Blueprints: A Novel (52 page)

“Maybe.”

“Don’t they have kids?”

“Grown ones.” Even as she said the words, she had her phone out and was calling Herschel Oakes. Minutes later, she had a helpful piece of information. “Between the brothers? Seven grandchildren.”

“Family builds,” Samantha remarked. “That has to be the theme of the pitch.”

Caroline smiled, bemused. “It does. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“You may be too close to the project, or just not a marketer. But you’re talking a lot of homes here.” She pushed in another Goldfish and talked as she chewed. “Williston was on the outer edge of commuter towns when I was growing up here, but that’s probably changed. The home prices the Realtor mentioned aren’t out of sight for Greater Boston suburbia. Quality-of-life issues here compensate for the commute. Yeah, I’d buy a home here in a minute.” Her eyes stopped blinking as they held Caroline’s. “I’m pregnant.”

And no husband,
said that look of defiance. She was daring Caroline to criticize her. Not that Caroline would. She liked Samantha. Her gut said that this was a strong woman who would come to be Jamie’s good friend. Caroline wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

“I was wondering,” she mused.

Samantha touched the bump. “I’m eighteen weeks. My parents don’t know.”

Caroline had an instant reaction to that but bit her tongue. After a moment’s thought, she came at it a different way. “Jamie and I have always been this close.” She held up two fingers. “We hit bumps this month—”

“She said you weren’t talking.”

“We weren’t. There was a lack of honesty—no, a lack of
forthrightness.
It was hurtful and stupid and counterproductive. The longer it lingered, the more it took on a life of its own. Don’t make the same mistake we did, Samantha.”

“I already have,” she cried in a slightly hysterical way.

“Then correct it soon. This conversation we’re having, you and me? You’ve mentioned family more than once. It’s on your mind.”

Munching on a handful of crackers this time, Samantha considered that. Finally, seeming regretful, she said, “My family was always close. I could really use the emotional support.” She nodded. “Family builds. It’s a good sales slogan. I say that as a slightly impoverished version of your quintessential first-time home buyer.”

Caroline was thinking the girl was correct in that, too. She did represent the younger face of the market. If the slogan appealed to her, it would appeal to three brothers whose children had to be somewhere around Samantha’s age. She was also thinking that someone who was articulate, direct, and had a certain marketing savvy might impress the Weymouths. On impulse, she said, “I’d like you at that meeting. Can you come?”

*   *   *

If sheer numbers counted, the MacAfee side would have won hands down. Theo led the team, looking debonair in his old-world way. Caroline sat beside him, wearing another of her new outfits, while Dean flanked her, looking ruggedly Dean. Caroline was amazed at how stunningly Jamie presented herself, despite being thoroughly sleep-deprived. Samantha wore a slim-fitting white top over her narrow skirt, a very New York bump-flaunting look that was actually a clever marketing choice, Caroline thought, in that it portrayed MacAfee Homes as totally modern. Granted, Samantha didn’t work for MacAfee Homes. Nor did Chip, who looked sporty and god-awful handsome as he sat in the background, ostensibly present for moral support. Annie Ahl was there. And Linda. And Brad, looking awkward as hell.

Conversely, the Weymouth presence was limited to Ralph videoconferencing from San Francisco, Grant on speakerphone from Santa Fe, and, in the flesh, John the hotshot plastic surgeon who’d had plenty of work done on himself, and Herschel-the-lawyer-with-ties-to-Caroline.

Unfortunately, since the Weymouth brothers owned the land, they held the cards. Seeming disgruntled from the get-go, they had pithy remarks about Jamie’s designs, Linda’s real estate savvy, Samantha’s
Family Builds
image, and Caroline’s offer. They questioned whether Dean’s green installations were pure gimmick, and whether Annie’s landscaping plans would preserve their mother’s aging dogwoods. Ralph wanted to know why the Barths, who he claimed were about to affiliate with Sotheby’s, wouldn’t be a safer choice, and, by the way, if Theo was still the one in charge, why wasn’t he talking, and what role would he play anyway? John declared that he didn’t want Web marketing, which, he said, might create a conflict for someone Googling his name; Linda explained that any URL would simply include the address, and Samantha, having done her homework that morning, pointed out that nine in ten home buyers used the Web at some point, with 52 percent citing it as their first step.

When they seemed to run low on criticism, Ralph asked Chip why he was there. “If you think your friendship with my son will get you brownie points, think again. You let down your teammates at Harvard and made a mess of your life. I wouldn’t want you involved.”

Chip held up a respectful hand. “I’m just the chauffeur.”

Jamie took exception to that. “He’s my husband. He’s here to support me.”

As much to prevent Jamie from saying something that might anger Frank as to make a protest of her own, Caroline put in a quick “Chip doesn’t work for MacAfee Homes, but if there was a position, I’d hire him in a heartbeat.”

Dean added, “I second that. My subs rave about how he is with their kids.”

“You’re all biased,” Ralph scoffed.

“Actually,” John told his brother, “I just heard the same thing from one of my patients. His kids go to Emory Elementary.”

That touched off a bout of arguments among the brothers, starting with the state of the local schools but quickly moving on to whether the prototype houses should resemble the manor, whether an imposing front drive was practical or pretentious, whether their father would roll over in his grave if tennis courts were built at the expense of a golf course.

Caroline was still smarting from Ralph’s remarks about Chip. When the brothers began suggesting terms of a sale, like mandating that freestanding houses be built on two-acre lots and sell for no less than $1.5 million, she began to feel that these weren’t people she wanted to deal with at all. That was when Brad passed her a note.

All posturing. They know they have to sell. Let them talk. Once they settle and agree to a sale, I negotiate with Oakes.

Caroline was grateful for his words. Actually, she was grateful that he had agreed to come at all. Yes, his job called for it, but he had one foot out the door and could have pleaded a dentist appointment or a migraine or whatever. For all his emotional shortcomings, it had to be hard for him sitting in clear view of his ex-fianc
é
e and her new husband. Much as Caroline wouldn’t want Jamie with him, she felt a brief fondness.

Then she heard Ralph Weymouth’s strident voice. “Why twenty-four hours? Twenty-four hours is ridiculous. We can’t consider competing offers in twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours won’t work.”

Caroline knew what to say, but hesitated. Ralph was the toughest of the three. She had watched him during her presentation and could still hear him archly ask what role Theo would be playing. Here was a man’s man. Age wasn’t the problem; her being female was. She could fight that, push through, be strident right back at him. But she had dealt with enough men in her life to recognize counterproductive before it happened. Meeting with Hersch on Monday had succeeded because of their past. She had no past with Ralph. Her gut said that a reply to him was better coming from someone in pants.

Touching Brad’s note, which had been tactically sound, she gestured for him to answer.

He didn’t touch his glasses, didn’t glance at the papers before him. His eyes remained locked with Ralph’s on the video monitor while, with his trademark calm, he said, “This offer stands only that long. We’re willing to pay a premium for a preemptive sale—”

“MacAfee Homes isn’t the only game in town.”

“No, but it’s the best one for this job. We’ve made the arguments why. If you agree, then the decision isn’t hard to make. Absent a preemptive sale, our offer changes.”

He was calling Ralph’s bluff. Caroline would have done the same, but with less chance of success. Even coming from a male, though, toughness could backfire. She wanted to look at Theo to see if he was uneasy, but knew he wouldn’t show it even if he was. She wanted to lean into Dean, but vetoed that idea, too. For a split second, she thought about the simplicity of carpentry, where her greatest decision might be whether to use rosewood or oak. In that split second, she wanted only that.

Then she directed her mind’s eye around the table, thinking that she cared about these people and that helping them create something bigger was a worthwhile challenge. Yes, there were risks of giving a twenty-four-hour window. But the risk of letting the fire cool and the competition into the game was greater.

Also, on a personal note, there was
Gut It!
The whole point of rushing to meet with the Weymouths was to have something secured before meeting with Brian and Claire. Before that meeting, though, Caroline and Jamie had to talk.

*   *   *

Chicken Fingers and Spring Rolls, Crispy Beef with Broccoli, Chicken with Pea Pods, Kung Pao Shrimp, white rice, brown rice, and fried rice—Caroline’s dining table was covered with takeout containers by the time Jamie and Chip arrived with the boys. Samantha wasn’t with them. They had barely left downtown Boston when she announced that she planned to pack and head north.

“When?” Jamie asked in alarm, seeing Samantha as part of the team and therefore deserving of a celebratory dinner. Not that celebrations were in order. Soon after Brad’s ultimatum, Herschel Oakes, who had been quiet until then, finally spoke. “We have a lot to discuss,” he told the brothers and, shifting his focus to Caroline, stood. “I think we have the information we need. Thank you for coming. If you’ll excuse us now…”

It was a less than encouraging ending. Seeming to agree, Caroline leaned close in the elevator and said a quiet, “Hersch was being deliberately abrupt so that the brothers see him as in charge. We don’t know what they’re saying up there now.”

No, they didn’t. So that was disappointing. And now Samantha. Totally aside from her help at the meeting, Jamie liked having her with them. More important, she sensed that Chip did, too. Two days were not enough.

Samantha’s explanation came from the backseat. “I need to get there before I lose my nerve. Or fall asleep.” Her hand touched Jamie’s shoulder. “You’ll give the boys a hug for me? Tell them I’ll see them soon?”

“Will you?” Chip asked more sharply than Jamie would have.

Apparently, Samantha agreed with her. “Don’t be a prick.”

“I’m not,” he said, darting glances at her in the rearview. “I’m your brother, and I’m serious. I’d like to see more of you.”

“
We
would,” Jamie amended, twisting to look back. “There’s always room, you know. It’s your house.”

Her mouth, so like Chip’s, tipped into a crooked smile. “I think you just want me here when you meet the folks.”

“That, too,” Jamie said, only half kidding. She had an ally in Samantha and actually felt bad that they weren’t driving north to support her now. Tomorrow’s meeting made that impossible.

But life was too short to be distant from family, which was why, after they watched her drive off and then picked up the boys, they went straight to Caroline’s—that, and the fact that Jamie was too tired to even think of dinner but was famished.

Tad did amazingly well. Ever prepared, Caroline had applesauce and bananas for anyone whose stomach might still be sensitive, but Tad insisted on sitting on Jamie’s lap and finger-feeding himself bits of broccoli and rice. The last ended up less in his mouth and more on her lap and the floor. Champ’s tongue swept the floor, and, having changed into shorts, Jamie didn’t care about her lap.

Nor, actually, did she care about the fact that Herschel Oakes hadn’t called yet. Given the brothers’ negativity, she sensed they would wait until the last minute, even if they’d already made a decision, and while that annoyed her, she couldn’t sustain anger. She wanted to blame her placidity on the Chardonnay Caroline had opened, but it had more to do with exhaustion from two nights of little sleep. And relief that the presentation was done. And a more immediate and unexpected pleasure.

Looking through the back screen as she carried dirty dishes to Caroline’s sink, she thought about the teeny family she’d grown up in and her dreams of it being bigger. That dream was coming true—and on the heels of that realization came one that said the Weymouth project didn’t matter all that much in the overall scheme. Effort mattered, and yes, she felt she had done the best she could in a limited time frame. Health mattered. The boys were fully recovered, both of them strong.
Love
mattered. Caroline had Dean, who was at this moment on his hands and knees in the backyard digging up something or other for the two little guys. And Chip, her Chip. He was out there, too, having a ball with the boys in the dirt but also giving Jamie a chance to have her mother alone. If she didn’t already love him to bits, his sensitivity to that need would have pushed her there.

She watched Caroline slather on hand lotion before pulling on rubber gloves. With the scent of woods and spring rising from the gloves as they warmed under hot water, Jamie set down the dishes she held.

“About
Gut It!
—”

“About
Gut It!
—”

Jamie hurried to speak first. “I need you to believe me, this change was not my idea.”

“I know, baby,” Caroline said with a smile. She kept adding soaped dishes to the pile to be rinsed. “I probably knew it all along, but I was feeling vulnerable and I got defensive. Defensiveness is a cloud, sometimes so thick you can’t see through it. It’s gone now. I feel better about myself.”

“Because of Dean?”

“Yes. And because of Theo.”

Barely two days ago, Jamie had agreed to lobby on Theo’s behalf to convince Caroline to succeed him. She hadn’t done it—
such
a conflict of interest—and yet, here was her mother, looking the part, right down to a dusting of blush and mascara, and the neat twist of hair at the nape of her neck. Not even the neon green, soap-covered gloves that went to her elbows detracted from that. Jamie felt positively inelegant beside her.