One Season of Sunshine Page 8

  Levi bolted off the chair and raced for the door, almost knocking into a man who was entering at the same time. Riley walked out, too, leaving her caramel smoothie practically untouched.

  Jane gathered up the cups and followed the kids out to her car.

  And now, she thought as she started up the Range Rover, Mr. Warm and Fuzzy was coming home. As Jane drove the kids home, she wondered idly how long she’d last at Summer’s End. She’d hate leaving that guesthouse, but she had a feeling she and Mr. Price were not going to hit it off. Especially when he saw Riley’s hair.

  At six that evening, Mr. Price called to say he would be late.

  7

  Asher called to tell his children his flight from New York was delayed and he expected to be home by ten. Unfortunately, he didn’t account for summer storms in Texas, and it wasn’t until half past midnight that his car service pulled up to the gates of his house.

  He gave the gate code to the driver; the gates swung open, and the Lincoln Town Car eased through. Only a couple of lights were on in the house, and Asher felt a stab of disappointment. He was anxious to see his kids, to see their eyes, to hold them tight.

  After he gathered his bags, Asher let himself in the front door and quietly put them down in the entry. A light was on in the kitchen, and another one over the stairwell. Beyond that, the house was dark and quiet.

  Disappointment and fatigue weighed on him. So did hunger.

  In the kitchen, Asher was surprised to find evidence of his kids. Carla and Maria, the girl who came in to do the heavy cleaning once a week, kept the house like a museum. But in the breakfast area, he spotted a calendar with stickers of plants affixed to different days of the week. There were two watering cans on the floor just inside the patio door, one big and one small, and next to that, two pairs of plastic gardening shoes. Packets of seedlings were piled on one end of the kitchen island.

  He flipped on the overhead light. On the breakfast table were catalogues, which, he discovered on closer inspection, were of teen clothing. One catalogue was open and a little shirt or top or something was circled in red. Riley’s iPod and laptop, covered in decals and the artfully painted letters R.A.P., were also on the table. His kid had an incredible artistic talent for a child . . . but she hadn’t painted at all since Susanna had died.

  Asher started toward the fridge, but his gaze fell on a picture that was lying on a small, built-in desk. Curious, he picked it up. It was a picture of Susanna poolside. She was dressed in a flowing gauzy swimsuit cover, the outline of her bikini visible beneath. He couldn’t place the time or the occasion, but whatever it was, Susanna was wildly beautiful. A long tail of silken hair hung over her shoulder. She was laughing gaily, her mouth open, her blue eyes—Riley’s eyes—bright and shining. She was holding a glass of white wine in one hand. A necklace dangled from the fingers of her other hand.

  Asher’s gut knotted. He picked it up and opened a drawer in the small desk, lifted up several papers and a phone book, and shoved the picture beneath them, then closed the door again.

  He didn’t want to be reminded. He’d spent the last year trying to forget.

  He opened the fridge and studied the contents.

  “Dad?”

  That was his daughter’s disembodied voice; he quickly shut the fridge, saw her slinking around the corner. She was wearing a ball cap backward, her hair tucked up underneath it. “Oh, man, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he said and opened his arms.

  Riley walked into them, slipping her arms around his waist as Asher folded himself around her, hugging her tight, lifting her off the ground. “God, I missed you,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

  “You’re suffocating me,” she protested, and Asher reluctantly put her down. Riley moved back, as if embarrassed by the display of affection. Things were strained between Riley and Asher, to say the least. He knew Riley blamed him for Susanna’s death. She hadn’t come right out and said it, but Asher sensed it, and God knew he blamed himself. He hadn’t protected Susanna, he hadn’t protected his children. It was a constant guilt, something that lived with him every moment of every day.

  Now that Riley was almost a teen, it seemed as if the distance between them only deepened with each passing month.

  “You were gone a really long time, Dad.”

  “I know,” he said and cupped her chin, lifting her face so that he could look at it. “Longer than I ever wanted to be gone, that’s for sure. I’m sorry I’m so late, kiddo.”

  She shrugged a little and turned her head from his hand, rubbing her nose with the tips of her fingers. Asher noticed the remnants of her black polish. He ran his hand over the crown of her ball cap; Riley ducked and moved away.

  “What’s under the hat?”

  “Hair.”

  God, but she looked like Susanna. She had her mother’s wide, blue eyes and classic high cheekbones. Sometimes it seemed as if Susanna hadn’t really left them. “Levi’s in bed?” Asher asked.

  She nodded. “He’s wetting the bed again. It’s gross.”

  “He can’t help it, Ri.”

  “I know,” she said, yawning.

  Carla had told Asher Levi’s bed-wetting had picked up again. The kid was only five, and while the pediatrician had told Asher it wasn’t so uncommon at this age, it was a concern for Asher. Levi was too young to understand why his mommy and daddy were gone. He was struggling like they all were, trying to find his way. The pediatrician had opined that Levi would grow out of it, and had recommended the usual remedies: no drinking before bedtime, get him up at night, etc. But Asher had noticed Levi’s bed-wetting was worse when Asher was away, and in the last couple of months, he’d started having accidents during the day. There wasn’t a pediatrician around who could convince Asher that was common at the age of five, that it wasn’t some sort of psychological response to the things missing in Levi’s young life.

  The bed-wetting left Asher feeling completely helpless. He was failing his son. Levi needed stability, he needed everything to be all right so he could concentrate on things little boys should concentrate on, like getting to the potty on time and playing with his Transformers. Riley needed it just as much. Asher had figured out that as a father, he was good at providing all the material things, like a big house and toys and clothes, but he could not provide the most basic need for consistency in their lives. His was a constant struggle—his kids needed him, but so did the ad agency he’d helped found and grow into a respected national firm.

  It had been a rough year for the agency. They’d lost accounts because of the economy and had been forced to lay off staff. Ron Sutcliff’s illness had sent a ripple of fear through their investors and they’d weathered a very critical year right on the heels of Susanna’s death. And through it all, Asher had been drowning in guilt and the need to be in two places at once.

  “I’m making a sandwich,” Asher said. “You want me to make you one, too?”

  Riley nodded.

  He fetched some ingredients from the fridge and spread them across the island. “I’ve missed talking to you,” he said as he began to make the sandwiches.

  “Yeah, well, the warden has my phone.”

  “And we are going to have a talk about that. But first, tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  “Nothing,” Riley said. “What is there to do here? I’ve been hanging out. It’s boring.”

  That only amplified Asher’s guilt. “I know, Ri,” he said, feeling wearier of a sudden. “I know it’s been a real drag for you and Levi that I’ve had to travel so much lately. But you know that Mr. Sutcliff is sick and that I am trying to cover a lot of ground right now. Things will eventually settle down, but until they do, I need you to be patient with me.”

  “Whatever.” She stretched her arm across the bar and laid her head on it.

  “Do you like sprouts?” he asked. “Looks like Carla got a good deal on them.”

  “Oh yeah, she and the warden have decided we aren’t eating enough healthy stuff. Like Levi
and I are going to die if we eat one more candy.”

  Calling Jane Aaron “the warden” would indicate things had not improved between Riley and Miss Aaron. “About Miss Aaron . . . I understand you haven’t been cooperating with her.”

  “I’ve been cooperating,” Riley said insouciantly. “But she’s kind of stupid, Dad. She’s all like, ‘Oooh, let’s go get a smoothie,’ or, ‘Do you want to go to the gym and do some indoor rock climbing?’ Like I am going to go climb a rock.”

  Rock climbing sounded fun to Asher. “I don’t think those are necessarily crimes—”

  “I don’t need a nanny,” Riley interrupted him. “I’m almost thirteen. I mean, Carla is here every day, and I don’t see why Grandma Helen can’t check in on us to make sure Carla hasn’t killed us and stuffed our bodies in coolers and thrown them in the lake, or whatever it is you’re afraid of. Why do we need a nanny?”

  Did they have to have this conversation tonight? Again? “I know you don’t want a nanny, Riley,” he said calmly. “You don’t want a stranger stepping into your life where Mom and I used to be, and God knows I get that. We’ve been on a roller coaster since Mom died. But we’ve been through this, and sweetheart, you are too young to live without supervision. And I’ve got a company that needs my attention. Obviously, something has to give, so we’re going to have a nanny for a while.”

  “But why do you always have to travel?” she pleaded with him. “Why can’t someone else do it?”

  It was impossible to explain to a twelve-year-old how a business was run. “Because sometimes only a partner can make the deal.”

  She didn’t say anything but laid her head down on the bar again. Only this time, her cap fell off. She quickly grabbed it and put it on again, but not before he’d seen the bright pink hair.

  “Take that hat off,” he ordered her.

  “Fine,” she said and took it off, staring at him defiantly.

  Asher gaped at her. Her hair, beautiful golden hair, perhaps the only thing she had that looked like him, was covered in pink. “What did you do?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Riley—your hair is pink.”

  “So? It’s my hair.” She leaned back, folding her arms.

  “I don’t care if it is your hair, it is not going to be pink,” he said. “You’re going to change that tomorrow.”

  “What do you care? It’s not like you’re ever here to see it.”

  “I am here now. And my twelve-year-old daughter is not going to have pink hair, okay? Don’t argue about it—you’re changing it tomorrow.”

  “That’s so unfair,” she muttered.

  Asher methodically finished the sandwiches while Riley sulked. Once, Tara had suggested boarding school for Riley. Asher’s first reaction had been hell no, he was not shipping his kid off because he was too busy . . . but then again, there were times he wondered if the idea didn’t have some merit. At boarding school, Riley wouldn’t have to face the fact that her mother was dead and her father was absent every day.

  Asher stole a glance at his daughter and that horrible pink hair. He remembered the day she was born—she was so beautiful, so perfect, with a fuzzy patch of grayish hair on the top of her head. They’d called her their little miracle baby, and he’d been completely ga-ga for her. Could he really send his miracle baby away to school and not see her for weeks at a time?

  But would Riley be happier? Would he?

  Behind Riley, there was another picture of Susanna on a shelf. It felt a little strange, like Susanna was watching him, knowing what he was thinking and hating him for it. Let her hate him—she wasn’t here to help him, she’d made sure of that.

  “Here,” Asher said, putting Riley’s sandwich on a plate and pushing it toward her.

  “I don’t want it,” Riley said and pushed the plate back.

  “If you want to pout, pout in your room,” he said and pushed the sandwich back.

  “What about my phone?” she asked, ignoring the sandwich.

  She got her hair color and her stubbornness from him, Asher figured. “Tell me what happened,” he said, giving in, and sat back with his sandwich as he listened to his daughter. Even though it was full of complaint, her voice was the best thing he’d heard in a while.

  8

  A sound, something, awakened Jane the next morning, bringing her out of a fitful sleep. She glanced at the clock—it was 6:45 in the morning.

  She hadn’t slept well, waking every hour or so and glancing at the clock, wondering if the Pompous Prince had made it home.

  She heard the noise again, a dull thud on the outside wall. Jane got up and pulled on a pair of shorts. She walked to the French doors that opened onto the pool and looked out. The sun was very low in the sky; there wasn’t even a slight breeze. When she heard the thud again, she opened the door and walked outside and around the corner, where she spotted Levi standing in the small garden they’d planted, still in his pajamas, his shovel in hand.

  “Levi! What are you doing up so early?”

  He squinted at her clothing. “Did you wear that to sleep in?”

  Jane glanced down at her denim shorts and camisole. “Some of it. Hey, it’s awfully early in the morning for little boys to be up and around. What are you doing out here?”

  “Digging a new hole for the new plants,” he said, as if that were a normal thing for a five-year-old to do at dawn.

  Jane guessed he might have had another accident, but he was still wearing his pajamas and they didn’t look wet. She walked into the garden, stepping gingerly over what they’d planted. They’d put the garden in a bare patch of yard with the blessing of Jorge, the groundskeeper. The area got full morning sun, but the shade of one old live oak saved the patch from a brutal late afternoon sun. Jorge had graciously tilled a few rows for them, and Jane and Levi had gone to the local hardware store to pick out tomato plants and seeds for watermelon, squash, and cucumbers. Levi had also begged for zinnias after seeing the seed packages at the checkout stand.

  That very afternoon, Jane and Levi had planted while Riley had sat in a lawn chair with her skinny legs sprawled before her, earbuds in her ears, a book in her hand. Jane didn’t think Riley ever turned a page; she’d used the book to keep from having to talk to Jane.

  With the garden planted, Levi couldn’t wait to come and check on things every day—but never this early. Then again, yesterday they’d noticed that the soil was breaking and little green shoots were starting to poke their heads through the cracks.

  Jane squatted down next to Levi and examined the hole he’d dug. “That’s a great hole,” she observed and peeked up at him. “Why are you up so early, Levi?”

  He shrugged. “We have a ghost in the attic. It woke me up.”

  “A ghost?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “Did it scare you?”

  “No. It’s my mommy,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, Levi, I—”

  “My daddy came home!” he suddenly and happily announced. “He went down there,” he said, and pointed with his shovel at a path that led from the pool down the hill, toward the lake.

  Jane stood up and looked down the path. “Down there?”

  “I saw him. He was running. I like to run, too! Want to see how fast I can run?” He suddenly dropped his shovel and darted around her, running into the grass beyond their garden patch, running around in circles, his arms held wide.

  “You are the fastest runner in the world!” Jane exclaimed, and caught him with one hand when he tried to run past her, causing Levi to collapse in a fit of giggles.

  Jane set Levi up with SpongeBob SquarePants and a dry bowl of cereal in the media room, and returned to her quarters to dress, digging through her unpacked boxes for something she could wear to meet Mr. Price in person.

  She hadn’t had time—okay, she hadn’t taken the time—to unpack much of anything. Frankly, she still wasn’t convinced she was going to keep this job, or if she really belonged here. But then aga
in, who knew where she belonged? She hadn’t even gone to Cedar Springs Memorial Hospital to begin her search. Jane told herself she hadn’t had time, but in truth, she was a big, squawking chicken. She was afraid. Once she got that ball rolling, who knew where it would go?

  “First things first,” she said aloud and pulled on a pair of Levi’s and a Coldplay T-shirt. She decided that looked too casual, like she wasn’t a real nanny. Which she wasn’t, but that was beside the point of this morning’s meeting. She tried a denim skirt and a blouse next, but that looked like she was trying too hard. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded of her reflection. She would probably be fired anyway, because just one word from him, one remark about anything she’d done in his absence, and it was Hasta la vista, baby. She’d be damned if she was going to put up with some absent father’s unrealistic expectations and superior attitude on top of that.

  She put on the Levi’s and T-shirt again, brushed her hair, and pulled it back in a ponytail. It was, admittedly, with something of a chip on her shoulder that she marched across the breezeway, ready to wait for Mr. Price to return from his run and ready for a confrontation.

  She was not, however, ready for the sight of Mr. Price.

  He happened to be standing in the kitchen, already back from his run. Jane had seen pictures of him, of course—she couldn’t escape all the pictures of the happy family in this blessed house. Hanging in the formal dining room was a huge family portrait of all four of them in jeans and white shirts, and there was even a dog. (Levi had explained to Jane that the dog had gone to live on a farm so he could chase cows. “We didn’t have any cows,” he’d added solemnly.)

  But the man in those pictures did not catch her attention like the man standing before her did. She’d been so transfixed by Mrs. Price—silky black hair, sparkling blue eyes, and pearly white teeth—that she’d hardly noticed Mr. Price in them.