The Change Up (3 page)

“I'm working for my dad,” he said with little genuine interest in keeping this conversation going.

“Just like me.”

Except he wasn't like her, and he couldn't leave that assumption hanging between them. “We're nothing alike, Rachel. For starters, I would never even think about cutting down these trees. That would be a really shitty thing to do.”

She shrugged. “What can I say, Sammy? Progress can be painful, but in the end, it's the best thing for everyone.”

“Because the best thing for you is the best thing for everyone?” He scoffed. She hadn't changed one bit in twenty years. “Try telling that to the birds.” Sam looked at the wide-eyed man taking this all in beside her and nodded curtly. “Nice to meet you.”

But that was a lie. It would only be nice if the guy drove back to Pittsburgh without touching a single tree. If one trunk fell … Sam hated to even think about it. Thank God his nature-loving mother wasn't alive to see this.

He wandered off with Babe beside him and the warbler overhead, craving the usual Sunday peace and quiet, but he kept hearing phantom chainsaws and wood chippers. How much parking did the Reeds need? Surely they wouldn't cut down all of this. He reached out and let almond-shaped leaves tickle his palm. But what if they did? What if he had to say goodbye to Sunday walks and evening fireside chats with his dad? And what if he had to look out his kitchen window and see a baseball stadium every damn day? He stopped. Babe stopped, too.

That was
not
going to happen.

• • •

“Whoa! That's one heck of a house,” Liv said as Rachel, for the second time in as many days, guided her BMW down the winding gravel drive toward her childhood home. She'd asked Liv to gather some of her personal items and fly in last night, after it was clear that, with her father's deteriorating condition, Rachel would need to extend her time in Arlington. Having Liv here would help maximize productivity over the next five days.

“It's a little shabby right now,” Rachel said, noticing misshapen box shrubs and empty flower urns. “It looks better at Christmas.”

It
used
to look wonderful all year long.

Liv leaned forward, peering out the window at the vast expanse of lawn and the picturesque barn that came into full view as Rachel turned onto the governor's drive. Liv's head whipped back around, and her brows rose until her glasses slid down an inch. “Do you have horses?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

“I think there are a few left.” Actually, Rachel wasn't sure. Her Christmas visit had been cut short by work, and there'd been an awful lot of changes lately.

She'd loved to ride as a child, though. When the Reeds had moved here from Manhattan the year Rachel had started first grade, this place had felt boundless and magical. All the rooms, all the green space. Eventually the trade-off proved to be too steep, though, with Rachel's father spending the weekdays working in Manhattan while Rachel's mother drowned her loneliness in excessive domesticity. By the time Rachel had reached high school, she'd grown to resent her rural exile and crave the kind of excitement and freedom her father had.

“Could we stay here while we're in town?” Liv asked. “Please! Let's ditch the Uncomfortable Inn.”

“No.” Rachel appreciated Liv's enthusiasm, but … “There are already too many people and too much drama under this roof. You and I need to stay focused and get back to Philadelphia as soon as possible. The office won't run itself.”

“That's why you left Richard in charge.”

Rachel bristled. “And that pains me.” She hated handing over the reins. It made her feel incompetent. She put the car in park at the top of the circle and leveled Liv with a serious look. “Failing my father, especially under these circumstances, is not an option.”

“I know,” Liv said. “Alzheimer's sucks.” But it was spoken with the blithe tone of a twenty-five-year-old who might as well be complaining about spotty cell service in the middle of farm country.

Rachel nodded as she pushed out of the car and sunk her heels into the pea gravel. Regardless of what shape her father was in, today was bound to go much smoother than yesterday. At least her family knew she was coming. Not to mention Sam Sutter wouldn't pop up here to cause trouble.

She'd never expected to see him yesterday. Of all the trees in all the world, it just had to be the ones butt-ending Sam's property that she needed to cut down. From the dirty looks he'd given her, she could tell he wasn't so thrilled, either, which wasn't exactly a surprise. His mother had been a nature lover. Apparently, the apple didn't fall too far from the proverbial tree. What did surprise Rachel was the fact that a gangly, preteen gnat like Sam Sutter had grown up quite nicely, something that bothered her more than it should.

Back when she'd dated his brother, Sam was always coming around and wanting Luke to play catch or go fishing or watch a baseball game—anything to get his attention off her. He'd been annoying, rude, and a definite strain on the relationship. In the end, she'd let Sam have Luke because she'd set her sights on bigger things after high-school graduation: personal and professional progress. Breaking up with Luke had been the best thing for everybody.

Because the best thing for you is the best thing for everybody?
She wrinkled her nose as Sam's words echoed in her head, and then she swatted at an imaginary gnat.

Up ahead, the double doors opened, and Rachel's mother swept onto the veranda like this homecoming was nothing more than a pleasure trip. Smile in place, she had a floral cardigan wrapped around her narrow waist and her arms open in welcome. The complete opposite of yesterday. “You're just in time for breakfast. When was the last time you lovely ladies had strawberry waffles with whipped cream?”

Strawberry waffles hadn't touched Rachel's lips in years—not since she'd turned thirty and her metabolism had shit the bed. She preferred to save her calories for wine. It was much better to end the day feeling warm and fuzzy than bloated.

“Thank you,” Rachel said, giving her mother the requisite stiff hug, “but we don't have time for a full-on sit-down. We have to make up for the time we lost yesterday, and then we have to prep for a conference call with the Philadelphia acquisitions team. You remember my assistant, Liv.”

“Of course,” Jackie said, smiling at Liv. “Welcome to our home.” Then she lowered her voice and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Don't let her work you too hard.”

“Liv is every bit as hungry as I am,” Rachel assured her mother.

“Then why won't you eat!”

“That's not the kind of hungry I'm talking about. Besides, I need to drink first. The hotel's coffee is terrible.”

Her mother didn't have to be told twice. Jackie headed down the open entry hall toward the kitchen. “One coffee coming right up. Black, just like your father prefers.” She tossed a smile over her shoulder and then asked Liv want she wanted.

Rachel walked along in silence, thinking about that statement—
just like your father
. If she'd heard it once, she'd heard it a thousand times. They shared the same tall, willowy build. The same sunny blond hair. The same tenacity to close a deal. The same ability to disconnect from anything that didn't result in a boost to the bottom line. It was a compliment really, but Rachel couldn't muster the usual pride.

“Good morning.” Rachel's sister stood at the enormous kitchen island, backlit by sunlight streaming in from the windows overlooking the picturesque pool and patio. The rays accented the ribbons of red in Helen Anne's shiny brown hair. Her smile was welcoming, her hips generous, and she favored pastels and floral patterns right down to the apron. Helen Anne was just like Mom. Normally, Rachel didn't focus on the fact that the Reed family genes were clearly divided. But this Alzheimer's thing made her think.

A slight increase in risk was still an increase.

“Good morning,” Rachel said in a calm voice that didn't divulge any of the unrest brewing beneath the surface. It wasn't hard to hide her true feelings from Helen Anne. They'd been too different to ever be inseparable, even as kids, and the occasional text messages, rare phone calls, and sporadic visits over the years did nothing but widen the gap between them.

Another spitting image of Jackie Reed appeared. Macy, Helen Anne's ten-year-old daughter, was wearing an apron, too, and flaunting floured palms. “Hi, Aunt Rachel. We made waffles from scratch.”

“Yum.” Rachel patted her niece on the arm as she passed, determined to get to the office, and said, “Save me some for later. Liv and I have work to do.”

“There's no rush,” Helen Anne said. “Dad's not even up yet.”

Great. He must've forgotten again.
Rachel glanced back at her mother who was busying herself at the coffeepot. “Can you wake him?”

“I would rather not. He tossed and turned last night.”

“What else is new?” Her father had long been an insomniac, like Rachel herself. She'd always figured it was a sign of busy minds at work, but perhaps it was just another lovely genetic snafu she'd inherited. “That's why God made liquor … and Ambien.”

“This is different.” Helen Anne poured cream into the cups her mother had filled—all except one, and then she handed that one to Rachel. “Sleep disturbances are common with Alzheimer's.” She didn't seem to have any trouble saying the word.

“And Dr. Rictor wants us to try non-drug strategies first,” Jackie said.

The mention of Dr. Rictor reminded Rachel of the conversation she'd had with her mother yesterday, and she felt frustrated all over again … but not frustrated enough to lose sight of her business objectives for the day.

“Do you want a waffle?” Macy asked Liv, holding up a plate of food served with a heaping side of hopefulness, and Rachel's guilt multiplied.

“Yes, she wants a waffle.” Rachel forced a smile for her niece's sake. “Liv is no good to me until she's fed. I, on the other hand, will take my coffee and get to work. Liv, I'll be in my dad's office when you're done. Mom, send him my way when he wakes up.” Hopefully soon.

A few steps down the long hall that led to the office, a den, and a library in a dark and quiet corner of the house, Rachel heard Helen Anne call out her name.

Rachel stopped and turned slowly, not wanting to be waylaid.

“Are we ever going to talk?” Helen Anne asked, those brown eyes wounded. “
Really
talk? There's a lot going on around here.”

A lot? Rachel could tell her sister about a lot.
A lot
was executing hundreds of millions of dollars in business decisions as the Senior Vice President and Broker for Reed Commercial Real Estate Services in Philadelphia at exactly the same time you needed to be available to the Pittsburgh office to give final approval when someone so much as sneezed.
A lot
was adding to that the preparation and sale of an indie pro baseball team. But Rachel dug down deep and tried to give her sister the personal attention she apparently needed—if only to cut this conversation short. “Is the divorce final?” she asked bluntly.

Helen Anne frowned, obviously taken aback at Rachel's briskness “Yes. I got the bookstore, and he got the house.” Her nose wrinkled with what Rachel could only assume was disgust. “Somehow he was able to convince the judge it was a fair trade considering Macy and I have been living here for the past year and a half. I didn't argue because I didn't want to be forced to liquidate and sell the store just so he could get his marital share.” Helen Anne paused for a breath, and her exhale was shaky. “Plus, considering Dad's diagnosis, it's a good thing I'm here. Mom needs more help than she's willing to admit.” There it was, the reproach Rachel had assumed her sister would have.

Warranted or not, Rachel did not want to get dragged into a discussion that would no doubt end in an argument because she didn't have time to dote on her parents like Helen Anne did. Everyone had their place in the Reed family. Rachel's role had always been financial—just like their father's. “How's Macy holding up?” she asked instead.

Helen Anne's flawless brows pulled together at the top of her nose, and Rachel knew she wasn't happy to be detoured, but she said, “Macy is fine. She's happy here, and that's the most important thing to me—that the people I love are happy.” She gave Rachel a pointed look that could've been saying a couple things. But before Rachel could decide if she was to be lumped into the collection of people Helen Anne loved, her sister added, “Please tell me you're going to spend some quality time with them this week. They need you to do more than lock yourself in Dad's office.”

“That's arguable,” Rachel said, despite the sinking feeling in her chest. “If you saw the list of things he's asked me to do, you would change your mind.”

Helen Anne rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Rachel. Since you only seem to speak business these days, then how about this? Don't sell the team. Not yet. It's the only thing he has to look forward to. On good days, it's all he can think or talk about. And he's had way more good days than bad. I'm so afraid the tables will turn if he doesn't have the team to distract him.”

Reeds didn't need distractions. They tackled things head on. That's what her father would say. That's what her father had done by marching into Rachel's office two months ago with a specific plan of attack.

“Dad told me to sell the team,” she said. “He's written down every last detail of how I should do it. I'm legally obligated to sell this team on his behalf, and I'm morally obligated to do it the way he wants me to do it. I gave him my word when he gave me special power of attorney.”

“Which means you have the power to delay the sale if you think that's best.”