“That’s what I figured. I’ll tell Hank. He was worried.”
There was a short pause, and then Rick said, “Alice, what’s going on with Dad and the wedding?”
She’d sighed loudly. “I don’t know, Rick. He hasn’t said no specifically, but he also hasn’t said yes. Hell, we’ve got the rehearsal dinner on Thursday night, and whoever’s walking down the aisle with me has to be there.” She’d made a disgusted noise. “I haven’t even been able to tell my mother-in-law if my own damned father will be at any of the wedding events.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked you about this way earlier.” Man, Jimothy had been right. Alice sounded really upset.
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, bro. Dad should be able to answer a simple question, for crap’s sake.” Her voice rose. “He hasn’t done anything else.” For a second, she sounded like she might cry. “I’d rather it was you anyway.”
He released a breath. He knew Alice loved him, but he was pretty sure that was a lie. “I’ll take care of it, one way or another.”
“Really? Do you think you can?”
“I can’t guarantee he’ll come, but I will get a frigging answer. And you know I’d be totally honored to escort you down the aisle.”
Then she did cry. “Thank you, Rick. I don’t know how I got so lucky as to have a brother like you.”
He’d hung up with her sniffling but happy. And now he had to keep his freaking promise.
He strode up the walkway to the house. A piece of his brain said, his house. It was the house he’d grown up in where he’d lived with his father and mother and doted on his little sister—until it all fell apart. Still, a lot of his memories of this place were happy.
The ranch-style house occupied two lots on a block in east side Costa Mesa. While the old town didn’t command anything like the property values of Newport Beach or Laguna, it was still relatively close to the ocean, and people paid big money for as much land as the Ronconi house sat on. His parents had been proud of the place and the wise investment they’d struggled to make. Before, there had been flowers in the yard and rose bushes his dad had loved tending. Now, a few tangled, old remains sent out long thorned runners to catch the unwary pedestrian.
Rick made it to the porch and knocked on the door. Nothing happened, but he could hear a TV, so he tried again. Finally, footsteps echoed inside, and the door flew open. His father stood there, scowling. Like Rick and Alice, he was tall and still brawnier than Rick with dark hair and brown eyes. Rick and Alice had gotten blue from their mother. His rumpled jeans and old T-shirt looked clean, but like they’d been thrown into a drawer damp and perma-creased in a random pattern.
“What are you doing here—what the fuck did you do to your hair?”
Rick frowned right back. “I had it cut for Alice’s wedding. Right? Your daughter’s wedding.”
“Yeah. Well, how’s that job you’re doing for the two queers?” He turned and walked into the house, not inviting Rick in but leaving the door open.
Rick walked inside and closed the door after him, re-establishing the gloom. All the drapes were closed over the old-fashioned picture window and across the dining room windows, looking out over a big backyard full of trees he and Alice had climbed in. His mom had loved those ruby red drapes. Now they were just dusty and faded, like everything else in the house. The TV played some sports memory show, but the sound was off.
Rick said, “The Laguna house project’s great. On schedule, on budget, and profitable. It’s going to be a portfolio piece that might get us more high-end residential work.”
“Yeah, well the fags do like to spend the money.” He broke into a mincing walk, flipped his wrist, and said in a high voice, “Oh, oh, I just have to have that claw-foot tub because it’s sooo cute.”
Rick sighed softly. “Actually, Theodore and Snake watch their budget closely.”
“Want a beer?”
Rick didn’t have to look at his watch to know it was ten fifteen in the morning. “No, but I’ll take some coffee if you’ve got it.”
His father walked through the dining room and disappeared into the old-fashioned, closed-off kitchen. When he came back, he carried two mugs and handed one to Rick. Rick grinned. It had a faded Power Ranger on it, the mug his parents had gotten him at the same time they bought Alice the Sabrina, the Teenage Witch mug. She’d been too little to appreciate it, and Rick was always stealing it, which pissed off his father. He’d take the Sabrina mug out of Rick’s hands and leave him crying as he replaced it with the Power Ranger. Sorry, Dad. It didn’t work. Rick sipped the strong, dark liquid that tasted like it’d been brewing for a couple days. He could have used some of that caramel macchiato stuff.
His father plopped in the chair opposite the couch. The slipcover had seen better days. He tossed a sheet of notebook paper on the coffee table between them. “There’s a few new business leads you can follow up.”
Rick glanced at the handwritten notes, folded the paper, and put it in his jeans pocket. “I’ve got one too. Also in Laguna. I’ll be looking into it in the next few days before the wedding.”
His father stared into his cup.
“Dad, are you coming to the wedding?”
He rubbed a hand across his overgrown dark hair. He hadn’t lost much of it. “Ah, I don’t think anyone wants me there.”
“That’s not true. Alice wants you there. You’re her father. She wants you to march her down the aisle.”
“I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Like what? Watch another rerun of NCIS? Come on, Dad.”
“Unless you forgot, I still have a business to run, Mr. Richard Ronconi, Junior.”
Rick gazed at the man who’d held every detail of Rick’s life in his hands for twenty-nine years. He’d decided when and if Rick went to school, the work he did, and pretty much how he lived his life. Rick sucked in a breath. And his father did that because Rick let him. “No, you don’t.”
“What?”
“You don’t run this business anymore. I do.” Rick stood and paced, waving his arms. “If you ran it, you’d show up at the jobs, know the client’s names, figure out the budgets, and see to it the customers were happy. Just because you control the bank account doesn’t mean you control the business. And it doesn’t take you twelve hours a day or even eight to hold onto the purse strings.”
His father narrowed his eyes. “I run the business enough to fire you.”
“I never would have come here if I didn’t already know that. And frankly, I wish you lots of luck with that, but it isn’t the point. Your daughter wants you at her wedding. If you plan to be her father and do the father shit, then I need to know by tomorrow. Otherwise, Alice and I will make up some big story about how incapacitated you are, so she won’t be embarrassed.”
His father jumped up and yelled, “Yeah, well, it’s not as embarrassed as she’ll be if I show up.”
Rick froze.
His father stalked to the kitchen and came back with a beer he was chugging. “Look, there might have been a time when I could rub elbows with those society types but not anymore. Go ahead and make excuses. Whatever you think up is okay with me.” He waved the hand that wasn’t holding the beer to his lips. “I don’t need to hang out with a bunch of rich bitches.”