Chapter 13
Lark regretted not flying back to Bell Creek last night. She regretted it with every cell in her body. Unfortunately, the Whitmore Foundation gala had ended too late for a reasonable flight, and her mother had insisted that she stay at the family’s Georgetown mansion.
So now she was trapped at a breakfast table that had never felt welcoming.
Hildi sat at the head, immaculate in a silk robe that probably cost more than Lark’s monthly rent.
Her father, Richard, sat opposite Hildi hiding behind his newspaper as usual.
Wren sat beside her, silent. Lark occupied the seat farthest from all of them.
Her coffee was the only thing keeping her from committing a felony.
“I still don’t understand what you were thinking last night,” Hildi said.
Lark stared into her coffee. “Good morning to you, too.”
“You were supposed to make a good impression.”
“I smiled.”
“Not enough.”
“I spoke to people.”
“Not the right people.”
“I avoided causing a scene.”
Hildi’s lips tightened. “Your behavior with Grant was particularly disappointing.”
Of course. They were back to Grant. “Mom, I met the man for approximately three minutes.”
“Three minutes is plenty of time to recognize quality.”
Lark nearly choked on her coffee. “Quality?”
“Grant Calloway is successful, respected, well connected, and financially secure.”
“So were most of the men in that room.”
“Don’t be flippant.”
“Just telling the truth.”
Hildi sighed dramatically. “You’re thirty-one, Lark.” There it was. The number that her mother wielded like a weapon. “You can’t continue to behave as though you have unlimited time.”
“I wasn’t aware there was an expiration date.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” She did, but she found a perverse joy in seeing how far she could push her mother’s patience. It was often the only way she could get through these family gatherings with her sanity intact.
“You need someone established.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my daughter.”
Lark blinked. That was apparently an explanation.
Hildi continued. “Someone like Grant would give you stability.”
“I have stability.”
“You live in a small town and sell crafts.”
“Art.”
“Whatever you call it.”
Lark clenched her jaw. Across the table, Wren stared down at her plate. She hadn’t said more than three words all morning. Actually, Lark wasn’t sure she’d said even that many. She looked exhausted. Not hungover. Her fatigue seemed to be more spiritual. There was a difference.
“Wren?” Her sister looked up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
The same answer. The same flat tone. Lark frowned. Before she could say anything else, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Her brother appeared in the doorway. “Morning.”
Lark’s stomach tightened. Wonderful. Exactly what this breakfast needed. Alexander Meadows was twenty-two and attending Georgetown University.
He was a nationally ranked lacrosse player, one of the team’s best midfielders, and had apparently inherited every trait their parents valued. Athletic, ambitious, and disciplined. He was the socially accepted darling of the family. And, unlike Lark, perfectly willing to play the game.
He dropped into a chair. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You’re not late,” Hildi said. “We haven’t finished.” Lark fought the need to scoff at her mother’s clemency when it came to Alex’s tardiness. Had it been her, the verbal lashing would have been so severe, it would have felt like her eardrums were being assaulted.
Alex glanced at Lark. “Talking about her?”
“Apparently I’m today’s topic.”
He smirked. “Again? What did you do this time?”
Lark’s eyes narrowed. “Good to see you, too, Alex.”
He reached for a pastry. “How was the gala?”
“Wonderful,” Lark answered dryly.
Hildi snorted. “Hardly.”
Alex looked between them. “What’d she get up to?”
“Nothing,” Lark said.
“Everything,” Hildi corrected.
Alex grinned. “Sounds about right.”
Lark stared at him. “You know, I was beginning to think I’d missed you.”
“Of course you did. I’m very loveable.”
“You’re something, all right,” she mocked.
“Children,” Hildi snapped.
They both went silent for approximately three seconds.
Then Alex said, “Dad told me you embarrassed Mom.” Alex was the only one if the family that got away with calling their parents “mom and dad” to their faces, and not the more formal “mother and father.” The hypocrisy in the family never ceased to amaze her.
“I didn’t embarrass anyone.”
“You refused to entertain Grant.”
Lark rolled her eyes. “Not a whore, mother,” she shot back.
Disgust contorted Hildi’s features, narrowing her eyes. “Why must you use such vulgar language. You know what I meant.”
“Fine. What I meant to say is that I refused to be entertained by Grant.”
“Why must you always be so difficult?”
“She excels at it,” Alex sneered.
“At least I’m good at something,” she fired back.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m good at lots of things.”
Lark laughed without humor. “Being Mom’s favorite doesn’t count.”
“At least I don’t make everything harder than it needs to be.”
“Because you do whatever they tell you. Like a puppet.”
Alex’s expression hardened. “At least I have direction.”
“And apparently no personality.”
“Lark.” Hildi’s warning stopped them both.
“Why only single me out? He’s contributing to the argument, too.”
With a sneer, Alex mocked, “Real mature, Lark.”
Her patience for the morning and this family had completely run out. “Shut up.”
“That’s enough,” Hildi scolded. Then, as was her habit when her children’s arguments reached a fever pitch, she turned to her husband. “Richard, say something.”
His voice, devoid of emotion, stated from behind the paper, “Children, listen to your mother.”
Lark pushed her chair back slightly and closed her eyes, searching for some semblance of sanity before she muttered, “Sorry.”
She wasn’t. She was exhausted. She’d spent the previous night pretending everything was fine while watching her sister look like someone had turned off a light inside her. She’d endured Grant Calloway’s uncomfortable attention. And she’d barely slept.
Moreover, the fact that Alex hadn’t offered the same apology did not go unnoticed by her. This family had such a double standard, and she was sick of it.
Now she was being lectured because she hadn’t smiled properly. Or whored herself out to a man she’d only just met, apparently. Enough.
Hildi picked up her coffee. “You need to start thinking seriously about your future, Lark.”
“I am.”
“Then you’ll understand why Grant is such an excellent opportunity.” Here we go again.
Lark stared at her mother. “An opportunity?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a person, Mother. Not a stock investment.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I am not marrying someone because you think he’ll look good beside me at charity dinners.”
“You need someone of status.”
“No. You need someone of status.”
Hildi ignored that shot. “You need someone established.”
“So, is having more money than God the sole criterion for being considered established?”
Her inability to formulate an appropriate reply to that was evident, prompting her to steer the discussion in a different direction. “You’re living a fantasy.”
That did it. Lark set her coffee down, having reached her limit. Desperate times call for desperate measures. “I’m dating someone,” she announced.
Silence met her declaration. Even Wren looked up. Hildi blinked. “What?”
“I’m dating someone.”
Alex laughed. “Who?”
Lark’s heart began pounding. She hadn’t planned this. She hadn’t even thought that far. But there was only one name that came to mind. One person who would make her mother’s matchmaking ambitions implode. “Cormac.”
Hildi frowned. “Cormac who?”
Lark swallowed. “Shibley.”
Wren’s eyes widened. “Who is Cormac Shibley?”
“My boyfriend.” The lie came easier than it should have.
“We’re serious.”
Hildi stared at her. “You’re dating a man named Cormac Shibley?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s...” Lark scrambled. “He works in security.”
Alex laughed. “Of course he is.”
“What’s funny?”
“You’re dating a mall cop,” he wrongly assumed, his booming laughter echoing as he spoke.
Hildi looked appalled. “Security?”
“Private security. You know, kinda like what Grant Calloway does,” she couldn’t help adding the dig.
“What family?”
Lark hesitated. “His.”
“His family?”
“Yes.” Lark knew what her mother was looking for, but she was done playing her game.
Hildi pinched the bridge of her nose. “How long have you been together?”
“Long enough.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Bell Creek.”
“How romantic.” Lark knew that tone. It was the same one her mother used when discussing mold.
“He’s a good man.”
Hildi stared at her. “Does he have money?”
Lark nearly laughed. “Mother.”
“It’s a reasonable question.”
“No, it’s not. It’s snobbish.”
Hildi waved her hand dismissively, not caring in the slightest how she sounded. “Does he?”
“He’s former military and successful.” That was true. Probably. At least she assumed Condor’s Overwatch paid well.
“And he’s serious about you?”
Lark’s stomach twisted. She hoped. Maybe. That was beside the point. “Yes.”
Hildi leaned back. “This is ridiculous.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“You finally found something you can’t control.”
Alex shook his head. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Maybe.” Lark looked at him. “But at least I’m happy.” That silenced him.
For several seconds, nobody spoke. Then Hildi sighed. “Fine.”
Lark’s eyes widened slightly. “Fine?”
“I’ll let you have your little relationship.”
“How generous.”
“But don’t expect me to stop encouraging you to meet people. The right people,” she added.
Lark rolled her eyes. “You can try.”
Hildi turned toward Wren. “Now, about the wedding...”
Lark’s stomach sank. And just like that, the subject changed. The Meadows-Whitmore wedding, according to Hildi, was going to be the event of the season. “No expense will be spared,” Hildi declared.
Lark stared at her. Of course not. Why spend a reasonable amount when you could spend enough to feed a small country?
“The ceremony venue has been tentatively selected,” Hildi continued. “We’re considering several options for the reception.”
Wren nodded. “Okay.”
“The flowers will be imported.”
“Okay.”
“Your dress needs to be extraordinary.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
Hildi smiled. “Exactly.”
Lark’s gaze moved to her sister. “Don’t you have an opinion?”
Wren looked at her. “No.”
“About anything?”
A pause. “No.”
Lark’s heart twisted. Hildi didn’t seem to notice. She continued discussing flowers, invitations, guest lists, entertainment, designers, caterers, photographers, and a honeymoon destination that sounded like it was more suitable for a god than a mere mortal.
Wren answered everything with the same three responses. Yes, no, and whatever you think is best.
Lark watched her. Something was terribly wrong. But what could she do? She’d offered help. Wren had refused. And Lark couldn’t drag her sister away from a wedding she insisted she wanted. Not without proof that she needed rescuing.
But Lark had seen her reaction when she’d said she was happy while discussing her “boyfriend.” There had been something that resembled longing in her expression.
Something almost wistful. For just a moment there had been a brief flicker of life.
But the spark of defiance was extinguished, replaced by a weary acceptance.
As if she could never hope for a life filled with happiness.
Lark was both angered and saddened by her reaction.
So she sat there and listened. Two hours. That was all she had left. Two more hours in this house. Then the airport and the flight home to Bell Creek.
Lark glanced at the clock. One hour and fifty-eight minutes.
She groaned silently. At this rate, time had apparently decided to stop moving.
She closed her eyes for a moment. She could already picture her little storefront.
The half-finished bell. Aunt Marilyn’s bakery.
The river. Her apartment. And, annoyingly, one grumpy former SEAL who had somehow become the first man in years to make her feel safe.
Cormac Shibley, boyfriend. The lie echoed in her head. Oh, God. If that little fib somehow made its way back to him, she was going to have some serious explaining to do.
Lark sighed. Two hours. She could survive two more hours. Probably. After all, she’d survived her family for thirty-one years. How much worse could two hours be?