“We don’t know that. You can’t dwell on the what-ifs.”
“And yet I do . . . all the time.”
“I know. Me too.”
Marc was quiet for a moment. “I think I held him back. In the business, I mean. He was such a dreamer, the king of big moves, and I was always limiting his potential. Worried that moving too fast would sink our shot at success.”
Marc had come from a very poor Italian immigrant family. His parents moved to New York a month before he was born and had struggled to find decent jobs, finally landing positions as a grocery clerk and a housemaid. Last year he’d purchased them a comfortable home in a family suburb not far outside the city and given them enough to live on for retirement.
Many men would have let prosperity like he’d experienced change him. Instead, he’d used his wealth and influence to make others’ lives better.
Eva squeezed his hands. “He never saw it like that. You guys complemented each other really well.” Brent had been the idea man, Marc the numbers and business guy. They’d respected each other’s gifts and used them to build a business that focused not on making a quick buck but on helping individuals get healthy and heal holistically.
“Yeah, well, he sure knew how to take life by the reins.”
Eva smiled and pulled her hands back into her lap. “Brent was always that way, even before his dad died.”
Unlike Wes. Before a heart attack had taken Roy Jamison at age fifty-eight, Wes hadn’t put much stock in his health or what it meant to “truly live”—his words. But their father’s death had really pushed Wes to evaluate the meaning of life and do all he could to live it to the fullest.
“And he saw the spiritual, a purpose, in everything. It’s why he wanted to run this race in particular. Not only because it was somewhere the two of you dreamed of going, but also because the money runners raise in pledges goes toward the heart charity of their choice.” Marc’s voice cracked. “He actually had the goal of raising a million dollars for the Manhattan Heart Center. And you know what? If anyone could do that, it would have been him.”
“That’s for sure.” A million dollars would have been nothing for Brent Jamison. People loved to open their wallets for a good cause if he was the one involved. She’d seen it happen time and time again when he’d given speeches at the heart center’s fund-raisers.
A million dollars raised to honor his dad. An ultra-marathon across New Zealand—something that would have taken lots of training and preparation, that would have pushed Brent to the brink of what he thought he could do physically.
What an accomplishment that would have been.
4
Today had to be perfect. They needed to make at least one good memory before the summer officially ended tomorrow.
While Wild Kratts blared from the den, Angela finished slicing an onion, piling it onto a large platter next to pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce. From the backyard, the smell of freshly grilling burgers wafted into the tiny kitchen. Just a few more minutes and they’d be ready for lunch. As Angela pulled potato salad, Jell-O, and macaroni salad from the refrigerator, she ran through her mental checklist.
“Mom.” Kylee popped her head into the kitchen. Even in a pair of running shorts and a Nike T-shirt, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, it was very obvious how her lean body was growing more womanly every day. “When are Grandma and Aunt Eva going to be here?”
“Soon, hon. Hey, can you toss the salad for me? There’s a kit in the fridge.”
“Okay.” Kylee headed across the room, opened the fridge, dug around in the vegetable drawer, and emerged with the kit. “I have a question.” At the counter she ripped open the plastic bag and dumped the loose lettuce into a mixing bowl.
“Hold that thought, sweetie.” Angela ran outside, pulled the burgers from the grill, and came back in. “Go ahead.” She placed the platter of burgers in the microwave to keep warm.
Kylee dropped croutons into the salad. “Liam wants me to come over tomorrow after practice. He doesn’t live very far, and his mom said I could stay for dinner afterward.”
“Who is Liam?”
That earned her an eye roll. “Liam Bradford. We’ve gone to church together for, like, ever.”
“Right.” They’d attended a large church, so it was easy to forget people sometimes. Then again, several class members had followed up when Angela quit attending after Wes died. Now that she was leaving her second job, would the kids expect her to start going with them and Sherry again? The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“So, can I go?” Kylee turned to her, eyes expectant.
Angela cleared her throat, studying her daughter. She copped an attitude more often than not lately, but she’d never done anything truly rebellious. Still, the thought of her hanging out with a boy one-on-one . . . “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Kylee’s lips twisted into an ugly frown.
“You’re too young to date.” Angela hated how strict she sounded. But she didn’t know how this mom-of-a-teenager thing was supposed to go. Her mom had died when she was young, and Aunt Deborah had worked eighty-hour weeks, leaving Angela to her own devices much of the time.
“Liam is just a friend, Mom.” Even so, Kylee’s cheeks grew pink.
“Then someday I’d love to have him over for dinner so I can get to know him better.” That was a good compromise, wasn’t it?
Her daughter’s face brightened as she poured the dressing over the salad. It fell from the package in ribbons. “How about tomorrow? We can just hang out here instead.”
“I have to work late tomorrow night, honey. Remember? This promotion is a good thing, but there’s a lot to learn.”
“So, basically I’m stuck at Grandma’s after practice. Again.” Her daughter jabbed the salad with a large spoon, mixing the contents together. “Dad would let me go.”
“Watch your tone.” Gripping the counter with both hands, Angela exhaled. Hard. “Who knows what your father would have done? He’s not here to tell us, is he?” Her words boomeranged and smacked her in the face.
Oh no. The rage had just slipped out, not meant for any ears but her own.
Her daughter’s face crumpled.
“I’m sorry, Kylee. I didn’t . . .” Angela rubbed her forehead. Tears should have been stinging her eyes. But they weren’t.
They hadn’t fallen at all since the moment she’d learned Wes wouldn’t be coming home.
“I hate you.” The words hissed from her daughter’s lips as she tossed the spoon into the bowl and fled from the room.
Wonderful. The “perfect” day, ruined. Sounded about right.
Just then the doorbell rang. Lovely timing.
Angela walked down the hallway, glanced through the peephole, and opened the door. “Hey, Eva. Come on in.”
Her sister-in-law was a knockout in a yellow-and-gray striped romper with short bell sleeves. “Thanks for having me over, Angela.” On her arm she clutched an oversized handbag that probably cost more than Angela made in a month.
Eva leaned in for a hug at the same moment Angela turned to walk back toward the kitchen. Angela stopped midturn and tossed an awkward one-armed squeeze across Eva’s shoulders, releasing her quickly.