Summer Escape with the Tycoon

Molly sighed, the ache inside her growing. “I think I did, too, Mom. He’s amazing and handsome and wonderful and smart. Until I blew it.”

“So try to fix it.”

“He wouldn’t talk to me before I left.”

“So? Good Lord, child. You are the most persistent, stubborn woman I know. Since when do you give up when faced with no?”

Her mom was right. She hadn’t even fought for him. “I don’t know where to start.”

“You could try calling or emailing. Open the channels of dialogue.”

It was true. He still had all the pictures and video of their trip. It was a way in, perhaps. “Look at you,” Molly said, smiling a little. “Relationship counselor while Dad handles the breakups.”

“We balance each other out. Now listen. Stay and have dinner and get your bearings again. Then think about touching base. If you really care about him, reach out. If it’s the end, it’s the end. But at least you will have tried.”

Molly leaned over and hugged her mom. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. And we love you, too. Your father will get over your leaving, too. You just go be happy.”

She would. If it was the last thing she did.

* * *

Eric pulled into the dri

ve in front of a small bungalow in Laval. Three other cars sat in the driveway; his made the fourth and filled the remaining paved space. It was Sunday and they were all here, just as he knew they’d be. Maman had always made a big deal about Sunday dinners and being together as a family.

He hadn’t been to one in years.

Taking a huge breath, he got out of his car, walked to the front door and, feeling incredibly awkward, pushed the doorbell.

His mother answered, her dark hair showing streaks of gray, her eyes with crinkles at the corners and laugh lines at the edges of her lips. She’d aged, but she looked happy. And her face blanked when she saw him.

“Mon Dieu! Eric. Vraiment?”

“Oui, Maman.” He offered a small smile. “May I come in?”

“Of course! The boys are here. And all the kids.”

“Je sais. C’est dimanche.” He laughed. “Tell me it’s roast beef and mashed potatoes...”

Her eyes lightened. “Welcome home,” she said simply and opened the door wider.

The house was bustling with children a variety of ages, slamming in and out of the door that led to the backyard. His sisters-in-law were all in the kitchen, helping with the meal, the “boys” sitting at the table with beers, talking. An odd silence fell over the group when he stepped across the threshold.

Adam, the youngest, cursed under his breath in surprise. And Robert—Bobby—lifted his eyebrows. “Eric. This is unexpected.”

“I know. I should have called, but I was afraid you’d all tell me not to come.”

The silence let him know that he wasn’t being afforded a hero’s welcome. Not that he deserved it, but this was no prodigal-son moment.

Janette, Adam’s wife, twisted the top off a beer and handed it over with a small smile. He took it, gratefully, just to have something in his hands.

“Something is on your mind, oui?” Robert asked and used his foot to nudge out a chair.

“It is. I need to apologize. When Papa left us, I felt this huge responsibility to make sure we were okay as a family.”

“You did a great job,” his mother said, patting his arm as she deposited a stack of plates on the table. “You took on so much, at such a young age.”