He didn’t crack a smile. He slipped his hand up my neck though and kissed my temple. “Go home, Phil.”
“What about you?”
“I’m staying here.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.” His gaze bored briefly into mine. “It was part of our deal. I’ll call you in the morning to work out the details.”
“I guess this isn’t a good time to tell you that you’ll need a suit. Father’s birthday is a comparatively formal event.”
A smile touched his lips. “They’re hemming the pants for me. I’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.”
“Maybe I could...”
He touched a fingertip to my lips. “Go home, Phil. We’ll worry about details in the morning.”
We both looked at Lucia, her chest rising and falling as the respirator wheezed. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
His lips tightened. “Leave it, Phil.”
And leave him. The subtext was clear. I picked up my purse, wished him goodnight and went home, dragging my heart behind me.
* * *
It was incredible to him that he was going to be a guest of the Coxwells.
It added to the surreal sense of the day. He had spent the night dozing beside a strangely frail and immobile Lucia. He had talked to O’Neill this morning, answering his questions about where he’d been when the day before, evading any discussion of what he’d done since he got home.
He might not be his brother’s keeper but it was a change he had to get used to.
Now, he sat in the most expensive suit he had ever owned, watching Phil’s legs as she shifted gears and marveled that he was en route to a meal with the Coxwells.
Their home, Grey Gables, had been the hallmark of how things should be for as long as he’d been in Rosemount. They set the standard, and dozens of socially ambitious souls followed their lead. He had always found it amusing to see, for example, how many households waited to see what flowers the Coxwells planted in their gardens before choosing their own.
Beverly Coxwell had always been the maven of good taste, long before there had been television shows and magazines to spread the gospel. He knew that her wardrobe choices each season were scrutinized and discussed by the women in town, everything from the height of her hemlines to the shape of her purse avidly copied.
The Coxwells did not mingle. They were effectively the crown family of Rosemount, by dint of wealth, social position and attitude. They expected homage, and they got it. He imagined that Robert Coxwell’s ascent to the judiciary had been less an election than a coronation. It probably was only a matter of time before the judge more actively entered politics.
They were a family whose lives looked orderly, particularly to a boy who had seen so much disorder. They were polite, they were attractive, they sponsored many a local event. Their children proceeded to Harvard, thence to law school, as though there were no other options. It was a kind of normalcy that he had once yearned for, and certainly that he still found intimidating.
But if he was nervous, Phil was more so. He couldn’t figure out why. She had a family, a large established prosperous family where all events proceeded with mathematical precision.
Maybe it was the rift between them that made her uncomfortable.
Because today, she shifted gears with less than her usual ease and nearly stalled the truck on a perfectly level intersection.
“Is anything wrong?”
She flashed him a look of alarm. “No, nothing. I just hope he likes the cufflinks.”
So that was what was in the carefully wrapped package she had asked him to hold. “It seems like something he might like.” Not that Nick knew, but surely cufflinks were a safe bet for a professional man.
“He wears a lot of French-cuffed shirts. I thought they were neat.”
“But now, you’re not sure.”
Her smile was wry. “When it comes to my father, I’m never sure.”
“I’d think that having everyone together would be the point, regardless of what gift they brought.”
She laughed then. Her laughter had an edge to it, unlike her usual carefree laughter. “That shows what you know about it.” She patted him on the hand, her attitude irking him.
“Come on, Phil, it can’t be that bad.”
“No? You wait and see. It’s the annual test. He’ll not say a word until he’s unwrapped everything, then he’ll line them up across the dining room table in order of preference. Favor will be allotted over the coming year on the basis of position.”
He looked at her in horror. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was. It’s not a game I play very well.” She parked the truck at the end of the Coxwell driveway, behind an array of shiny SUV’s and luxury cars. “To tell you the truth, I think the odds are stacked in favor of those with slightly different equipment than mine.”
She wasn’t kidding. She made her quip and smiled but Nick knew her well enough to not be fooled.
She was afraid of the old bastard. And rightly so, if that was how she was treated here. The protective urge he’d first felt when she marched into Lucia’s house was nothing compared to what he felt now.
He’d rip the face off anyone foolish enough to hurt Phil in his presence.
She was out of the truck too quickly for him to get around to help. She shifted her weight from foot to foot in the driveway and cast more than one anxious glance at the door.
He handed her the parcel and gave her a quick kiss. “You look terrific.” It was no lie. She was wearing a trim little navy dinner suit and a white beaded blouse, strappy heels and dark stockings. Her make-up was characteristically light, her hair gleamed.
She looked like a million bucks.
She leaned against him for a fleeting moment. “You, too.” She took a deep breath and straightened the knot of his tie and he noted that her fingers were shaking. “But I think this was a really bad idea, Nick.” She flicked a worried glance up at him. “Maybe you should leave now, while you can.”
“Chicken.” He threw her usual charge back at her but she didn’t smile.
“I’m serious.”
There was no way he was leaving her to face this alone. “Not a chance, Phil. You’re stuck with me.”
She took an uneven breath. “Don’t expect him to play nice.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
He didn’t really think it would be that bad. A part of him couldn’t help thinking that this would be a picture perfect family dinner, the kind he’d seen on television a thousand times but never experienced. Okay, they’d be less than thrilled that he was here, but they’d get over it. They’d swallow their objections and be nice.
They weren’t like Lucia, after all.
They weren’t at all like Lucia, but not in the way he anticipated.
* * *
Beverly Coxwell was still a beauty. She opened the door when Phil rang the bell while Nick marveled that Phil couldn’t just walk into a house where she’d lived for years. Beverly smiled coolly at them, her gaze slipping over Nick as she greeted them.
She looked twice at the suit and he figured she pegged its value within twenty bucks. One eyebrow rose slightly, but she said nothing about it.
She was dressed in a full-length sequined gown of exquisite cut and definite expense. Diamonds dripped from her fingers and her earlobes, her chestnut hair was wound into a chignon studded with jewels. Beverly was elegant, poised, well-preserved, and impossible to read.
It was hard to believe that this woman had borne four children. Nick couldn’t envision her pregnant, let alone permitting it to happen again. He certainly couldn’t imagine her relaxing her composure enough to do the deed that led to those pregnancies in the first place.
Maybe she had just endured.
It was harder to credit that she shared any relation with Phil, the most warm-blooded, generous, passionate and open person Nick had ever known. He looked closely, though, and saw a faint echo of Phil’s features in
her mother.
He really had to look for it.
Where Phil was animated, her mother’s features could have been wrought in stone. Nick was used to being greeted with volume, either enthusiastic hugs and kisses or recriminations—which ended in the same noisy hugs and kisses. But Phil exchanged non-contact cheek pecks with her mother as though she expected nothing different.
Beverly offered Nick her hand, which was very cold. “So, this must be Philippa’s rumored date.”
It was somewhat disconcerting to not be addressed directly, especially as she assessed him so openly. Phil’s tongue seemed to have been cut from her mouth, but Nick smiled coolly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Coxwell.”
“Is it?” A smile touched her painted lips and for a minute, there was a light in her eyes. A step sounded behind her and it was gone. She nodded minutely and stepped aside as her spouse joined her.
Robert Coxwell was no less imposing than Nick remembered, perhaps more so close up. He was tall and silver-haired, trim and fastidiously attired. His dark suit was impeccably tailored, his shirt whiter than white.
He didn’t even trouble himself to look at Phil, just glared at Nick.
“You’ve got a nerve coming here, after what you did.” He made no attempt to disguise his animosity. “If I’d been on the bench, you’d still be serving time. Hard time. Drinking and driving is a serious offense.”
Phil cleared her throat, but her voice sounded smaller than usual. “The charges were dismissed for lack of evidence.”
Her father bestowed a withering glance on her. “Don’t you tell me my business. Those charges were dismissed because O’Neill is incompetent and Tupper was too much of a sentimental fool to be a good judge. There’s always evidence if you know where to look for it.”
Nick bristled but would be damned if he would show it. He spoke with deliberate calm. “I always thought a man was innocent until proven guilty in this country.”
“Don’t quote the law to me.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “You got lucky, that’s all there is to it. I heard there was marijuana in that car.”
The irony of this particular accusation did not escape Nick, especially as the rest of the family hovered in the foyer, listening.
Zach Coxwell had always been untouchable and worse, he had known it. As a result, Zach could always be trusted for a joint or a mickey or just about anything else, no questions asked, cash on the line. He was the youngest of the crown princes of Rosemount, but the only one disinclined to play the regal role.
But no one would ever have nailed him for it. It would have been sacrilege, of a kind.
“You heard wrong.” Nick offered with a thin smile. “Unlike some other people, I’ve never had a taste for pot.”
Zach colored but his father never saw it. “A likely story.”
“I’m not here to give you an explanation for something that happened fifteen years ago.” Nick put his hand on the back of Phil’s waist and felt how she was trembling. “I believe this is a social occasion. Happy birthday, Mr. Coxwell.” Phil’s eyes were wide and she seemed more upset about this exchange than he was.
Which was saying something.
Her father didn’t miss the gesture, nor how proprietary it was. He turned to Phil, his tone harsh. “You’ll regret this insurrection, Philippa Elizabeth Coxwell. You mark my words. And when you come back, expecting me to forget that you insulted me like this, you’ll find that you are very wrong.”
He spun and walked into the house, leaving them standing on the doorstep.
Welcome home. For the first time, Nick realized that Phil’s warning might have been an understatement.
Even Beverly looked slightly surprised by her spouse’s rudeness, but she recovered quickly. “Why don’t you come in?” she suggested, standing slightly back as though they were the ones hovering indecisively on the threshold.
“Why not?” Nick muttered under his breath. Phil gave him a quick apologetic smile. He couldn’t believe that she had survived so many years in this household, let alone that it hadn’t poisoned her sweet nature. He wasn’t even in the door and he was ready to take heads.
Phil could never have done anything to have deserved to be spoken to that way. And evidently, it wasn’t uncommon, because she wasn’t surprised by it.
He was more angry than he could ever remember being.
“I told you not to expect the Brady Bunch,” Phil whispered and Nick didn’t let go of her waist.
“I should have believed you.” He winked for her, rubbing his thumb across her back, and watched some of the tension ease from her smile.
He was going to get her out of here, as soon as possible.
The atmosphere wasn’t any better inside, even without Robert visibly present. The air seethed with unspoken tensions as Phil made the introductions. He remembered her brothers, of course, because everyone in town knew who they were. He had never socialized with any of them, even Zach who was his own age. It would have been unthinkable.
They seemed to all be deciding how they should respond to his arrival, and not surprisingly, went with their father’s lead.
Eldest was James, a younger replica of his father with the manner to match. He had the same strong profile as his father and the same taste in perfectly tailored clothing. His hair was the same chestnut hue as his mother’s but turning silver at the temples. He was a handsome man, who gave the impression of being incisive, impatient and ambitious.
Nick suspected his prime ambition was the role of patriarch. Evidently, James was his father’s first partner in the family law firm and holding the reins of power while the judge served his term.
“Nicely done, Philippa,” was all James said, his lips so tight that the words barely made it out. He shook Nick’s hand as though he might get a disease from the simple touch.
But where James closely followed the paternal model, his wife couldn’t hold a candle to Beverly. Marcia might have been pretty once, but her lips pinched with a dissatisfaction that was most unattractive. She looked like a shrew and certainly sounded like one.
She was expensively dressed, but the look didn’t pull together well. There were loose threads at her hem, a snag in her bejeweled sweater, her lipstick was smeared, her jewelry could have used a good cleaning.
She didn’t seem to care.
“I don’t know why you had to ruin everything, Philippa,” she whined. “Usually it’s Zach that screws up. And at least he’s funny about it.”
“I’m working on it,” Zach joked. “Philippa’s just got me temporarily outgunned.”
No one laughed.
James and Marcia had ensured the bloodline with two sons. James Jr. and John were handsome boys with mischief in their eyes and defiant cowlicks. They must have been eight or nine years old, and were very close in age. They shook hands politely, oblivious to any subtext, and were clearly hating that they had to wear suits and ties. John wound a finger into his collar and pretended to be gagging, earning a complaint from his mother and a reprimand from his father so sharp that it might have left a scar.
Second son Matt had been less fortunate with the gene lottery and inherited neither his mother’s striking good looks nor his father’s imposing manner. He stood back from the fray as though he wasn’t comfortable with the high tensions of his family. He didn’t speak but simply nodded his head in response to Phil’s introduction, then flicked a glance to James as though checking that he had done all right.
The man had to be forty years old. Nick would have thought he’d be over such behavior by now. He was also a lawyer, but took some jibes from his brothers for specializing in real estate law.
He didn’t even defend himself.
Matt’s wife, Leslie, was a scholarly looking brunette who seemed to have all the power in their relationship. She certainly wasn’t impressed by the way Matt stepped back from the fray.
“Charmed, I’m sure.” She smiled a little too brightly, then pushed a child forward. “This is Annette. Annette, say h
ello.”
Annette declined to do so. She was dressed in ribbons and bows, but didn’t speak at all. Apparently, she had inherited her father’s quiet manner.
Or she was more sensitive to the atmosphere. Nick smiled for her and she watched him shyly for a moment before hiding behind her exasperated mother.
Zach, of course, was jovial, the life of the party. He was a good looking guy, which had helped him go far on little more than charm. He was always ready with a joke or a smart comment. Nick thought he was about as deep as cellophane.
“Long time no see,” he said, hinting at a friendliness that had never existed between them. “Do you know what you call twenty-five lawyers up to their necks in cement?”
“Not enough cement.”
The young boys laughed and repeated it to each other.
Zach cocked a finger at Nick and winked. “Not bad, not bad.” Then he leaned closer to add in a stage whisper. “But, you see, the way things work around here, I tell the punch line.” He gave Nick a steady look.
Nick wasn’t about to play along. “Then you need better jokes. That one’s older than both of us put together.”
Zach sobered and stepped back, gesturing to a man beside him that Nick hadn’t noticed as yet. “I understand you’ve met my pal Jeffrey McAllister.”
Nick knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to find the lawyer present. Phil caught her breath and exuded dissatisfaction. And who could blame her? She’d made her opinion clear and no one gave a crap about it.
Jeffrey looked smug, as though aware that he fit into this place better than Nick did.
Nick smiled, determined to outgrace the jerk, and offered his hand. “Yes, I have.”
“We meet again.” Jeffrey said smoothly, then inclined his head to Philippa. “May I be the first to say that you look wonderful today, Philippa.”
She slipped her hand through Nick’s elbow and smiled, looking her playful self for the first time in a while. Maybe the heat was off now. “Actually, you can’t. Someone beat you to it.” She smiled up at Nick. “But thanks anyway.”
Jeffrey’s lips pinched and Zach gave a low whistle.