Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
E ryn was focused on flipping pancakes the next morning when Maxwell entered the dining hall. She was still busy at the back of the kitchen when he realized he was late to the worksites on Ladybug Lane.
It wasn’t the first time they hadn’t connected at breakfast, though hadn’t she always sent him a shy smile before? Today, of all days, he needed some reassurance that she was okay. That she and her dad had talked, and Keith had realized Maxwell was a good guy who wouldn’t hurt his daughter.
Not on purpose, anyway.
A guy could make all the promises he wanted, but not everything was within his control. In the construction business, Maxwell was accustomed to switching gears on the fly. A truckload of damaged flooring? Find something else. Something better. A window factory burning to the ground? Shift to the other connections he’d made. He was used to making things happen.
Making things happen should be Maxwell’s tagline. He might look into adding it to his business cards.
Eryn stood with her back to the dining hall, talking with Nadine, when Maxwell headed out. He didn’t want to interrupt her at work, so he didn’t call a goodbye.
They’d talk later. Everything would work out, right? Right.
He was smart enough to know that life was full of twists and turns and that, sooner or later, he and Eryn would need to figure out how to navigate those. He hadn’t expected it quite this soon, and he hadn’t thought it would be Keith pushing back the way he had.
What was going on there?
Maxwell scratched his head as he drove up to Ladybug Lane and stopped in front of Cottage Four.
Janessa and Steve stood toe to toe and nose to nose as they yelled at each other.
He didn’t even need to be able to hear to know their personalities were clashing yet again. In a perverse way, he was glad to be greeted by a situation he could take his frustrations out on.
Careful, Sullivan. You need them both. You need them happy.
Did he, though?
He leaped out of his truck and slammed the door. “What’s going on here?” he barked as he strode nearer.
“Boss man, he?—”
“Thank God you’re here, Maxwell. She’s completely whacko.”
Perfect. Maxwell was itching for a fight.
He pointed at Janessa. “You. Come with me and tell me what’s going on. You—” he pointed at Steve “—find something useful to do. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Got it?”
Janessa’s chin came up as she sent one more dagger glare at Steve. “Yes, sir.”
“Whatever.” Steve’s glower at Janessa remained unabated.
Maxwell stepped in front of Steve. “Excuse me?”
“Yes, sir.” But the guy didn’t look happy about it.
That made three of them. Maxwell gestured toward his truck. It offered privacy in clear view of anyone who cared, including Steve. “Janessa?” He held the passenger door.
She climbed in with a huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “That is a moron who cannot read directions.”
Maxwell settled in the driver’s seat and closed his eyes, asking the Lord for patience and wisdom. Maybe he should have done that before he leaped into the fray. “What kind of orders are we talking about?”
“The tile for each room in each unit is clearly on the work list. Am I not correct?”
“Uh… I believe so.” That was Janessa’s department. Maxwell mostly looked for empty holes on the master sheet.
“He put the bathroom tiles for Cottage Four in Cottage Three’s bathroom!”
They weren’t all the same? Tiles were cheaper by the pallet. Right. He vaguely remembered this discussion from before Heather quit.
Let Janessa not follow in her predecessor’s footsteps by leaving him in the lurch. Maxwell needed an experienced interior designer on staff.
“All the tiles are somewhat similar, aren’t they?” He could hope.
“Not remotely. The colorways are unique to each cottage. Heather and I specifically chose modern aesthetics to deliver distinctive vibes for each one.”
Maxwell massaged his temples. “How far into tiling is he?”
“The master bath is finished, and he’s started the hall bath.”
Ugh. “Can you just swap the palettes?”
Janessa glared at him. “Only if you want my team to repaint everything and Jordan to tear up and reinstall flooring. He’s got a good start in Cottage Three’s great room.”
Was this really the end of the world if the tile and paint color weren’t an absolutely perfect match? Although, like Janessa, he prided himself on attention to detail.
If he’d spent as much time at the project as usual, this would probably not have happened, but he’d been distracted by cascading blond hair and shy blue eyes and hanging around the dining hall.
“Can Steve rip out the tile?”
“He says only with a hammer.” Janessa spat out her reply. “And that he can’t promise there wouldn’t need to be drywall repairs. I bet he’d damage the walls on purpose to spite me.”
If she’d come at the guy in this tone of voice, he probably would. “Steve’s the best tiler in this part of Montana.” Maxwell really, really didn’t want to have to hunt for another with similar experience.
“What good is that if he’s rogue?”
“Rogue?” Maxwell rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It was probably an honest mistake.”
“I doubt it. He hates me.”
He could sympathize with Steve at the moment. “Look, you’re the designer in charge of this project. If you weren’t neck-deep in a personal tiff with Steve, what would you recommend? Sounds like we have a few options. One, live with it and carry on.” His personal preference.
Janessa huffed.
“Two, he rips out the tile, breaks a few, and we have to order extras out of Chicago and wait a few weeks. So, we’ll be held up and in need of minor repairs to the walls. That’s if we didn’t buy the tail end of that lot of tiles. They may be completely irreplaceable.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, her jaw set.
“Three, you repaint, and we swap the palettes as best we can. Paint is relatively cheap and available. Yes, it will set us back several days with the extra time, and I know the labor is on you. Any options I’ve missed?”
“The one where you fire Steve, or I quit?”
“I do not believe that is an option.” He met her gaze as evenly as he could. Waited.
“I hate this!” The words spurted from her mouth as she clenched her fists dramatically. “He’s such a jerk.”
“Janessa, you need to calm down.”
“Is that really all you’ve got, boss man? I need to calm down?”
“First things first. Leadership requires levelheadedness. Personal stuff needs to stay out.” A lesson he’d also do well to remember. He hadn’t let thoughts of Eryn affect the decisions on the Ladybug Lane project, but he’d definitely been distracted and taken more time away than usual.
He was paying for that right now.
“Tell you what, Janessa. Head into Cottage Five and take an inventory of the paint supplies. How close are we to shifting operations over there?”
“You just don’t want me to yell at him some more.”
Maxwell stared into her eyes. “Exactly.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The guy’s a jerk. He?—”
“Janessa. I’ll deal with things here.”
“Steve’s gonna fight you on it. He?—”
“I’ve got it.”
She heaved a sigh. “Fine.” She flounced down the lane and marched into the fifth cottage.
Maxwell tossed a prayer heavenward. It was time for Steve.
Eryn hadn’t seen Maxwell again all day, except for the glimpse she’d had of him at breakfast. She hadn’t been ready to talk to him then, and she wasn’t ready to talk to him now, but shouldn’t he at least be trying to communicate?
Yeah, she’d messed up her own head by welcoming Amelia into it, but Maxwell didn’t know that. The question was burning a hole in her mind, though. Would he actually have followed through with his childhood promise if her sister were still alive?
Guaranteed Amelia would have made a push for it. Maxwell had to be the reason Amelia hadn’t ever had a serious boyfriend.
Eryn had spent her entire life in her twin’s shadow. Amelia’s death should have freed her, but it hadn’t. The journals were only part of the problem. Dad didn’t know she was reading them, but he still managed to throw Amelia in Eryn’s face in front of Maxwell.
The problem was her. She’d been born the smaller twin, the one with a heart defect that required constant monitoring throughout their preschool years. She couldn’t help the extra diligence she’d been paid by their parents. Amelia had acted up then to get attention, and she’d never stopped.
But it was on Eryn that she’d allowed Amelia to continue to dominate and bully her for another two decades. Amelia was still controlling her from beyond the grave.
Eryn needed to stop reading the journals, or maybe even get rid of them, but that seemed extreme. Her sister’s handwritten log was fascinating… when it wasn’t full of spite for Eryn or longing for Maxwell. Then it made Eryn fuming angry, but she couldn’t seem to turn away.
If her own twin sister couldn’t love her, how could anyone else? Everyone had preferred Amelia. Maxwell had.
The flaw was in Eryn, but what could she do about it now? She wasn’t assertive. She wasn’t suddenly going to grow a backbone and tell people where it was at. That was Amelia’s obnoxious way.
She should never have gone to Paisley about Maxwell’s birthday, because how could she get out of planning the excursion now, unless they broke up? He’d probably be grateful if she called off their relationship. He would himself later, when he got tired of her needy ways.
When he recalled his promise to Amelia.
Eryn stared at the two books on her nightstand. Her Bible and Amelia’s journal. She knew which one she should pick up and read, and it wasn’t the diary.
But that’s what she reached for.
November 27, 2008
There’s nothing to be thankful for without Mom. Groenings invited us over for turkey dinner. Dad says it was nice of them. It wasn’t. I hated everything. I hated being polite. I hated Eryn for making a big deal out of Karen’s pity, clinging to her and bawling like a baby. Karen is not Mom. But Eryn is such a suck-up she doesn’t care. She’s been like that forever, hogging all the attention. Just like when she was a bratty kid pretending to be sick.
Eryn stifled a sob. She remembered that day. Remembered how much comfort she’d felt in Mrs. Groening’s arms. Dad was barely functioning. Amelia had withdrawn into fury like a caged animal. Eryn had soaked up every bit of the neighbor woman’s sympathy. It hadn’t been pity. It had been kindness to a young teenage girl who needed someone to love her.
Her hunch about the source of Amelia’s hatred had been correct. It was all due to Eryn’s heart condition. She hadn’t been pretending! What would a baby or a toddler know about that, anyway?
She still needed someone to love her.
Maxwell Sullivan hadn’t said the words, but his kind eyes and tender kisses made her think it might become a possibility.
But then he’d discover her fatal flaw. She didn’t even know exactly what it was — the heart thing was only Amelia’s excuse — but it made people not love her for long. Maxwell would stop caring about her then, and it would break her heart.
She heard the door open downstairs, and she eyed the ladder, not that Dad had ever invaded her loft bedroom.
“Eryn? I’m home.”
“Hey, Dad.” She kept her voice even.
“Can we talk?”
“I’m pretty tired.” Right, it was only 8:30. It wasn’t like she was turning out her light any minute soon.
“I hate how I left things last night. I’d like to make things right.”
Eryn hated how he’d left things, too, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Still, Dad was all she had left, even if he thought the better daughter had died.
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay. I’ll put on tea.”
Tea had been Mom’s thing. Eryn doubted Dad had fixed a cup for himself his entire life until Mom had passed away. Now it was his answer to everything.
She scanned the rest of Amelia’s entry, but it was more of the same. Poor Amelia. No one understands. My sister is a loser. Yada yada.
If only it didn’t hurt so much to know how little Amelia thought of her.
It was self-inflicted pain. Eryn got that, but it seemed she should uncover the depth of the anguish before she could heal from it. Did that make healing the goal? Not likely. She just needed to remember that she wasn’t worthy of anything good, and there was no one better than Amelia to keep that in the forefront.
And Dad.
Eryn sighed, tucked the journal into her drawer, and climbed down the ladder.
“I bungled things last night. I’m sorry.” Dad’s hangdog face might have been funny if it weren’t directed at Eryn.
“You brought up good points.”
“I did?” He set two teacups on the table.
“If Maxwell wants to run, I’d rather he did it now rather than later.”
“It was that talk of his Chicago condo that triggered me. I should have known?—”
“No, it’s okay. He’s too good for the likes of me, so if that conversation convinced him to back off, it’s probably for the best.”
Dad frowned, obviously turning her words every which way to figure them out.
Good luck with that. Because Eryn couldn’t decipher them, either.
“He’s not too good for you.”
Eryn managed a laugh. “He is. He’s rich and self-confident. I’m not in his league.” Not like Amelia might have been.
“You’re a fine woman, and he’d be lucky to win you.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I think you’re required to say that. We’ll see how it plays out, okay?”
“But…” He stared at her a moment longer. “I didn’t see him today at all.”
“He was at breakfast.” A meal Dad took at the farmhouse with Joseph and Marie. “We didn’t get a chance to talk, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you didn’t say something to drive him off?”
“Dad!”
He raised both hands in self-defense. “The young man who was in this kitchen last night wasn’t letting go of you.”
“That doesn’t mean I pushed him away.” Although, she kind of had, at breakfast. He’d lingered, and she’d stayed busy, far from the serving counter. She’d wanted to punish him for Amelia’s words.
That was so messed up. She knew it, but which way was up?
If he was a pursuer, why wasn’t he pursuing?