Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
REECE
“What do you think she’s telling her?” I stand at the window, staring down the driveway, paint roller dripping on the guest room’s now-exposed subfloor.
“Who’s her?”
I narrow my eyes at Dad. “What’s Mum telling Andi?”
Dad shrugs, his sweatshirt sliding loosely over his lanky frame. “Who knows. They could be talking about anything. Fabric swatches. Football. World peace. Your mum is a wildcard.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Dad puts his roller into the paint tray and leans the handle against an unpainted section of wall. “I’m gonna give you some advice, son.”
I blink. I’m not sure my father has ever offered advice so baldly. Usually, his suggestions are conveyed through a seemingly off-hand comment. Or if I’ve messed up badly, he’ll tell me flat out how to not do it again. Maybe he thinks I’ve messed up. “Okay.”
“Talk to her.”
“That’s it? Talk to her? I talk to her all the time.” I splash my roller in the paint tray, slopping over the sides.
“Tell her how you feel. You know how your mum and I met.”
“Yeah—about that, why didn’t you ever tell me the whole story?” I prop my roller handle on the windowsill and lean against the log wall.
“I didn’t?”
“No. You both said you fell in love over the summer, and then you proposed at Christmas. You never mentioned that she took a job in Dallas. I always thought she went back to England, and you had to chase her.”
Dad rubs a hand over his balding head and slides the ball cap back on. “That story is more romantic. I still had to chase her. She just made it easy for me.” He picks up his roller and goes back to work.
I stare at his back as he paints. Is that what’s been going on here? Has Andi been making it easy for me to chase her? I think back through the last few weeks. She moved in here—was that because she needed a place to live, or was she trying to spark a relationship? Obviously, living with Teo was an option since that’s where she is now.
“I am an idiot.” I pick up my paint roller.
Dad’s response comes fast. “Not gonna argue.”
We finish painting the guest room and clean up our gear. After sandwiches, we tear out the carpet in the office.
“Doing it before painting was definitely the way to go,” I say after bumping an elbow into the newly painted wall. It’s dry, so I don’t get paint on my sleeve, and fortunately I don’t leave a dent.
“If you pull toward the log walls, there’s less chance of damage.” Dad grabs the edge of the orange shag and yanks it from the tack strip.
A car rolls up to the house as I’m sweeping the dust that is all that remains of the ancient foam padding. Doors slam, and through the open window, the sound of female voices filters up. I can’t quite hear what they’re saying but the tone is friendly and cheerful. The house door opens, then closes, twice. Then another car door slams, and the unmistakably rough roar of Andi’s engine breaks the quiet.
I drop my broom and run to the window just as she kicks up a plume of dust rattling away down the driveway. After closing the window, I hurry down the stairs. “Where’s Andi going?”
“Hello, darling. I hope you had a lovely day.” Mum closes the door and heads toward the kitchen, carrying a pair of glossy, expensive looking paper bags by their pink twine handles.
I follow her into the garage where she deposits her treasures on the shelf we set up for displaced items from the office and guest room. She flips the switch on the electric kettle, then turns and smiles. “We found some lovely things for the house, but something came up, so she headed home to change.”
“Something—you mean a date?” The words pop out of my mouth before I can censor them.
Mum gives me a level stare then shrugs elegant shoulders. “I didn’t inquire. I only know she’s going to Copper Butte.”
Copper Butte Ranch is the high-end resort north of town. It’s full of expensive second homes belonging to wealthy people from Portland and California, and even more expensive primary homes for retirees from those same places. It also does a brisk vacation rental business and hosts elaborate events like fund-raisers and celebrity weddings. Mum and Dad could afford to buy a place there, but I convinced them to flip Wild Pine ranch instead. It’s more their style, anyway.
I pull out my phone and look up the Ranch’s calendar. It unhelpfully lists a “private event” for tonight. “That’s not the kind of thing that just ‘comes up.’” I poke at my phone, but it refuses to offer any additional data.
“Oh, and she’s moved her flight to Freiberg to tomorrow. Something’s on at home.” Mum pulls the bags back off the shelf and removes a couple of throw pillows and some kind of weird metal thing which she then carefully displays on the shelf.
“She’s going back tomorrow?!” I gulp. “But I need to talk to her.”
Mum raises both hands as if denying any responsibility, then puts the pillows back into the bag. “I think it’s better to keep them protected.”
“Mum, I need to talk to her!” I growl, fighting the urge to stamp my foot. “Why did you?—”
She turns and raises a brow. “I didn’t do anything. She got a message from someone at the palace. The whole family is going, I believe.”
I glare, then blink in surprise as her comment registers. “I thought she was persona non grata at the palace. And she admitted to the whole royalty thing?”
“Tea?” At my nod, Mum puts the metal thing back into its bag—is it a candle holder? Then she pulls mugs out of the cupboard. “I told her I knew who she was—thanks to Katie. She was surprised, but not really. If you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure why the Feltzes aren’t a bigger deal around here.” I drop onto one of the kitchen chairs and lean back, eyes closed. “But back to—why is she leaving?”
“I don’t really know. There’s some surprise family event back home. She didn’t have any details, but even a former princess can’t ignore a royal summons.” The kettle clicks off, and she pours hot water over a bright orange cat.
“What is that?” I sit up and point at the silicone creature hanging from the rim of my mug.
“Isn’t it cute? Andi and I found them! There’s a cat and an owl and even a unicorn!” She plunks another mug onto the table. This one has a blue squirrel perched on the rim, with its oversized tail hanging down into the mug.
“But what is it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Tea infuser, of course. Don’t you get tired of bags?” She says the last word with a deeply offended upper crust accent.
“We’ve drunk bagged tea my whole life.” I poke the cat’s back, and it flexes.
“Loose tea wasn’t widely available in rural Texas. But now I’ve gone back to my roots.”
“Your roots are in a blue silicon squirrel?”
She slaps my arm. “Today they are.”
While the tea steeps, I grab a carton of milk and my bottle of vanilla syrup. After removing the cat from my mug, I mix my drink and take a sip. It may be a sugary sweet drink, but in the afternoon, I’ll always take a London Fog.
Mum produces a packet of the deceptively named McVitie’s Digestives and puts a few of the round biscuits on a plate.
“Did you bring these from London?” I snag one of the chocolate topped cookies and crunch down on a satisfying bite.
She shakes her head. “There’s a cute little British shop in Bend. Horrendous prices, of course. I should have brought a case from home and sold them to the store.”
“I’m not sure that’s legal. Import taxes.”
“Pish posh.” She dips a cookie in her tea and takes a bite, sighing with happiness. “The only thing that could make this better would be if Katie were here.” Then she sits up. “And where’s your father?”
“I dunno. He was cleaning the brushes when you arrived.” I get up and walk into the tiny hallway to the kitchen. The paint brushes lay on the edge of the utility sink beside the washer and dryer. “Dad?” No answer. I try again at the bottom of the stairs, then climb up to the bedrooms. “Dad!”
My father lies on the floor, eyes closed, breathing labored. I skid across the subfloor and drop to his side. “Dad. Can you hear me?”
He opens one eye. His voice is thready and tight. “Think I mighta broken something.”
“Mum!!” I yank out my phone and dial 9-1-1.