Thankfully, she’d kept Buddy away from their relationship, in the dark about everything until she just couldn’t hide it all anymore. Buddy’s personality kept him from interfering too much, though, which gave Tyrone the idea that he didn’t serve in any way as a support system for her, and that caused Tyrone to leave their relationship alone.
If she believed God would hear her, she’d thank Him. Instead, she just felt general gratitude over the way she still had a support system in place, a family in Atlanta that still loved her. Until those lonely days of healing, she had no idea how much she needed people to care about her.
Once Auntie Rose, as Valerie had called her since toddlerhood, had come to visit, the maternal love flowed from her and Valerie felt herself getting better in response. She stayed for three weeks, sitting next to her hospital bed, then sleeping on her couch and driving her to therapies and doctor visits. Valerie honestly didn’t know what she’d have done without her.
She imagined her mother would have done the same thing—provided Tyrone hadn’t managed to destroy that relationship, of course. Aunt Rose’s presence resettled her and started her healing emotionally more than anything else could have.
She rubbed her stomach, as if she could rub away the ball of shame that came from knowing how easily Tyrone had manipulated and used her. How, oh how, could she have let that happen? What hole in her life had Tyrone filled that convinced her to allow him to treat her the way he had, without ever stopping him or confiding in someone? How could she ever trust herself to fall in love again?
With a sound of disgust, she shut the bedroom door and walked back to the entryway to make sure she had actually dead bolted the lock and secured the chain. Her mind at ease about the task, she went into the kitchen. She needed to get to the point that she didn’t think someone hid under her bed every night before she could get to the point of thinking about a future relationship that probably wouldn’t ever materialize anyway.
She could see it now. “Hi, I’m Valerie. Nice to meet you. My last boyfriend threw me off a second-story balcony and broke my hip. But don’t worry, no baggage here. I do have a lovely scar, though, from my hip replacement surgery.”
Without meaning to, she slammed the kettle onto the stove so that the sound cracked through the room. Realizing what she’d done, she covered the handle with her palm, as if trying to calm it down instead of herself, and took a deep breath. Feeling less crazy, she turned the knob for the burner, listening to the ticking sound of the gas igniting. While the water in the kettle heated, she put a bag of spearmint tea and a squirt of honey into a mug. She leaned against the counter and waited for the water to boil, thinking back to dinner tonight.
It had been so wonderful to sit at that table again, surrounded by the Dixon family. She didn’t even realize how much she’d missed being there for the last thirteen years. Walking through the gardens, pretending to jump over alligators, chatting with the boys, looking into Brad’s eyes and wishing he’d see her as something other than a sister, it all felt good and right and normal. It felt as if the rest of her life had just existed as this out-of-place event that happened to her peripherally, and the Dixon estate and family had all paused and waited for her to put her life back where it belonged.
Silly, though. She’d lived away from Atlanta almost the same amount of time as she’d lived in Atlanta.
After pouring boiling water over her tea bag, she checked the sliding glass door again, made sure that metal bar security lock was tightly in place, then went back to the front door and double-checked the locks. Leaving the lights on, she moved back through the house and to her bedroom. She plugged her phone in next to the bed, set the five o’clock alarm, and slipped between the covers.
Phillip Dixon looked up fromthe job schedule he examined and saw Rosaline staring off into the distance. “He’s going to work it out,” he said.
Her lips curved in a soft smile. “Eventually. Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about his heart right now.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We can’t control his heart. That’s up to someone else.”
His wife of forty years set her crochet hook into her yarn basket and stood, lifting her arms above her head and stretching left and right. “She’s back now. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll find peace and contentment.”
“Rosie,” Phillip said on a sigh, “it’s been a long time. They were just fifteen. It’s been almost fifteen years. Tell me something. What makes you think he still feels the same way?”
She walked around to his side of the desk and sat on the edge of it, leaning forward so she could put a hand on each of his shoulders. “Did you see his face tonight, love? Did you see how he looked at her? I did.”
Phillip’s jaw clenched. “I saw him walk out of dinner.”
Rosaline closed her eyes and nodded. “I know, dear. You have a year before retirement. I’m sure he’s overwhelmed, overworked, and now Valerie Flynn is back. Let’s see if things settle with him.”
“He’s the right man for the job, Rosie. I know it. You know it. His brothers know it. What’s more, he’s very good at it.”
“Of course, he is. He’s your son. He has the benefit of your wisdom and hard-earned experience.” She kissed his cheek and he inhaled the smell of her perfume. “He’ll know it when it’s time. God’s called many people who took some kicking and screaming before they settled in. We’ll just continue to pray for him and be here for him. Just like with Jon.”
Phillip felt a rush of anger mixed with sorrow. “That boy. What are we going to do about him?”
“We’ve done it, love. We’ve trained him up. Whether he returns isn’t up to us. We just love him.” She straightened and pushed off the desk. “I’m heading up. I have a women’s club tea in the morning. Don’t stay up too late.”
He stared at the open doorway to his office for a long time after Rosaline left. Pushing thoughts of Jon and his newly declared rejection of a life of Christian faith aside, he focused his mind on Brad. Each of his sons had different strengths. Before he’d promoted Brad to the presidency, he’d contemplated splitting the company up between the three brothers. But that never felt right.
In his early twenties, he’d partnered with Jeremiah Mason and created Mason-Dixon Contracting. They’d grown faster than either could hope for, but a disagreement over a single building contract caused a split between the two men and a division of the company. Jeremiah had gone into massive real estate building and city planning, and Phillip had concentrated on home building and smaller commercial projects. After Jeremiah’s untimely death, Phillip found himself in a position to buy out the company, finishing up the current projects Mason had started, and growing his bonding capacity with the profits.
The higher his insurance company would set his bond limit—the insurance that would protect investors if the builder pulled out of a contract for some reason—the more expensive the projects he could bid and win. Soon, he had his own architects and engineers, in-house legal teams, and accounting teams, and had split the residential from the commercial contracting in terms of project managers and superintendents.
By the time his boys entered his workforce, he owned one of the largest general contracting and architectural firms in the southeast. They had hundreds of jobs spanning six states going on at one time and satellite offices throughout Georgia, Alabama, Florida, and the Carolinas.
If Brad didn’t want to continue as president of his company, he’d have to split it up. He didn’t have another option. Neither Ken nor Jon had the skills to run the entire thing the way Brad ran it. If only Brad would come to see that.
As if his thoughts conjured his son, Phillip heard a footstep in the outer hall and watched Brad come into his office. He wanted to put on the hard outer shell of a disappointed father, but his heart hurt too much for his son to pretend.
“Hey.”
