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I LEFT THE MANSION, feeling a little unsettled after Timothy’s rudeness. He had never been overly friendly, but he hadn’t been outright rude. I took a long, calming breath as I stepped outside into the cool evening air. It was a lot better than the stifling heat inside the house.
As my truck sped down the long driveway away from Timothy’s house, I tried to think of what I could have done to piss him off. Or maybe that was just him. Maybe he was just an asshole.
I drove back to my dad’s shop with the intention of checking on the pieces he was working on. I heard the machinery the moment I got out of the truck. I wasn’t surprised he was still working. He was hunched over one of the pieces from the house, giving it every ounce of his attention.
He looked up and saw me, turning off the sander. “Hey,” he said, smiling. “I wasn’t expecting you to come by tonight.”
“I thought I would stop by and see how things were coming along.”
“Good,” he said, nodding. “I finished that door earlier. I’m working on the trim and the molding now. I should be finishing up tomorrow.” He wiped his brow, covered in wood dust and sweat.
“That’s quick,” I said with a raised eyebrow.
“I want to stay on task. The last thing we need is me falling behind.”
I gave him a small smile, appreciating his dedication. “You’re doing great work, Dad.”
He just shrugged, brushing off my praise. “It’s what I do.”
“I know,” I said, smiling.
He looked at me in that way that said he knew something was wrong. “How’s everything going up there?” he asked.
I sighed, really not wanting to complain about the client, but he was going to keep pushing.
“It’s fine,” I replied, my tone betraying the frustration.
His expression softened. “Something’s off. What happened?” He put down the wood and gave me his full attention. This was how it had always been. When I was a little girl and had a bad day at school, he always stopped whatever he was doing to listen to me. He knew just how to make me feel better.
“He’s a strange man, Dad,” I started. “He can have anything he wants, and yet he seems miserable. I never know what mood he’s going to be in. He’s a difficult person to figure out.”
My dad chuckled, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Catherine, money can’t buy happiness. It’s as simple as that. Give that man a wide berth. You don’t need to get mixed up in his billionaire drama.”
“He’s got everything,” I said. “He’s got an amazing house and the money to fix it. He has a daughter. He never has to worry about paying rent or affording the electric bill. I guess I don’t understand how someone could be so miserable when they have so much.”
He shrugged. “The more you have, the more you stand to lose. When a man has everything, he lives in constant fear of losing it all. That can make anyone miserable.”
I considered his words, ruminating over them as I looked at the pieces of the mansion scattered around his workspace. It made sense in a twisted sort of way. But it still didn’t excuse Timothy’s behavior.
“Maybe, but it’s not like he can’t just buy it back.”
“He can’t buy back his marriage. Money really cannot buy love. For people like us, it’s hard to understand how lonely it can be being at the top. He’s got that big house and no one to share it with. I know you think we had it hard because we didn’t have a lot of money and I couldn’t afford to buy you a basic house, let alone a mansion, but we always had each other. Sometimes, that’s more important.”
My dad’s words hit me hard. As much as I wanted to sneer at Timothy and his money, there was something tragic about his situation.
I looked over at my dad as he returned his attention to the piece of molding in front of him. He was right. We might not have had much, but we always had love and each other. It was more than many people could say.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said after a while, giving him a reassuring smile.
“Good.”
“Did Scott return your tools?” I asked.
“No. I have a feeling I won’t see them again now that he’s moving.”
“Moving?” I asked.
“He got fired a few days ago, the loser,” Dad said with disgust. “He’s moving to Lake Placid for some reason.”
The words hit hard. I didn’t tell my dad about Scott’s connection to Lake Placid. I chose not to divulge the details of our breakup, even if he already heard the rumors.
“I didn’t know,” I said. I didn’t want to start thinking about Scott and what it meant that he was moving. “Did you eat?”
“I ate breakfast,” he said dismissively.
I frowned. “You’re supposed to eat a few times a day,” I lectured. “You have to keep your blood sugar regulated. If you skip meals often, it’ll put you at risk for hypoglycemia.” I repeated what the doctor told him at his last checkup.
“I’m not diabetic, Catherine,” he said, setting down his tool once more.
“But you could be if you don’t take care of yourself!” I protested.
His face softened at my obvious concern. “I appreciate your concern, sweetheart. But I’m fine. Once I get this molding done, I’ll have something to eat.”
I sighed, knowing that arguing wouldn’t get me anywhere. My dad was as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be.
“I’ll go get pizza,” I told him. “I didn’t eat either.”
He chuckled. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“I’m young,” I said, grinning. “I can do it.”
I left the shop and headed to our favorite pizzeria.
The solitude was a welcome reprieve after the long day. I enjoyed the quiet drive, thinking about Timothy and what it must be like to be him. During quiet moments like these, I felt an appreciation for our town, quaint and comfortable in its predictability. I only had my dad as family, but the whole town felt like extended family members. But who did Timothy have?
His assistant? I got the impression the two were more than just boss and employee. Bennet seemed to genuinely care about his boss. I hoped Timothy had at least one friend.
After placing an order for our favorite, sausage and mushroom, I leaned against the counter, lost in my thoughts. Scott’s sudden decision to move wasn’t that big of a surprise. A quiet voice in the back of my head admonished me for even thinking about him but curiosity always got the better of me.
The bell above the door jingled, breaking into my thoughts. Bennet walked in, wearing his usual suit and tie, which was funny because his boss rarely did.
“Catherine,” he said with a warm smile.
“Bennet,” I said with surprise.
“I guess we both had the same idea.” He chuckled.
“After a crappy day, pizza is always a good idea.”
“Rough day?” he asked.
I gave him a dry look. “I was having a great day until you and your boss ruined it.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean that. Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m hungry and tired. It’s been a long week.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I get it.”
“What is his deal?” I asked him bluntly. “Timothy. I can’t quite figure him out. He’s very, um, surly. Quiet. Reserved.”
“That’s just Timothy.” He chuckled, a cryptic smile accompanying his words. “He’s not always easy to know, but when you get past the surface? Well, there’s a lot more to him than meets the eye. He’s complicated.”
I frowned, not quite sure what he was getting at. “Complicated?”
“Yeah,” Bennet said, sighing. “He’s had some rough patches that made him the way he is. Not everyone gets to see the real Timothy. Don’t take anything to heart. He appreciates the work you’ve been doing.”
“As long as he doesn’t have to see me doing it, right?” I scoffed. “Servants are not meant to be seen or heard.”
“That’s not the case,” he said softly. “He just has his ways. It’s not personal, I assure you.”
“Thanks.” My name was called. “That’s me.”
“Can you recommend anything?” he asked. “Timothy has requested something with stuffed crust.”
I almost choked. “Timothy wants pizza?”
“You’re surprised?”
I laughed. “Yes. I guess I assumed he dined on caviar and filet mignon.”
Bennet chuckled. “Not every night,” he said with a wink.
“Try the chicken fajita with stuffed crust, it’s quite popular,” I offered, thinking about Timothy’s food request.
“I’ll do that,” Bennet replied with a nod and stepped up to place his order as I left the counter.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “Have a good night.”
I got back to my dad’s shop with our warm pizza and found him still at work. He looked up and chuckled. “Busted.”
“Yes, you are.” I shook my head and smiled. “Come on. Enough for today. Let’s go dig in. I’m starving.”
I carried the pizza upstairs to his apartment and waited for him to follow.
I heard a grunt and the creak of his worn-out leather boots on the wooden stairwell. He walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his already smudged overalls. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the pizza. “Sausage and mushroom, my favorite.”
“It’s not every day that your daughter gets you pizza,” I said, pulling out two plates from the cupboard.
“Well, if this is what retirement is going to look like, then maybe I should start considering it seriously,” he teased as he took his place at the table. “I thought you were going to make me eat cardboard and dry fish for the rest of my days.”
“You don’t get pizza every night,” I teased and took a bite. “But you have to splurge now and then. Life is too short not to eat pizza.”
“I agree.”
He reached for a second slice. “So, how much work have you gotten done over there? Are you working on the banister?”
“I am,” I said, nodding eagerly. “It’s a tricky piece but I’m getting there. Once it’s finished, it’ll look great.”
“I’m sure it will,” he replied, brushing crumbs from his lips onto a napkin. “You always had a knack for making things seem grander than they are. That house is lucky to have you.”
We lapsed into a comfortable silence as we ate our pizza, both of us lost in our thoughts. After the meal, I got up to clear the table while he disappeared into the living room to turn on the news. I loaded the dishwasher, my mind drifting back to Bennet and his comments about Timothy.
There was something curious about men who were described as complicated. Complicated often meant there were emotions buried deep, covered by layers of reinforced steel that took time and patience to peel away. It sounded exhausting but also strangely intriguing. I knew some women liked the idea of fixing a man.
Not me. I didn’t need the drama.
But I could admit the thought of Timothy sitting in that huge house all alone made me sympathetic. But not enough to want to take on the problem.
I switched off the kitchen lights and popped my head into the living room. My dad was snoring lightly in the armchair, an opened newspaper draped across his chest with the TV on. I smiled at the sight. I wasn’t going to wake him and tell him to go to bed. He fell asleep in the chair almost every night. He would get to bed on his own.
I let myself out and headed home to my own quiet, lonely abode.
