a man of simple tastes.”
“All right. But it will have to be turkey meat loaf. It’s healthier for your father.”
Matt groaned. “Turkey is for Thanksgiving, not meat loaf.” He pointed to the bag on the garage floor. “At least I made a pit stop for some good old-fashioned chili before I came home.”
“Keep that away from your father,” she admonished. “You know he can’t resist chili.” She kissed him on the cheek and started to lead the way into the house.
Matt cleared his throat. “How is Father?”
“He’s recuperating pretty well. He’s stubborn, though, and getting him to change hasn’t been easy.”
I know that firsthand. “Does he know I’m back?”
“Yes.” She didn’t say any more. Her silence about his father’s reaction meant the years of separation hadn’t changed much of anything. She paused at the top of the steps, then turned to him. “Why did you come back? It was more than your father’s heart attack, wasn’t it?”
He hesitated, forming the words in his head, finally giving voice to his own explanation. “To reclaim my life. I hit thirty and realized it was past time I grew up. Then Father got sick. It seemed the perfect time to start over. To come back.”
“It was the right choice,” she said. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for some.”
He knew she was talking about his father and Olivia. Hell, half the town saw him as a callous, irresponsible man who didn’t deserve the life of privilege the Webster name had given him. But what they didn’t know was how that name had made him suffer, and how impossible it had been to forgive himself.
“I didn’t expect it would,” Matt said, wondering if his return would be worth the price he’d be paying.
Katie kicked off her sneakers and placed the grocery bag on the counter. Popsicles went into the freezer, TV dinner was unwrapped and tossed into the microwave, cans were placed alphabetically in the cabinet. Within minutes, she was curled up on her sofa, picking at a plastic plateful of bland manicotti.
She reached for the remote control and flipped through the TV Guide. Two movies she had seen before and some woman-in-jeopardy special on channel seven. Television, or the books for the shop—already pored over a million times. Gee, the real height of excitement in the middle of Indiana, she thought.
She’d spent too much time cooped up here, worried about the shop and depressed about her non-wedding. She imagined herself, twenty years down the road, unkempt hair to her knees, wearing smelly, tattered clothes, muttering about what could have been if she hadn’t been stood up at the altar. If she allowed the old Katie to wallow in self-pity for one minute more, she’d surely turn into Miss Havisham. And deep down inside, that’s exactly what she feared would happen.
Maybe if she got out, networked a little, she could take care of both things at once. She might be dateless, but she was not the hermit Barbara had accused her of being.
Katie dashed into her bedroom, transforming her usual self into what she hoped was someone who looked adventurous. She poufed her hair, painted her lips and slipped into a dress that wasn’t exactly revealing, since her closet didn’t contain anything that wasn’t practical, but at least was more feminine than jeans.
Then she took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror, assessing the changes and resisting the urge to tamp down her hair and wipe off the lipstick. A day ago, a year ago, she would have. Katie had always lived her life plain and quiet. No longer. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the door before she could change her mind.
It was Friday night and the new Katie Dole was going out. Alone.
Matt sat on one of the silk-upholstered claw-foot chairs at the hand-carved mahogany dining-room table, under an elaborate three-tier crystal chandelier, surrounded by the finest china money could buy.
And wished he was lying on a blanket under the stars, with a cooler packed with fried chicken and sitting beside a beautiful honey-headed woman who really knew how to kiss.
“Hello, Matthew.” His father’s voice brought an abrupt halt to Matt’s reverie.
When he saw him, Matt choked back a gasp. The rugged, hearty Edward he had left behind eleven years ago had been replaced by an old man with pale skin and tired eyes, shuffling across the room in a robe and slippers. Matt couldn’t believe the damage a few clogged arteries had wreaked on a once-imposing, seemingly immortal man. For a second, Matt’s resentment disappeared. He considered walking over to his father and ending the years of animosity with an embrace.
He was halfway out of his seat when his father said, “Have you seen Olivia yet?”
The mention of his ex-wife was like a stab to Matt’s gut and his father knew it. Why had Matt hoped the heart attack and the years apart would make a difference? Nothing inside Edward had changed. Not a single thing. His heart was forged out of the same cold steel that was used to create the buildings he sold.
Edward folded his hands together and rested them on the table in front of him, a physical gesture Matt knew meant his father was getting down to business. Matt slowly sipped his water, waiting.
He watched his father rearrange his silverware until it was in a perfect line perpendicular to the table edge, and thought about the two traits he had inherited from Edward—tenacity and drive. Edward Webster had been penniless when he’d left his parents’ home in Toledo at the age of eighteen. It had taken him seven years of selling commercial properties to save enough money to buy a part interest and the position of vice president in the floundering and grateful Corporate Services. Within two years, Edward owned the company and had renamed it Webster Enterprises.
Nearly three decades later, it was the largest, most profitable firm in the state. Edward had built it up with his own two hands. For that, Matt admired and respected him.
But Matt despised the underhanded way his father forced people to do his bidding. Edward Webster used every tool at his disposal—guilt, rage and humiliation—to bring others around to his way of thinking. That was a lesson Matt had learned personally. The night his father had turned on his own flesh and blood had wiped out whatever love and admiration Matt felt and had replaced it with simmering resentment.
“Matthew,” his father said finally, “you should pay Olivia a visit and try to patch things up. She never remarried, you know. She went back to her maiden name, but that doesn’t mean everything is over between you two. People will talk about your return. There are a lot of questions that were never answered. Not for anyone, especially Olivia.”
Matt had a few questions of his own for his ex-wife, but he didn’t mention that to his father. “There’s nothing to say, Father. Olivia and I haven’t had so much as a conversation in a decade. Much like you and I.”
Edward tore a fresh-baked roll in half and applied fat-free margarine in precise, economical movements. He said nothing.
“I have no plans to resurrect anything with Olivia. We won’t be reconciling for the benefit of the country club.”
“I don’t give a damn about the country club,” Edward exploded, slamming the butter knife down. “That girl is hurting. She needs you. I will not have a son of mine
