Touching Stars (25 page)

“My father was no Brutus,” I said. “He served his country fairly and honestly.”

“And like Brutus did what he thought he must in honor’s name. Aren’t such men the ones to fear most?”

“I will always be proud to be his son.”

She turned away and left me there to stare at my father’s face.

E
ric was exhilarated. Instead of nightmares, he’d spent most of the past night thinking of new and better ways to renovate the garden-shed cottage. Several times he’d gotten up to put his ideas on paper, making rough sketches and scribbling notes. When he’d finally fallen asleep it was simply to pass the time until morning.

Now breakfast was over, and he was enthusiastically taking measurements. He knew what Gayle planned to do here. She needed space for a family. Children could be disruptive in the main inn, where many guests had come for a quiet atmosphere. But families were a market she didn’t want to ignore.

He did some calculations. There was a sizable living area where the kitchen had taken up one end until it had met with his crowbar, one medium-sized bedroom, and a bathroom that needed to be updated along with everything else. But if this wall was removed—and he was sure it wasn’t load bearing—and the useless back porch was incorporated into living space? He got more and more excited as he saw that his ideas of the night before were sound and attainable.

Two hours later he stood back, flushed and proud and utterly exhausted.

“I brought you…”

He pivoted to see Gayle in the doorway.

“Some…coffee.” She stepped into the room, or as far as she could go, anyway. She set a travel mug on the only surface that was left to hold it, a window ledge by the door. “Eric, what are you doing?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise. After I removed all the debris.”

Her tone was oddly flat. “I can honestly say you achieved your goal. I
am
surprised. Exactly what are you doing?”

“I spent the whole night thinking about it. I know you planned to keep the space like it was more or less, with new wallboard, cabinetry and counters. But I have a better idea. You need space for families, right? And I’m guessing you were going to put a pull-out sofa in the living area for kids, but this way, by carving a little space from the living area, we can fit two bedrooms in here. See?”

He paced off what he could, stepping over chunks of Sheetrock and splintered timbers. “We’ll extend the smaller bedroom into what’s now that useless porch on the back. You can easily fit two twin beds in there, and a dresser. And the bathroom will connect them. It’ll work for two sets of adults as well as children.” He grinned at her and waited for praise. “So what do you think?”

“I think…” She looked away, her gaze roaming the room. Then she looked back at him. “I think you’ve forgotten this isn’t
your
inn anymore. Your name isn’t on the deed. It’s not on any document that registers it for business with the Commonwealth of Virginia. The last time your name was connected with Daughter of the Stars was on our divorce papers, when you gave sole title to me.”

For a moment he wasn’t able to work his way through the mire of her words. “Wait, you’re unhappy?”

She drew herself up, although until that moment she had seemed to be standing perfectly straight. “Unhappy? I’m trying to figure out exactly
when
you asked me if you could come in here and destroy my property?”

“You don’t like my idea?”

“Idea be darned! I don’t like your assumptions.” She turned and left. One minute she was there; the next, the dust her departure stirred was a white cloud.

“Gayle!” He took off after her, which meant inching his way around piles studded with rusty nails and the occasional shard of broken glass. By the time he got outside he saw her heading up to the inn. He ran after her and was so winded by the time he caught up to her that all he could do was choke out her name again and grab her arm.

“I…thought you’d…be thrilled. I was doing it for you. You want more guests…don’t you?”

She shook off his hand. “No! Our wells can’t take it. The Valley hasn’t had enough rain. I couldn’t allow even four adults in there, much less extras on the pull-out. That would mean another bathroom, anyway. Adult guests don’t want to share a bathroom if they don’t have to. The Star Garden suite is supposed to be meant for a small family, pure and simple. Mom and Dad and two young children. Period. That’s the absolute maximum we can handle.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Because you don’t run the inn anymore!”

She shook a finger at him, and he knew how the boys must feel when she was angry. “You can’t just pick up where you left off, Eric! I am not your assistant, waiting to see what brilliant ideas you come up with for our future. You signed away your share of the inn because you knew you were leaving me with three children and more than half the renovations. And I remember, too, that you didn’t expect me to make it here. Wasn’t there some clause in the divorce papers about who got what if I sold the inn in the first five years? Well, I raised those children and renovated this place and made a success out of it. And guess what? I’m still here!”

Now
he
was angry, too. “Why? To spite me and show me you could?”

“Oh, that’s just like you. It’s all about you, isn’t it? I can’t even make a success of this place without you believing I did it to
prove
something to you. Do you want to know how often I thought longingly of you after you left? Wait here until I can think of a word that means not at all!”

She whirled and started back up toward the inn.

He caught her again and pulled her around to face him.

“Look, I know you didn’t do anything to spite me. I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you meant it. The world revolves around you. You probably think the grass grows just so you can walk on it.”

He released her arm. “It surprises me, then, that you’d want me here, since you find me so lacking.”

“I want you here because your sons need you. I do not want you here to pick up where we left off. I’m in charge of Daughter of the Stars. And I want the garden-shed renovations done my way.”

“Fine! I’ll put new walls where the old ones were.”

“And you know what? In terms of you and me? Put some new walls up there, too, while you’re at it.”

This time, when she started back to the inn, he didn’t stop her.

Eric was sorry he had planned another swimming lesson with Dillon. They had made substantial progress, but he knew the process couldn’t be rushed. Dillon had spent most of his life afraid of the water. He wasn’t going to learn to love it quickly or easily. At the most, by the time Eric left in August, he could be assured that, in an emergency, his son would be less likely to panic. That goal was small enough to be attainable.

After his fight with Gayle, however, he really didn’t have the patience or positive attitude he needed for the task. He actually looked for Dillon to tell him that he was canceling for the afternoon, but he found his youngest son with his ex-wife, and he hadn’t been willing to admit in front of her that he was reneging on their plans. So he’d sweetly reminded Dillon that they had a swimming lesson, raised one eyebrow ironically when Gayle glanced at him, and strutted off to put on his bathing suit.

He wondered if he really was the self-centered jackass that Gayle made him out to be.

On their way up to the swimming pool, Dillon chattered nonstop about the dig. Eric tried to listen, but for the most part all he heard was an internal monologue delivered in Gayle’s angry voice.

“Do you think so?” Dillon asked.

Eric realized he had no idea what his son wanted to know, but clearly a yes or no answer was called for. “I’m not sure,” he hedged. “This has to be up to you.”

“Up to
me
to figure out if Jared and Brandy should get married?”

Eric realized he’d been caught. He tried for a save. “Up to you to have your own opinion about it. My opinion’s a resounding no.”

“I heard Jared tell Cray he wasn’t ready to get married. And he said he’s sure not ready to have kids.”

Dillon had succeeded in getting Eric’s attention. “Recently? You heard this recently?”

“That’s what I just told you.”

Eric thought about his talk with Jared. He’d been so sure it had gone well. But Jared was still talking about marriage when he clearly wasn’t enthused? And having children?

The solution to the puzzle hit him squarely between the eyes. He actually winced. How could he have been so stupid? He’d thought one little talk with his son would put things right. And they
had
resolved a few things, but he had missed the whole point of the discussion about Brandy.

“God…”

“What?” Dillon sounded interested.

“I’m sorry. I just realized I…I left the sunscreen back at the inn.”

“We haven’t used sunscreen before.”

“Right, well, that’s irresponsible of me. We should have been using it. Next time.”

He nearly missed the driveway. He backed up and turned in, parking where they always did. The house was still uninhabited. He checked to be sure things were still secured, as he had promised his former station manager he would, but the whole time he was walking the perimeter he was thinking about his oldest son. He hoped he was jumping to the wrong conclusion, but he was very afraid he knew why Jared had seemed so glum for the past week.

At the pool, Dillon shrugged out of his T-shirt, and took off his shoes and jeans. Eric did the same in slow motion. Between the fight and now this new worry, he yearned to be anywhere else. For a moment he almost wished he were back in a war-torn country dealing with hostile strangers.

“I’m not going to blow any more bubbles,” Dillon said. “That’s baby stuff and stupid.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah.”

Eric felt a twinge of anger, but he mastered it. He told himself that if he were Dillon, he’d be tired of blowing bubbles, too. “Then we’ll move on to floating. It’s the best part of enjoying the water. Once you learn to relax and float, you’ll want to be in the water all the time.”

“I can’t float.”

“You mean you haven’t learned how. That’s different.”

“No,” Dillon said with feigned patience. “I mean I can’t. There’s something wrong with me. I sink.”

“That’s because you haven’t learned how to relax in the water, champ. Trust me, I know.”

“How do you know? Maybe all my weight’s in my head or something, or the bottom of my feet.”

“You do have a unique way of thinking about things. That’s why you’re such a good actor.”

Dillon relaxed his stance a little. “So did you like the play last night?”

Eric realized he hadn’t told his son how much he’d enjoyed the second act. The girl with the buzz cut had read the part of Robby’s mother, Miranda. The other readers had been fine, but when Dillon read, it was as if he actually became Robby. Eric had been so proud of his son. Dillon had clearly done a lot of work on his part.

And Eric hadn’t even told him.

You probably think the grass grows just so you can walk on it.

“I’m sorry, champ.” Eric clapped his hand on Dillon’s shoulder. “I didn’t see you afterwards. I was helping your mom get everything put away, and you guys were surrounded. It was great. I can’t wait for the next act.”

Dillon beamed.

“I think Robby will need swimming lessons, though,” Eric said. “Living right on the river that way. So let’s do a little research, shall we?”

“I can’t float.”

“We’ll see about that.” Eric sat on the edge and swung himself into the water. Reluctantly, Dillon did the same.

“Here’s the thing about floating. We’re in about oh, four feet of water here, right? Well, the water at the bottom, near our feet, is under a whole lot of pressure from the water at the top. Make sense?”

“So?”

“So, you understand about gravity, right?”

“Duh…”

“Okay, well, you’d expect gravity to just pull you straight down, no questions asked. And it would, except for all that pressure I mentioned. See, the water at the bottom is always pushing against the water at the top. When you displace that top water by trying to float on it, the water at the bottom counteracts gravity by pushing upwards and that’s what keeps you from sinking.” He stopped and hoped his grasp of the laws of physics was correct and, more important, helpful.

“So how come I sink? Like the water at the bottom doesn’t like me?”

Eric had to smile. “How well you float has to do with density. The more body fat you have, the easier it is to float, because fat’s not as dense as water. And how much air we have in our bodies matters for the same reason. In fact, that’s what matters the most. So whether you relax and breathe deeply makes all the difference. The more air in your lungs, the better a floater you’ll be.”

“Or I could just eat a lot of candy bars.”

Eric splashed him in response, and Dillon laughed.

“You’ve got plenty of body fat,” Eric said. “And if you relax, you’ll have plenty of air. Best yet, I’ll be right here holding you up. And I’m a big strong guy.”

“Let’s see
you
float, then.”

“Why?”

“Because in case you haven’t noticed, I look just like you, and I’m going to be tall like you, so if you can float—”