Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Rose

“I’ve never tried key lime pie.”

Brandon wanted to know why Kelly and I set this as a challenge for the treasure hunt. In hindsight, why not? might’ve been a better answer.

“Does that mean that you want to test the product before we buy?” he asks.

“Is there any other way?”

The air seems to have cleared between us since Sombrero Beach. I’m convinced that we’ll both ruminate over the ‘coward’ conversation later, in privacy, and I’ll wish I could find a way to time travel and keep my opinions to myself, while Brandon will instruct his mom to fire me on the spot.

Seriously though, what was I thinking?

Jess will say that I did the right thing—I remained true to myself, and I didn’t lie to his face to perpetuate the businessman-demigod attitude that he thinks is his God-given right. My dad—I pray he never finds out—would quietly contemplate his next job application while giving me the kind of smile usually reserved for whenever I mention visiting Mom’s grave.

Me? I only hope Ruby Weiss will let me go with no fanfare and Graham the buggy driver will be waving goodbye at the jetty.

Brandon doesn’t even question ordering coffee and pie to sit outside the factory. We haven’t crossed paths with Damon since Islamorada, and the saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ has come into play. I can’t even begin to imagine the holidays in the Weiss family home.

I choose the meringue-topped pie to share with Georgie, while Brandon opts for the naked pie. “What’s wrong with meringue?” I ask him.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

I get the impression that he’s about to say more, but has talked himself out of it, and I wonder if he ever blurts anything out on impulse.

“But…?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never had a sweet tooth.”

The toothpaste advertisement smile is testimony to that! Another thing that Brandon Weiss never does for the sheer hell of it: buy a slice of pie and eat it with his fingers because, hello, the guy probably has a repeat order of antibacterial handwash with his local high-class grocery store.

I stare out of the window at the garden filled with vibrant bellflowers and try to rein my thoughts in. I haven’t reacted to someone this way since my first year in high school when a boy from my homeroom stuck gum on my seat and I had to wear my PhyEd shorts for the rest of the day. That kid was a loser who got his kicks from making other kids feel stupid.

Brandon Weiss is about as far removed from a loser as anyone can possibly be, and he’s trying—the least I can do is give him the benefit of the doubt, finish the last challenge, and try to erase the entire experience from my mind once I get back home.

Signs dotted around the serenity garden specify that children are not to treat it like a playground, and I’m about to suggest that we turn around, collect our pie for the challenge, and eat on the boat when familiar voices drift towards us.

Not Damon this time.

The voices belong to Harry Weiss and his partner-in-crime Ron.

“What took you so long?” Harry stands and scoops Georgie into his arms when we approach their table. “Come and tell Grandpa all about your adventures.”

“Grandpa.” Georgie cups Harry’s face in both hands and rubs noses with him, and it’s the kind of gesture I could imagine my dad performing with his future grandkids. “I’ve been on a boat.”

“Ron.” Brandon greets the other man with a brief nod and a perfunctory smile as he pulls out a seat.

“Here, honey,” Harry says to me, “you can have my seat while I take my favorite granddaughter inside and spoil her rotten.”

“This seat was for Rose,” Brandon says. But his dad merely salutes him from behind as he walks back towards the pie factory, Georgie chattering away in his arms about the sandcastle we built.

Ron winks at me. “Don’t question it, Rose. Not many women can say they had two Weiss men fighting over them.” His eyes flash toward Brandon, and he raises his coffee cup to his lips like he needs somewhere to hide.

I sit down in the seat Brandon pulled out, and he takes the seat next to me in the shade of the bright pink umbrella. Butterflies dance around in my stomach. It’s the first time that Brandon has treated me like a peer, but I can’t even bask in that small victory because of Ron’s reaction to his offhand comment.

Not many women can say they had two Weiss men fighting over them.

Was he talking about Harry or Brandon when he realized his mistake?

“How are the retirement plans going, Ron?” Brandon asks.

That’s what he’s leading with?

Most of the friction between us today has evolved from Brandon’s determination to be the first one back to Ruby Island having completed all five challenges, and now he wants to sit back and discuss retirement plans? Is it because he knows he has already lost to his father and Ron? Or is the inbuilt habit of operating behind this fa?ade he has constructed around himself too tough to crack, even in the name of victory?

“Slowly,” Ron says, setting his cup down now that the moment has passed and he’s safe to speak again. “Sumaira’s idea of retirement appears to be somewhat misaligned with mine, so we’re still trying to find a middle ground. It’s like being newlyweds forty years down the line.”

“Good for you,” I say, and not content with taking Ron’s comment completely out of context, I add, “so long as you’ve still got the romance side of it alive too.”

My cheeks feel like they’re on fire as a wide grin spreads across Ron’s face. “Oh, you’ll make someone a lovely wife someday.”

I dip my fork into my pie and allow the flavors to explode on my tongue—Ron isn’t the only one who knows how to hide behind his food. “Not sure about that,” I say, realizing too late that I still have food in my mouth. “I can’t cook.”

“Neither can Sumaira. She can barely grill a cheese sandwich without turning it to cinders.” Ron chuckles to himself. “But I didn’t marry her for her culinary skills.”

How to drag a conversation into the gutter in five minutes, I think. I hope Brandon isn’t keeping a tally of reasons to present to his mom as to why I’m not a suitable housekeeper. Lack of discretion probably beats hijacking a boat out of the ballgame.

Brandon, clearly confused by the direction this is going, intervenes to bring us back to a level he can participate in. “Are you still buying the property in Hawaii?”

“It’s a moot point,” Ron says. “Let’s just say that Sumaira has her sights set further afield.”

“And you don’t?” I ask.

Ron’s eyes linger on mine as if weighing up how much he can reveal to his host’s housekeeper. Eventually, he says, “Selling the business means that we’ll have to tighten our belts, something my wife hasn’t had to think about in a long while. Most of our marriage in fact. The proceeds won’t last indefinitely, but my wife’s accounting skills are almost on a par with her cooking ability.”

I glance at Brandon. He hasn’t touched his pie. Instead, he’s sitting back looking as relaxed as his father did when we arrived, but from Ron’s refusal to make eye contact with him, I sense there’s a whole lot more to this conversation than I’m aware of.

Before I can mention how expensive and overpriced Hawaii can be, Harry returns with Georgie in his arms—the child is wearing a Blond Giraffe cap and clutching a paper bag containing matching caps in different colors for her sisters.

He sits down, keeping the child on his lap and says, “You’re either discussing Sumaira or Ruby.”

I scoop more pie into my mouth—it really is something else; where has it been all my life? —and try to remind myself that this is real life. These people aren’t fictional characters from a romance novel, these men can discuss relocating to Hawaii and their wives’ lack of cooking skills with a smile because they have money as a safety blanket. They can afford the luxury home on Maui and a full time live-in cook, while their wives are in the salon getting their hair styled and the occasional Botox injection.

And just look at their smiles, and their even tans, and their unlined foreheads.

It breaks my heart to think that my dad already looks older than these men because vacations are a luxury he can barely afford, and sunlight is what he gets at the end of the day when he finishes work. If he’s lucky.

“Has anyone else from the treasure hunt collected their pie?” I blurt out during a natural lull in the conversation. Because the question has been uppermost in Brandon’s head all day, and the lack of interrogation is bothering me way more than it should.

Harry’s grin is wide. “One day in my son’s company, and he’s already rubbing off on you, Rose.”

“Maybe she should finish the last stretch with us,” Ron says. “Save her while we can.”

Brandon laughs and reaches for his coffee. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as if he’s embarrassed, only I can’t figure out if he’s embarrassed for me or for himself.

“Did my son put you up to the question?” Harry asks.

“I… No,” I say, reverting to my usual tongue-tied self in the presence of these over-confident men.

“Because I have to say, I’m surprised he agreed to slow down long enough to grab a coffee and a slice of pie to eat in the garden.” Harry watches me, not his son.

“Must be your influence, Rose,” Ron adds with a knowing smile at his lifelong friend. “How’s the pie?”

“I-it’s delicious.”

“You didn’t complete all the challenges, did you?” Brandon asks.

“No,” Harry says. “Planning the treasure hunt keeps your mother happy, but she doesn’t expect— or want —me to win. Where would be the fun in awarding the prize to her husband?”

I remember Brandon’s comment earlier in the day that his father plays by his own rules. Is this what he meant? Harry took part to keep Ruby happy, but had no intention of winning, and instead, spent a leisurely day cruising around the Keys and eating pie.

So, why do I still have the overwhelming sensation that I’m missing something here?

I finish my pie while the conversation meanders between April’s drunken revelations of her husband’s not-so-secret obsession with Pamela Anderson, and the merits of the Blond Giraffe’s key lime pie compared to those being sold in other establishments around the Keys.

Brandon—in complete one-eighty contrast to his behavior earlier in the day— seems inclined to linger a while, so I take the container we bought in Rain Barrel Village and head back inside to pick up the slice of pie we need to complete the challenge.

When I come back to the serenity garden, Harry is detached from the conversation taking place between Brandon and Ron, playing a clapping game with Georgie on his lap. I hear the name Russo as the table grows silent, and Brandon stands abruptly, causing me to step backwards to avoid his chair.

He glares at me. His eyes are even darker than they are whenever he’s in Damon’s presence, and his fists are clenched. The casual stance that he adopted to mimic that of his father and Ron when we arrived has been automatically replaced by Brandon Weiss in fight mode.

“I collected the pie to take back.” I raise the container as evidence.

“Good luck,” Ron says, although it’s unclear if he’s speaking to me or Brandon.

I shove the pie in Brandon’s hands and collect Georgie from Harry. It doesn’t occur to me that she could stay—despite the doting grandpa performance, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her behind.

“Bye, honey.” Harry kisses Georgie’s forehead and rubs noses with her.

“Bye, Grandpa.”

“We’ll catch up with the winners later,” Harry catches my eye and addresses me. “And I don’t necessarily mean the ones holding the prize.”