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“I thought you might decide that.”
“He’s an unreasonable man, Dad.”
Her father didn’t answer. “Jason,” he said to the guard who’d first questioned her. “Until you hear otherwise, my daughter is banned from the building.”
Jason nodded grimly, as if to suggest she’d better not enter this lobby again, not on his watch. “Yes, sir!”
Great. If her father had anything to say about it, the next time she set foot on Fletcher property she’d likely be shot on sight.
Nine
Roy sat back down at his desk and for the first time in months—years—he burst out laughing. He laughed without restraint. Then he returned to work, stared at his computer screen and started to laugh all over again.
The phone rang and Ms. Johnson interrupted his laugh-fest. “Your mother’s on line one.”
His mother? Not until Roy picked up the receiver did he recall that he’d just seen her the week before. He generally heard from her once a month; any more often was unusual. She’d said something about wanting him to see one of her paintings, but he’d told her he’d do that on Christmas Day.
“Hello, Mom.”
The line was silent.
“Mom?”
“Roy, is that you? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“It’s me,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Are you …” She paused, apparently searching for the right word. “You’re not laughing, are you?”
“Laughing?” he repeated, trying to sober his voice. “I was earlier.”
“A joke?” she asked.
“Actually, it was a woman. Her father’s employed here and she stormed into my office filled with righteous indignation about some nonsense or other. I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything funnier.” Humor overtook him again and he burst into waves of laughter as he described Julie’s outrage. Soon his mother was laughing, too. She seemed to find the scene as hilarious as he did.
“What can I do for you?” Roy asked as he wiped his eyes.
“I wanted to make arrangements to come and paint,” she said.
“I thought you wanted me to come to your house—to look at one of your paintings.”
She had him completely confused now. Did his mother believe he was going to let her do custodial work? “What do you want to paint?”
“The lobby windows,” she said as if it should be perfectly obvious. “Remember? We talked about this a couple of weeks ago. I’m going to paint a holiday scene on the lobby windows.”
In Roy’s opinion, Christmas wasn’t all that different from any other day of the year. He’d do his duty and spend it with his mother; they’d exchange gifts against a background of decorations that brought back painful memories for him—painful because they were good. The truth was, he no longer cared much for Christmas. The holidays didn’t even resemble what he’d once known, those warm, happy times, joking with his parents, feeling their love for him and for each other. That had been a façade, he now realized. His father had become cynical and jaded as the years passed. Roy hadn’t seen that until it was too late. Far too late.
“Oh, yes. Now that you’ve reminded me, I do remember. You can paint whatever you want, Mother,” he told her. “I’ve already let the security people know.”
“I have a wonderful idea.”
She started to detail her plans—something about angels—but he cut her off. “Mother, this isn’t the Sistine Chapel. Don’t worry about it.”
“I know, but … well, I was thinking I’d paint a religious scene with angels similar to the one in this painting I was telling you about. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”
There was no point in arguing with her even if he did object. “All right, paint your angels. I’ll have the windows cleaned.”
Her appreciative sigh came over the telephone line. “Thank you, Roy. I’ll be there Wednesday.”
“Fine.”
“I’m not going to bother you,” she assured him. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
This seemed to be his day for dealing with irrational women. He could hear the determination in his mother’s voice. For whatever reason, she felt it was important to paint a Christmas scene, and not just any scene, either. But if painting angels on his windows made her happy, then he guessed there was no harm in it.
“Fine, Mother, come and do as you wish.”
“I promise you’re going to love my Christmas angels.”
Roy rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I will, Mother.”
She seemed to be in a chatty mood and went on about dinner with her college friend. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” she asked after talking nonstop for several minutes. “I know how busy you are.”
For the first time in a very long while, Roy found he actually liked speaking to his mother—as much as he was capable of liking anything other than business. “It’s fine, Mom.”
For some reason, she seemed to get choked up over that and quickly ended the conversation. He replaced the receiver and stared down at his phone, hardly knowing what to make of his mother. Women. He’d never understand them.
Roy worked for another half hour and then realized he wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he was leaving the office. Any file he needed could be accessed from the computer at his condo—a sprawling five-thousand-square-foot penthouse suite overlooking Lake Washington.
As Roy left the elevator and walked into the lobby, he saw a truck towing a vehicle away from the handicapped parking slot.
Jason, the security guard, wore a satisfied grin. “Ms. Wilcoff’s car,” he said, answering Roy’s unspoken question. “In her rush to get in to see you, she parked illegally. Her father wasn’t willing to make allowances.”
He was enjoying this more all the time. “Where is she?”
“Her father said she could either take the bus or wait until he was available to give her a ride. She decided to walk.”
That was exactly what Roy would have expected. “Any idea how much of a hike that is?” he asked.
Jason nodded. Grinning, he glanced down at the polished marble floor. “I think it’s about ten miles.”
A smile tempted Roy. “I see.”
“You can rest assured she won’t make it past me a second time, Mr. Fletcher. Her father’s banned her from the building, too, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I appreciate that,” Roy said, pushing through the glass doors, but as he walked out of the building, he realized that wasn’t true. Despite everything, he’d enjoyed his encounter with Julie, reveled in it. He felt alive in ways he’d forgotten.
Roy turned back. “Do you know which direction she was headed?” he asked the guard.
Jason looked surprised. “North, I’d guess.”
“Thanks.” Roy was going south himself, but a small detour wouldn’t be amiss. He didn’t think she’d accept a ride, but he’d ask. Perhaps a brisk walk would help her vent her anger and make her a little more amenable to reaching some kind of agreement.
Roy drove a black Lincoln Continental with tinted glass. He could see