CHAPTER FIVE
HER FATHER-IN-LAW SET down the coffee she’d poured for him and glanced around Deidre Morris’s sunny, country-style kitchen. “I’ve found a buyer for your house.”
The seemingly casual words, dropped into what had supposedly been an impromptu visit to see his grandson, sent ripples of alarm through Deidre. Her own cup clattered, nearly missing the saucer. “I... What did you say?”
Judge Franklin Morris gave her the look he’d give an unprepared attorney in his courtroom. “I said I’ve found a buyer for you. He’s offering the best price you can expect for a place like this. And you’ll be able to move into Ferncliff by the end of the month.”
Deidre pressed suddenly cold hands against the top of the pine table that had belonged to her grandparents. She should have guessed that there was something behind this visit. Judge Morris was far too busy to drop in on anyone. And nothing he said was ever casual.
She was going to have to take a firm line, clearly, and that wasn’t easy with a man who was accustomed to speaking with the force of law. Stupid, she lectured herself. He can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do, even if he is Kevin’s grandfather.
“I’m afraid there’s some misunderstanding. I have no intention of selling this house.” And certainly not of moving into the chilly mansion where every moment of the day was governed by her formidable father-in-law’s wishes.
“I realize you have a sentimental attachment to your family home.” He seemed to make an effort to sound patient. “But since you won’t have any need of the house once you and Kevin move in with us, selling seems the sensible solution. You can invest the money for the future. However, if you prefer to rent, I suppose that can be arranged.” He’d begun to use his courtroom voice by the end of his little speech.
But she was neither a plaintiff nor a defendant. And this house had been home to her family for three generations, now four. “I don’t want to rent or sell. This is my home, mine and Kevin’s. This is where I plan to live.” Surely that was clear enough.
The judge’s face stiffened, making it look very much like the portrait of him that hung in the county courthouse, marking his twenty years on the bench. The firm planes of his face, the small graying moustache, the piercing gray eyes—all seemed granted by providence to make Franklin Morris look like what he was, a county court judge.
The chink of a glass reminded her that they were not alone. Kevin sat across from her, his blue eyes huge and round above the chocolate milk that rimmed his mouth. Deidre’s heart clenched. A five-year-old shouldn’t be hearing this conversation.
“Kevin, why don’t you run upstairs and finish the get-well card you’re making for your grandmother. That way Grandfather can take it with him when he goes.” She gave him a reassuring smile, wishing someone would send reassurance her way about now.
“Yes, that’s right.” The judge’s face softened into a smile when he regarded his grandson in a way it seldom seemed to do otherwise. Maybe he felt he had little else to smile about, with his only child dead at thirty-two and his wife constantly medicating herself with alcohol. “She’ll love to have a card from you.”
Kevin nodded, his chair scraping back. Without a word, he scuttled from the kitchen like a mouse escaping the cat.
Her son’s expression reminded Deidre of the most important reason why they’d never be moving into Ferncliff. She wouldn’t allow Kevin to grow up the way his father had, doubting himself at every turn, convinced he could never measure up to what was expected of him. She turned back to the table to be met by a stare that chilled her.
“Deidre, what is this nonsense? I could understand your reluctance to make a move in the immediate aftermath of Frank’s death. But you’ve had nearly a year. It was always understood that you and Kevin would move in with us. We have plenty of room, and it’s the sensible thing to do. With Frank gone, I’m the only father figure the boy will have.”
And that was exactly what Deidre feared most. This was her own fault, she supposed. She should have stood firm when the subject had first come up, but she’d still been dazed at the suddenness of Frank’s death, unable to come to terms with the thought of the screaming, shrieking crash of his treasured sports car against the bridge abutment.
She hadn’t been in any condition then to mount a major battle with the judge, so she’d taken the easy way out, claiming she couldn’t possibly make any more abrupt changes in their lives until they’d become accustomed to the tragedy. When both the family doctor and her minister had chimed in with their support, the judge had graciously backed down.
But
