The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(8)

“I missed two calls from you,” he said. “Sorry about that. Busy week. Lots of surgery.”

“No big deal. We have an understanding—first thing after work comes the wife and kids, then me. I’m very patient.”

“What’s it like out there?”

“Heat wave,” she said with a laugh. “It’s fifty degrees and sunny. I was just looking around the deck to find a good spot for a little portable fire pit so I can bundle up and sit out here at night. What’s Mother Nature doing out there?” she asked.

“You don’t watch the news, I guess.”

In fact she had been obsessed with news of Boston from the weather and current events to the crime. That was where her family was and she thought of them all constantly. But she said, “Not if I can help it.”

“We’re bracing for a nor’easter. Looking at two feet tonight. Roads and airport will probably shut down and everyone will stay home and watch old movies until the electricity goes out.”

“Except you.”

“I’m on call tomorrow night. Tonight I’m watching snow fall and listening to the wind howl.”

“How are Missy and Sissy and Miss Perfect?” she asked.

He let go with a bark of laughter and said, “One of these days I’m going to slip up and call my wife Miss Perfect and when that happens, I’m selling you out. I swear it. Everyone here is fine. Missy is having her first school concert in six weeks and is practicing the cello day and night—it’s almost as big as she is and sounds like mating season at an elk ranch around here. And Sissy is gearing up for a spring dance recital, which for six-year-old girls should be enchanting. Thank God she didn’t choose a musical instrument or I’d start sleeping at the hospital.”

His eight-year-old daughter was Melissa, who they called Missy. His six-year-old daughter was Catherine, who they called Sissy for “sister.” And his wife, Genevieve, she had secretly named Miss Perfect because she was the ultimate wife and mother. She never complained at all. It was unnatural. Here she was, stuck with a couple of kids, tons of responsibility, a mostly absent husband, and yet she took it on with a contented smile. What the hell was that? Laine wondered. Had she no limits?

But Genevieve had two sisters and they were all thicker than thieves. She was a dear and good mother, a faithful wife, a dedicated friend, a beloved daughter and a little too domestic and nurturing for Laine’s blood. And she had taken away Laine’s best friend, her twin brother. She was perfectly wonderful to Laine, but Laine had never warmed to her. They weren’t girlfriends. But then not only did Laine have very few girlfriends, but it was also impossible for anyone to be closer to her than Pax.

“And Senior?”

“The same. You haven’t heard from him, huh?”

“No. Frankly I’m not surprised. I told him not to call me until he’s ready to apologize for being such an ass and has something positive to say to me, so I imagine hell will freeze over before I see his name on the caller ID.”

“You take him too seriously,” Pax said. “Learn to not hear him. Nod, say nothing, do as you please.”

“I can’t,” she said. “You get away with that. He’s not as critical of your choices....”

“Yes, he is. But I don’t care. He’s not driving my bus. And if you’re honest, you have to admit, no one but you has been driving your bus for a long, long time. Like since you were seven.”

“He aggravates me so,” she said. “He thinks if he opens his mouth it must be gospel and we should all thank him for taking the time and trouble to move his tongue against his teeth.”

“Don’t get worked up all over again,” Pax counseled. “It’s over. You moved. I just wish you weren’t so damn far away. Get your computer set up and use Skype with the girls—they miss you.”

“He doesn’t treat you like he does me,” Laine said, unable to let it go yet. “He’s very proud of you!”

“He thinks I took his advice and became a doctor. I didn’t. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. And he’s still telling me how to work even though he doesn’t know shit about pediatric surgery. I try to tell him as little as possible, but I also never take him seriously. Now tell me what’s new and exciting in your little town.”

“I painted a wall,” she said with a weary sigh. “Mostly with my left arm. And I’m going to paint another wall, but I think that’s it. I had to have a friend hang the pictures—this arm isn’t strong yet, especially when reaching over my head. I’ve read three books since I talked to you last Tuesday, today was the first day it was decent enough for a good run, but I swear to God the cold makes the screws in my shoulder throb....”

“You know it’s not the screws....”

“Feels like it.”

Laine’s parents were both doctors. Her grandfathers on both sides were doctors. She had two cousins who were doctors. Successful men and women, all. Laine wasn’t the first Carrington or Wescott to choose another profession, but Dr. Paxton Carrington Sr. was appalled when she changed her major from premed to criminal justice. “Believe me, you don’t want to live in a blue-collar world,” he had said. Blue-collar world? It was almost impossible to get into the FBI without an advanced degree.