The Sweetheart Deal by Polly Dugan Read Free Book Online
Authors: Polly Dugan
months. I went into as much detail as I had with Mitch and told them I’d be gone for a while, and gave them the plant. I thanked them and declined their offers to do anything else.
I made coffee and wrote the email for Mitch and everyone else who needed to know. A choice was easy to make, no matter how small or great, when you only had one, and sometimes the hardest one was the right one.
I booked a flight for six o’clock Tuesday morning, Valentine’s Day, and texted Audrey . I’m flying out early Tuesday. I’ll see you in the afternoon.
Garrett
I didn’t sleep on the plane—I never could. Sleeping is such a private, vulnerable state, I was always fascinated when adults packed in a plane among strangers surrendered to it. Sleeping together . So I felt ragged and useless when I got to the house. Audrey was sitting on the porch. She stood up and waited, and cried against me after I dropped my bag, and I wept too. There was nothing to say.
The boys were all so big. At fifteen, Christopher looked so much like Leo, with the same dark good looks, only a year older than his dad was when we met. Brian and Andrew were handsome too, with Audrey’s eyes and mouth, and both seemed more mature than middle-schoolers, having aged overnight, I thought. They all hugged me without hesitation. I hadn’t seen Audrey and the boys in six years, when Leo had brought them all east for a visit with both sets of parents. I’d rented a place on Martha’s Vineyard and they’d spent a week with me.
The house was much as I remembered it, but it had matured with the boys. What had been the guest room was now Christopher’s room, and what had been the playroom was the guest room, around the corner from the kitchen. The baby gates and the other children’s accessories that had littered every room the last time I’d been here were long gone. Because the family had filled as much room as the house had to offer, Leo had started the addition. Their bungalow in the northeast quadrant of the city had four bedrooms and was larger inside than it looked from the street, but with three boys, Leo had written in one email, there was no such thing as too much room. I thought the rooms downstairs were painted different colors than when I’d been here before. The dining room was red now, striking, and I didn’t remember it that way. Audrey and Leo might have repainted, but I didn’t ask. Maybe the paint was the same and I was different. I might not have noticed such things twelve years ago. Photographs lined the mantel. School portraits of the boys that I’d never seen. Several of all five of them. Leo and Audrey with Christopher as a baby. A portrait of Audrey and Leo on their wedding day, and one of the two of them from a day they’d gone skiing, their goggles pushed up, Leo’s bulky glove wrapped around Audrey’s shoulder. She had to know it was there. I’d only been in the house five minutes, but I felt like taking it down and putting it away. No one needed to see that. There were at least eight flower arrangements, a few sitting in each room, that looked like they had been set down haphazardly and without much thought.
“I made coffee,” she said, and poured me a cup. “How was the flight?”
“It was fine,” I said. “It got me here.”
“Did you sleep?” she said.
“Nah, I couldn’t.”
“Do you need to take a nap?” she said.
I sipped the coffee and shook my head. “It will just mess me up for tonight. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she said. She hadn’t stopped moving since we’d walked into the house. “Listen. My parents and Leo’s parents are here, Maureen and my brother are too. Everyone’s at the same hotel.”
I knew Leo’s family—his parents Glenn and Libby, and his sister, Maureen—as well as I knew my own. I’d met Audrey’s parents, Marty and Claudia Lanigan, and her brother, Gabe, at their wedding.
She rested her hands on the counter and looked out the window above the sink. “Glenn keeps
I made coffee and wrote the email for Mitch and everyone else who needed to know. A choice was easy to make, no matter how small or great, when you only had one, and sometimes the hardest one was the right one.
I booked a flight for six o’clock Tuesday morning, Valentine’s Day, and texted Audrey . I’m flying out early Tuesday. I’ll see you in the afternoon.
Garrett
I didn’t sleep on the plane—I never could. Sleeping is such a private, vulnerable state, I was always fascinated when adults packed in a plane among strangers surrendered to it. Sleeping together . So I felt ragged and useless when I got to the house. Audrey was sitting on the porch. She stood up and waited, and cried against me after I dropped my bag, and I wept too. There was nothing to say.
The boys were all so big. At fifteen, Christopher looked so much like Leo, with the same dark good looks, only a year older than his dad was when we met. Brian and Andrew were handsome too, with Audrey’s eyes and mouth, and both seemed more mature than middle-schoolers, having aged overnight, I thought. They all hugged me without hesitation. I hadn’t seen Audrey and the boys in six years, when Leo had brought them all east for a visit with both sets of parents. I’d rented a place on Martha’s Vineyard and they’d spent a week with me.
The house was much as I remembered it, but it had matured with the boys. What had been the guest room was now Christopher’s room, and what had been the playroom was the guest room, around the corner from the kitchen. The baby gates and the other children’s accessories that had littered every room the last time I’d been here were long gone. Because the family had filled as much room as the house had to offer, Leo had started the addition. Their bungalow in the northeast quadrant of the city had four bedrooms and was larger inside than it looked from the street, but with three boys, Leo had written in one email, there was no such thing as too much room. I thought the rooms downstairs were painted different colors than when I’d been here before. The dining room was red now, striking, and I didn’t remember it that way. Audrey and Leo might have repainted, but I didn’t ask. Maybe the paint was the same and I was different. I might not have noticed such things twelve years ago. Photographs lined the mantel. School portraits of the boys that I’d never seen. Several of all five of them. Leo and Audrey with Christopher as a baby. A portrait of Audrey and Leo on their wedding day, and one of the two of them from a day they’d gone skiing, their goggles pushed up, Leo’s bulky glove wrapped around Audrey’s shoulder. She had to know it was there. I’d only been in the house five minutes, but I felt like taking it down and putting it away. No one needed to see that. There were at least eight flower arrangements, a few sitting in each room, that looked like they had been set down haphazardly and without much thought.
“I made coffee,” she said, and poured me a cup. “How was the flight?”
“It was fine,” I said. “It got me here.”
“Did you sleep?” she said.
“Nah, I couldn’t.”
“Do you need to take a nap?” she said.
I sipped the coffee and shook my head. “It will just mess me up for tonight. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” she said. She hadn’t stopped moving since we’d walked into the house. “Listen. My parents and Leo’s parents are here, Maureen and my brother are too. Everyone’s at the same hotel.”
I knew Leo’s family—his parents Glenn and Libby, and his sister, Maureen—as well as I knew my own. I’d met Audrey’s parents, Marty and Claudia Lanigan, and her brother, Gabe, at their wedding.
She rested her hands on the counter and looked out the window above the sink. “Glenn keeps