46
Her father invited her in and she moved through the door, taking in the familiar décor she hadn’t seen in months. Her mother’s bookcases, her wedding photo in a frame on the table by the sofa, the tiny wooden cross hanging on the wall near the entry to the kitchen.
And her slippers.
Her father cleared his throat, noticing that she saw them. “Uh—please, sit down,” he said with a formality you’d use with a guest. “Can I get you some coffee?”
She nodded but remained standing. It felt unnerving to be here in this house with him after so many months. It was overwhelming, so many memories . . . and regrets.
He picked up on how she felt. She could tell from his apprehensive smile before he headed for the kitchen.
She supposed he’d seen the news, watched the press conference. Did he believe them? she wondered.
He quickly returned with a mug in his hand. “I haven’t changed much around here,” he said, as if hoping that might earn him points. “Guess I just liked the way she had it.”
She nodded again and took a sip from the steaming cup. “The flower beds look nice,” she offered. “Are those African marigolds?”
His eyes sparked with pleasure. “Yes, your mom liked those. Planted them every year.” He motioned her to sit down.
This time she sank into the sofa, leaning back against the afghan her mother had crocheted. If she closed her eyes, she could still smell her presence. Her father sat in an armchair next to the window overlooking the golf course.
“I have to admit, this is a surprise.” He smoothed his pajama bottoms. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have dressed up a little more.” His attempt at humor fell flat.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for several seconds, neither of them acknowledging why she’d shown up at his door—though the issue permeated the empty space between them like the proverbial elephant in the room.
Her father set his coffee mug on the table. He leaned forward and rubbed his chin. “Look, JuJu, I need to say something.”
She stiffened.
His eyes probed her own. “I’m so sorry about that day. Wish I could take it all back.” He shook his head. “I’ve asked myself a thousand times why I reacted—”
“I wish Mom were here.”
It was out of Juliet’s mouth before she could censor herself. What a stupid thing to say. Callous. He was trying to apologize.
She faltered. “What I meant to say is how much I wish she were sitting here with us, but I know what she’d say.” She looked at him then, with genuine sorrow. “Look, Dad, I’ve been angry with you for so long, anything else just seems awkward.”
His eyes softened. “I know what you mean. I picked up the phone so many times to call you but just didn’t know what to say. Or if you’d even talk to me.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and forced a laugh. “Ha, what would give you that impression?”
She slid their wedding photo from the table, letting her fingers trace her mother’s face. “She really loved you, you know.”
“Your mother was a good woman. Carol was far better than I deserved.”
Juliet screwed up her mouth as if to say, “You’re joking, right? Of course you didn’t deserve her.” But her father wasn’t joking. She needed to learn to let all that go.
Somehow.
“You look so much like her, Juliet. It nearly takes my breath away.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything at all. Instead, she stared at the floor and fingered her hair, trying to summon the courage to admit why she was here.
“Dad,” she managed. “I—I’m in trouble.”
“I saw the news.”
She looked up, miserable. “They twisted everything. Made all my actions out to be something sinister, when in fact I’d confronted them about what I’d uncovered.” Her voice snagged, and tears sprang to her eyes. She struggled to get control of her emotions even as her father moved to her side and placed his arms around her shoulders.
His touch created an ache so deep it felt bottomless.
As if she were ten years old, he lifted her chin. “Don’t worry, JuJu. Everything is going to be all right.”
She opened up and spilled about the envelope left on her car, how she’d recently learned it was from Alva Jacobs. “She had a set of universal keys, and she wasn’t afraid to use them,” she told him. “She found the analysis report in Greer Latham’s top desk drawer, laying on top of his pencils. The way she figured things, the company’s top sales executive wouldn’t have reason to tuck a lab report away like that, unless there was something suspicious going on. Especially after she overheard yelling and saw Robin Ford, the former QA director, storm out of Alexa’s office. So she made a copy and hid it away.”
She dug in her purse and handed her father the report.
He examined it carefully. “Everything’s within range,” he said, scowling.
“I know. The same night I found that on my car, Dr. Breslin alerted me about the outdated pallet in the warehouse.”
“The tainted product.”
She nodded. “I audited everything—thoroughly examined all our systems. Everything checked out.” She pointed to the paper in his hand. “As you can see from that report, none of the microbial counts were off. Even when they should have been.”
Her dad tapped his nose in thought for several seconds, then dropped his hand and looked at her. “And you confronted Alexa Carmichael?”
“Yes—which led to the damaging news conference.”
Her father slowly nodded.
“There’s no evidence to counter what they say happened—or about me,” she said, feeling panicked all over again. She’d come to him for help, but how was he going to fix this mess?
“Who else knows about this?”
“Malcolm—oh, and Robin Ford’s husband.” She explained how she’d found the number and called, and what she’d sadly learned. That her predecessor was dead.
That news seemed to alarm her father. “You know where this guy lives?”
“I don’t have an address, but somewhere in Gruene.”
Her father grabbed his coffee mug and stood. “Well, I want to talk to him.”
“I don’t think he will. He’s really angry at the company.”
“You underestimate me.” He turned for the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’m not going to offer the poor chap any choice.”