His Forever Girl (New Orleans' Ladies #4) - Liz Talley Page 0,49
hiring that Graham guy. He seems okay. Capable. But now we’re talking about…”
His youngest left off, shifting his gaze to his brothers who occupied the right side of the table.
“We’re not sure what the results will be,” Joseph intoned.
“No, he’s right,” Frank said, waving a hand, fighting against the sheer exhaustion knocking at his door. He’d need to leave the table soon, but first he had to finish what he’d started. “Graham is part of this. I needed someone to run Ullo.”
Michael lifted his eyebrows. “But not Tess.”
“Not alone,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I never meant for her to see it the way she did. I merely looked for someone to come in and do what I do so she could keep doing what she did. I wanted to find her a partner. Didn’t want to stress her with the undue burden of running Ullo alone. Graham was to be the new me.”
“Why didn’t you tell her that from the beginning?” Frankie Jr. asked in a very lawyerly way.
“I don’t need to be cross-examined. I just puked my guts up,” Frank said, rising on shaking legs. “Tess needs to see things for herself. She’s young and thinks she can handle everything tossed her way. She’s arrogant and spoiled. I did her a disservice and I’m paying for it.”
“Tess isn’t wrong here, Dad,” Michael insisted.
Frank held up a finger. “But she’s not right, either. Leave her alone for a bit and let her find her way. She needs that right now. She needs to feel the bite life gives.”
After a moment, Michael nodded, his dark eyes meeting Frank’s. In that gaze, Frank saw his boy understood. Michael had a way of seeing into the future and getting the big picture.
“Okay, we’ll give Tess space. But you have to think about things with her,” Frankie Jr. said, rising to take Frank’s elbow and assist him from the room. “And you gotta fight, Dad. We’re all here with you through this.”
Frank patted his son’s hand and then reached out and clasped Joseph’s shoulder. “I got a son to pray for me, a son to heal me, and a son to get my affairs in order in case the first two don’t work. I’m set.”
Passing by Michael, Frank reached out and roped the boy into him, kissing him on the head.
“What’s Tess for?”
“Reminding me who I was and who I am.”
With that, he slowly crawled toward the open door, hooking toward the stairs.
THE SOUND OF HER SOLES slapping the pavement was little comfort, but the rhythm gave Tess something to cling to.
Her father was dying.
Slap, slap, slap.
He’d known this when he hired Graham.
Slap, slap, slap.
He’d refused to apologize to her, knowing he was sick.
Slap… slap… slap.
Tess stopped and bent over, her lungs burning, her eyes aching from unshed tears. Sucking in breaths, she held on to her knees and tried to pretend like everything that had happened in her life within the past few months was a nightmare.
That’s it.
Pinch yourself and wake up, princess. This isn’t real.
“Ma’am?” The words came from behind her.
Tess shut her eyes.
“You okay?” A young female voice.
Tess stood up, placed her hands on her hips, and tried to still her ragged breathing. She knew tears leaked from the corner of her eyes… or was it sweat? She looked over her shoulder to find a girl of about thirteen or fourteen studying her with concern. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
“You sure? I mean…” The teen glanced down at what Tess wore.
Right. She had on jeans and a pair of ballet flats. Not exactly running gear. “Yeah.”
Not like she’d planned for a run through Old Metairie. Kinda happened when a gal found out the father who she supposedly hated was dying. Guilt and grief had crashed down on her. All she could think to do was run.
Out the door.
Down the street.
All the way to… Bonnabel Avenue?
“Thanks,” she called out to the girl with a wave. Unusual for a teenager to check on someone like that.
Tess pushed the sweat-dampened hair from her face and sucked in the humid air as she turned back the way she had come. Around her the quaint, expensive neighborhood hummed with children laughing, the sound of a lawn mower, and the swoosh of cars down Metairie Road, which was strung with businesses, some open, others not. She’d run a decent way for a chick in ballet flats.
The phone in her front pocket vibrated and she pulled it out.
Michael.
She wasn’t ready to talk to her brother about her father. Too