When she’d taken time off, she’d closed down her small storefront office from which she ran her interior-design business and called her most immediate clients to explain she’d had a family emergency. Though many of her existing clients were antsy, if her overly full answering machine was a judge, there were none who couldn’t be soothed with a phone call and rescheduled appointment. This morning, she had a legal pad full of phone calls to make, consisting of basic things ranging from overdue furniture deliveries to scheduling a pickup on a wall unit a client decided she wasn’t happy with, after all. Easy enough , Sloane thought.
She was a people person, something she’d probably learned—she could no longer say inherited—from Michael. Meeting with her clients while trying to combine their needs with her vision normally gave her a great deal of satisfaction. But since her trip to Chase’s hometown, everything here felt bland. Dull. Lifeless.
She tapped the pen on the desktop, reminding herself she lived in Washington, D.C., the nation’s capital. A swinging town at night and a bustling city during the day. So why did the sleepy upstate New York town and its eclectic citizens draw her so? Or was it just Chase who pulled at her like a magnet? She missed him so bad, she ached.
Shake it off, Sloane. Life goes on, she reminded herself harshly. She’d let him go so that he could experience the rich life he’d envisioned, the one of a single man who found ultimate success as a journalist. A life no longer tied to family or obligation. She’d never have forgiven herself if she’d accepted his words of love and tied him to a future, only to see regret and longing in his eyes later on.
The jingling of bells signaled she had a visitor and Sloane glanced up.
Her friend Annelise walked in the door, two cups of Starbucks coffee in hand and a scowl on her lips. “Well, well, well, look who came home.” Annelise handed Sloane a grande -
size cup. “What kind of friend disappears without a word? Doesn’t call? Leaves me to worry?” She sat down, coffee in hand. “I called Madeline and she said you were taking some breathing room,” Annelise said, her voice rising. “Wouldn’t a real friend know if you needed breathing room?” Her pout was as real as her concern.
Sloane’s guilt rose to the surface and she winced. “I’m so sorry.” From the moment she’d overheard Robert and Frank admit Michael wasn’t her father, forcing her to find solace in Chase, Sloane had been single-minded in her pursuit of Samson. And protective of her time with Chase Chandler. All at the expense of her job, her friends, her life.
Yet here she was, back home, engrossed in work, being berated by a concerned friend, and all Sloane could think of was the people she’d left behind. This life no longer felt like hers. In fact, she hadn’t thought about it once since she’d taken off for Yorkshire Falls.
Annelise rapped on Sloane’s desk with her knuckles. “You’re not paying attention to anything I’ve been saying.”
Her friend deserved better. “Annelise, I really am sorry,” Sloane said. “I’ve just been through a major life crisis and . . . I guess I had to do it alone.” She expelled a long breath. “I’m still coming to terms with some changes.”
“I know.” Reaching into her purse, Annelise pulled out the newspaper Sloane had avoided, not wanting to know when her life became public and she’d lost Chase to success.
Annelise pushed the paper in front of Sloane. “Michael Carlisle’s not your real father; some man named Samson is. And what a scandalous history is involved in that story,”
she said, but her voice had softened, no hint of anger in her tone. “I had to read about it in the paper. I wish you’d felt you could confide in me.” She sounded more hurt than angry.
Sloane centered the front page to read the headlines. FATHERFRAUD ORFATHERFIGURE?
SENATORMICHAELCARLISLEREVEALSHIDDENFAMILYSKELETONS. “Ugh,” she muttered. But as she scanned the contents of the article, she read not just an unbiased accounting of the facts, but a rosy picture of the life Sloane had led and the reasons behind it, no dirt heaped on the senator or his character.
And that, Sloane realized, was because the author was Chase Chandler, the article having been picked up by the major newspapers, the Washington Post included. Headlines and innuendos weren’t of his choosing, she was sure. Pride swelled inside of Sloane as she accepted he was living his dream at last.
He’d broken the story of Michael’s secrets, Sloane’s parentage, and her shooting in a way that dignified everyone involved, including Samson. She chuckled, imagining how difficult Chase had found that particular task. Still, the story was out now, she thought, and said a silent prayer that Michael’s career didn’t suffer because of decisions he’d made in the past.
Slowly she met her friend’s gaze. “It’s been a wild ride,” she admitted, patting her shoulder softly. “Sometimes a dangerous one.”
Annelise nodded. “And I can see how something like this would send you reeling.”
Sloane sighed. “That’s an understatement. I’m not sure I could have shared or explained this to anyone. I’m glad it’s all public now.” She spread her hands in front of her. “And thank you for understanding.”
Annelise nodded. “I’m your friend, Sloane. And that means I’m available for discussion.
If you ever decide you want to talk about this guy you’re mooning over, I’m here.”
“What makes you think I’m mooning over a guy?” Sloane asked after pausing to join her friend for a sip of coffee. The drink was too sweet and she grimaced. “Am I that readable?”
“You sure are. Your emotions are plastered across your face. You’re miserable and it isn’t family issues bothering you, and before you ask how I know . . . Well, I can just tell.” Annelise leaned forward, her elbow brushing fabric swatches laid out on the table.
“By the way, I like this pattern.”
“It’s called a trellis.” Like some of the hangings on Norman’s bird-filled walls, Sloane thought.
And that was another weird thing. The little hole-in-the-wall diner with no real sense of style appealed to Sloane far more than the places she frequented in D.C. The ones who paid the finest decorators to create an atmosphere customers would want to return to.
Sloane missed the tacky birds.
“Okay, your body may be here, but you are still lost in thought.” Annelise picked up her purse. “Call me when you want to talk, okay?”