Watching Ms. Jameson (who’s made it abundantly clear she’s keeping her last name) load a very disgruntled Mr. Parker’s plate with potato salad, a snort escapes me.
He keeps trying to stop her, saying he doesn’t want so much.
“You will eat every vegetable on your plate before you’re allowed to have meat,” she orders sternly.
“You’re going to kill me with all these vegetables,” he argues.
“At least you’ll die healthy,” she mutters.
“How does one die healthy?” Mr. Parker asks his wife. “Seriously, Matilda, do you hear yourself when you speak?”
She points the spoon at him, and the potato salad falls off, dropping to the grass between them.
“Why are you sitting all alone?” Mom says as she takes a seat beside me. “Go mingle with the neighbors and have some fun.”
I point at the elderly couple. “Shhh. I’m watching the show.”
“Are they at it again?” Mom asks.
“Ms. Jameson says Mr. Parker has to eat all the vegetables before he can have meat, and he’s not standing for it,” I catch her up with what’s happening.
“Lord only knows why they got married,” Mom chuckles. “They bicker all the time.”
“Hmm, sounds like another couple I know,” I tease her.
“Your father and I don’t bicker.”
“No, you just whack him with the spatula.”
She grins at me. “The Bible says spare the rod and spoil the child. I figure it’s the same with husbands. It’s my way of showing your father I love him.”
Letting out a burst of laughter, I look at Ms. Jameson and Mr. Parker again. They’ve finally moved away from the table and are sitting at a bench. Ms. Jameson keeps pointing at what Mr. Parker should eat next.
“Let’s grab some food,” I say to Mom.
We head to the table, and I help myself to corn on the cob, a hot dog with pickle and parsley relish, corn-stuffed zucchini, and some pickled green beans.
“Are you going to eat all of that?” Mom asks with wide eyes.
“I’m going to try. I promised Dad I’d pick up some weight while I’m here.”
“Just leave some space for the rhubarb pie I made.”
“Oh, trust me, I will.”
When we take our seats again, I pick up the hot dog and take a huge bite while my eyes scan over all the families eating and having fun.
My eyes lock on a man on the other side of the park, but he disappears behind a tree before I can get a good look.
A chill ripples down my spine, and my heart lurches in my chest.
Just as I’m about to start panicking, thinking I saw Todd, the man appears again, and using a cane, he limps toward a car.
Letting out a breath of relief, I watch as he climbs in his car and drives away.
Jesus, that almost gave me a heart attack.
I wish I could stay longer, but I have to fly home in a couple of hours.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I sip on a cup of coffee while my mind races to find a way out of this mess.
Mr. Vitale made it clear he won’t allow me to resign, so I have no choice but to go back to work.
Besides, even if I tried to run, I’m sure he’d track me down in a heartbeat.
“Hey, Sammie,” Dad says as he comes into the kitchen. He pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a seat at the table. After he drinks a couple of sips, his eyes drift over my face, then he says, “So, are you going to tell your old man what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing.” I smile at Dad to set him at ease. “I’m fine.
“I know you better than yesterday.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “What is it? Do you need money?”
I shake my head. “No.” Lowering my eyes to my cup, I circle the rim with my finger. “Work has just been busy, and my boss is impossible to please.”
“Why don’t you look for another job?”
Thinking quick, I say, “It won’t look good on my resume if I leave the company so soon.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t help if you’re unhappy. No job is worth your peace of mind.”
“I know.” I reach across the table and give Dad’s forearm a squeeze. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”
“It’s my job to worry about you.”
Mom walks into the kitchen and takes one look at us then asks, “What are you talking about?”
“We’re conspiring to take over the world,” I answer.
“God help us all.” She lets out a chuckle, then asks, “What time do you want to leave for the airport?”
Never.
Getting up from the chair, I take my cup to the sink. “I just have to pack the last of my things, then we can go.”
“By last of your things, you mean you haven’t packed at all,” she teases me.
I chuckle as I walk out of the kitchen to take a quick shower before throwing everything in the suitcase.
Sitting on the side of the bed, I unlock my phone and send my mystery man a text.
Samantha: I’ll be back in New York at five. Do you want to come over tonight?
I set the device down beside me and put on my ballet flats.
Within minutes, a reply comes through.
MMM: What time do you want me there?
Samantha: Anytime after five.
MMM: It’s a date.
Tucking my phone into my handbag, I drag my luggage to the front door before I join my parents in the kitchen again.
Dad’s eating a bowl of oatmeal with a disgruntled expression, and it has me teasing my mom. “See, you also force Dad to eat healthy stuff like Ms. Jameson forces Mr. Parker.
Mom slants her eyes at me. “It’s for his own good.”
With Mom standing behind Dad, she’s not able to see as he mouths, ‘It’s disgusting.’
Mom takes the bag from the trashcan and says, “Make sure your father eats every last bite while I take this out.”
“Okay.”
The moment she disappears out the backdoor, I reach for the bowl and shovel the oatmeal into my mouth. I manage to make a huge dent in it before I have to pass the bowl back to him.
“This is why you’re my favorite daughter.”
I roll my eyes at him and swallow before I mutter, “I’m your only daughter, Dad.”
“Right.”
Mom comes back inside and takes one look at the almost empty bowl, then says, “What did you do with the rest of the oatmeal?”
“I told Dad I’d visit for Thanksgiving and Christmas if he ate his breakfast.”
Smiles erupt on my parents’ faces.
“That’s wonderful news,” Mom exclaims, then she taps Dad on the shoulder. “See, it’s good when you eat your oatmeal.”
Dad gives me a wink, then tells Mom, “I’d eat anything you put down in front of me to have Sammie here for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Mom washes her hands, then asks, “Are you ready to go, sweetie? We don’t want to be late for your flight.”
“Yes.” I make a whining sound as I get up and pout. “It sucks being an adult. I wish I could stay longer.”
“Us too, sweetie.”
I kiss Dad on the cheek. “Thanks for an amazing week, Dad.”
“Anytime. Let us know when you land safely in New York.”
Nodding, I follow Mom to the front door and haul my luggage to the Prius.
The drive to the airport is quiet, and by the time Mom drops me off, my heart is heavy with dread.
I give her a quick hug. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Me too, sweetie.” She pulls back, and her eyes drift over my face. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Taking hold of my luggage, I pull it behind me as I walk into the airport. I check in and go through security while my thoughts revolve around everything that’s happened.
Tomorrow, I have to go back to work and what? Pretend like nothing happened?
I was wary of Mr. Vitale before I knew he was a mob boss, but now I’m downright terrified of the man.
