Beach House Reunion (Beach House #5)(92)

“In here,” he called back.

Linnea walked to the living room, following the sound of Palmer’s voice. The thick silk drapes were closed against the storm. Not a gleam of light came from the large crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Only the small light positioned above the portrait of her grandfather Stratton Rutledge shone on the massive, ornately framed painting.

Linnea had never really known her grandfather. He’d died while she was young. Nonetheless, she’d heard the stories of his ruthlessness, and thus was a little afraid of him. She’d often wondered why her mother never took the painting down after he died, knowing how she felt about the man. One of a pair of blue velvet wing chairs had been moved to sit in direct line of view of the portrait.

“Daddy?” she called softly, approaching. She peered around the tall back of the chair, and then her shoulders slumped. Palmer was sitting in the chair, his meaty hands on the armrests. In one of them was a tumbler half-filled with a brown liquid. “What are you doing sitting here alone in the dark?”

Palmer glanced up at her briefly, his eyes red and swollen with grief, then turned his gaze back to the portrait. “I’m ruminating.”

She’d never seen him like this. Almost manic. He’d obviously hit the bottle the moment he got home. Linnea didn’t know if she was more annoyed or frightened.

“Julia!” he bellowed.

Linnea startled at his outburst and swung her head to look at her mother out in the foyer. Julia straightened, but her face was impassive. Cold. She stood staring into the room but didn’t reply.

“You’ve been gone all day,” Palmer called to her in a belligerent tone.

“You left,” Julia said accusingly. “You left your son lying in the hospital.”

Linnea stood frozen between her father and her mother. Outside, the wind was howling. Inside, Linnea felt a storm building in the room, as fierce as the one outdoors. The tension was thick and conditions were tempestuous. Her mind flashed warnings.

“Do you hear me, woman?” Palmer shouted, rising to a stand. He rocked on his heels with the effort, sticking out a hand to balance himself on the tall back of the wing chair.

Something in Linnea snapped. She couldn’t take any more. She threw caution to the wind and reared up. “She’s not some woman. She’s your wife!” she shouted. “She spent the whole night and all morning with Cooper. Leave her alone!”

Palmer rounded on her. “Watch your mouth, little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl and I will not watch my mouth!” she cried. She wiped a droplet of rainwater from her forehead. “In fact, I wish I hadn’t been so meek before. Maybe if I’d spoken up, Cooper wouldn’t be in the hospital now.”

“Linnea . . .” her mother said in a warning tone. She moved into the room to stand a few feet from them.

“I knew he wasn’t himself,” Linnea cried. “Yes, he was drinking. But it went way beyond social drinking. And it wasn’t boys will be boys drinking, either. He was drinking to get drunk. He was taking drugs to escape. He was doing it because he couldn’t face his life.” Her chest rose and fell with emotion, making it difficult to get the words out. “You told him all that bullshit about what it meant to be a Rutledge. How you went to the Citadel and Granddad went there. Why couldn’t you just once ask him what he wanted to do?”

“He wanted to go,” Palmer countered, almost pleading his case. “He enrolled, didn’t he? He’s just having a tough first week. Knobs have it hard. But, hell, it’s part of the system. Makes you a man.”

Linnea put her palms to the sides of her head and shrieked as loud as the howling wind: “You’re still not listening! He. Did. Not. Want. To. Go!”

No one spoke. Behind the curtains, the windows rattled from the force of the wind. It sounded like some ghost trying to get in.

Linnea felt spent. Her hands dropped to her sides. “You never listen. That’s the problem. Neither of you,” she said, turning to include her mother. Julia’s face drooped.

“And I’m no better,” she continued. “I pretended it wasn’t my problem. That he was a big boy now and could figure this out for himself. I should have helped Cooper find a way to speak up for himself. To stop hiding his feelings and tell you how he felt.”

The vision of Cooper sitting in the dayroom of the mental hospital, blankly staring out the tall windows, haunted her. Tears flooded her eyes. “He’s lost.” She hastily wiped her eyes. “You know what I think?” she asked her parents. “I think he did take an overdose deliberately. It wasn’t an accident. And do you know why? Because if he did overdose, he’d get kicked out of the Citadel. Cooper was willing to risk his life rather than tell you face-to-face how he felt.”

“Linnea, don’t say that!” Julia cried, her voice broken.

“You’re making this all up,” Palmer said belligerently. His hands fisted and relaxed nervously at his sides and he stuck his jaw out in defense. “Cooper said he didn’t try to hurt himself. The doctor confirmed it. You heard it.” He turned to Julia for confirmation.

Linnea shook her head and huffed out a short laugh, feeling some of Cooper’s hopelessness. “It doesn’t matter, does it? It almost killed him. But, hey!” She lifted her palms with exaggeration. “He got you to listen.”