Slow Simmer

9. More Father-Son Time—of a Fashion

9

MORE FATHER-SON TIME—OF A FASHION

Ford

As I drove toward my dad’s place, the sting of Mara’s rejection stuck with me, sharp and raw. It had been a long time since I’d let myself feel this much for a woman. Usually, I took things slow, kept my guard up. But with Mara, I’d thrown caution out the window, and now here I was—paying for it.

Maybe I should have known better. Women didn’t stick around. That was the story of my life. First, Mom died when I was still a kid. The nannies Dad hired after that? They never lasted long either. And girlfriends? Well, they came and went—high school, college, didn’t matter. No one stayed.

My marriage hadn’t been any different. Chelsea and I were over within a year of tying the knot. Her marketing career and my directing work collided at full speed, right around Christmas, of all times. I couldn’t make it to her work party, not with a day of filming on the line. She saw it as me being selfish, as me not caring enough. Her resentment built, simmering beneath the surface until it boiled over, leaving me juggling guilt and frustration.

I tried to make it up to her. Hell, I bought her expensive gifts with the money I’d earned from that film, hoping it’d smooth things over. It seemed to work—for about two days. Then she cleared out half our joint account and left. Just like that. Didn’t take her long to replace me, either. Her new husband was the perfect match for her—always there, always at her beck and call.

I used to wonder if finding someone who understood my work was asking too much. Someone who didn’t throw in the towel when things got hard. Was that an impossible dream? Deep down, I still wanted that kind of relationship—one where we weathered the storms together instead of bailing at the first sign of trouble.

Then Mara showed up, and for the first time in years, I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d found that person. But she’d shot me down, accused me of things I hadn’t done, refused to believe a word I said. It was hard not to see the red flags.

I needed space to think, to clear my head, and heading to my dad’s estate seemed like the right call. Maybe I could make sense of it all there, or at least stop replaying my conversation with Mara on a loop.

I pulled up the long, winding driveway, the golf course beside me dotted with brightly colored shirts that stood out against the green fairways. The mansion came into view as I crested the hill—gray stone, slate-tiled roof, sprawling across five acres like something out of an old English novel. It had always been home, but now I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it was, how serene. My mom’s touch was still everywhere—white phlox lining the beds, the perfectly trimmed lawns, the sense of calm and order she had always insisted on.

As I waved back at the lawn guy, who was driving the mower into the outbuildings, I stepped through the front door into the round stone foyer. My dad’s keys sat on the Italianate table, exactly where he always left them, a small reminder of how little things had changed here.

A minute later, I found him in his wood-paneled office, just as I’d expected.

“Hi, Dad,” I said.

“I heard you come in,” Dad replied, rubbing his hand across his chest before pressing a button on his smartwatch and frowning at the screen. He glanced at me, his expression slightly annoyed. “I didn’t expect you to stop by today.”

The visit wasn’t off to a great start. “I was hoping to catch you at home,” I said, wanting his advice but hesitant to ask. “How are things?”

Dad’s frown deepened into a grimace. “Could be better. I’m trying to put together a film, but nothing’s gelling. I might have to table it for now.” He glanced at his smartwatch again, distracted.

Was he recording our conversation? No, that didn’t make sense. “What’s going on? Are you?—”

“I have to admit,” he cut me off, “I’m not very enthusiastic about the project. Maybe that’s why I can’t get any traction.”

“If you don’t have enthusiasm at the start, you’ll have a hard time forcing it later.” It was the same advice he’d given me countless times before.

He waved my words away. “You don’t have to tell me that. The problem is, I don’t have any other projects I’m remotely interested in.” He glanced at his smartwatch again before meeting my gaze. “You did a lot of work in the basement after I left, clearing things out.”

I tensed. Had I overstepped? “Yeah. I wanted to finish it in one day.”

“Well, thanks for that,” he said gruffly. “It needed to get done.”

My unease eased slightly, but something still seemed off. What was bothering him?

Embarrassment flashed across his face, disappearing before I could be sure. “Sorry I didn’t stick around to help. I had to take care of some things. It looks good down there now that you got rid of all that junk.” He swallowed and shifted his gaze to his computer screen. “What did you do with everything?”

“I threw out anything broken and donated the stuff we hadn’t used since we were kids. Did I get rid of too much?”

Dad shrugged. “Nah, I just didn’t think you’d be able to do so much after I left.” He coughed, then slid his hand over his chest again, the same spot he’d rubbed yesterday.

“You feeling okay?” I asked.

He scowled and dropped his hand. “Of course, I am.”

“It’s just that you’re rubbing your chest, and Hailey mentioned you’ve been looking a little pale lately.”

Dad chuckled. “Your sister’s always been a worrier. My muscles are sore from lifting furniture yesterday. Nothing a Tylenol won’t fix.”

Relieved, I asked, “Your heart’s okay, then?”

He waved away my worry. “No more heart attacks, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Perfect. Now was the ideal time to bring up Hailey’s beloved renovations. “Are you still against making changes to the house?”

Dad looked surprised. “What makes you think I’m against change? I’m a movie producer. Managing change is part of the job.”

“Hailey says she’s been trying to get you to fix up the lower level for ages. She’s dying to get rid of the 1980s Laura Ashley decor in the guest suite.”

Dad let out a sudden laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s not change I’m against, it’s the mess and disruption. Your mom had some builders renovate the kitchen when we first bought this place, and it took months. We had a temporary kitchen set up in the dining room. I hated it,” he said.

“But we’re just talking about the lower level,” I reminded him. “Why not let Hailey handle everything? You know she’d love to.”

I glanced around his only slightly outdated office with its golf-themed decor and hunter-green trim. At least the gorgeous antique furniture was built to last, as well as the oak-paneled walls and the mullioned windows. All of it was perfectly in style with the time period of the house.Now that I thought about it, most of the upper floors were like this, too. Tasteful, but in need of a light facelift. It looked like Hailey had overstated what needed to be done around here. “You really only need fresh paint on the first floor,” I said, with a little surprise. “Maybe update the bedrooms upstairs so they don’t look like teenage hangouts. No big changes. I bet there’s a way to keep the disruption to a minimum, but it’s your decision.”

Dad heaved a sigh. “You’re probably right. I could set her loose on the basement and see what she can do to bring it into the current millennium. Nothing down there is original to the house. Someone renovated it not long before we bought it, and your mom had fun turning it into a kid hangout and guest space. If I let Hailey loose down there, it’s unlikely it would impact my daily schedule.”

I grinned. “That’s great. I’ll let her know. Don’t be surprised if she ambushes you with paint and fabric samples.”

He gave a grunt of resignation, but I caught a glint of fatherly indulgence in his expression. He liked making Hailey happy. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Dad rolled his shoulders and rubbed his hand across his chest again. When he saw my questioning look, he said, “I think I pulled a muscle when I helped you move that bookcase.”

I winced. I shouldn’t have asked him to help me, knowing how much Hailey worried about him.

I rubbed the back of my neck. How do you ask someone about their health without sounding pushy? I couldn’t figure out how to be subtle about it, so I went with the direct approach. “This is hard for me to bring up, but Hailey is worried. About you, I mean. We all have been,” I added, so he wouldn’t blame Hailey. “Hailey has mentioned that you’ve been declining invitations from her and your closest friends, and spending more time alone. We’re all concerned you might have a health problem you’re not telling us about.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed with irritation, but then he sat back in his chair. “t’s been a long time since someone’s asked me to explain my personal decisions…not since your mom passed, but I’ll answer you… this once.” His mouth was so tight it seemed hard for him to get the words out. “People change,” he said. “I’ve changed. Your mom was the one who liked chitchatting with the neighbors at their cocktail parties and dinners. I went along to keep her company, but I never really connected with those people. Besides, it’s mostly couples. I’m always the odd man out.” He held up his hand as if to keep me from interrupting. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s no big deal. I can hold my own in those situations. But the question is, why should I? What do I get out of socializing with my neighbors? I have nothing in common with them. My closest friends are all in the film industry, and they’re scattered all around the globe. I see them whenever we happen to be in the same town, and that’s fine with me. You and your sister and brothers need to stop being so nebby. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and sat forward in his chair as if he was about to stand. “Is there anything else you think you need to quiz me about?”

I winced. Nebby—one of those Pittsburgh words that I only heard when I was in this part of the country. Dad had just accused me of being nosy. “Sorry for being so direct. I asked because I worry about you.”

He waved me away as he rose to his feet. I watched as he steadied himself. He looked stiff and awkward, but he tried hard to hide it.

Dad’s eyes darted away and his evasions felt half-hearted, leaving me with the uneasy sense that something was amiss. It seemed as though he was avoiding me. Unlike Max, who had been receptive to spending time together, Dad appeared to be keeping his distance. But maybe this cooking class could offer a chance for us to bond over a shared interest. I hoped that, like Max, Dad would be willing to make an effort to connect with me.

I took a deep breath and asked him about it. “Do you remember my friend Dante Bastiano from Middlebridge Academy?”

Dad looked down and to one side as he searched his memory, then he nodded. “Sure. Tall kid. Good sense of humor. I remember his mom was a great cook. She’d send over pans of lasagna from time to time after your mom…”

We both glanced away, and I felt a pang of sadness as memories of Mom flooded me. Dad and I never really talked about her passing. No one in my family did. This was as close as any of us ever got to discussing the taboo subject. “That’s him. I had dinner at the Not a Yacht Club and found out he’s a co-owner and the chef.” I hesitated. “He’s putting together a cooking class for men. You interested in joining it with me and Max?”

But Dad’s response wasn’t what I had hoped for. His face contorted as though I’d suggested he take up competitive cat bathing as a hobby. “Hell, no. I’m decent at the grill, and that’s good enough for me. Besides, I’d rather eat out than try to keep a refrigerator stocked. Do you have any idea how much spoiled food I’ve thrown out over the years? Stuff goes bad when you have to rush out of town at a moment’s notice to deal with a crisis halfway across the world. Nope. I’ll just have meals delivered or grab something at the country club. It’s just across the golf course.” He tapped his smartwatch, flicked his finger around on the screen, and then lifted it to show it to me. “Speaking of which—I have to cut this short. I have a tee time in twenty-five minutes, and I need to make a phone call first.”

My heart sank with the rejection, and I couldn’t help but feel frustrated. I’d been hoping to use the cooking class as a way to spend more time with him and try to bridge the gap that had formed between us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling me. But, wait…he was golfing with someone? That was good news. Maybe he wasn’t as isolated as I’d thought. “So, you do have a social life. Who’s your golf partner?”

Dad’s expression turned flat as he lifted his cell phone to his ear. I could hear it ringing on the other end as he waited for someone to pick up. “No one. If I play alone at this time of day, I can finish up pretty quickly.” He seemed pleased with the prospect. “I regularly squeeze in nine holes in the afternoon. Good exercise. When I’m done, I’ll grab dinner at the club.”

My worries about his isolation sprang back in full force. “Sounds lonely. Want me to join you?”

“Nah. You hate golf. Besides, you’ll only slow me down.” The person on the other end of the call must have answered because Dad suddenly plastered a broad smile onto his face and said, “Hey, Jim. Glad I caught you. We need to talk about this film I’m putting together.” He shooed me toward the door and then turned his back on me. I took the hint and left.

Dad hadn’t always been so isolated. After Mom died, he’d often gone out in the evening. He’d leave us kids with the nanny, or when we were between nannies, my sister would be in charge. Dad had even continued to host parties at the house, which had seemed weird since he hadn’t seemed to enjoy them very much. When I’d asked why he did it, he’d said that Mom would have wanted it that way.

When had all that stopped? Before or after his heart attack? I had the feeling it was after, but I was ashamed I didn’t know. Just more proof I’d abandoned my family. Maybe his heart attack had made him reexamine his priorities.

After Mom died, I’d sensed that Dad kept going through sheer force of will. He hadn’t slowed down at all. I think he was afraid to. Had his heart attack changed that?

I’d only just turned nine when Mom died. Despite the fact that she’d had breast cancer, we’d thought she was going to beat it. She’d promised us she’d be okay, but she’d been wrong. Following her last round of chemo, she’d caught pneumonia and had been gone within days. I’d been devastated to lose her. We all had.

Hailey had been thirteen and had done her best to step in and mother me, Max, and Sean, but she’d been half-orphaned too and was barely able to cope. Even worse, Dad kept firing our nannies and bringing in new ones. I don’t think he realized how confusing those constant turnovers were. I’d learned never to get too attached to them.

With Dad burying himself in his work, we’d each had to figure out how to handle our grief separately. My method had been to do what Dad had done: push through the pain and loss through sheer force of will. Hailey had mothered us. Sean had acted out. Max? He’d been the mediator—always trying to make sure everyone was getting along.

Dad dropping his old Sewickley friends worried me. Should I dig deeper? I hesitated. Was Dad’s social life any of my business? The man deserved his privacy. He’d already let me know I’d overstepped when I’d asked him about it. How much angrier would he get if I kept pressing the issue?

This was a big part of why I’d come home, though—to help Hailey and Max get to the bottom of these changes. They sensed something was wrong, and now I was beginning to see why. If I wanted to learn more, I’d need to go about it more subtly. It was time for some sleuthing.

I did some poking around on the first floor but came up with nothing. The enormous mansion was perfectly clean. Pristine even. Then it dawned on me that Dad’s weekly cleaning crew kept it that way. How was I going to learn more about his social life if there were no clues lying around?

What would even constitute a clue?

I considered the question for a moment and then headed into the enormous pantry. If he had people over, he’d keep supplies on hand, right?

The room looked empty and forlorn. When I’d been younger, it had always been filled with snacks. Not anymore--just paper towels, cleaning supplies, Keurig K-cups, and cans of soup.

The refrigerator was nearly empty too. I could almost be convinced this place had been turned into a museum. Then again, he’d already told me he never kept food on hand.

I checked in on Dad. He was still on the phone, so I slipped upstairs to continue my snooping.

The bedroom doors upstairs were open. My old room looked exactly the way it had when I’d left for college. So did my brothers’ and sister’s bedrooms. They were like time capsules. Hailey’s room had Nirvana posters, Sean’s had Chinese action-movie stars, Max’s had posters of rock and roll icons, and mine had Stanley Kubrick posters.

When I made it to the master bedroom and saw my dad’s messily made bed, I hesitated. I was crossing a line by coming in here, and I knew it. Wasn’t this the entire reason I’d come home, though? To figure out why Dad had changed?

I pushed down my guilt and headed into the master bathroom where I spotted three prescription pill bottles next to the sink.

What the hell?

Maybe they were meds he’d started taking after his heart attack. In fact, that was probably it. He’d mentioned something about blood pressure medicine.

But—what if I was wrong? What if they were for something else? With Mom’s sudden death, the specter of cancer always seemed to lurk just out of sight.

I glanced at the labels but didn’t recognize them—not that I would. I took photos of them so I could do internet searches.

When I glanced at myself in the mirror, the person I saw looked embarrassed and furtive. Like a kid who’d been caught stealing. Shame and guilt flooded me as I looked away from my reflection. For an instant, my thumb hovered over the delete button—Dad deserved his privacy—but finding out the truth was for his own good. Instead, I jammed the phone into my pocket and headed for the stairs.

I should have been around more. If I had been here, I’d have picked up on the clues myself. All of these changes in Dad had occurred while I’d been off making movies.

I wasn’t fair of me to leave everything to Hailey, Max, and Sean to deal with. Well, mostly Hailey and Max. Sean traveled all the time as a stunt man, but at least he kept a home base here in Sewickley and came back between jobs.

Not like me. I’d been nothing more than an occasional visitor for years now.

Back downstairs, I checked on Dad, but he wasn’t in his office anymore. I headed toward the kitchen to look for him there.

It was time to make a change in my life. The signs were there. I’d screwed up by abandoning my family for so long. I needed to get more involved with them. With their lives. Be a real part of this family again. Try to encourage Dad to engage with people.

A nagging thought returned. Could Dad be suffering from depression? Wasn’t isolating oneself a sign? Or maybe he was hiding a problem with his heart.

I headed toward the great room at the front of the house—the one with the three-story cathedral-style ceiling and the fireplace so enormous I could walk into it without stooping. I’d always loved the ostentatious room, and it was Dad’s favorite hangout. At the far end, he’d even installed a gorgeous hand-carved bar that mom had purchased from an antique dealer years ago. It had come from an old estate outside Chicago that had been torn down.

Dad wasn’t in here, either.

I heard an engine turn over out front. Glancing through the mullioned windows that alternated with the long row of stained-glass ones, I caught sight of Dad’s car pulling away in a hurry.

I bet he was hurrying to make his tee time. He hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. Is that what happened when you lived alone for too long? You forgot when other people were in your house? Was he that wrapped up in himself and his insular life?

Mara had accused me of pretty much the same thing—of being wrapped up in my own life and unaware of the people around me, and she’d been right. I was surrounded by yes-men despite my attempts to foster an open environment. Her refreshing ideas and ability to ground me were just what I needed. She saw me clearly, without being swayed by my success.

As I headed for my car, a thought brought me to a standstill. Could it be possible that I was unconsciously following in my dad’s footsteps?

I’d been completely unaware the other day when I blabbered about a murder scene in front of her customers. Not to mention, I’d unintentionally offended Mara for her love of comic books. I’d even been avoiding dates lately because I felt like most women were self-centered.

It got me thinking, did my dad go through a similar phase of just focusing on work after Mom passed away? This thought was unsettling, and I can’t help but wonder if I could still change course before it’s too late.

Dad once said that after finding the love of his life, it was hard to settle for second best.

This was the wakeup call I needed… not just about Dad isolating himself, but about my own lack of a personal life. I sure as hell didn’t want to end up solitary and lonely, rattling around in a huge, empty house.

At least Dad had found someone to love and build a life with. That was more than I could say for myself.

The love part—that was key.

An image of Mara with her blue-tipped hair and her never-ending array of Wonder Woman t-shirts flashed into my mind.

I didn’t want just anyone in my life. I wanted someone like Mara. No. Not someone like her. Her .

All that attitude. All that mouthiness. All that intelligence and honesty. Not to mention that body. What would it be like to have her pressed against me? To have her legs wrapped around my hips? That smart mouth of hers nibbling away at my neck? Even more—what would it be like to have her by my side? To build a life with her?

I had the feeling it would be bliss.

Only, there was one big problem.

I’d asked her out, and she’d said no.

Scarlet might come through for me. I’d seen her work magic before when she’d needed to convince one of her uncle’s donors to write a bigger campaign check. She’d talked him into an additional ten-thousand dollars.

My phone vibrated with an incoming call, and I scrambled to answer it, convinced it had to be Mara. Scarlet must have worked her magic.

My heart thumped a rhythm of hope as I looked at the screen.

Disappointment hit me, sharp and intense. Not a local number. Not Mara. The call was from California.

McCormick Studios.

I answered. “McCormick. How are things in L.A.?”

“You can decide for yourself when you fly out to discuss my movie. We need to talk in person. Can you get here by tomorrow?”