CHAPTER 5
S taring at the e-mail from Martin, Matt Schrock tried not to be disappointed. But it was hard. Out of his four kids, he’d thought he had retained the best relationship with his oldest. Sure, they didn’t talk every week or even see each other once a month. But honestly, he’d thought they were still pretty close.
Now it was glaringly obvious that they weren’t close at all. Worse, that they hadn’t been for some time and they weren’t even in danger of not “being close”—they were in danger of having no relationship at all.
Matt had been fooling himself.
Staring at the e-mail, Matt knew he had to face the truth. If he and Martin did have a decent relationship, his eldest would’ve called him. Especially because—last he’d heard, anyway—Martin wasn’t even currently living Amish. Nope, he was back in his condo near downtown Cleveland.
He hadn’t called. Instead, he’d e-mailed a three-paragraph note to Matt’s computer because he didn’t want to speak to him. Didn’t want to have a conversation. After reading the short note again, he set his phone down.
“This is nothing more than the result of the seeds that were sown,” he muttered to himself as he wandered into the living room and sat down in front of his TV.
For the first time in months, he didn’t automatically reach for the remote and click on his seventy-seven-inch big screen 5G television. He knew all about the TV’s bells and whistles because he’d investigated every component before he’d purchased it.
For weeks, he’d visited different retailers and compared televisions, prices, warranties, and speaker systems. By the time he’d bought the thing—and the mount for the wall, the wireless speakers, and the new suede sectional—he’d barely thought about anything else.
Except work.
In the midst of all that, he’d completely forgotten Beth’s birthday.
When he had remembered and then had finally called two days late, his daughter’s voice had been cool and distant. Of course, he hadn’t told her that he’d been focused on television shopping instead of remembering the day of her birth. But he also hadn’t attempted to make up an excuse. He’d learned over the years that half-baked excuses were neither believed nor appreciated.
By the time he’d hung up, even the promise of the check that he’d sent her and the roses that were supposed to arrive hadn’t thawed their conversation enough to feel like he was in her good graces again.
When he’d told Ashley—the woman he’d been dating—she’d been completely confused. Not by how he could forget one of his children’s birthdays, but by why he was feeling so guilty. She’d honestly thought he’d been estranged from his children.
He’d broken things off with her soon after.
He didn’t regret ending things with Ashley. She had been a nice person. They’d met online, had a lot in common, but he’d known from the start that she wasn’t destined to be anyone special to him.
None of the women he’d dated had ever meant anything to him compared with Helen.
His ex-wife and mother of his four children.
From what he’d gleaned over the years, Helen had been struggling for a while, too. She’d been just as self-absorbed and created just as many fissures in her relationships with their children as he had.
Not lately, though. Kelsey had told him the last time they’d talked that Helen was dating someone pretty seriously. She’d finally moved on and was finding happiness. He was glad for her. He really was.
Just as importantly, he didn’t envy the new man in her life. Helen was a good person and she’d been a good mother when their house had been crazy and chaotic and loud. Four toddlers and a golden retriever had been a recipe for mess and fur and exhaustion. Back then, he’d worked long hours, always half afraid they wouldn’t have enough money to pay for the diapers and clothes and formula and everything else four kids under six had needed.
When he’d come home, she’d kiss him lightly, allow him to change, then hand him a child. Or two. Sometimes he’d resented it—feeling like she didn’t care that he’d worked nine hours and then commuted another half hour home in rain or snow.
Looking back on it, Matt knew he’d do a lot of things differently. He had a feeling Helen might, too. Most of all, he would now treasure those days a little harder. Back then, he’d felt needed and loved.
Now those moments were far harder to come find.
He wished things between him and Helen had worked out. Sometimes he even considered trying to give their relationship a go again, but too much time had passed.
He appreciated the woman she’d been and the woman she’d become, but he also knew that the two of them would never be able to go back in time. Their divorce had been too contentious, and the years after hadn’t done either of them any favors. He’d been angry, resentful, and adrift. Helen had been the same. To his shame, there had been many times when it had been his turn to have the kids that he hadn’t been all that present.
So many years had passed.
It was no wonder that all four of their children had turned to his parents for guidance and comfort. They’d been bright lights in some of the kids’ darkest days.
“At least Jonny called you,” he said to the silent room.
He had. The boy—who really wasn’t a boy any longer—had needed him for his insurance.
And he’d been so desperate to keep things going between them he’d promised that Jonny could stay on his insurance another four years. Until his twenty-sixth birthday.
“Maybe you’ll remember that one,” he told the empty room.
After flicking on the fancy TV that no longer seemed all that special, he scanned the channels. Five minutes later, after finding nothing of interest, he turned it back off, encasing the house in silence once again.
The type of silence he’d grown up with.
The type of silence he’d once been used to—before the kids came and the divorce and his need to fill the emptiness with work and money and stuff and women.
Feeling despondent and at a loss about what to do, he walked around his place. Straightened a crystal vase that didn’t need straightening.
Contemplated reading a book.
Then he noticed the mailman had just driven by, so he walked out to get it.
His mailbox was down the street. The houses in his development were large—four and five bedrooms—but had small lots. What lot he did have was covered in well-manicured grass and landscaping that someone else took care of.
He worked so much, the low-maintenance lifestyle worked for him. He didn’t want to spend his Saturdays or Sunday afternoons mowing, pulling weeds, or trimming bushes. It had made perfect sense when he’d bought the place, especially because he already had a cleaning service that stopped by every two weeks and cleaned his house top to bottom.
Now, though, he couldn’t help but think what his father would have to say about his choices.
No, he didn’t have to wonder at all. He knew exactly what his daed would think.
That he had his priorities twisted into knots. A good life was not working sixty, seventy, and eighty hours a week. It wasn’t having a sizable bank account. It wasn’t about being so exhausted that he had no energy to do anything other than sleep.
And it certainly was not having a home that was simply an afterthought, a place to sleep before going out the next morning to work again.
But over all of that, his father would remind him that his most precious belongings were the four children he’d fathered.
He would be right.
“Arff!”
Caught up in his musings, he was taken aback by the fluffy dog barking at his feet. No leash was in sight, but it did have on a fancy black leather collar. Where was its owner?
His hand still half in the metal mailbox, he glanced around.
“Arff!!”
He looked down at the dog again. “What, buddy?”
“Ar . . . Arff!” He followed the noise with a low growl that sounded goofy instead of menacing.
“You’re pretty tough, aren’t you?”
The dog continued to expectantly stare at Matt. Obviously waiting for him to do something.
What, he didn’t know.
“I’m so sorry! Just ignore him! If you don’t bend down and pet her, he’ll realize you’re not a friend and walk by.”
There was something about the instructions that didn’t exactly set well with him. Even though he’d never been a big fan of small, yappy, fluffy dogs, he knelt down on one knee. “Hi . . . what’s your name?”
To his surprise, the dog sat down and craned its neck. Matt pulled at the tag on its collar and then read it again to make sure he hadn’t read it wrong. “Alfred? Your name is Alfred?”
“Arff!” the dog barked again. This time a tail wag accompanied it.
“Well, good to meet you.”
“Alfred, come here, you bad dog,” the woman said.
There wasn’t much of either anger or irritation in her voice, though. Instead, she sounded almost resigned. After she hooked a black leather leash to the collar, she stood up. “I’m so sorry about that. Did he ruin your slacks?”
“Hmm?” He looked down and noticed his slacks did have two faint, dusty prints around his knee, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be quickly wiped off. “Oh, I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
She still didn’t look convinced. “Let me know if you need me to pay for a dry cleaner bill.”
“Do I really look like that kind of guy? The type who would make someone pay for a dry cleaning bill for a pair of paw prints?”
Her eyes, which he now realized were a honey-colored brown, looked him over. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Really?” He was kind of offended, though he had no idea why.
“You do look pretty dressed up and neat.” She waved a hand around the road. “Just like these houses with the perfect lawns and professional landscaping.”
Taking her in, he saw that she was wearing black leggings, designer tennis shoes, and some kind of loose light-gray-and-violet top. Casual but put together. That look, together with her dark brown hair, was noticeable.
He would’ve remembered meeting her before. “You don’t live here?”
“No. I’m house-sitting.” Looking down, she smiled. “And pet-sitting Alfred.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
She raised a shoulder in kind of a half shrug. “Often enough. I usually pet- and house-sit one week a month.”
“What do you do the other weeks?”
A guarded look entered her eyes. “I’m sorry. We haven’t even met. Why are you asking?”
Because he wanted to know more about her, and his curiosity had nothing to do with either pet- or house-sitting. “I guess I’m just curious. My name is Matt, by the way. Matthew Schrock.”
“Matthew Schrock, like the head of Matthew Schrock Financial Services?”
“Yeah.” Because that was who he was. But his business definitely wasn’t something that most people were even aware of. “Any reason you know of it? Were you a client?”
“No, but my father was.”
“Want to tell me your name now?”
“Sorry.” She held out a hand. “My name is Kennedy Graham.”
Shaking her hand, he noticed that his light grip wasn’t needed. She was a woman who had a fondness for a good grip. “It’s nice to meet you. Who is your dad?”
“James Graham.”
He didn’t have such a big client list that he couldn’t recall the name. Or the man’s trademark lopsided grin. He’d told Matt once that it was because he’d fallen out of a tree when he was a kid, busted open his lip with his teeth, and had to have surgery to fix the damage. It had left him with a slight scar on his upper lip and an uneven smile. “James . . . Jimmy, right?”
Kennedy nodded. “Yes.”
Belatedly, he remembered that Jimmy had gotten cancer in his forties, battled it again in his fifties, and died in his early sixties. He’d been concerned about his daughter and wanted to make sure that she’d been taken care of.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He died a long time ago, but thank you.”
“Jimmy was a really good guy.” He wished he could think of something else to add, but he couldn’t.
Her gaze softened. “Dad was the best.” She stared at him a moment longer, then finally glanced at the dog. “Well, I better go take this escape artist home.”
“Are you going to be staying here awhile?”
“Three more weeks.”
“Three? Wow.”
“Alfred’s owners are on a cruise around South America. It’s twenty-two days.”
“Must be nice.”
“The destination or the vacation?”
That caught him off guard. “I’m not sure. All of it, I guess.”
“Dad used to say that money wasn’t to be wasted . . . but it also liked to take a spin every now and then.”
He grinned. “I need to write that down and share it with some of my clients, if you don’t mind.”
“I won’t mind if you tell them Jimmy said it,” she said, teasing him.
“I’d be happy to give credit to him. It’s a good saying.”
“Yeah,” she said softly.
He smiled at her again, realizing that the laugh lines around her eyes revealed that she was older than she’d looked at first glance. There was something about her that struck a nerve with him. He wanted to be around her again. Wanted to know her better.
When was the last time he’d felt so strongly about a woman?
Obviously bored, Alfred shifted and groaned.
“Well, I’ll let you go,” he said. “I live four houses down on the left. Number 882. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock.”
“Thanks, Matthew.”
Her eyes were pretty. All of her was. Feeling more flustered, he cleared his throat. “Call me Matt. Everyone does.” Everyone who mattered to him.
“I will, then.” Kennedy smiled at him again before turning away.
After watching her for almost a minute, he realized that his mail was still in his mailbox and the door to it was still wide open. His keys were still inserted in the lock.
Quickly, he pulled out the mail and closed the compartment. But as he turned around, he realized he could not care less about what bills or flyers were in his hands.
All he seemed to be able to think about was Kennedy and her dad. And how Jimmy’s world had been his daughter and she’d known it.
He wanted that.