Read Online Family Interrupted by Linda Barrett - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Barrett
Tags: General Fiction
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audible to our neighbors.
“But there’s one thing I cannot promise, Jack.” He leaned back in order to see me clearly.
“I can’t promise not to cry.”
His arms tightened around me, and I felt him kiss the top of my head. “Neither can I. Does that surprise you? And I also can’t stop my stomach from burning. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be popping these pills for the rest of my life.”
“I’m so sorry about...everything.”
I’ll be sorry forever.
“Me too. I miss her so much.”
Choking up, I couldn’t speak so just nodded.
“But Claire?”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve got nothing to blame yourself for. Being late is not a crime. Please...please, honey, don’t do it anymore.”
Oh, I wished it were as straightforward as that. I deserved Jack’s hatred, not his understanding. Except Jack didn’t know the whole truth, and I could never tell him how I flirted with Colombo, how I basked in his praise and responded to the gleam in his eye with one of my own. Now
my
stomach started to burn.
#
I took a deep breath when we pulled up to Barnes Construction in the morning. I also took a moment to appreciate my former second home. It was a stone and glass building, which now struck me as darn impressive. Ignoring it for almost a year prompted me to view it with new eyes.
“People might think we’re awfully wealthy when they see all this,” I murmured, gesturing at the building, pointing out the professional landscaping. “I guess looks can be deceiving.”
“If you’re suggesting we relocate the company to some small shack...”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I replied quickly. “That would be a public announcement and run off our vendors and potential buyers alike.” Shivering, I patted Jack’s hand. “If anyone can turn the numbers around, you can.”
With my smile firmly in place, I waved at everyone I saw. No more hysterics. No more outbursts. I was determined to stick to my plan. By the end of the first week, the design center had become my new daytime refuge, a comfortable hidey-hole. Maybe I was simply trading my studio at home for my assigned space at the company. Maybe the old nesting instinct had kicked in. Or maybe my basic survival instinct had taken over. I smiled, I made calls, I began putting together some lovely rooms. At least, that’s what Jack told me after he viewed them online, complements of the amazing software program I used.
Despite the positive feedback, however, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t care about the designs, furniture, or home buyers. My brain was functioning on automatic pilot, and I had no idea how I was pulling off being pleasant and upbeat. But my husband was cracking jokes and whistling as he walked the halls—my reward for all the effort. I owed him that much.
But I still couldn’t control my sadness or tears. They flowed without warning while I added figures, examined fabric, or chatted with an employee. A release of tension, perhaps, or a reminder of the guilt hiding deep within me, in that place where truth resided. If anyone had suggested removing Kayla’s photo from my desktop, however, I would have shot them. The way I figured it, had I still been at home or in the studio during the day instead of at night, I would have cried too.
On the second Monday, my mom joined me on a part-time basis. I heard her intake of breath when she saw her granddaughter’s beautiful face. She said nothing, however, just squeezed my hand.
“We’re some pair,” she said, “but we’ll get through this.”
Whether she meant the workload or Kayla’s death, I didn’t know. But I had no choice about soldiering on. Living was my penance.
Chapter 8
JACK
June, nine months after accident
Proud parents crammed the high school auditorium by the time Claire and I arrived to watch Ian graduate. Some mothers dabbed their eyes, but Claire’s tears ran like Houston’s bayous after a storm.
Squeezing her hand, I said, “We raised a winner. A
“But there’s one thing I cannot promise, Jack.” He leaned back in order to see me clearly.
“I can’t promise not to cry.”
His arms tightened around me, and I felt him kiss the top of my head. “Neither can I. Does that surprise you? And I also can’t stop my stomach from burning. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be popping these pills for the rest of my life.”
“I’m so sorry about...everything.”
I’ll be sorry forever.
“Me too. I miss her so much.”
Choking up, I couldn’t speak so just nodded.
“But Claire?”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve got nothing to blame yourself for. Being late is not a crime. Please...please, honey, don’t do it anymore.”
Oh, I wished it were as straightforward as that. I deserved Jack’s hatred, not his understanding. Except Jack didn’t know the whole truth, and I could never tell him how I flirted with Colombo, how I basked in his praise and responded to the gleam in his eye with one of my own. Now
my
stomach started to burn.
#
I took a deep breath when we pulled up to Barnes Construction in the morning. I also took a moment to appreciate my former second home. It was a stone and glass building, which now struck me as darn impressive. Ignoring it for almost a year prompted me to view it with new eyes.
“People might think we’re awfully wealthy when they see all this,” I murmured, gesturing at the building, pointing out the professional landscaping. “I guess looks can be deceiving.”
“If you’re suggesting we relocate the company to some small shack...”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I replied quickly. “That would be a public announcement and run off our vendors and potential buyers alike.” Shivering, I patted Jack’s hand. “If anyone can turn the numbers around, you can.”
With my smile firmly in place, I waved at everyone I saw. No more hysterics. No more outbursts. I was determined to stick to my plan. By the end of the first week, the design center had become my new daytime refuge, a comfortable hidey-hole. Maybe I was simply trading my studio at home for my assigned space at the company. Maybe the old nesting instinct had kicked in. Or maybe my basic survival instinct had taken over. I smiled, I made calls, I began putting together some lovely rooms. At least, that’s what Jack told me after he viewed them online, complements of the amazing software program I used.
Despite the positive feedback, however, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t care about the designs, furniture, or home buyers. My brain was functioning on automatic pilot, and I had no idea how I was pulling off being pleasant and upbeat. But my husband was cracking jokes and whistling as he walked the halls—my reward for all the effort. I owed him that much.
But I still couldn’t control my sadness or tears. They flowed without warning while I added figures, examined fabric, or chatted with an employee. A release of tension, perhaps, or a reminder of the guilt hiding deep within me, in that place where truth resided. If anyone had suggested removing Kayla’s photo from my desktop, however, I would have shot them. The way I figured it, had I still been at home or in the studio during the day instead of at night, I would have cried too.
On the second Monday, my mom joined me on a part-time basis. I heard her intake of breath when she saw her granddaughter’s beautiful face. She said nothing, however, just squeezed my hand.
“We’re some pair,” she said, “but we’ll get through this.”
Whether she meant the workload or Kayla’s death, I didn’t know. But I had no choice about soldiering on. Living was my penance.
Chapter 8
JACK
June, nine months after accident
Proud parents crammed the high school auditorium by the time Claire and I arrived to watch Ian graduate. Some mothers dabbed their eyes, but Claire’s tears ran like Houston’s bayous after a storm.
Squeezing her hand, I said, “We raised a winner. A