“Did you call for any particular reason, Mother?”
“Well, that’s a fine greeting,” her mother huffed, oblivious to the fact that her own greeting had been less than cheerful. “When I didn’t hear a word from you on Thanksgiving, I was worried.”
Kathleen bit back the impatient retort that was on the tip of her tongue. She knew perfectly well this wasn’t about any sudden burst of maternal concern. If it had been, her mother would have called on Friday or even Saturday.
No, the truth was that Prudence was incapable of thinking of anyone other than herself. She always had been. No matter how bad things had gotten with Kathleen’s father or the succession of stepfathers that had followed, Kathleen had always been told not to rock the boat. Silence was as ingrained in her as were proper table manners. Her mother had never seemed to notice the high price Kathleen had paid for living up to her mother’s expectations.
“Did you have a nice Thanksgiving, Mother?” she asked, because it was obviously what her mother expected.
“It would have been lovely if I hadn’t had to spend the entire meal making excuses for you.”
“You didn’t need to make excuses for me. I’m perfectly capable of making my own.”
“But that’s the point,” Prudence said irritably. “You weren’t here, were you? Your grandfather was not pleased about that.”
The only person in Kathleen’s life who was stiffer and more unyielding than her mother was Dexter Dugan, patriarch of the Dugan clan. Yet somehow he’d managed to turn a blind eye to his daughter’s foibles. He’d even encouraged Prudence and Kathleen to take back the prestigious Dugan name, no matter how many men had followed in Kathleen’s father’s footsteps. It was that blend of love and restraint that had confused her early on.
Once, Kathleen had tried to tell him about what was going on at home. She’d run to him crying, choking out the horror of watching her father hit her mother, but before the first words had left her mouth, her grandfather had shushed her and said she was never to speak of such things again. He’d told her she was far too young to understand what went on between adults.
“More important, what happens inside this family is never to be shared with outsiders,” he told her sharply. “Whatever you see or hear is not to be repeated.”
The comment had only confused her. He was family, not an outsider. She’d only been able to conclude that there was to be no help from him for the violence at home.
Despite her grandfather’s admonishment, though, her father had suddenly left a few days later. Kathleen had wanted desperately to believe that her grandfather had relented and dealt with the situation, but she’d never quite been sure, especially when the pattern between her mother and father had been repeated over and over with other men. Kathleen never spoke of it again, but the men always left eventually, usually after some particularly nasty scene, so perhaps her mother was the one who eventually stood up for herself.
Only as an adult had Kathleen recognized that her mother would always be a victim, that she saw herself that way and sought out men who would see that nothing changed in that self-perception. Perhaps it was the only way Prudence could justify turning to her parents for the financial stability that her marriages never provided.
Whatever the reason, the cycle had been devastating for Kathleen, giving her a jaundiced view of relationships. Her grandfather’s seemingly accepting attitude had reinforced that view. When her own marriage had crashed against the same rocks, she’d put an immediate end to it and vowed never to take another chance. Obviously, Dugan women were prone to making lousy, untrustworthy choices when it came to men. She, at least, was determined not to be a victim.
“I spoke to Grandfather and Grandmother myself Thanksgiving morning,” Kathleen told her mother now. “If he was hassling you about my absence, I’m sorry. I thought I’d taken care of that.”
Her mother sniffed. “Yes, well, you know how he can be.”
“Yes, I do,” Kathleen said dryly. They were two of a kind, grand masters of employing guilt as a weapon.
“What did you do on the holiday?” Prudence asked, now that she’d been somewhat mollified. “You didn’t work, I hope.”
“No. I was invited to have dinner with friends.”
“Anyone I might know?”
“I doubt it. Destiny Carlton invited me. She’s been a good friend to me and to my gallery.”
“Carlton? Carlton?” Her mother repeated the name as if she were scrolling through a mental Rolodex. “Is she part of the family that owns Carlton Industries?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Her nephew Richard is the CEO. I’m surprised you’ve heard of the company.”
“Your grandfather has some dealings with them,” her mother said, proving that she wasn’t entirely oblivious to the family’s business holdings even though she’d never worked a day in her life. “Richard would be quite a catch. He’s about your age, isn’t he?”
“He’s a bit older, but he’s also happily married and expecting his first child,” Kathleen replied with a hint of amusement. “I think you can forget about that one, Mother.”
“Isn’t there another son?” Prudence asked hopefully. “He owns some sports franchise, a football team or something like that, perhaps.”
“That’s Mack. Also married.”
“Oh.” Her mother was clearly disappointed. “Why would Destiny Carlton invite you over if there are no available men in the family?”
Kathleen wasn’t surprised her mother didn’t know about Ben. Not only did he stay out of the public eye, but he was an artist, a career not worthy of note in her mother’s book. That was one reason she dismissed Kathleen’s gallery as little more than a ridiculous hobby. If she’d seen the profits, she might have taken a different attitude, but it was doubtful.
“I’m fairly certain Destiny invited me because she thought I’d enjoy spending the day with her family,” Kathleen responded, deciding not to mention Ben.
“And spending the day with strangers is preferable to being at home with
