Page 287 of Summer Heat
But the back parlor is made for comfort. For intimacy. And when I sit down, the cushions tilt sideways, sliding me closer to his body. He doesn’t move away. Instead his hand lands on my knee with a squeeze. Every muscle freezes as I stare at the faint age spots on his skin, unable to comprehend what’s happening, unwilling to think about why he’s touching me like this.
“My dear, we need to discuss your future. We need to discuss the house.”
“The house—” My voice cracks, and I take a deep breath. This isn’t my house. It isn’t even my father’s. He built it for my mother. He gave it to her outright—a gift. And when she died it passed to me in trust. “You said we’d be able to keep the house.”
“Yes, it’s protected by the trust. But maintenance on an estate like this is, I’m sorry to say, a luxury you can no longer afford.” He glances out the window with an expression of disapproval. The bushes had once been perfectly rounded. Green puffs of cotton candy, I once thought. Now they’ve grown unruly, jagged branches covering the window.
The house isn’t luxury. It’s the only thing I have left. I can’t lose the house. It would break my father to find out how far we’ve fallen. It would break me.
“I had hoped to keep Daddy here. It’s important.”
Landon’s face turns faintly pitying. “Unfortunately the real estate taxes are due soon. We haven’t been paying into escrow for years, as the total would be easily covered by your family’s accounts. But with the recent restitution payments…”
My mouth turns metallic with fear. “How much are the taxes?”
He reaches down to his leather folio and pulls out a folded paper. I take it with trembling hands, shaking hard enough to blur the numbers. When they finally come into focus, my breath expels completely. “Oh God.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “It was laudable to try and keep your father here, but I’m afraid it’s quite impossible. I’ve already been in touch with a realtor and explained the need for a fast sale.”
He goes on about the details of selling the house, but all I can hear are my father’s faint words. You’re a good girl. For so many years he took care of me. It’s my turn to protect him.
“Wait,” I say.
Landon’s expression softens, the lines of his face relaxing. “I know how hard this must be for you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you about a proposition.”
“Something to save the house?” Something to save my father.
“I’m afraid not,” he says gently. “But you know that I care for you deeply. I have the utmost respect for you.”
I blink, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Of course, Uncle Landon. You’ve always been here for us. And you’ve been a huge help to me with the finances during this time.”
He gives me a genial smile. “Good, good. And I hope you’ll be amenable to what I’m about to propose.”
I hold my breath. For some reason I feel wary. As much as Uncle Landon visited from time to time, even though he was always kind to me, something about him made me uncomfortable.
His hand takes mine, pulling it into his lap.
My stomach tightens in shock and silent denial.
“I have had the pleasure of watching you blossom into a beautiful young lady. Your grace and strength during your father’s trial have been admirable. It would be my great honor to make you my wife.”
The air seems to whoosh from the room, my lungs hard and hollow. “What?”
“I realize that I may not have been your first choice—”
“Uncle Landon. You’re like family to me.” And he’s as old as my father. They went to school together. How can he even ask me this?
“We’ll still be family, Avery. I’ll take good care of you.”
My blood runs cold as I consider the implications. Uncle Landon is definitely rich in his own right, through inheritance and from his work as a financial advisor to the city’s wealthy. The thought of accepting his proposal makes my stomach clench, but I can’t say no. “You would keep the house?” I ask cautiously, my voice tight.
He stands and crosses to the mantle, where family pictures crowd together. My mother’s smiling face features prominently, my only method to remember her. He picks up a frame and touches the glass, almost a caress. “Do you know I met your mother first? Before Geoffrey had seen her.”
I shiver. “My father said it was love at first sight.”
“Yes,” he says, with a dark note that I’ve never heard before. “She was a beautiful flower, and he picked her as soon as he saw her. He built this house as a shrine to her.”
My breath catches. This is why he could never countenance moving, even with all the extra space. This house isn’t only for my father. It’s a living memorial to my mother.
