Chapter 12
Daniel’s jaw almost hit the floor when he read the price tag hanging from a navy blue wool suit. Almost one thousand dollars.
Unbelievable. And that was less than the last suit he’d looked at. I should have just stayed in the car.
He tugged on his plain black tie—a splurge at thirty dollars from a chain department store—as Arthur strolled through the
store, an attentive employee at his heels. His boss’s schedule was usually light on Fridays, and Daniel always prepared himself
for Arthur’s call requesting he pick him up at work early. Today when he’d left the Picketts’ house in University Park it
was a little past eleven thirty. He was promptly instructed by Arthur to bring him to Dan Hutton’s, a high-end haberdashery
in downtown Dallas. Until now, he’d had no idea how high end it was.
“We have some recent Jack Victor arrivals, sir.” The haberdasher, a sixty-ish, impeccably dressed gentleman without a hair
out of place and a mustache to rival Burt Reynolds, gestured to another suit display.
Arthur slowly looked them over, then selected a camel-colored one.
“Excellent choice.” The man smiled and took the jacket off the hanger. “Cashmere is always in style.”
In his several months of employ, Daniel had yet to see Arthur wear the same ensemble twice. He couldn’t imagine the money his boss had spent on his wardrobe, especially if he frequently shopped here.
While Arthur continued his extravagant retail therapy, Daniel wandered through the store. He couldn’t even afford a pair of
socks from here. Which was fine. He’d never been a fancy guy, and while he didn’t mind wearing a suit for his job, he did
find it stifling at times. He stopped in front of an impressively displayed circle of ties fanned out on a table, a male torso
stand in the middle wearing a neutral-colored shirt. He didn’t even bother looking at the prices.
Arthur appeared to be settling in, so Daniel parked himself in a leather chair near the door and pulled out his phone. He
set the speaker to mute and went to YouTube. Britt hadn’t posted anything new so far this week. She’d told him that she didn’t
really have a set filming or uploading schedule, just that she had to post content fairly regularly.
He clicked one of her older videos he hadn’t seen before and started to watch, immediately smiling when she showed up on screen.
He turned down the volume so low it was nearly inaudible as he watched her demonstrate how to make a basket using pine needles.
She filmed herself weaving it and had sped up the footage, which made it even more impressive. It amazed him how she could
master any creative medium.
He was about to click on another video when a young man entered the store. He stopped a few feet from the entrance and glanced
around with a wary look, as if he’d just walked into a strange new world. Daniel sure could relate.
The guy was tall with shaggy blond hair and was wearing a form-fitting white T-shirt and shorts. He was extremely fit. Daniel inwardly sighed. Once upon a time he’d been in that kind of shape. But he’d abused his body with alcohol, bad nutrition, and other horrendous personal choices. Now he was forty-eight, and middle age was having its way. He wasn’t decrepit, but he sure did feel old.
He clicked on another one of Britt’s videos while the guy walked over to the tux section of the store. A minute into Britt’s
introduction, he received a text.
Arthur: I need a third opinion.
Daniel: Right away.
He stood and pocketed his phone, then went to the back of the store, passing the young man who was now rubbing the back of
his neck as he stared helplessly at the tuxedos in front of him.
Daniel arrived to see Arthur preening in front of a three-way mirror, the haberdasher standing to the side and nodding his
approval. The suit wasn’t a tailored fit, but it looked good, and the shirt and tie underneath were a flawless choice.
“What do you think?” Arthur pressed his palm against his midriff, over the two fastened buttons.
Daniel didn’t respond right away, even though he was planning to say the first thing that came to mind—that it was a nice
suit that he wore well. He’d learned Arthur liked more measured responses, and Daniel understood that. When he first started
working for him, he thought the man was a little full of himself. He quickly realized that Arthur was plainspoken and straight
to the point. Arthur Pickett knew he looked good. There was no reason to deny it.
After pausing the appropriate amount of time and giving him a visual once-over, Daniel said, “Nice suit. You wear it well.”
He held back a chuckle, keeping a straight face while his boss conferred with the haberdasher and scheduled a fitting.
“Excuse me.”
Daniel turned to see the young man holding up a tux jacket as he walked toward them. “Can you help me with—” His face turned
chalk white.
“I’ll be right with you,” the haberdasher said. “I apologize, we’re short staffed today.”
But the kid didn’t respond. He clutched the jacket and stared... at Arthur.
Arthur’s expression was unreadable, but his hand started to tremble as he touched the knot of his tie. He blinked, then shoved
his hand into the jacket pocket and moved toward the young man, stopping a few inches from him. Clearing his throat, he said,
“Hello... son.”
***
Hunter’s knee bobbed up and down as he sat in the back seat of his father’s twelve-year-old Bentley while the driver whizzed
through downtown with some serious skill. This was a mistake. A massive one. This morning he planned to rent a tux for his
father’s upcoming birthday party before he headed for work. Although it was still a little over a month away, he wanted to
make sure he reserved it. He knew he couldn’t go to just any man’s store. He had to go to Hutton’s, a place he hadn’t stepped
foot inside since his brother Payne’s wedding six years ago. He’d gotten drunk and made a complete idiot of himself at the
reception. That was the last time he’d been invited to a family event, until now.
As soon as he walked inside the boutique, he regretted it. He wanted to go to Dad’s party, and he wanted to dress as he was expected to. But inhaling the mix of leather, luxury fabrics, and several kinds of expensive cologne reminded him that he was no longer a part of the elite society that could afford to shop here. He almost walked out, and he’d caught the guy in the chair staring at him before he pulled up his big boy pants and went to the tuxedo section.
Turns out that guy was Dad’s driver, and as soon as his father had settled with the haberdasher, he asked Hunter why he was
there. Lying had been second nature for most of his life, so he said he was on an errand for a friend, but they didn’t have
his size. The party was a surprise, and he didn’t want to blow it. Hunter thought that was all he had to say, that he and
Dad would part ways like they had two years ago—the last time they’d been in the same room together and his parents had cut
all ties with him. That parting had been a lot more acrimonious.
Instead, Dad said, “Let’s go for a ride.”
Those words never boded well for knuckleheads in gangster movies, although Hunter didn’t think his father had ill intentions.
But his expression and tone didn’t give him a choice, and he followed Dad and his driver to the car. On Dad’s signal, the
driver opened the back door, and Hunter climbed inside, followed by his father.
“How long has it been, Hunter?” Dad asked.
He shrugged and stared out the window. Two years, five months, ten days. But who’s counting?
“It’s—” Dad cleared his throat. “Good to see you.”
A little ice melted around Hunter’s heart. He looked at him. “Good to see you, Father.”
Dad scoffed. “You and your brothers. Always so formal with me. Well, that’s your mother’s doing.”
“How is she?” Hunter couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“She’s fine. Had a knee replacement last year. Also a little nip and tuck around her neck, if you know what I mean.” His eyes
softened. “She didn’t need it. Wrinkles and all, she’s beautiful to me.”
He smiled a little. He loved his parents, despite the horrible way he’d shown it. They finally put a boundary up, and it worked. But that didn’t mean he’d ever be permanently welcomed back into the fold.
“Still seeing your parole officer?”
Hunter cringed and glanced at the driver, who was staring straight ahead, sunglasses covering his eyes and the rest of his
face unreadable.
“Don’t mind Daniel,” Dad said. “He’s completely trustworthy.”
Sinking against the supple leather seat—he had always loved this car—he nodded. “Haven’t missed a check-in.”
“Good. Still sober?”
“Yes.”
Dad paused for a moment. “Are you telling me the truth?”
Hunter ground his back teeth to keep from snapping back at him. He was the one with the problem, not his father. “Yes. I am.”
After his dad eyed him for a minute, he said. “I believe you.”
Hunter blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
They didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence was stifling, the smooth purr of the engine the only sound in the
car.
“Maybe...” Dad glanced away and stared out the window for a second before turning to him again. “Maybe we could—”
His phone rang, and he reached into his suit jacket pocket. “Hello. Now? Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I’ll be in at eight
in the morn— Okay. I’ll head on over there now.” He hung up and put the phone away. “I’ve got to return to the office. A crisis
of some sort. Where can I drop you?”
Hunter told him where his motorcycle was parked, a block away from Hutton’s. When they reached the destination, Daniel maneuvered
the car close to the bike.
“You still don’t have a car?” Dad looked shocked.
“I like the Yamaha.” He opened the door and started to get out, then turned to him. “Glad to see you again... Dad.”
“If you need anything...” He shook his head and faced the front.
Hunter waited to see if he would say anything else. When he didn’t, he got out of the car and shut the door. The Bentley sped
off.
He stood by his bike, still trying to process what had happened. For the first time in years, he’d had a conversation with
his father that hadn’t turned into a fight. Granted, it was only for five minutes, but that was a start. And he realized something
else—he truly missed him. And his mother. Payne and Kirk, too, although not nearly as much.
He walked back to Hutton’s, having avoided his father asking more questions about his “friend’s” interest in a tuxedo. And
avoiding more lies. He’d made a vow to stop lying shortly after he was jailed, but this was an exception. After the party,
he was never going to lie to his family, or anyone else, again.
***
“We’ll be at your office in fifteen minutes,” Daniel told Arthur as he merged onto the freeway. He glanced at his boss in
the rearview mirror.
“Just take me home.”
Daniel frowned. “But what about the crisis?”
“There isn’t any.” His boss sounded defeated, something Daniel had never heard from him before. “It was a spam call. Lila
and I have put up strict boundaries where Hunter is concerned. If she found out I’d even talked to him, much less invited
him into my car... I saw the opportunity to cut off engagement, and I took it.”
Daniel got off the freeway and turned in the opposite direction. The tension in the car had eased the moment Hunter left, but Daniel was still reeling from the news that Arthur had another son. He thought there were only two—Payne and Kirk. Even in the main house there weren’t any pictures of Hunter, and no one had ever mentioned him. Then again, he realized that the only pictures he did see of the family were recent ones. No baby or school pictures of the kids. Just wedding photos from Payne’s and Kirk’s nuptials, along with a large oil painting of Arthur and Lila on the wall in the formal living room.
“I guess you’re wondering what all that was about,” Arthur said, sounding slightly more collected.
“No, sir.” He inwardly cringed at the fib.
“I’m wondering about it myself.” He sighed, and Daniel heard him shift in the seat. “Hunter’s my youngest son. I think he
was about eleven, maybe twelve, when he started rebelling. I’m still not sure why. His personality was always so different
from Kirk’s and Payne’s. More free-spirited, but still intelligent. He just refused to apply himself unless sports or girls
were involved.”
Daniel turned on his blinker.
“We tried everything to get him to take his studies and life seriously, but he defied us at every turn. Getting kicked out
of schools. Drinking all the time. Drugs too, although he never did those on a regular basis, thank God. He even stole from
one of his teachers—a spiral notebook, of all things.” Another sigh. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Maybe because I understand. My past certainly isn’t lily white.”
“What caused you to drink so much— I’m sorry, don’t answer that question. That’s none of my business.”
Hearing the pain in Arthur’s voice, along with the desire to possibly understand what happened to his son, was surreal. It also tugged at Daniel’s heart. “I don’t mind telling you,” he said. “The answer isn’t a good one, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know why I became an alcoholic. Or why I kept messing up my life over and over. I guess there was something inside
me that was deeply unhappy, and I was looking to numb the pain.” He gripped the steering wheel. “At first you don’t expect
to fall into the abyss. A few drinks and you feel better. But soon that turns into more, and then before you realize it, you’re
out of control. Then the only thing that can block out the shame of continually screwing up your life is more of the same.
It’s a cycle. And it’s unbelievably difficult to break.”
Arthur didn’t say anything.
When they reached his house, Daniel wondered if he’d revealed too much. Dread seized him again. Now that Arthur knew how weak
he was, he might not want him as a chauffeur anymore. He pulled into the circular drive and in front of their grand house
that he wouldn’t be able to afford in twenty lifetimes. He put the car in park and got out, attempting to settle his nerves.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
He opened the door and Arthur stepped out, looking as composed as he’d been in Dan Hutton’s. “My family can’t find out that
I talked to Hunter today. Understand?”
He nodded. The promise would be easy to keep. Payne and Kirk acted like Daniel didn’t exist, and their wives were worse. Payne’s
wife, Everly, once had Daniel take her to Starbucks five minutes away—after she’d driven to the Picketts’ in her BMW. When
they got to the coffee shop, she changed her mind and ordered him to drive her back to the Picketts’. But Daniel never complained.
Dealing with mercurial family members was part of the job.
He shut the door and headed for the Bentley’s driver side.
“You were wrong, Daniel,” Arthur said.
Wincing, he gulped and turned around.
Arthur’s eyes were filled with pain. “Your answer. It was a good one.” He turned on his heel and headed for the house.
Daniel exhaled, then hopped into the Bentley and drove it into the multibay garage. When he parked the vehicle in its spot
and shut off the engine, he bowed his head with relief.
Then compassion filled him. He couldn’t imagine watching a child suffer with addiction. Seeing Britt’s struggles with anxiety
broke his heart, but she was coping. And from what he could tell about Hunter, he was doing okay. He looked healthy, which
was a good sign. And although Daniel tried not to listen to their conversation, he was glad to hear he was sober and keeping
up with his parole officer. But it wouldn’t take much to topple off that wagon and plunge right back into the nightmare.
Daniel knew that better than anyone.
***
On Monday, Britt placed a bowl of fuji apples on the table in the K&Bs education room. She took a step back, scrutinized it,
and moved one of the apples over half an inch. There. A perfect still-life subject. A sheaf of drawing paper and two packs
of colored pencils lay near the bowl.
“That’s going to be a challenge for him, don’t you think?” Maude set out a Bundt cake next to the tea set in the corner of
the room.
She turned and looked at Maude. “Bundt cake?” Britt raised a brow. “We’re having an art lesson, not a coffee klatch.”
“Where did you hear an old-fashioned word like that?”
“Books, Maude. I read lots of books.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She lifted the lid off the pot and sniffed. “Ah. Good old Earl Grey. It will go nicely with the orange
dream cake.”
Britt started to protest, then just smiled. When she’d told Maude and X that she would be giving Hunter a few art lessons,
their reaction was typical—Maude shrieked, and X calmly nodded. Maude had wanted to do a whole tea service, complete with
dainty sandwiches and scones. “I’m sure Hunter isn’t a dainty sandwich kind of guy,” Britt pointed out.
“Oh.” Maude got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Probably not. His hands looked quite big—”
“Will you leave the kids alone?” X shook his head, but he was chuckling.
They had compromised with Earl Grey and Chips Ahoy! cookies, but Maude pulled a fast one and brought the Bundt cake. Oh well,
she was an excellent baker. The snack would be good.
“He should be here any minute,” Maude said. “I’ll give him a proper greeting and send him your way.” She peered at Britt.
“How are you doing?”
“Okay.” Surprisingly she wasn’t as nervous as she thought she’d be, probably because she was in her element and knew exactly
what she was going to teach Hunter. Her friend was right—it was a challenge. But from what he showed when he drew that second
seashell, she didn’t think it would be that hard. If it was, they’d just work on one apple. No rush.
Once Maude left, Britt glanced at the clock. Almost two. She hurried to the bathroom to check her hair. She’d swept it up in a bun and wrapped a neon-yellow-and-pink scarf around it. It was hot today, so she wore white and gray gingham shorts, a white T-shirt, and tan sandals. Several curls had slipped out of the bun, and she tucked them back in. She stared at her reflection. Yep. Her face was still long and her skin still pale. However, she could do something about that last flaw.
Not wanting to waste time staring at herself, she left the bathroom and went back to the education room. Hunter was already
there, sitting in the chair and staring at the apples, looking pensive. Uh-oh. Maybe Maude was right, and she was too ambitious in her still-life choice. “Hi,” she said, walking toward him.
He turned to her and smiled, but it didn’t completely reach his eyes. “Hey.” He looked at the fruit again. “Is that today’s
lesson?”
“It doesn’t have to be.” She tugged at her hem, then put her hands behind her back. “We can draw something else.”
“No, it’s fine.” He stared at the bowl again.
Something was wrong, and that started up her anxiety. She sat down next to him and tugged on her fingers. “W-we really can
do something else.”
He turned to her. Glanced at her hands, and then covered them with one of his own. “I want to draw the apples.”
Britt glanced down at his large hand covering both of hers. Maude was right.
Hunter removed it and sat back in the chair. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She tucked her hands underneath her thighs. Problem solved.
He rubbed the back of his neck, then stopped, as if he realized he was performing his own nervous gesture. “How do you handle
stress?”
“Not well, obviously.”
He jumped up from the chair and walked a few paces. “I’m not just talking about anxiety or nervousness. What do you do when
you get upset?”
She tilted her head and looked at him. “We’re starting with my lesson?”
He froze, his eyes widening. “Uh, no.” He sat back down. “This is actually about me.” Then he quickly grabbed a box of pencils.
“Never mind,” he mumbled, opening the box. “We use red first, right?”
Britt watched him fumble with the tab. She scooted closer to him, took the box from his hand, and set it back on the table.
“My therapists always recommended exercise.” She gestured to her less than sculpted body. “But as you can see, I’m not a fan
of that.”
His gaze flitted over her. He grinned, and it looked genuine. “You look fine to me.”
Warmth washed over her, but she set it aside, her cheeks flaming. He was nice—of course he’d tell her a white lie. She’d practically
asked for a compliment anyway. She averted her gaze and put her hands under her thighs again. “Maude is a big proponent of
calming teas. Chamomile, kava, things like that. X likes his essential oils, as you can tell.”
“Is that what I smell when I walk in the door?”
“Yep. He says it ‘enhances the customer experience.’”
Hunter chuckled. “I don’t know about that but whatever he’s spraying, it smells good.”
“Diffusing,” she corrected, her neck muscles relaxing. “My mom starts cleaning house when she’s upset. Or ‘dysregulated,’
as my therapists called it.”
He nodded, his good humor evaporating. “I run three or four times a week. I’ve got a physical job too. So exercise isn’t a
problem.”
That explained his phenomenal physique.
“I don’t like tea,” he continued, “although I’m not opposed to trying it again. My roommate would ridicule me without mercy if I started spraying—excuse me, diffusing —essential oils in our apartment.”
She tried to think of something else. “Distraction can work.” Lord knows she used that enough, especially with her art.
“I’ve done plenty of that,” he mumbled.
“Well, there’s always talking about it too.” Britt moved her hands and set them on her lap.
Hunter scoffed. “That wasn’t done in my family. If you weren’t a certain way, you—” He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry.
I’m hijacking the lesson. And I’m supposed to be helping you feel better.”
“You are.” She held up her hands. They weren’t trembling, and she wasn’t tugging or pulling or sitting on them. “See?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m not sure how that happened.”
She had a sudden epiphany, but it wasn’t going to paint her in a good light. “I think one of the reasons talking to someone
else helps is because it takes the focus off ourselves and our own problems. It’s a form of distraction too. While I’m focused
on you, I’m not so focused on me.”
“Did you learn that in therapy?”
“Kind of. My counselors wanted me to get out and do stuff. Help other people. Which I want to do, but that means I’d have
to be around... people.”
He smiled, another sincere one. “You’ve helped me. I feel better than I did when I walked in here. And now I have a list of
things I can do when I’m feeling on edge. Except the oils. Ain’t gonna happen.”
She laughed. “I don’t blame you there.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Really.” He picked up the box again, more calmly this time. “Now, how about we draw some apples?”