Out of the three of us, Toby hates her the most and has the least to lose if the truth about her were to come out. Some of my assets are tied up with the Morgan estate, and frankly, I should exercise caution until a final will is sealed by our family’s lawyer. One wrong move, and Dad might do something potentially damaging just to teach Cole and Toby a lesson. I’d get stuck in the middle, as always, so if I can avert such a crisis, I will try.
“What matters is that Dad’s health doesn’t need us adding our conflict on top. We can take it outside some other time. Right now, the old man is working hard to get himself downstairs. He should find a peaceful atmosphere when he make it down.”
“Ifhe makes it,” Terrence grumbles.
“You’re not helping!” I snap.
Sheila gently caresses her precious prick of a son’s cheek. His neck is turning red from Cole’s headlock. “He’s right, honey. Maybe don’t antagonize your brothers. You have plenty of other, much more important things to worry about, don’t you?”
“Dad hasn’t given me much to work with at the office,” Terrence complains.
“You have to give him a reason to trust you first,” I reply.
Cole gives me a sullen look. “What are you doing?”
“Working toward peace,” I promptly reply, “unless you preferthe bickering and the flying fists. Let’s see how far that gets us.”
“Thank you, Asher, for being the voice of reason,” Sheila chimes in with a soft smile.
“I’m not doing it for you,” I retort.
Finally, the door opens, and our father walks in. He’s still in his pajamas and wrapped in a house robe, slippers dragging across the floor with each heavy step. His breath is labored, but his smile is optimistic.
“There’s my family,” he says, eager to join us.
Cole is the first to reach his side and patiently escorts him to the breakfast table. “How are you feeling, old boy?”
“I’ve had better days, son, but I sure am glad to see you.”
“You’re still allowed coffee, right?” I ask, already pouring some into a clean mug for him.
Dad gives me a wry smile. “They’ll have to pry a good Colombian roast out of my cold, dead hands.”
As soon as he’s settled in his chair, Sheila leans in to kiss his cheek, and my stomach turns.
“So happy to see you at the table,” she tells him. “It gives me hope for the future.”
“I’m sure it does,” Toby mutters.
I’d step in again, but even I can’t fight that particularly unpleasant truth. We all know Sheila doesn’t love our father. We know whom she’s still carrying a torch for, too. But Dad’s ticker is already faulty; he doesn’t need theaggravation.
“What were you all arguing about?” Dad asks as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I heard you on my way down here.”
“The wedding,” Terrence replies with a half smile as he adds eggs and bacon to his plate. “We were arguing about the guest list.”
“We have an issue with overcrowding the greenhouse,” I say. “We can’t have too many people in there. And removing all the plants to let more people in kind of kills the whole concept of a ceremony in the greenhouse, don’t you agree, Dad?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “I do, yes.”
“But Dad—” Terrence tries to object. Sheila also opens her venomous mouth to say something, but our father raises a hand to silence them both.
“Keep the ceremony small, close friends and family only. Invite as many folks as you want to the reception. There’s plenty of space in the ballroom.”
“Honey, maybe—” Sheila insists, but Dad’s growl cuts her down with lightning speed.
“The boys’ mother curated that greenhouse with much love and care,” he says. “There are rare plants in there that would suffer even a transfer to another room. You work with what is already there or have the wedding ceremony elsewhere. End of discussion.”
Even Sheila can’t overpower the memory of our mother.
