style="font-size:15px;"> “Sheltered us, you mean.”
“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with that kind of security?”
“Security.” David shook his head. “Is that why you’re trying so hard to hold everything in place?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” She took a deep breath and tried, for the hundredth time, to get through to him. “Dad handed us something lots of people never have in their lifetime. The opportunity to work for ourselves. The chance to build something that belongs to us.”
“We don’t have that chance, Charlie. It’s already built. He did it.” David glanced behind her to the row of photos. “And as long as we keep Keene Concrete, we’ll keep working for him.”
A knock on the door summoned their mother from the kitchen. “That must be Ben,” she said as she passed through the front room. “Charlie, would you mind getting the rolls from the oven to the table? There’s a basket for them near the sink.”
David followed Charlie into the kitchen. “What’s up with Mom and Ben?”
“I think they’re seeing each other.”
“Isn’t that unethical?” David scowled. “He shouldn’t be discussing money matters with her if he’s trying to get her into bed.”
“Please.” Charlie squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Face it, Charlie. She’s going to hook up with someone as fast as she can. Mom can’t handle being alone.”
“She’s been doing okay so far.” Charlie dumped the rolls into the basket. Her mother probably would have arranged them in some more attractive fashion, but Charlie figured they’d get eaten no matter how they looked. “I just hope she doesn’t rush into something she’ll regret.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Who, Ben?”
David’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust him.”
“I do.”
“That’s because he always takes your side.”
“Maybe that’s because I’m always right.”
She caught him by the arm before he could turn and stalk from the room. “We need to talk—all of us. About the timing of the visit from the Continental rep. About what might happen if Earl sells to someone other than Keene, and how we’re going to handle it.”
“What’s the point of talking? Your mind’s already made up, just like always.”
“And you’re not thinking things through.” She closed her eyes and scrambled for patience. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. I need your help with this, David.”
“You don’t need anyone. That’s the problem.”
Their mother walked into the kitchen with a clutch of daffodils. “Aren’t these pretty? Ben brought them for the table.”
“I’m glad he’s here,” said Charlie. “We need to talk.”
“Not business,” said Maudie with a sigh. “Not tonight.”
“Maybe it’s for the best, Maudie.” Ben stood in the doorway, steady and solemn, tall and broad shouldered. His silver-gray suit seemed to match his silver hair, and he looked every inch the successful owner of a respected accounting firm. “I understand there’s something we all need to discuss. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”
She nodded slowly, dreading the dinner conversation to come. “Yes,” she said. “I think a discussion would be good.” She glanced at David. “Arriving at an agreement would be even better.”
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