A Family For Christmas. Tara Taylor Quinn
A man with his financial success...a man in general...couldn’t possibly feel comfortable in her small, completely feminine apartment. The place really only consisted of one room divided into living room and kitchenette by the table at which they sat. There was a separate bedroom. And a bath. The entire place was decorated with lace and roses; prints of places she’d once dreamed of traveling to were framed on the walls. Her dishes were china. A gift from Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand.
Ashamed that it made her feel good to be able to impress him with her crystal wineglasses—wanting him to notice them—she opened the bottle and poured, carried both glasses to the table and then retrieved the deli tray out of the refrigerator. Pouring crackers into a lacy cloth-lined basket, she reached into a drawer for two rose-and-lace napkins—ones that matched the placemats on the table—and slid two dessert plates out of another cupboard.
All was done with silent, deliberate movements. Edward Mantle needed a friend. And Lila had to find her peace.
“Did you decorate this place yourself?” he asked as she sat down across from him, careful to keep enough of a distance that their knees didn’t touch.
She and Sara had shared a meal at the table a time or two. Mostly, she sat there alone.
“Yes.” She took a sip of wine before he could think about offering a toast. Afraid that he’d toast to their friendship and her heart would react again. Or that he wouldn’t. And her heart would react again.
“It reminds me of a cross between a tea room my mother used to go to when I was a kid and the Florida room my wife had at home.”
His wife. Cara’s mother. Lila didn’t know much about the other woman except that she’d passed away when Cara was in high school.
“Do you still live in the same house?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Cara was already exhibiting signs of extreme anger and rebellion by the time my wife passed and I felt that getting her out of that environment, reminders of the eighteen months she spent watching her mother slowly fade away, would be better for her. She loved the beach so much and our old home was a twenty-minute drive...”
“Your house on the beach... You bought it for her.” Edward had first mentioned the house in front of Joy, thinking he’d pique the little girl’s interest, but the gambit had failed miserably. Joy had withdrawn at the mere mention of the beach.
“Yes.”
“How long did the two of you live there before she moved to California with Shawn?” Ran off with him was more like it. Edward’s daughter had disappeared into the night without warning or word. As Lila understood it, the two of them had been barely speaking at that point—Cara blaming Edward for her every unhappiness, accusing him of hating Shawn.
“We lived there together for two years,” Edward said, no rancor in his tone. “Her room is still just as she left it.”
That news—evidence of Edward’s hidden emotional depths—didn’t surprise Lila.
Cara had met the guy who ran a surfing school shortly after her mother died—Edward had been certain the school was a front for drugs, but the more he questioned, the more Cara pulled away, saying that he didn’t want her to be happy.
Once they were out of the state, Shawn had contacted Edward and let him know where they were living, that they’d married on the way across the country and that Edward was not to contact his daughter.
Edward had insisted on speaking with Cara—which he had—and Cara had, not kindly, reiterated her new husband’s words. She’d been eighteen at the time. Shawn had been several years older. They’d opened a surfing school in California.
From what she understood from Edward’s nephew, Hunter, Edward had hoped the business was legitimate, that Cara was healthy and happy. Cara hadn’t contacted him in years—or responded to any of his efforts to contact her. When Shawn Amos had warned Edward to leave Cara alone, he’d said that Edward did nothing but make her unhappy. And apparently Edward had begun to take all of the blame for the breakdown between them upon himself. He’d been too distant—too involved in his career for most of her childhood—was all he’d said to Lila.
“I was so certain that Shawn was the biggest problem between Cara and I,” the man said now. “She was young, grieving, lashing out and was far too vulnerable. I should never have moved her to the beach.”
“If she was as rebellious as you say, she’d have found some other way to put distance between you...”
“I tried to tell Cara that there were things about Amos that weren’t quite right. He was too controlling, for one thing. She had to text him every time she got home from somewhere. And every night before she went to sleep. And he refused to come to our house for dinner. Or hang out with any of Cara’s friends. But any time I said anything that could be even slightly construed as a criticism of Shawn, Cara shut down on me.”
Lila understood his need to talk. To confide in someone. What she didn’t understand was the strong urge she had to take his head to her breast and run her fingers through that short, graying hair.
“What happened today when you saw him?” That was the real question now. Neither of them had touched the food. Or their wine after the initial sip.
“I only saw the back of him. He was in an orange jumpsuit with his hands cuffed behind his back. He never turned around. Was in and out in less than a minute. He was indicted on charges of first-degree murder and kidnapping. Pleaded not guilty, said that he would be hiring an attorney to replace his court-appointed one, was remanded and held without bail, and they led him away.”
About the best-case scenario, given the current circumstances. But Edward’s frown, his fingers rubbing across his palm over and over, indicated otherwise.
Lila’s stomach tightened. “Did Chantel speak with him?”
Something had happened. That much was for sure. And Edward had internalized it, whatever it was. He’d dealt with it by staying close to the granddaughter who, like her mother, didn’t give any sign of returning his affection. One might think that Cara had soured her daughter against Edward, except that Joy had not known, until she’d been told several weeks ago, that he’d even existed.
“He agreed to speak with Chantel,” Edward said now, his fingers still busy against his palm. When Lila barely caught herself before reaching out to take that hand in her own, she slid her hands under her thighs.
“The first thing he did was ask Chantel if anyone had found his wife. Chantel was convinced that he was honestly worried about Cara. That he has no idea where she is. She said he had tears in his eyes when she told him that no one had reported seeing her.”
“So...if Shawn didn’t kill her, this means she’s probably still alive.” Lila tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. She was relied upon to instill calm.
Edward merely shrugged. “If he didn’t kill her, where is she? And why hasn’t she contacted anyone? By all accounts, my daughter doted on her daughter. From everything we’ve heard, Cara would die before she’d abandon Joy.”
“Maybe she thinks Joy is safe with Mary.”
He shook his head. “It’s been all over the news in both Nevada and California that Shawn is in jail—partially due to the alert put out about Cara’s abduction and the vehicle they were in.”
“Maybe she’s in the hospital someplace with amnesia...” She was grasping. But she had this strong urge to ease his pain. To give him hope.
When she knew that her responsibility was to help him accept what was and find a way to move forward.
Hope was the basis of all healing. But relying on false hope meant avoiding that healing. She, of all people, knew that.
“There’s more.” He sounded the same as he had all along. But she was sitting close enough to see the nuances on his face, the tightening of the cords in his neck as though