As Providence pulled onto the entrance ramp for the Dulles Toll Road, Megan asked, “How did this job with Stryker come about?”
“Marketing consultants aren’t in great demand these days. But Stryker needed a GM to fill in while his stepped away for a few weeks.”
“That’s cool. How do you like managing a night club?”
“Ask me again in a week. I’m still trying to figure out the damn software and don’t get me started on which kind of bondage rope is best.”
Megan slid a smirk in her direction. “I can kinda see you working there and kinda not. Do you like it?”
“Sure.” Providence needed to redirect the conversation. “How’s Beacon’s training going?”
“He’s doing great. He learned how to open and close the refrigerator door by using a rope. Hey, maybe I should check out the rope you order for the club.” As Megan chatted about Beacon’s latest accomplishments, Providence relaxed.
She hated having to change the subject, hated living a lie. Anxiety tinged her vague conversations about work simply because she couldn’t share her real career with anyone, not even with the ones she loved the most.
When Providence parked in front of her parents’ brick-front home in Reston, the two-car garage door was open, revealing piles of boxes, old bikes, and miscellaneous junk piled so high both women stood there gawking at the mess.
“I’d lose my mind,” Megan said before pulling a small plastic doggie bag from her pocket. “I’ll be right in. I’m taking Beacon for a quick walk.”
Providence headed up the path, rapped on the front door, and stepped into the foyer. “Hello!”
Her dad hurried out of the kitchen and toward her. “Hello, dear.” He kissed her cheek. “Where’s Megan?”
Gordon Sharpe was grinning like he’d won the damn lottery. “Okay, Dad, you’re dying to tell me. What’s the big surprise? You bought a new sailboat, didn’t you?”
Her dad shook his head. “Megan texted that you were picking her up.”
“She took Beacon for a walk.”
Gordon put his arm around her and escorted her into the kitchen. Her mom sat at the table, sipping what looked like a mimosa. Neither parent drank much, and never in the morning. Heather Sharpe rose, but grabbed the table and slammed her eyes shut.
Her dad was by her side in a flash, helping steady his wife. “Easy does it, honey.”
When Providence hugged her, she couldn’t help but notice her mom was shaking. “What’s going on?”
Her mom inhaled and squared her shoulders. “I got up too fast and was a little light-headed, that’s all. It’s nothing.”
Providence shifted her attention from her mom to her dad. His brows were knitted together, his concern apparent.
The front door opened and shut. “Sit, Beacon. Good boy.” The three of them grew silent while Megan spoke with the dog. A few seconds later, her sister and the pup entered the room. “Why do you guys look like you’ve seen the dead? Mom, you’re so pale. Oh, God, is someone sick?”
“Mom got up too quickly,” Providence said. “She was light-headed.” Providence studied her mom. “Are you okay?”
Heather Sharpe, a vibrant, healthy sixty-five-year-old, was a psychologist who specialized in helping her patients overcome sexual challenges. “Yes, yes. All good. Are you two ready for the big reveal?”
“The suspense is killing me,” Megan said before filling a bowl with water and setting it on the floor in the corner. “Beacon, water.”
A man walked into the room, an explosive smile brightening his face. Providence stared at him for a few seconds, then blurted, “Oh, my God.”
“No way,” Megan whispered.
“Surprise!” Randy exclaimed. “The prodigal son has returned!”
“Wow,” Providence said as he threw his arms around her and offered her a warm embrace. While Randy hugged Megan, Providence slid her gaze to her mom and dad. “You guys must be thrilled.”
“We are,” her mom said with a delighted smile.
Over a decade had passed without so much as a phone call from her half-brother. At forty-one, a smattering of grays blended with Randy Maddox’s short, dark hair. Creases etched his forehead and crow’s feet accented his eyes, but he appeared as fit as he’d always been.
