Premiere: A Love Story by Tracy Ewens Read Free Book Online Page B

the family business was, he said, “Oh, we’re in tile.” There’s a sign on his desk that says CUT THE CRAP. That little piece of wood described her dad to a tee.
    Sam’s grandfather, Michael Cathner, had been a tile artisan on Catalina Island. When he married her grandmother, Gwendolyn Ross, and moved to Pasadena, they became very well known within the arts community. Michael designed tile and artistic treatments for high-end homes and public buildings during Pasadena’s growth in the thirties. He worked with some of the most well-known architects and contractors, and it was hard to go anywhere in neighborhood or downtown Pasadena and not see his work.
    Jack earned an MBA from UCLA and then worked closely with his father. They grew the company, Cathner Interiors, into an international corporation. Jack was a warm, humble man, with an addiction to hazelnuts and an obsession with baseball. He had even considered buying the Dodgers once or twice over the years. Jack married Susan, who was funny, independent, had a filthy mouth when anyone got her alone, and was a horrible tennis player, though she continued to try.
    They were Sam’s foundation. They did have dark sides. They tended to hold grudges, they rarely forgot, and the women in the family had tempers that seemed to simmer for eternity and then explode.
    Walking through the front door of the imposing two-story home built by her grandparents, Sam was filled with the familiar. She was desperate for Sunday breakfast. She needed these people.
    “Samantha, is that you?”
    Her mother called from somewhere in the house.
    “It is. Where are you?”
    “Kitchen.”
    “There are flowers sitting by the door. Do you want them?”
    “Oh, yes, your brother brought those. Could you bring them in here and also grab the vase on the piano?”
    Sam stepped into the living room, which was filled with morning light falling on the lush red Oriental rug her parents had shipped home from their trip to China. She had always marveled at how such an intricate design could sit in such a traditional home. It didn’t look busy, but rather joined in somehow with the rest of the furnishings. Her mother had not even flinched when it was delivered. She didn’t care if it went or not, she loved the rug, and it would simply have to work. Susan Cathner was daring that way.
    Sam grabbed the vase and the bundle of paper-wrapped flowers on her way into the kitchen. Her mother was whisking eggs at the counter. No makeup and her hair pulled back. She was lovely, Sam thought. No one dressed up like her mother, but she didn’t need all of that for Sunday breakfast. She had no one to impress and Sam liked her best this way. She put the vase on the counter and opened the flowers over the sink. Susan, still whisking, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
    “Good morning, dear. You look tired.”
    “You always say that.”
    “Well, maybe you always look tired,” she laughed.
    “Susan, I can’t find those damn little knives for the . . . Button! When’d you get here?”
    Jack barged into the kitchen holding what looked like toasted muffins.
    “Hey, Dad. Got here a few minutes ago.”
    He tossed the muffins on the table, gave her a big, two-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. He held Sam by both shoulders.
    “Let me take a look at you. Yup, still gorgeous. A little tired maybe.”
    Her mother raised her eyebrows as if to say: “See?”
    “What’s with you guys and the sleep thing? I’m getting plenty of sleep. Maybe I just look this way.”
    “Jack, tell me you didn’t already toast those muffins. I haven’t even finished the eggs. They’ll be cold. Oh, this whole breakfast is hitting the fan, damn it!”
    He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her ear, “They’ll be fine.”
    “Your charms won’t work on me, Mr. Cathner. I hate cold muffins. At least wrap them in tin foil until we eat. The little knives are right there on the table. Put them by the butter and jam. Oh, and