She laughs. “Definitely not. Mopeds are convenient but a little whiny.”
To my surprise, the smile falls off of her face when she looks at the building in front of us.
It’s classic revival, with dominating columns and an austere presence.
She is taking deep breaths and looks like she’s bracing herself to enter.
Caroline isn’t in her usual uniform of leggings and a crop top today either. She’s wearing black linen pants, a color I don’t really associate with her, and a pale green lightweight sweater, a purse across her shoulder. I told her to wear close toed shoes and so she’s wearing striped sneakers. It’s not a dressy outfit, but different from what I associate her with.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
I’m wearing jeans and a button-down shirt. My plan is to take Caroline back home and then change and go into the office. I’ll just work an extra hour or two tonight. Or hell, maybe I won’t for once. I certainly dedicate enough hours of my life to my law firm.
“What?” Caroline shrugs. “Oh, I’m fine. I guess.”
She doesn’t elaborate as I lock up our helmets and my bike, so I press just a little. “Are you nervous about this banking appointment?”
I don’t know anything about Caroline’s financial situation. She doesn’t act like she’s concerned about money, but she did step in as Grayson’s interim nanny and she’s teaching classes at the baby gym. Maybe that’s out of necessity.
“No, the appointment is fine. I need to open an account in Colombia before I arrive there and I didn’t think the branch in Honeysuckle Harbor would be familiar with doing a foreign wire transfer.”
“Probably true.” We’re just standing on the sidewalk. I decide to wait for her to start up the stairs first. Something’s on her mind and causing her to hesitate—that’s clear.
Maybe she’s having second thoughts about going to Colombia.
Caroline reaches out and touches the leaves on a plant that is inside the giant concrete planter boxes lining either side of the imposing bank.
“I love plants,” she says. “I tell myself I’m not going to get any when I move and then I can’t resist and start collecting them again. Then when I leave, I have to rehome them. But I can’t stop myself. This is a purple coneflower. It’s super common all over the country and it’s hardy as hell, but look at how pretty it is. I’m surprised it’s here though, because they’re pollinators and attract bees.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I decide to just listen. She’s leading me somewhere and I want to let her take me there.
Then it comes out in a rush of words when she’s still running a finger over the velvety petals of a flower.
“My dad used to work here. He was a senior personal banker. He used to bring me here to show me around. He died when I was fourteen. Heart attack in his office, actually.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you had lost your father.”
“Thanks. I just have both good and bad memories here, you know? But I don’t want the bad ones—knowing he passed away here—to steal away the good ones.”
“I understand that. My dad died when I was twenty-one in a car accident. I was away at university.”
Caroline’s head whips around, and she locks eyes with me. “Oh God, Cas, I’m so sorry. So you really do understand.”
“I do.” I reach out and take her hand, leading her to one of several benches. “Let’s sit for a minute. Tell me about your dad, about the good memories. Just the good ones.”
“His name is, was, Robert and everyone called him Rob. He was tall and intelligent—he read books so fast—but he also loved food and traveling and making dad jokes. So many dad jokes. When he would bring me to the bank, he would appoint me his assistant for the hour or two I was here and would have me get him coffee. I would work so hard to get the cream and sugar ratio just right and then he would tell his co-workers I had a fine eye for details. Honestly, Cas, that coffee was the color of biscuit mix—I had so much milk in it. I don’t even know how he drank it with a straight face.”
“Because that’s what dads do.” I give her a smile. “Put family photos on their desk and clap loudly at dance recitals and brag unabashedly about their kids. My father was the same way. He was quiet, but he was warm and loving. He used to twirl my mother around the kitchen and pat her ass, which was mortifying to us as kids, but now is a positive memory of being shown what a loving marriage was like.”
Caroline squeezes my hand. “That sounds lovely. How is your mother doing?”
“She’s okay. She has a full life with friends and family and my sister’s children. She skis and is a cyclist, and much like you, loves a good plant to nurture. How is your mother? Were your parents still married?”
She nods. “Yes, they were. She’s actually remarried and lives in Florida a few minutes from my sister, who has two kids. I saw them before I came here, but her love is a little smothering. She wants me to be all in on her husband and call him my stepdad, but I don’t really know him. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but he’s her husband, not my stepfather. I’ve met him all of a handful of times and I was twenty-five when they got married. I don’t like that she pushes a relationship.”
“Have you told her that?”
“Yes, and she just tells me I have to accept that she’s married. I accept it. That doesn’t mean her choice of a husband is some kind of replacement to my father when I’m a grown woman. It’s like she wants to erase him and it pisses me off.”
