“You don’t have to give us anything. Skye doesn’t need a promise of trips to get her to want to speak French with you. If this job ends for whatever reason, you can still invite us to visit, and we’ll come. We like you.”
Delinda pressed her lips together in a stern line. She was quiet long enough for Hailey to begin to wonder if she’d said too much.
“Call me Delinda.”
What? “I couldn’t—”
“I insist.”
Addressing anyone as staunchly formal as Mrs. Westerly by her first name felt wrong, but the older woman’s expression said she’d accept nothing less. “Delinda.”
“Skye may do so as well.”
Hailey sighed in resignation of a battle she’d already lost. “Since she already is . . .”
“Tomorrow I’ll set up a trust fund for Skye’s education. Don’t tell me not to. She’ll blossom with the right instruction. The trust will carry her straight through college.” She raised a hand to silence the protest Hailey was about to make. “Don’t let your pride deprive Skye of this opportunity.”
Hailey wiped away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. Am I setting Skye and myself up for a disappointment if I choose to believe that something this good could happen for us? “Why would you do this?”
Delinda laid her hand over Hailey’s. “I have smiled more this past week than I have in years. At my age, that’s priceless. A friend of mine told me that if I want a rose garden, I shouldn’t plant weeds.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. You’re the rose.”
In his Braintree office, Spencer hung up with the CEO of Incom and stretched. It was a huge win for WorkChat and indicative of how the perception of their simulators was shifting from experimental luxuries to touchstone big-business equipment. He was feeling good about the conversation, but not about much else. Jordan had yet to call him back. That wasn’t like him.
“Mr. Westerly?” his secretary said tentatively from the door she’d cracked open.
“What?” Spencer asked impatiently, though his irritation was with himself. He’d let Jordan’s simulator screw with his head. He’d even imagined seeing Hailey walk into the building that morning.
Of course it wasn’t her, but when the woman had looked up in the direction of his office, he’d thought it was. His gut had clenched, and he’d been tempted to run down to check if it was her.
Idiot.
She made her choice a long time ago.
“Your sister is here.”
“Which one?”
Before Lisa had a chance to answer, the door burst open and his youngest sibling, Nicolette, strode in as his secretary hastily shut the door behind her. In her usual jeans and T-shirt, Nicolette looked younger than twenty-five. Over the years a few of his friends had described her as “edgy and sexy.” Once. Spencer made it clear to all that his little sister was off-limits.
Nicolette tossed her purse in one of the chairs in front of his desk and flopped into the other. “God, I miss you. You’re an island of sanity in an ocean of crazy.”
Despite his foul mood, Spencer smiled. Nicolette was unapologetically over-the-top. He moved to sit on the corner of his desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“You missed quite a dinner at Mom’s. Alisha’s pregnant.”
“I know.”
“Are you okay?” Nicolette searched his face.
They’d grown up together, covered for each other more times than he cared to admit. He couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”
“I get it. Even if you didn’t love her, it still sucks the way it went down. Mom is confused about why we’re not all as happy as she is about it. Next week they’re telling Grandmother. Don’t make me suffer through that without you.”
“She’s not my grandmother.”
“You’re lucky.”
Spencer crossed his arms over his chest. “‘Lucky.’” That wasn’t how he felt.
“I envy you. You know. I keep thinking I want to find out, and then I waver. I can’t decide which would be worse. Do I want a father who didn’t care enough to spend any time with me or one who raised me without saying who he really was?”
Spencer had asked himself that same question a hundred times. “I don’t believe Mark knew I was his.”
“That’s worse, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make you wonder what else Mom lied about?”
“I don’t think about it.”
“You drink instead.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he joked. Then he added quickly, “Don’t actually try it. It doesn’t help.”
“Then maybe you should slow down.”
“Maybe I will.”
“You’re not the only one who wants to escape. Brett and Alisha are too happy. And they always want to spend time with me. I feel bad, but where was Brett before this year? Because he wasn’t in my life. Rachelle loves it, but Alisha is her best friend. They act like I’m choosing to be upset. Why would I choose any of this?” She shook her body like a dog shaking off water. “I needed some brother therapy. Tell me I’m not crazy.”
“You’re fucking bonkers.”
Nicolette stuck her tongue out at him. “Jerk. You’re no better. At least I’m not all over the Internet. You need to stop hooking up while drunk with women who tag you in their photos.”
“That’s the truth.” She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t told himself.
“Want to get lunch?”
Spencer remembered something Brett had said about family being what a person makes it. Sometimes Brett was right. He pushed himself off the desk. “Yeah, I’d like that.” They walked out of his office together. He told Lisa to field his calls while he was out, then headed down with Nicolette.
A few minutes later, over sandwiches at a coffee shop across the street, Nicolette said, “I’m thinking about taking an internship with Borderless Photographers. They work with grassroots humanitarian initiatives in almost every country. It would be a chance for me to do something important, and a change of scenery might be good for me—get me out of my head. There are a lot of problems in the world that are a whole lot worse than not knowing who my father is . . . or was.”
“You should do it.”
Nicolette chewed her lip before saying, “I’d have to leave my job, and traveling like that is expensive. I don’t have the savings to get me to the places I’d want to go.”
“How much money do you need?”
“Maybe none. Dad offered to pay for everything. Mom said no, of course, but I’m not a child anymore. This isn’t about Dad buying me a jet or something completely garish. I’d be volunteering for a nonprofit organization that works to make the world a better place. I know Mom thinks money is the root of all evil, but isn’t it time we decide for ourselves? I should be able to accept Dad’s help, shouldn’t I?” She picked up half of her sandwich but put it back down without taking a bite. “On the other hand, he might not even be my father, and maybe I should cut him out of my life like you did.”