A Place Called Home Read online

  Joel ordered another bottle of wine and poured what remained in his bottle between Gina and Mitch.

  “Thank you,” Gina said. “But this will have to last the evening. I’m the designated driver tonight.”

  Joel smiled. “So is Thea.”

  Thea supposed that was a discreet, if mildly dishonest way to describe her abstinence. “You have the Xterra?” she asked.

  Gina nodded. “I refused to climb in and out of his truck in this dress.”

  Since she was wearing a Slinky, Thea didn’t see that it mattered to what heights she climbed. And a leg up on the Chevy couldn’t have been much higher than the one she had to make into the SUV. Her comment, though, effectively brought everyone’s eyes to the skinny red dress. “Vera Wang?” asked Thea.

  “Yes,” Gina said. “It is.”

  “Gina sold another monster house a few days ago,” Mitch said. “I think she spent her entire commission in one shopping spree.”

  Gina rolled her eyes. “He’s never understood shopping.”

  Joel tilted his head to regard Gina and the fabulous red dress. “And the way you go about it, it’s obviously not for the faint of heart.”

  Gina’s scarlet lips parted in a brilliantly appreciative smile and her matching nails tapped Joel on the sleeve of his jacket. “You are so right. Shopping is a blood sport.”

  Thea stared at Joel as he gave a small, spontaneous shout of laughter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw several diners turn in the direction of their table and smile. It was the first Thea had heard him laugh all evening, and when she thought back, she realized with some dismay that it was the first real laugh she’d heard from him in weeks.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Joel.

  Thea was slow to understand he was speaking to her. She blinked. When he continued to stare at her, a question in his eyes, she came around. “Oh, it was just ...” Her smile was a shade wistful. “It was just so nice to hear you laugh.” Impulsively, Thea reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Over the rim of his wineglass, Mitch regarded his dinner companions with mild disgust. Gina had her True Blood nails pressed into Joel Strahern’s jacket and Thea had her hand clamped over his fingers. The sixty-one-year-old investment banker was the hotdog in a girl bun. Mitch tipped back his glass. It was going to be a very long night.

  The waiter came by to recite the specials and take their orders. Without discussion, they had all chosen the same salad: roasted red beets, fresh apples, and goat cheese in a red wine vinaigrette. Thea and Gina asked for the salmon alla griglia, while Joel ordered the lasagne Bolognese, and Mitch, because he found himself dithering uncharacteristically, selected one of the specials, an endless trio of fresh pasta stuffed with seasonal fillings.

  “Tell me about this house you sold,” Joel said to Gina when the salads arrived. “Quite the coup in this market. In town or out?”

  Mitch caught Thea’s eye, smiled blandly, and then started on his salad as Gina began to regale them with the gory details of her second favorite blood sport. She gave a good account of real estate skullduggery that kept Joel entertained, Thea politely interested, and Mitch drinking until his pasta trio arrived.

  “So what is it about this truck of yours, Mitch?” Joel asked. “The one that Regina won’t ride in.”

  “It’s a ’53 Chevy.”

  Joel didn’t have to feign curiosity. “You restored it yourself?”

  Mitch nodded. “I worked on it for years on and off.”

  “We had a Chevy truck when I was kid. A ’55, I think. Powder blue. We had a farm out on McKnight before all the development. My dad ran that Chevy all over the countryside, used it for everything.”

  Straherns? Farmers? They raised capital, not cattle. Their idea of a cash crop was, well, cash. Mitch wasn’t buying this tilling-the-earth version of Joel’s childhood, though he hadn’t meant to communicate his skepticism quite so openly that it elicited a response.

  “Every man’s got to have a hobby,” Joel said. “My dad liked farming, even if he only did it on the weekends. I think he always regretted selling the place. He didn’t have the retirement he imagined without it.”

  “What about your hobby?” asked Gina.

  “Woodworking.”

  The immediate image in Mitch’s mind was of Joel Strahern bent over a cross section slab of oak, burning pictures of deer and fish and ferns into the wood with a red-hot soldering pen, acrid smoke rising from the surface. He actually smiled.

  “Joel’s cabinetry is art,” Thea said. “He does special pieces for friends. He made an exquisite walnut credenza for my office.”

  The corners of Mitch’s mouth flattened. He remembered the piece very well. There were no engravings of deer and fish and ferns anywhere on it, only the smooth grain of excellent wood, a polished, reflective surface, and beautifully beveled edges.

  “Really?” asked Gina. “I made a bookcase once out of two-by-fours and concrete block.”

  Joel laughed. “That’s pretty standard college apartment furniture. Where did you go to school?”

  “Pitt.”

  “Really? I’m on the Board of Trustees.”

  “You are?” She leaned toward him, her eyes earnest, “Then maybe you can explain to me why the chancellor ...”

  For Mitch it was like a switch just toggled off in his head. He was still sitting at the table, a participant by his mere presence, but the audio was off. Gina was having a good time and there was nothing he begrudged her about that. He wouldn’t have predicted it when they left the house almost thirty minutes late because Emilie didn’t want them to go at all. Had it been one of the twins, Mitch thought he would have handled it better, but Emilie’s age and the fact that she was a girl made him impatient and softhearted at the same time. The need to be firm warred with his desire to give her anything she wanted—ever—in order to dry up those pathetic tears. It didn’t help that the twins didn’t hold out long in the face of their sister’s distress, or that his mother and Gina were coaching him from the sidelines.

  Then there was the argument with Gina over what they were driving. She’d arrived at his house before lunch, hung out with him and the kids through a Disney DVD and a trip to the library, and watched the twins while he and Emilie went grocery shopping. When it came time to leave he was prepared to follow her to her apartment in the North Hills, drop off her car, and continue into town in his truck. Gina balked before Emilie, insisting on taking the SUV. Pointing out that his cherry red truck matched the condom she was wearing hadn’t exactly endeared him to her. He knew she was hoping that by controlling their wheels she could maneuver him to spend the night at her place. Mitch didn’t like being manipulated, but he also knew Gina shouldn’t have had to work so hard at it. She looked like a sex Popsicle in that dress and before the instant family, they would have been late because he’d have had to have her in and out of it.

  Living with the kids had done something to his libido.

  “Mitch?”

  It was Thea’s soft inquiry that brought him out of his reverie. He tilted his head politely and focused. “Hmm?”

  “I asked if there’s something wrong with your dish. The waiter’s been surreptitiously eyeing you to see if you’re ready for more.”

  He didn’t need to look down at his plate to know he’d taken only a few bites from each one of the fresh pastas. “No. It’s all fine. Better than fine.” He speared a delicate spinach tortellini. “Fine is like damning it with faint praise.”

  Gina’s smile was rather stiff. “I think we get the picture.”

  “Fine.”

  Thea hid her smile behind her linen napkin and gave him a sympathetic look over the folds. Gina turned her attention to Joel who had steered the conversation back to their mutual interest in real estate. Thea suspected that for Gina it was like sitting at the feet of the master. While Gina’s own family had a significant percentage of the realty business in the tri-state area, Joel Strahern brokered deals that built stadiums and expan
sion teams all over the East Coast. Gina asked him questions Thea had never thought about. It had seemed to Thea that Joel had rarely wanted to talk much about his work, as if he suspected that Thea wouldn’t be interested or understand, and she supposed she had reinforced his thinking by not pressing him. Now she found herself learning things in a single evening that he had never shared before. He was practically waxing poetic about the art of the deal, completely unself-conscious about the gap in their ages, telling stories of himself and his contemporaries that had happened years before Gina was born.

  Conversation wound down over espresso. Mitch had moved his chair around so he could lay his arm across the back of Gina’s. Now she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder, replete and glowing from the meal and the attention. Joel made a few polite overtures regarding the children, and Thea was warmed by them because she knew he broached the subject for her sake. At that point Gina contributed more than Mitch did, and he made no attempt to elaborate on anything she said.

  By the time they said their good-byes, Gina was out of patience. She turned on Mitch as she slipped the key in the ignition and gunned the motor. “What in God’s name was wrong with you tonight?” It occurred to her that there had been too many conversations lately that started in a similar vein. “This evening was your idea. Let’s all get together, you said. Joel Strahern made an effort tonight, Mitch, which is more than I can say for you. He asked about your kids. You might have said more than three words about anything, you know, but especially about the children.”

  “He asked about the kids because of Thea. He doesn’t care about them. He did it for her.”

  Gina braked for a red light. Hard. Her head snapped around. “Now, there’s a page in the playbook that you could study.”

  Mitch scowled.

  “It wouldn’t have hurt you to show an interest in what I was saying to Mr. Strahern.”

  Mr. Strahern? Where had that come from? Mitch wondered. All night long it had been Joel. What do you think about leveraged buyouts, Joel? What makes a successful portfolio, Joel? How about those Penguins, Joel? Mitch knew for a fact that Gina knew way more about hats than hat tricks, but she hung on Strahern’s every word like she was making a powerplay. Perhaps she was.

  “You could have supported me,” she said. “Showed him I wasn’t a complete child.”

  “Oh? And how should I have done that?” The light changed and Gina’s acceleration pressed Mitch back in his seat. “You want to slow it down a little?”

  Gina eased up on the gas but her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Little things,” she said. “Like being more attentive. Treating me like your date and not your little sister.”

  “Joel Strahern would have been happier if you had been my little sister,” Mitch said. “The man was interested in you.”

  “Oh, he was not. That’s ridiculous. He’s ... he’s a legend.”

  Mitch shook his head. “Trust me, he was hitting on you.”

  Gina sighed. “You definitely had too much to drink. Did you even see how he looked at Thea? And why wouldn’t he? She’s always so perfect. Perfect hair. Perfect nails. Perfect smile. Perfect. On top of that, she’s a perfectly nice person. I hate her.”

  “Yeah, you were a regular troll in that—”

  “Don’t you dare call it a condom again.”

  Mitch’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Smart,” she said dryly. “Anyway, I know now this dress was a bad choice for tonight. Too glam. I needed sophisticated-casual.”

  “As opposed to what? Liberty Avenue hooker?”

  Without missing a beat, Gina’s right arm swung out and clobbered Mitch across the chest. Satisfied with his ooof, she went on. “Cashmere,” she said. “Like that fabulous sweater dress Thea was wearing. And the Jimmy Choo boots. Mr. Strahern looked as if he wanted to put her on.”

  Mitch couldn’t disagree. Like Gina, he had seen how Joel Strahern’s gunmetal glance roamed over Thea. His perspective had been a bit rosier than Gina’s, compliments of that second bottle of red, but it wasn’t inaccurate.

  Gina’s voice was quiet, reserved, and even a little wistful. “That’s how I want you to look at me, Mitch. Like you want to wear me.” She pressed her lips together a moment and glanced at him sideways. “Don’t make the obvious Trojan joke.”

  It had gone through his mind, but he had been smarter than to say it aloud. Gina deserved better than that anyway. Mitch took a breath and let it out carefully. “We probably need to put this in slo-mo.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

  Gina was long in responding, then there was a nod, cautious at first, more deliberate the second time. “I don’t think I’m ready to be a mom, Mitch, even a weekend-girlfriend-stepmom type. I admire you so much for what you’re taking on, but I’m not sure I can share it with you.”

  Mitch was surprised that he felt as lousy about her decision as he did. “I think you have more courage than I do,” he said finally. “I don’t know if I would have gotten around to ending it for a long time.”

  “Slo-mo,” she said. “Remember? Not an end. I still want to see you. I really think we can be friends. I know people say that and don’t mean it, but I mean it. Being friends could be good for both of us. And I like the kids. I do. But I’m going to like them a whole lot better when they’re not standing in the way of what I want from you. They have no choice, Mitch. But I do. I’m making it before I end up resenting them for something that’s not their fault.”

  It was a long time before Mitch spoke. “You know, Gina, I don’t think I’ve ever been grown-up enough for you.”

  She reached across the console and touched his arm, patting it lightly. “It’s all right. Girls mature faster.”

  Thea kicked the covers aside and sat up. She stretched, rolled her neck, and then flopped back on the bed rather than stumble out of it. The phone rang and she groaned, glancing at the clock. It was only seven-thirty. What if she had wanted to sleep in?

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Joel. What did I get you out of?”

  “Bed.”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  Thea yawned wide enough to crack her jaw. “I was just going to jump in the shower and get ready. We’re on for nine, right?” There was a slight hesitation. “Oh, I guess we’re not.”

  “I’m sorry, Thea. Something’s come up. I wouldn’t cancel with you if it weren’t so—”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t do it if it weren’t important.” It was the first time Joel had ever changed plans with her. During the almost two years they had been seeing each other he was the one who had gone out of his way to make certain he kept his dates with her. “It’s not family, is it? Everyone’s okay?”

  “Oh, sure. They’re fine. This is business.”

  “Anything you can talk about?”

  “I can talk about it, but you’d fall asleep in the middle. It’s that boring.”

  “Save it, then. You can tell me when it’s over and you’re the hero of the piece.” His low laughter rumbled pleasantly in her ear. “I think I’m going to go riding anyway.”

  “I hope you do. There’s no reason that you shouldn’t go without me.”

  “Call me later?”

  “Of course. It’ll be after eight.”

  “That’s fine.” Thea added impulsively, “Thank you for last night, Joel. I know you did it for me and I appreciate it.”

  “I wish we had started out differently, but I had a good time in the end.”

  They spoke for another minute and then rang off together, slowly, even a little reluctantly, or so it seemed to Thea. She replaced the phone before she realized that Joel hadn’t ended the conversation with “I love you.” He was doing just as she asked him last night, giving her time, letting her think. In a perfect world, Thea thought, she would feel relieved that he had listened to her. Instead, what she felt was unaccountably sad.

  Thea sho
wered, dressed, and drove out to the stables. Because she had called ahead, Captain Henry Morgan was saddled and waiting for her, almost as impatient as she to be out. For several minutes, she talked loving nonsense to the gelding while she ran a hand over his glossy cinnamon coat. He preened under her attention, tossing his head when Thea ran her palm along his neck and shoulder. She led him out of the stable and mounted. She was offered a riding companion but she refused, preferring to be on her own on the trails with the Captain and her melancholy mood for company.

  Thea rode for more than two hours. The trails were clear but a thin layer of snow clung to the overhead branches and limned the side of the tree trunks. Except for the sounds of their own passage, it was a silent ride. Thea could almost forget that she was not far from the highway or that if she veered off the trail and out of the woods, she would find herself in brick and concrete cul-de-sacs. When the trail opened up, Thea gave Captain Henry his head. Grateful for the chance to run, the gelding gave Thea exactly what she was looking for: moments in which she could think of nothing but the wind in her face, her seat in the saddle, and the powerful drive of the animal under her.

  Afterward, Thea brushed him out, keeping up a stream of chatter that made the stable hand smile. “I don’t get out here nearly often enough,” Thea told him. “I always feel as if I’m making up for my neglect.”

  Thea thought about that as she was driving home. Neglect seemed to be a theme in her life. There was the physical neglect of her sperm and egg donors, the benign neglect of her adoptive parents, the self-neglect that had put her into rehab, the emotional neglect of her relationships, and the deliberate, perhaps selfish neglect of ...

  She paused, took a breath, and slowed herself down. She was forging ahead, wasn’t she? In fits and starts, to be sure, but still moving in the right direction. Resilient, she reminded herself. God, but she wanted to be resilient.

  The question of how that was accomplished echoed. It didn’t come naturally to her, so maybe it wouldn’t come at all. Her birth parents had no expectations except that she remain out of their sight, definitely out of their hearing. Her adoptive parents had no expectations except that she be a trophy child, on display as evidence of their generosity. It still remained for her to identify what she expected from herself.