Being an overachiever sucked, Abby O'Brien Winters
concluded
as she crawled into bed after midnight, mentally and
physically exhausted after a roller-coaster day on Wall
Street. She'd managed about twenty minutes of quality
time
with her twin daughters before they'd fallen asleep
barely
into the opening paragraph of The Velveteen Rabbit.
She'd eaten warmed-over Chinese takeout for the
third
straight night, then pulled out a half-dozen voluminous
market analysts' reports she needed to absorb before the
stock exchange opened in the morning. Her bedtime reading
was a lot more challenging than what Caitlyn and Carrie
chose.
She was good at her job as a portfolio manager for a
major
brokerage company, but so far it had cost her a marriage
to
a great guy, who'd tired of playing second fiddle to her
career, and more sleep than she could possibly calculate.
Though she shared custody of the twins with Wes, she
often
felt as if she was barely acquainted with her five-year-
old
daughters. It sometimes seemed as if they spent more time
with the nannyโand even her ex-husbandโthan they did with
her. She'd long since lost sight of exactly what she was
trying to prove and to whom.
When the phone rang, Abby glanced at the clock and
groaned.
At this hour, it could only be an emergency. Heart
thudding,
she reached for the receiver.
"Abby, it's me," her sister Jessica announced. Jess was
the
youngest of the five O'Brien siblings and the real night
owl
among them. Abby stayed up late because it was the only
way
to cram enough work into a twenty-four-hour day. Jess did
it
because she was just starting to hit her stride when the
moon and stars came out. "I called earlier, but the nanny
said you weren't home yet. Then I got distracted with a
project I'm working on. I hope it's not too late. I know
you're usually up till all hours."
"It's fine," Abby assured her. "Is everything okay? You
sound stressed. Is something going on with Gram? Or Dad?"
"Gram's amazing. She'll outlive us all. And Dad is off
someplace building something. I can't keep track of him."
"He was in California last week," Abby recalled.
"Then I guess he's still there. You know he has to
oversee
every single detail when one of his projects is being
built.
Of course, then he loses interest, just the way he did
with
Chesapeake Shores."
There was an unsurprising note of bitterness in Jess's
voice. As the youngest of five, she, more than the rest
of
them, had missed spending time with their dad. Mick
O'Brien
had already been making a name for himself as an
architect
and urban planner when he'd designed and built Chesapeake
Shores, a now-famous seaside community on the Chesapeake
Bay. He'd done it in partnership with his brothersโone a
builder, the other an environmentalist. The town had been
built around land that had been farmed by Colin O'Brien,
a
great-great uncle and the first of the O'Briens to arrive
from Ireland in the late 1800s. It was to be the crown
jewel
in Mick's body of work and the idyllic place his family
would call home. It hadn't turned out that way.
Mick and his brothers had fought over the construction,
battled over environmental issues and even over the
preservation of the few falling-down historic buildings
on
some of the property. Eventually they'd dissolved the
partnership. Now, even though they all coexisted in or
near
Chesapeake Shores, they seldom spoke except on holidays,
when Gram insisted on a pretense of family harmony.
Abby's mother, Megan, had lived in New York since she and
Mick had divorced fifteen years ago. Though the plan had
been for all of the children to move to New York with
her,
for reasons Abby had never understood, that hadn't
happened.
They'd stayed in Chesapeake Shores with their mostly
absent
dad and Gram. In recent years, one by one they had
drifted
away, except for Jess, who seemed to have a love-hate
relationship with the town and with Mick.
Since moving to New York herself after college, Abby had
reestablished a strong bond with her mother, but none of
the
others had done the same. And not just Jess, but all five
of
them had an uneasy relationship with their father. It was
Gramโwho'd been only a girl when her family had followed
their O'Brien predecessors to Marylandโwith her fading
red
hair, twinkling blue eyes, ready smile and the lingering
lilt of Ireland in her voice, who held them together and
made them a family.
"Did you call to complain about Dad, or is something else
on
your mind?" Abby asked her sister.
"Oh, I can always find something to complain about with
Dad," Jess admitted, "but actually I called because I
need
your help."
"Anything," Abby said at once. "Just tell me what you
need."
She was close to all her siblings, but Jess held a
special
place in her heart, perhaps because of the big difference
in
their ages and her awareness of how their mother's
departure
and their father's frequent absences had affected her.
Abby
had been stepping in to fill that gap in Jess's life
since
the day Megan had left.
"Could you come home?" Jess pleaded. "It's a little too
complicated to get into on the phone."
"Oh, sweetie, I don't know," Abby began, hesitating.
"Work
is crazy."
"Work is always crazy, which is exactly why you need to
come
home. It's been ages. Before the girls came along, you
used
work as an excuse. Then it was the twins. Now it's work
and the twins."
Abby winced. It was true. She had been making excuses for
years now. She'd eased her conscience with the fact that
every member of her family loved visiting New York and
came
up frequently. As long as she saw them all often, it
didn't
seem to matter that it was almost always on her turf
rather
than Chesapeake Shores. She'd never stopped to analyze
why
it had been so easy to stay away. Maybe it was because it
really hadn' t felt like home after her mother had left.
Before she could reply, Jess added, "Come on, Abby. When
was
the last time you took a real vacation? Your honeymoon,
I'll
bet. You know you could use a break, and the girls would
love being here. They should spend some quality time in
the
town their grandfather built and where you grew up. Gram
could spoil them rotten for a couple of weeks. Please. I
wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
"Life-or-death important?" Abby asked. It was an old
exchange, used to rank whether any crisis was truly
monumental or only a temporary blip in their lives.
"It could be," Jess said seriously. "At least in the
sense
that my whole future's at stake. I think you're the only
one
who can fix this, or at least the only one I'm willing to
ask for help."
Struck by the somber tone in her voice, Abby said, "Maybe
you'd better tell me right now."
"You need to be here to understand. If you can't stay for
a
couple of weeks, then at least come for a few days.
Please."
There was something in her sister's voice that Abby had
never heard before, an urgency that suggested she wasn't
exaggerating her claim that her future was at stake.
Since
Jess was the only one of the five siblings who'd been
floundering for a focus since reaching adulthood, Abby
knew
she couldn't turn her back on her. And admittedly a break
would do Abby herself a world of good. Hadn't she just
been
bemoaning her workaholic tendencies earlier tonight?
She smiled, thinking about how wonderful it would be to
breathe the salty Chesapeake Bay air again. Even better,
she
would have uninterrupted time with her girls in a place
where they could swing on the playground her father had
designed for the town park, build sand castles on the
beach
and run barefoot through the chilly waters of the bay.
"I'll work something out tomorrow and be down there by
the
weekend," she promised, giving in. She glanced at her
jam-packed schedule and grimaced. "I can only make it for
a
couple of days, okay?"
"A week," Jess pleaded. "I don't think this can be fixed
in
a day or two."
Abby sighed. "I'll see what I can work out."
"Whatever you can arrange," Jess said at once, seizing
the
compromise. "Let me know when your flight's getting in
and
I'll pick you up."
"I'll rent a car," Abby said.
"After all these years in New York, do you actually
remember
how to drive?" Jess teased. "Or even how to get home?"
"My memory's not that bad," Abby responded. "See you
soon,
sweetie."
"I'll call Gram and let her know you're coming."
"Tell her not to go to any trouble, okay?" Abby said,
knowing it would be a waste of breath. "We'll go out to
eat.
I've been dying for some Maryland crabs."
"No way," her sister countered. "It's a little early in
the
season, but if you want steamed crabs, I'll find 'em
somewhere and pick them up for Friday-night dinner. We
can
eat on the porch, but I'm not about to stop Gram from
cooking up a storm. I say let the baking begin."
Abby laughed at her enthusiasm. Gram's bakingโpies,
tarts,
cookies, scones, cakesโwas pretty amazing. There'd been a
time in her life when Abby had wanted to learn all those
traditional family recipes and open a bakery, but that
was
before she'd discovered an interest in and aptitude for
the
financial world. That had been her ticket out of
Chesapeake
Shores.
Now, after more than ten hectic years awayโyears spent
climbing a treacherous corporate ladder, marrying, giving
birth to twins and divorcingโshe was going home for a
real
visit, something longer than a rushed weekend with barely
time to relax before it was time to fly back to New York.
She couldn't help wondering, based on the dire tone in
Jess's voice, if that was a good thing or not.
"Couldn't you at least put on a tie?" Lawrence Riley
grumbled, scowling at his son. "If you're going to take
over
this bank, you need to set a good example for the
employees.
You can't come in here looking as if you just climbed off
the back of a Harley."
Trace regarded his father with amusement. "That's exactly
what I did. My bike's in the parking lot."
His father's frown deepened. "I thought I told you to
drive
your mother's car. You have an image to uphold now."
"What was Mother supposed to do?" Trace asked reasonably.
"I
couldn't see her riding my Harley to her garden club
meeting."
"She has a dozen different friends who would have been
happy
to pick her up," his father countered.
"And apparently not a one of them had any desire to run
all
her errands with her after the meeting," Trace responded.
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" his
father
grumbled. "This situation is never going to work if you
don't take me or this job seriously."
"I always take you seriously," Trace said. "As for the
job,
I don't want to take it at all. I have a perfectly good
career in New York. Just because I don't have to wear a
suit
or use a calculator doesn't mean it's not respectable."
In
fact, his career as a freelance design artist not only
paid
well, enabling him to live and work in a large loft in
SoHo,
it didn't require him to answer to his father. That was
quite a perk in his book.
His father's scowl deepened. "So, what? I should let this
community bank get gobbled up by one of the big banking
conglomerates?"
"Maybe so," Trace said, knowing his response would only
push
his father's hot button. "That's the way the banking
world
is going."
"Well,
this bank won't, not as long as I have
any
say about it," his father said stubbornly. "Chesapeake
Shores Community Bank serves the people in this town in a
way that one of those faceless, impersonal behemoths
never
could."
Trace couldn't argue the point. He just didn't want any
part
of running the place, family heritage or not. "Why not
put
Laila in charge?" he asked, referring to his younger
sister.
He warmed to the topic. If he could convince his father
to
put Laila in the job she'd always wanted, he could be on
the
road back to New York by morning. All he had to do was
sell
his father on the idea. "Think about it, Dad. She has a
head
for numbers. Her SAT math scores were through the roof.
She
aced all of her college business courses. She has a
master's
degree from the Wharton School of Business. She'd be a
natural."
"I thought of that," his father admitted. "I even spoke
to
her about it, but your sister told me to take a hike."
That was unexpected, Trace thought. "Why?"
His father shrugged. "She said she wasn't going to be
anybody's second choice, even mine."
Trace regarded him with bewilderment. "But you asked her
first."
"When has your sister ever paid any attention to logic?
She's convinced I only asked her because I knew you
wouldn't
want the job."
"I don't suppose you tried to convince her she was
wrong,"
Trace said.
"How could I when she was right?"
"Do you think you two will ever learn to communicate?"
Trace
grumbled. He and his dad might be at loggerheads ninety
percent of the time, but Lawrence Riley and Laila were
rarely on the same page about anything, from a choice as
inane as breakfast cereal to a decision as critical as
who
ought to run the bank. It had been that way from the
moment
she learned to talk.
"You mean communicate the way you and I do?" his father
retorted wryly.
"Yeah, at least that well," Trace responded. "Look, I'll
talk to her. I'll smooth things over between the two of
you.
Her pride's been hurt because you've made it plain over
the
years that you want me back here, but she'll come
around."
His father hit his fist on the desk. "Dammit, you're the
one
who needs to come around, Trace. What ever happened to
family loyalty? A man works his whole life to build up
something good for his son, and you toss it aside without
a
second thought."
"I've had a lifetime to think about it. You've never made
a
secret about what you expected. I've given it a second
thought and a third, for that matter, ever since you
called.
Dad, come on, you know the whole nine-to-five drill would
never work for me. I like a job that's creative, a word
that
tends to make bankers nervous as hell."
The faint hint of a smile finally touched his father's
lips.
"True enough," he admitted. "How about this? We give it
six
months. If you still hate it, you can take off again with
my
blessing. That's fair, isn't it?"
As a respected and in-demand artist working freelance for
several of New York's top ad agencies, Trace had the
flexibility to do as his father asked. He could even keep
up
with a few accounts to keep himself from going totally
stir-crazy in Chesapeake Shores. If it would buy him his
freedom permanently, surely he could survive six months
in a
suit. He owed his father that much respect. And in the
long
run that short-term display of loyalty would be wiser
than
causing a family rift.
Moreover, he could spend the time trying to convince his
sister to forget about her stupid pride and being second
choice. She'd wanted this job since she'd learned to
count.
She ought to grab it, rather than wasting her talent by
keeping the books for a few local businesses.
Unfortunately
she'd inherited their father's stubbornness. It would
probably take Trace every single day of the allotted six
months to make peace between the two of them.
"Okay, six months," Trace agreed. "Not one day longer."
His father beamed at him. "We'll see. You might discover
you
have an aptitude for banking, after all."
"Or you'll realize I'm incompetent when it comes to
math."
"I have your college test scores and grades that say
otherwise." He stood up and held out his hand. "Welcome
aboard, son."
Trace shook his hand, then studied his father intently.
There was a glint in his eyes that suggested there was
more
to the negotiations than Trace had realized. "What are
you
up to?" he asked warily.
"Up to?" Lawrence Riley had a lousy poker face. Half of
his
pals at the country club would testify to that. For the
past
thirty years, they'd lined their pockets with his losses.
"Don't even try to play innocent, Dad. You're up to
something, and it has nothing to do with me becoming your
protรฉgรฉ around here."
"We've made a business deal, that's all," his father
insisted. "Now let me show you your office. It's fairly
Spartan now, but if you decide to stick around you can
decorate it however you want. Meantime, I'll have Raymond
go
through some loan folders with you. We have a meeting of
the
loan committee first thing Tuesday morning. You'll need
to
have your recommendations ready then."
Trace held up a hand. "Hold on a second. I don't know
enough
to make recommendations on whether loan applications
should
be approved."
"Raymond will show you the ropes. He's been my right hand
for years. And they're not all loan applications. There's
a
possible foreclosure in there, too."
Trace's stomach knotted. "You want me to decide whether
or
not someone's home should be taken away and put up for
auction?"
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