Family Pieces Read online

  She didn’t speak.

  “Karsen,” he set his beer down and sat beside her. “Really, what…did you get a B on a test or something? It can’t be that bad.”

  “My mother…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “What?”

  She sat silent. Realizing how upset she was, he put his arms around her and pulled her closer. “What, hun?”

  “My mother’s dead.”

  “Oh God, K. I’m so sorry.” She rested her head against his strong chest.

  “She was in a car accident. How could this happen?”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.” He held her, shocked himself at the news.

  “Why? Why now?”

  “Oh, K. I wish I could say something that would help. I just don’t know.” He was, for once, at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We’re flying back tomorrow. Brad booked tickets for us, but I need you there. Please come.”

  “Karsen, I can’t.”

  “James, please. I need you. I can’t get through this alone.”

  “You’re not alone. Brad and your dad will be with you.” “But I want you there. Please. The funeral isn’t until Saturday. You won’t have to miss much work; you can fly out Friday afternoon.”

  “I just…I just can’t ask for time off. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you when I came in, but I’m just about to land a client that will almost guarantee me a promotion to district sales manager. I can’t leave right now.”

  Karsen pulled back and glared directly into his deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry my mother’s death didn’t come at a more convenient time for you.”

  “Karsen, truly, you’re being emotional.”

  “Of course I’m being emotional. My mother was not supposed to die.” She couldn’t believe during this period of greatest need he would not even ask for the time off work to be with her.

  “You know I would go. I just can’t leave town. Not this weekend.”

  Rather than force the issue, Karsen bit her tongue, telling herself that his focus and determination would be the driving force to secure their not-too distant future together.

  The fact that Brad was upset about James didn’t surprise her. He never hesitated to show his disapproval of his sister’s relationships. It was no secret he didn’t care for James. In her mind, this would have to change if he was going to be his brother-in-law someday. She once welcomed her ever-protective big brother’s concern. Now she wished he’d simply give James a chance.

  The car fell uncomfortably silent as they drove. Karsen and Brad were both lost in grief, a pain Hanna couldn’t even imagine and didn’t want to.

  For the remainder of the drive, Karsen watched without seeing as the familiar Arizona landscape passed by through the window. She held her necklace tight as she searched to make sense of it all. Nothing could have prepared her to lose her mother. She felt as if a piece of her was missing.

  2

  Addison Reynolds’s blood pressure rose as she scanned the ad on page thirty-two. As CEO of Urbane, one of the world’s top fashion magazines, she had walked into her Manhattan office this Friday morning to an urgent – and angry – message from one of her largest and longtime advertisers, George Montague. “This is unacceptable! Pull all my ads, NOW!”

  She scanned the advertisement apprehensively. At first glance everything appeared accurate. Then she saw it. There, in the services list, in black, bold letters: “Brow, Lip and Chip Waxing.”

  Addison cringed at the now obvious typo that would be seen in this month’s issue by over a million avid readers. “What the hell is a ‘chip’? It’s chin!” she muttered to herself in exasperation. Not the most popular service by any means, but still – ‘chip’ waxing? How many staff members had missed it in proofing the ad of one of her most important clients?

  She hit the all-page button.

  “Jacob! My office.” Her tone meant pronto.

  Addison’s new junior assistant, Jacob, appeared in a flash. She didn’t even give him time to shut the door behind him.

  “One letter. Do you realize one letter could cost me millions?” Addison snapped.

  His perplexed facial expression told her he didn’t.

  “How did this happen?” she demanded, pushing the magazine across her desk toward Jacob, her highly polished nail pointing to the word ‘chip’ on the page.

  Like a deer in the headlights, Jacob stuttered, knowing the question was strictly rhetorical. He had been thrown into the fire when Addison’s senior publishing assistant went on maternity leave prematurely, and had not yet gotten a clear read on Addison’s opinion of his capabilities. Although his credentials out of college were glowing, he lacked the practical experience one obtains on the job. He consistently felt as if he should be updating his resume. The one positive characteristic he had going for him was he was willing to work long hours to get the job done. But no matter how many hours he worked, no matter if terrorists had held the staff hostage, or aliens abducted them before proofing, there was no acceptable explanation to make the terrible typo tolerable.

  Impatiently, Addison held her hand up for him to stop before Jacob uttered an entire sentence.

  “Never mind. Never mind. I don’t want to hear an excuse. Just come to me with a solution. One hour,” she ordered, waving him out of her office. Jacob did not delay. Shaking, he was out the door as quickly as he had appeared.

  Sitting back, her head resting against the chair, Addison stared at the ceiling. She didn’t mean to belittle Jacob. But mistakes at this level are catastrophic. Like your husband getting caught in the shower with the nanny, the trust between two parties completely ruined. Work was her marriage. If she failed, she had nothing. Or so she believed.

  Breathe. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Exhale – hoo. Inhale – exhale - hoo. All too often, she felt the stress within her boil to where she thought she would explode. She knew it was unhealthy yet she couldn’t seem to curb her behavior. By definition, she was a classic workaholic. She spent thirteen-, sometimes fourteen-hour days at the office, then ventured to evening press outings and charity events. She didn’t consider it a sacrifice. This was her identity. Her choice since she had taken over the magazine’s day-to-day operations upon her father’s retirement four years ago. On the outside, her life looked like the picture of success. But lately, on the inside she felt as though something was missing. She wondered if she were having an early mid-life crisis or if she were truly in over her head.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of her administrative assistant on the speakerphone. “I have Mr. Montague on line one,” reported Marjorie.

  Addison thanked her and inhaled one last, deep cleansing breath. She visualized a peaceful conversation. In her most professional but sincere voice she picked up the line.

  “Mr. Montague. I received your message and before we begin, let me apologize profusely. The mistake is unacceptable. We are working on a solution to rectify this immediately...”

  “Mistakes did not happen when your father was in charge,” interjected the voice on the other end of the line. “I was afraid of this.” Montague’s thick, Italian accent dripped with disdain. Addison inwardly boiled at the insult. It had been four uneventful years since she took over the reigns of Urbane from her father, and now one mistake and she’s suddenly incompetent? How easily clients forget, she thought. She pushed her own irritation into the pit of her stomach and buried it there.

  “Please understand, Mr. Montague. This was a one-time oversight. Obviously, we will make all necessary strides to see that it does not happen again...”

  “My reputation cannot allow that chance,” Montague interrupted. “You do realize there are competitor magazines vying for my business every day. ‘Chip waxing.’ What the hell is a chip? I’ll be the laughing stock of the industry!” His voice rose again.

  Remaining calm, Addison said empathetically, “Mr. Montague. I understand your frustration. I’ve been there
, too. But from my experience, if you allow us the opportunity to resolve the issue, we can move forward with a clean slate. You have a history here. Trust me, I will not allow the reputation of my father’s magazine to be tarnished.”

  Silence.

  “Mr. Montague?”

  “Fine. I’ll expect a phone call tomorrow.”

  She heard the phone disconnect. She’d bought a little time, but found no comfort in his tone. They needed a solution. Fast.

  “Addison,” Jacob barged through the door to her office unannounced.

  “Shit, Jacob!” She was pulling her shirt overhead. The photographer for her new editorial photo would be there momentarily. Jacob turned, averting his eyes. “Don’t you knock?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, but we have an idea,” he replied excitedly, his hand shielding his eyes.

  “Great. Let’s have it. You can uncover your eyes now.”

  He looked directly at her, trying to portray a renewed sense of confidence. “A two page, comp advertorial. One side describing the spa’s latest treatment, the other page, in bold print, “If you can tell us what your ‘chip’ is, we’ll wax it for FREE.”

  Jacob waited, trying to control his belabored breathing. His palms trickled with sweat.

  Addison’s response was not immediate. She hated giving anything away, but circumstances warranted it. The concept itself was unique, she thought, using humor to diffuse the error. While there was always the risk that acknowledging the mistake would bring more attention to it, she figured it was one worth taking. She could sell it to Montague because it would double the exposure for the spa in the magazine and build a new clientele for a lesser-known service.

  “Work up an article and print a mock-up. I want it on my desk by 2 p.m. Not a minute later.” She shooed him out so she could finish changing.

  David, Addison’s photographer, arrived promptly for their nine o’clock shoot. She updated her photo for the inside editorial page every three months to keep it fresh. In reality, she’d rather be behind the scenes than in the magazine at all, even though her looks could easily rival any cover model. Much to her chagrin, in addition to Urbane, her flawless beauty and sporadic love life kept her dabbled across the news and, of course, the occasional tabloid.

  “Addy, darling! How are you?” David flared his arms to grant her a welcoming embrace. “You look stunning as always,” he added admiringly. David had photographed her for the last four years. She liked how his photos perfectly captured her professional image.

  “You always make me out to look a zillion times better than I really do, my friend. How have you been?” Addison kissed him on both cheeks in greeting.

  “Good. Extremely busy. I just shot the fashion show for Givenchy yesterday. It was unbelievable. Gerdie had a baby six weeks ago and commandeered the runway with her taut little belly. Had I not seen the baby myself, I’d think it was a hoax.”

  Smirking, Addison thought to herself, she probably doesn’t eat, and focused on the task at hand. “So where do you want me today, David? By the window? In the chair?”

  Bored with shooting the standard, stifling corporate headshot, he made his usual plea to try something new.

  “Oh, Addy. Let’s make it real today, shall we? You aren’t the stuffy broad you portray. Let’s let the rest of the world in on the secret,” he said mischievously.

  Addison started to say no, but stopped mid-sentence. “You know what? With the morning I’ve had, I don’t have the energy to argue with you. What do you have in mind?”

  “Yes!” David exclaimed like he’d just won the lottery. He pulled his camera bag over his shoulder and tossed her the coat hanging by the door. He then grabbed her hand and hurried her toward the elevator before she could change her mind.

  Taking the elevator to the lobby, he quickly led her through the exit to the outside curb. Addison followed willingly, but still felt a bit less than her usual take charge, alpha-dog self.

  Climbing into a cab, David directed the driver to Central Park.

  “You want to shoot in Central Park? Should I find a bench with a bum to pose with?” Addison asked sarcastically.

  David shot her a piercing look, surprised to hear a comment like that come from her. “Addy, I can’t believe...”

  “Sorry. That came out wrong,” she cut him off mid-sentence, realizing she didn’t like the person she’d become over the last few weeks. She was behaving like a bitch and she knew it, yet she couldn’t seem to get herself under control. She had to get a grip.

  After a short ride, the cab driver pulled to the curb where David indicated. David paid the fare and led Addison to a large, quiet area within the park.

  “Stand over there. We’re going to shoot a soft, natural side of you.” He pointed to the base of a large tree trunk, the branches above still dusted with a light layer of snow. He quickly unpacked his camera and flipped through his bag to choose the appropriate lens.

  “You do realize that it’s winter, right?” Addison shivered as she shed her coat and walked to the tree.

  He held his finger to his lips, ignoring her remark and instructed her further. “Foot up. Hands crossed behind you. Chin down.”

  “You mean my chip?” she asked. He looked at her funny, not getting the joke. She laughed nervously, which broke her gloomy mood. “Read next month’s issue.”

  “Okay, eyes up at me.”

  As she glanced up, she felt like a trained monkey. How models did this for a living was beyond her.

  David walked over to her. “Fabulous. Now dear, take down your hair.” Her fingers trembled from the cold as she pulled the bobby pins out, allowing her warm chestnut hair to fall in soft waves around her shoulders. David paced backwards.

  “Hmmm.” He squinted, face perplexed. “Still too stiff. Off with the scarf,” he demanded.

  Addison pulled it off and threw it aside.

  “Better. Now, unbutton the top few buttons.”

  “Why, David. I never...,” she teased, knowing it was all for the image.

  “Sorry dear, you know you’re not my type. All right, you look sexy, girl! Come on, give me sexy. Grrrr!” David raised his brows suggestively.

  Addison couldn’t help but giggle and began to relax. “What did I agree to?” She shook her head as she undid two buttons. Her necklace peeked out above the opening.

  “Perfect,” he said, lifting the viewfinder to his eye. The shutter clicked repetitively as he snapped what seemed to Addison to be a hundred photos.

  “I can’t feel my fingertips, David,” she said, blowing into her fists to warm them.

  “All right, we’re done. Here.” He handed her her coat.

  “Thanks. You’re going to owe me for this one.” She pulled on her coat and wrapped her scarf snuggly around her neck.

  “Not once you see the prints. They’re going to be magical!” he said excitedly, making a starburst gesture with his fingers.

  “You mean marvelous?” she corrected.

  “No, magical. I just have a feeling these photos are going to bring you happiness.”

  3

  Flying into Chicago was predictably unpredictable. In the summer, the winds or lightning storms could close down the airport without warning. In the winter, the snow often grounded more planes than not. But Karsen and Brad managed to make their connecting flight.

  When they arrived in South Bend, their dad stood waiting just beyond the secured area. Under his jacket, Karsen could see the faded blue of an old Colts t-shirt that she could tell hadn’t been washed. His eyes looked more tired and aged than she remembered from just a few days before. He hugged them one at a time, holding each embrace longer than his usual welcome hug.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Karsen muttered. For a brief moment, she felt as though her mother would appear, having popped into the one novelty store in the tiny municipal airport while she awaited their arrival. The feeling passed and she held back tears as only the three of them trudged toward baggage claim. Life as she once knew it would n
ever be the same.

  Outside, the rain poured down. The car was parked in the economy lot and by the time she climbed into her father’s car, Karsen’s dark hair hung soaked around her face.

  “Are all the arrangements set?” Brad asked his father.

  “I wish I could say yes, but your mom always took care of these sorts of things. The viewing is scheduled for Friday evening and the funeral services on Saturday.”

  “Karsen and I can help finish the planning tomorrow. Try not to stress about it, Dad. It will come together.”

  Karsen kept quiet. She couldn’t help but think of how frivolous people were taking a year to plan a wedding, yet they had only a day to plan her mom’s final farewell. It didn’t seem right.

  They arrived at the Woods’s home and conversation eased slightly as they made small talk over where to set the suitcases and whether or not they were hungry. Karsen scanned the room as her mother’s favorite companion, her fluffy, five-pound Maltese, pounced at Karsen’s feet.

  “Hey, Belle, ol’ girl,” Karsen bent down to pet her. The dog looked as though she appreciated the attention. “Yeah, I miss her too.” Karsen couldn’t help but understand. She also sensed her mother’s absence. Although her mother’s belongings filled the house like she’d return any moment, Karsen felt an indescribable void deep inside.

  Mr. Woods and Brad finished moving the luggage to the bedrooms before returning to the kitchen.

  “I’ve got deli meat for sandwiches, if that’s okay with the two of you. Sorry it’s not anything fancier,” Carl said.

  “Sure, Dad. That’s fine.” Brad answered.

  Karsen couldn’t fathom eating, but at her father’s insistence she prepared a plate. The three sat down at the kitchen table.

  “Dad?” Brad began. “You didn’t really tell us what happened.”

  Carl finished chewing, more to delay than out of manners. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t want to burden you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing does.”