. She would never peg Myra as the motherly type. She was more of a hippy, free-living, save-the-planet, don’t-fence-me-in type.

Myra giggled. “Three of them. All under the age of five.” “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Her old friend laughed again. “Now how about lunch? Are you interested? I could be at your place in about fifteen min- utes. That way we can beat the lunch crowd.”

Mindful of how time had inched along that morning, Roxy was only too glad for the invitation. “I’d love to have lunch with you, Myra. I’ll be ready when you get here.”

=

Elena was thankful for the work that had stacked up on her desk in the few days she was out of town. It kept her thoughts from dwelling on last night’s dinner. She didn’t want to remember Roxy’s waiflike appearance or the way Wyatt looked at her little sister with empathy and compassion — and maybe something else. She didn’t want to think about her father’s unabashed joy over Roxy’s return. Was it fair that her sister should waltz back home, broke and without any marketable skills, and get a position in the family busi-

ness? Weren’t there consequences to her actions?

From the age of sixteen, Elena wanted to follow in her grand- father’s and father’s footsteps. Her career goal was to become the CEO of Burke Department Stores. She acquired an MBA with that end in mind, studying hard and then working even harder to prove herself capable. Nothing was handed to her. She earned her way. Every bit of it.

Elena twirled her executive chair away from her desk, rose, and stepped to the plateglass window.

The foothills overlooking Boise wore a hint of green. The color appeared each spring, then burned away beneath the sunny summer days that were common to southwestern Idaho. Housing subdivisions multiplied each year, climbing higher and higher up the hillside. Would the growth ever stop? Better if it didn’t, for no growth meant a suffering economy.

She remembered a time when she was twelve and Roxy nine. They’d ridden their bikes up the road from their house, deep into the foothills until the pavement ended. On that clear cloudless day,

the Owyhee Mountains far to the south looked near enough to touch.

“You can see Burke’s from here.” Elena pointed toward the mall.

Roxy waved both arms above her head. “Hi, Daddy!” “He can’t see you, numbskull.”

Roxy stuck out her tongue, giggled, then hopped on her bike. “Race you to the bottom.”

“Wait!”

But Roxy was already flying down the road at breakneck speed. Elena took after her but without hope of catching up. Roxy zigged and zagged, leaning into the curves, barely missing cars parked at the curb.

Fearless. Reckless. Roxy.

It’s a wonder she didn’t break her fool neck.

Her assistant’s voice came across the intercom. “Miss Burke?

San Diego is on line three.”

“Thank you, Tatia.” Elena shook off the bittersweet memory. “Please hold any other calls until I’m through.”

=

Myra Silverton was about fifty pounds heavier than in high school. The freckles had disappeared from the bridge of her nose, and her kinky brown hair was now straight with blond highlights.

“Girlfriend, what
happened
to you?” Myra asked after giving

Roxy a tight hug. “You’re skin and bones.”

Tired of everyone mentioning her weight, she waved a hand. “I’m heavy compared to a lot of singers and actresses.”

“Heavy?” Myra spread her hands, inviting Roxy to take a look at her hips. “Let’s not go there. Okay?”

“Okay. As long as you don’t say I’m too thin.” She returned her friend’s smile.

“You ready?”

“I’m ready.” She grabbed her sweater and purse off the table in the entry hall, then stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her.

While the front bucket seats of Myra’s white minivan were clean and the floor tidy, the back of the automobile looked like a tornado had struck. Two car seats, several toys, a child’s coat, a diaper bag, and a few dried french fries were what Roxy noticed in a quick glance behind her.

“I’ve given up trying to keep it a hundred percent clean.” Myra jerked her head toward the backseat. “I hope I’ll get caught up by the time our youngest graduates from high school. Assuming I don’t drop dead from exhaustion before then.”

“I never pictured you as a wife and the mother of three.” “Life’s funny that way.” Myra laughed. “You were going to be

a singing star, and I was going to save the rain forest. Now look at us.”

“So how’d you end up in Boise again?”

“It’s a long story. The short version is, I fell in love with another American who was working in Brazil, and we were pregnant about three seconds after we got married. The jungle wasn’t where we wanted to raise kids. Jordan — that’s my husband — liked Boise when we were here for the wedding, so we decided to come back and join the rat race.”

“And you’re happy?”

“Over the moon, as my grandma used to say.” Envy stung Roxy’s heart.

The minivan slowed and turned into a small parking lot beside a brick house. A neon sign declared it was Matty’s Cottage.

“This place is one of the best-kept secrets in Boise.” Myra switched off the engine. “They’ve got wonderful sandwiches on their lunch menu. My favorite is the French dip. Oh, and their strawberry cheesecake is to die for. Trust me.”

When the two women entered the restaurant a short while later, Roxy was surprised to find the interior of the old house hadn’t been opened up into one big room as expected. Diners, Myra told her, could eat in the living room, the dining room, the den, the master bedroom, or the sunroom. Except for the tables and chairs, each room was decorated to maintain the flavor of its original use.

Myra asked for a table for two in the master bedroom. “You should see how they remodeled the kitchen,” she said to Roxy as they followed the hostess down the hallway. “It’s nothing like the original. Now it’s state of the art.”

The master bedroom had three large windows overlooking a backyard filled with shrubs, flower beds, and a fountain sur- rounded by a rock garden. In the corner of the room, two wingback chairs sat on either side of a fireplace, but on this beautiful spring day, there was no fire on the hearth.

The hostess set menus on a table near the center window. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect, thanks.” Myra hung the strap of her purse over the back of a chair and sat down.

“Gina will be your server today. She’ll be right with you.”

As the hostess walked away, Roxy said, “This place is really unique. Thanks for bringing me.” She settled onto the chair oppo- site Myra.

“Okay, I’ve gotta come clean. My brother owns it.” Roxy’s eyes widened. “Matthew?”

“Uh huh. He’s Matty.”

She remembered Myra’s younger brother as a kind of goofy kid who looked a lot like the actor who played Napoleon Dyna- mite. “How’d he come up with an idea like this? You know, serving lunch in a master bedroom.”

“This house belonged to our grandparents.” Myra pointed toward some framed black-and-white photographs on the wall. “That’s them. Gammy and Poppa. They left the house to Matthew in their will. After he graduated from culinary school, he wanted to open his own restaurant. Only he didn’t have the capital he needed for a new building. He could have sold this house to raise the money, of course, but it held too many fond memories. So that’s when he got the idea to use it for the restaurant. Luckily, the zoning allowed it.”

Roxy looked around the room a second time. If she hadn’t wasted the money Grandma Ruth left to her, if she’d invested it in a business rather than spending like there was no tomorrow, what might she have accomplished?

Gina, their waitress, arrived with water glasses, ready to take their order. Following Myra’s suggestion, Roxy requested the French dip sandwich with a side salad and a strawberry lemonade.

The moment the waitress left, Myra leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve talked about me, and we’ve talked about the restaurant. Now I want to hear about you.”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Oh, come on, Roxy. Who’re you kidding? Did you buy that red convertible? Did you get a talent agent? Spill.”

“Yes and yes. I bought the flashy car I wanted and the big apartment. I met a lot of people, had a good time, sang in some nightclubs and bars, cut a demo. But — ” she glanced out the window — “my career never took off, and it became clear it wasn’t going to. So I gave up and came home.”

Everything she said was true, but the fine details were missing. And the inclusion of those fine details would paint a different and more accurate picture. Such as wanting to party more than she wanted to work. Or that she got lonely and tried to fill the loneli- ness with men.