Family Affair Read online

  Chapter 1

  Coming home was a mistake.

  The realization came to Cade too late. He was already rolling into town, fighting traffic, blinded by the setting sun that hit him from the side window. The hair on the back of his neck stood up from all his senses being triggered as he navigated the web of streets that were both long forgotten and familiar. By the time he reached Alex’s house, a sick feeling of doom settled in the pit of his stomach.

  He exited his truck and stood in his brother’s driveway, absorbing the scenery.

  It was hot. Sticky. Noisy from the myriad of katydids and frogs harmonizing in that special way that made Southern summer nights tangibly alive. Evening sunlight streamed through the branches of a great mossy oak tree. It was poignant and beautiful. It felt like home, and he was repelled by it.

  Swatting at a mosquito latched onto his neck, Cade walked to the door and banged on it.

  In an anticlimactic development, no one answered.

  He tried the door and found it unlocked.

  “Huh.” Odd. It wasn’t like Alex to throw caution to the wind.

  He came inside and locked the door behind him.

  “Anybody home?” he hollered and listened to the ensuing silence.

  A faint sound of a jump reached him from upstairs, followed by a patter of feet running, getting closer.

  “Uncle Cade! Uncle Cade! Cary, Uncle Cade’s here!”

  Little Ricky erupted onto the landing and bounded down the stairs, barreling into him with all the excessive energy and zero inhibition of a kindergartner.

  “Hey, Rick! Fancy seeing you here.” Taken aback, Cade had to clear his throat to get a greeting out that was jovial and friendly. He hadn’t expected Alex’s children to be here. Why had he not expected his children?

  He lifted Ricky’s bony squirming body into his arms. His heart squeezed warmly at holding the boy against his chest, feeling his sweet child’s breath on his face. “Look at you, almost as tall as I am.”

  Caroline appeared in the door and halted, visibly overcome by indecision. How she’d grown!

  He squinted at Caroline, in part playing, in part to conceal that his throat suddenly closed up from emotions that sprung out of nowhere. “And who is this young lady? I can’t say I recognize her.”

  Ricky giggled into his ear. “That’s Cary!”

  “You mean, your sister Cary?”

  “Yeah, Cary! Who else?”

  “I don’t know. It can’t be Cary. The Cary I know wears princess dresses and has her hair in pigtails.”

  Put at ease by his playful tone, Caroline dashed across the room and hugged him tightly. “Uncle Cade! Nobody wears pigtails in fifth grade.”

  He hugged her back.

  In moments like this, he almost wished he had children of his own.

  But then again, what did he know about fatherhood? His own experiences as a son taught him that a father was someone you were better off avoiding, at all costs and for a good reason. With an outlook like this, he didn’t dare imagine himself taking on a fatherly role.

  “Is your dad home?”

  “In his bedroom. He’s sleeping.” Ricky giggled again.

  Cade checked his watch although he was pretty sure about the time.

  “It’s seven o’clock. Is he sick?”

  Caroline looked over her shoulder furtively and added in a stage whisper, “I think he’s drunk.”

  “Your dad?”

  She nodded.

  Cade wanted to make sure he understood correctly. “You’re spending the weekend with him, and he’s drunk?”

  She shrugged. “He was already drunk when we got here yesterday.”

  This conversation made no sense. “And he’s still drunk?”

  “He’s got a case of gin in his bedroom.”

  Cade set Ricky down. Cary must’ve misunderstood the situation.

  “Caroline, I told you to put Ricky to bed.”

  There Alex was, silhouetted in the doorframe and looking godawful in wrinkled sweatpants and a wife beater. His face was unshaven and bloated. And Caroline was right, he was drunk as a stinking skunk.

  “But daddy… it’s only seven.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But Uncle Cade just came…”

  “He did, didn’t he? We’ve got ourselves a guest.” Alex’s lip curled. “An uninvited one.” He swayed and grabbed the doorframe.

  “I told you I was coming.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “You replied to my text.”

  Alex blinked in slo-mo. “What did I say?”

  “You said, Fine. And another word that also starts with an F.”

  Alex pursed his lips. “When was that?”

  “Last Thursday. Are we done with twenty questions? I need to hit the bathroom.”

  Alex looked like he was going to argue, but in the end gave a sloppy shrug. “Stay, then. Watch the train wreck.” He looked sharply at his daughter. “Caroline.”

  She grabbed Ricky’s hand and they disappeared upstairs.

  Cade eyed Alex. He couldn’t remember him being drunk, unshaven, or wearing sweatpants.

  “Give me that.” He reached for the half-empty bottle of gin Alex was holding by the neck.

  “No way." Alex snatched it out of his reach. "This shit and I – we’re in love.” He stroked the bottle and gave it a wet kiss before taking a swig.

  Cade took a step forward and wrestled the bottle from Alex. It wasn’t very hard considering Alex could barely stand upright. A strong push, a jerk – and he had the gin in his hand, with the pissed off Alex slumped against the wall.

  “Hey, on the second thought, maybe you should go the fuck away!”

  A great idea. But not yet, not until his brother sobered up enough to watch the kids. And if Alex wanted to fight him, well, Alex was welcome to lose.

  He went to the kitchen and poured the gin down the drain.

  “Have you eaten?”

  Alex didn’t reply.

  “I’ll order a pizza. And go take a shower. You stink.”

  Cade expected him to pitch a fit at his commanding tone, to cuss him out, yell – something. But Alex just… wilted. Head hanging low, he turned around and shuffled away in the direction of his bedroom, cursing under his breath.

  By the time pizza arrived, Alex finished his shower, drank some coffee, and got most of his shit together. He remained sullen and moody, but Cade figured with a ringing hangover just setting in, his brother would stay this way for a while.

  The kids were summoned back downstairs.

  Ricky, ecstatic and mostly oblivious to the tension emanating from the adults, usurped Cade’s lap.

  Caroline made herself comfortable on the floor by his feet and carefully picked mushrooms off her slice of pizza before taking a bite. From time to time, she threw reserved glances at her father as if expecting him to blow up at any moment. Cade kept an eye on Alex, too, figuring he was close enough to block should Alex swing at her. Not that he knew him to get physical with his children, but drunk fathers were quick to let fists fly.

  Alex ignored his kids just like he ignored Cade. He ate little and stared vacuously into the TV.

  When the time grew late, Cade took the pajama-clad Ricky upstairs for nighty-nights, and stopped by Caroline’s bedroom to give her a hug.

  “Are you going to stay, Uncle Cade?” Her large brown eyes, the trademark Sheffield family feature, shone with eerie wisdom.

  “For a little while. Goodnight, Cary.”

  “Goodnight, Uncle Cade.”

  Downstairs, he found Alex in the state of hibernation on the couch, a half-eaten slice of pizza on his plate, the plate on his belly.

  “Alex, what the hell happened to you?”

  Alex stirred
feebly and produced a quality belch. He

  cracked open one eyelid to reveal a bleary eye. “You wouldn't be here if you didn’t know.” The eyelid lowered and Alex took a deep breath. “No one expected you to come. Why did you?”

  An interesting question, that. The one he wasn’t going to answer.

  “Alex, tell me,” he said quietly.

  Alex rubbed his face in a futile attempt to scrape off the remnants of days-long inebriation. With the air of an ancient grandfather, he heaved his big body up to a sitting position.

  The pizza fell on the carpet.

  “Damn.” He nudged the slice with his bare foot like maybe it was going to take itself to the trash. “Out of curiosity, who told you?”

  “What’s Father’s take on it?” Cade deflected.

  “He’s mad.”

  “What is he mad at?”

  Alex threw him a knowing look. “Stop being dumb on purpose. At Ward. At the situation. Did you know that it nearly sent Father to the hospital with a heart attack?”

  “He had a heart attack?”

  “Almost.”

  Cade digested that bit of news. Alex flopped back on the cushions. “We’re screwed, because the company doesn’t have money.”

  “Money for what?”

  But Alex no longer heard him, lost in a world of misery. “Dad’s playing his favorite game, The Ostrich, with his head up his ass. He thinks if he ignores the problem long enough, it’ll go away. The accounts are in the red, and we lost three of our best brokers in the last two months. We can no longer guarantee payments over a certain threshold. Our clients are vanishing into the thin air. His response? Play more golf.”

  “Alex…”

  “And may I point out that we’re in this position because of his idiotic decisions. Years worth of bad investments. Years worth of not wanting to hear criticism or take advice. Stupid! And self-absorbed.”

  “Alex!” Cade snapped.

  Bleary eyes swung in his direction. “What?”

  “Look at me. Focus.”

  Alex took a shuddering breath, ready to continue with his litany of accusations. Cade didn’t really want to hear them. None of it was new.

  He approached the couch and sat down next to his brother. “Tell me about Ward. What has he done?”

  “Nothing yet. But he will. I bet he will. As a payback to Father for, you know, the before.” Alex said bitterly. “Our reputation is all we have left. A hint of a scandal - and our last investors will dissipate like the morning mist under the rising sun.”

  “The company will survive a scandal,” Cade said softly, “or it will not. If it doesn’t, you will rebuild. Let it go.” He waited a heartbeat to see if Alex would react, but he didn’t. He looked like he passed out.

  “Alex, do you hear me?” he repeated louder.

  “I heard you,” Alex whispered, lying absolutely still so only his lips moved. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about Frank.”

  Cade recoiled, the name like a splash of scalding water on his senses.

  Alex propped himself on one elbow, enough to peer at Cade from his slitted eyes. “Whatever his faults, he knew how to keep us in the clear.”

  Cade laughed, a hollow sound. “Sure he did. He nearly put everyone behind bars. He got this holy mess started. Come on, Alex, get real.”

  Suddenly, Alex erupted in motion and threw himself on the floor in front of Cade, grabbing his wrists in both hands. “It can't get any more real than this! If the company goes down, we’ll sink along with it.”

  Startled, Cade tried to extricate his hands from Alex’s frantic grip without hitting pressure points. “Don’t be melodramatic.”

  But Alex was beyond listening. “Why did it have to happen? After all these years, why do we have to go through it again?”

  The intensity of the moment, the pain in his brother’s eyes was rubbing off on Cade. He told himself to remain detached, to reason. “Alex, stop it. Get a grip. Whatever comes, let it blow over. It’s only a business. It’s only money, it can be earned.”

  Alex squeezed Cade’s forearms, bringing his face so close their breaths mingled. “It’s more than just a business.” He pushed against Cade and fell on his ass on the floor, beating the carpet with his fists in a full-blown tantrum. “This company is everything to me. I want the Sheffield name to carry on strong, for my children! You’re just like Father, taking an easy way out by doing nothing. Wimps, you’re all fucking cowards, I hate you!”

  Alex was falling apart right before Cade’s eyes.

  “You’ll be alright. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Shut up. You came, so do something.”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Alex laughed hysterically. He looked a fright. “I wish Ward was dead! I wish he died tomorrow! Today. Right now.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Can you make him dead?”

  Cade jerked. “Let me get you a drink.”

  “Unless it’s alcoholic, don’t bother.” Alex looked at him with accusation in his liquid eyes. “Why did you come? Why… ”

  Cade dragged in a ragged breath. “Because I was part of it then, in the beginning. I have to be here now.” He wouldn’t explain further. Any explanation would require lying. “Come on, take a couple of days off to pull your shit together. Sober up, get some sleep. I’ll stay with you.”

  “You’re so damn untouchable,” Alex mumbled, spent on the floor. He closed his eyes again.

  “No one is untouchable.”

  Alex didn’t respond. A glance in his direction confirmed that he was finally out cold.

  Cade hefted Alex’s bulk onto the couch and threw a towel over him in place of a blanket before stepping outside to get his bag from the truck.

  It had gotten dark but not cool. The muggy night settled around him like an unwelcome embrace of a drunken sweaty woman, reminding him how much he hated summer.

  And it wasn’t just the summer. He hated the whole damn place and never wanted to set foot here again.

  Welcome to Atlanta.

  Chapter 2

  The opening night at La Vedova celebrated not only the start of a new show, but the actual reopening of the gallery at its new location. The move aimed to take the business to new heights, according to the owner, Rosa Sanchez.

  And according to Coco Milroy, Rosa knew her business well.

  Dan was already waiting for her when she drove up straight from work.

  “Sorry, I’m late.”

  “Only by a couple of minutes.” Dan leaned over and gave her a kiss on the side of her mouth.

  Coco smiled into his brown eyes. Dan was undeniably attractive, a well-built, dark-haired man who wore his good breeding with plenty of self-assurance. A bit cocky, perhaps, but that only made him more interesting.

  As they linked hands and walked inside, Coco mentally sorted through the events of today that culminated in her being late due to a reprimand from her boss Aaron.

  She shouldn't be upset, Coco thought wryly. Aaron gave her reprimands every other day, which severely undermined the discipline's effectiveness.

  “Charming.” Dan’s murmured comment brought her back to the present. He gave the gallery a sweeping glance and wrinkled his straight aristocratic nose with sharply defined nostrils.

  “Rosa lives to impress,” Coco had to concede.

  The gallery was flamboyant in an unsubtle, typical Rosa way. The Baroque styled décor, complete with gilded ornate moldings and brocade draperies, walked a thin line between a royal palace and bordello.

  “And this is the place where you spend most of your weekends?” Dan looked pained at the prospect of spending one evening here.

  “Yes.”

  He looked at her askance. “For the amount of hours you volunteered at her gallery you get free champagne?”

  “Rosa’s true to form,” was all Coco said. It wouldn't be Rosa if she helped a struggling artist.

  The applause sounded, and the gallery owner took ce
nter stage, surrounded by easels with featured paintings. Dan frowned, and his expression turned puzzled when he beheld a huge canvas Rosa hawked as one-of-a-kind.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Dan, this is museum quality art!” Coco whispered. “16th century Dutch tradition. The technique is outstanding.”

  “A brown square with a bunch of fruit and a dead pheasant?” He shook his head. "Do you have to paint this kind of ugly stuff to be considered a real artist?”

  Coco smiled. “Thankfully, no. I don’t think I could paint a dead bird.”

  “Rosa should stick with you, then.”

  An elderly arts expert took to the podium and spoke at length on the topic of avant-garde. His uninspiring lecture provided Coco with a convenient backdrop for sharing with Dan more about her plans.

  “I know that Rosa prefers more flamboyant artists, with big names,” Coco said in a fast whisper, super excited to tell him how she wanted to achieve a showing of her own. “But I’ve finally made a decision to be proactive and…”

  “I was just teasing, love,” Dan interrupted gently. “Of course she wants real artists. The gallery’s her business.”

  Slowly, Coco closed her mouth as a curious feeling of being let down settled in her stomach. Telling herself that she was overreacting, she smiled and said nothing else.

  After the formal part finally concluded, the crowd eagerly migrated toward the refreshment tables loaded with finger food and alcoholic beverages. Artists in attendance engaged small groups. She and Dan mingled with the crowd.

  Coco’s looked over the works abundantly decorating the walls, basking in their beauty and the mastery of their creators. With Dan in tow, she inched slowly toward the adjoining room that housed sculpture and artistic pottery, intent on examining the new collection in finer detail. None of it was in Rosa’s preferred style, but grouped together they added a vibe that was fresh, interesting, and unique.

  Dan was looking decidedly unimpressed by Ming-style vases and handmade Talavera bowls, but Coco was in heaven. She avidly perused the more extravagant pieces of wall art, taking note of an artistic drawing of some wicked creatures. It drew her eye with its forceful, look-at-me subject of exaggerated monstrosities. It was thought-provoking. And the artistry, oh, the artistry spellbound. Coco critically appraised the bold, sure lines drawn without hesitation and with absolute control. A sharply defined arc here, a twisting curve there. Just the right amount of pressure to shade the gaping mouth. A stunning work. Very manly. And she thought she recognized the distinct style.