her teeth. Appraised him. “Did you know he was fired from his first job?”
A shock wave ricocheted through Zach. “No. I thought he . . . that he’d been with his current firm his whole career.”
“He’s been there for most of it. But after law school, he got a job clerking for a respected judge. The man took him under his wing, gave him plum assignments. Your dad was on top of the world. The two of them became friends, and Richard trusted the man implicitly. Until he was indicted for accepting bribes and tried to set your dad up to take the fall.”
He sucked in a breath.
How could he not have known about an incident of this magnitude in his father’s past?
“Dad never said a word about that. Neither did Mom.”
“The whole family was under a gag order from your dad after you and your brother were born. He wanted to put the incident behind him. But he never forgot it. He lived in the shadow of disgrace for two years while the investigation dragged on. He took menial jobs that didn’t pay squat. Our father offered to help him out financially, but he wouldn’t take a dime. In the end, the truth came out and the judge took the full rap, but after that incident Richard closed himself in, doled out trust like a miser, and made security his priority.”
In the silence that followed Stephanie’s story, Zach attempted to digest the implications of this startling chapter in his dad’s life.
A trauma like that could explain a lot.
Including his father’s anger when both sons walked away from careers—or potential careers—he viewed as their tickets to financial security.
He wiped a hand down his face.
“That’s a boatload of stuff to deal with in one fell swoop.”
“I know. I’ve been debating how much to say ever since I talked to Richard. Getting in the middle of a father-son debate is tricky, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with either of you.”
“That’s not a concern from my end. And I appreciate the insights.”
“So what are you going to do about Atlanta? Richard tried to downplay the situation on the phone with me, but I heard concern in his voice.”
He had too, during their brief, unplanned conversation. The tremor he’d picked up had been subtle but unmistakable.
“I don’t have a—”
At a knock on the sliding door that led to his deck, he leaned sideways to see around Stephanie.
She swiveled too—and dismay etched her features as she lowered her volume. “After I had tea with Kat, I told her to drop by anytime. I’m sorry. This isn’t an opportune moment.”
“It’s not a problem.”
On the contrary. A quick chat with his neighbor could help defuse the stress of the past few minutes.
He rose, crossed the room, and pulled the door open, doing his best to force up the stiff corners of his mouth. “Hi.”
As Stephanie joined him, Katherine looked between the two of them. If he appeared as shell-shocked as he felt, she was probably regretting her impulsive visit, whatever the impetus.
“I didn’t mean to intrude, but I decided to deliver this in person rather than drop it in the mail.” She leaned past him and held out an envelope to Stephanie.
“You’re not intruding.” His aunt took it. “We’re getting ready to go work on the Hope House project I told you about while we were at tea. I see painting and wallpaper stripping in my immediate future.”
“I won’t keep you, then.” She started to turn away.
“If you’re not busy, why don’t you join us?”
As Stephanie issued the invitation, Zach flashed her a silent drop it message. “I’m sure Kath—Kat—has more interesting things to do.”
“Do you?” Stephanie ignored him as she directed the question to their visitor.
“Um . . . I don’t know much about wallpaper stripping or painting.”
“It’s easy. I learned everything I know from YouTube.” Stephanie gave her a bright smile. “Why don’t you come along? It should be a companionable group, and you could pick up useful skills for the future. You’re already dressed for the job.”
Zach gave his neighbor’s outfit a quick scan.
That was true—but she wouldn’t want to expose herself to a group of strangers, in case someone recognized her . . . unlikely as that was in her present grub state.
“Aunt Stephanie . . . I don’t think—”
“If you could use another pair of hands—”
As their comments overlapped, a soft flush bloomed on Katherine’s cheeks. “On the other hand, I’m not a Hope Harbor resident.