“Mother,” Pedro Karaka complained under his breath, giving her a hard side glance before shifting his attention to Ric and looking apologetic.
“Shhh, shhh.” Alicia didn’t look at her husband but waved her hand at him dismissively.
Pedro ignored the gesture and the command to be quiet. “We came to wish him the best of luck,” he said, sounding as if it weren’t the first time he’d reminded his wife why they were stopping by Ric’s place unannounced.
Another day Ric might have been amused. Alicia and Pedro were good people. Some might even claim he was blessed to have them as grandparents. But Ric saw them as a repeated reminder as to why he would never get married; why he’d quit the dream of his childhood to be a good father and husband someday. They spoke over each other, interrupted each other, and went off on tangents, losing focus as to what they were original y talking about.
Ric wouldn’t ever get stuck in a mess like that. His grandparents had spent a lifetime together and had nothing to show for it. They were broke and lived in a shack.
“Of course we wish you good luck.” Alicia ignored Colby when the dog walked between her and Ric. “And we want you to know how proud your papa would be if he were alive today.”
Ric had heard a lot of that since he’d moved to the island almost a year ago. It wasn’t the easiest thing for him to wrap his brain around. If Ric got his practicality from his father, then his dad wouldn’t be proud until Ric accomplished his goals. He was simply moving forward, securing his success and his roots into place.
“Thank you, Grandmother.” There wasn’t anything else to say. When she simply beamed up at him, Ric leaned forward and gave her a gentle hug.
Alicia wasn’t going to have anything to do with that. She wrapped her arms around Ric and held on as if her life depended on it. His grandfather, Pedro, nodded as he watched his wife.
“Give us a cal when you get home,” he said, apparently deciding his wife had clung to Ric long enough and slowly began peeling her away from him. “Your grandmother wil worry until you do.”
Alicia made a clucking sound as she swiped her hand at Pedro, as if she would hit him several times for suggesting such a thing. A simple sidestep on his part and he avoided her efforts. She continued waving Pedro off as she turned to the car.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Pedro asked, turning from his wife and pul ing on his multicolored shirt. Once, the old man probably had hair as black and thick as Ric’s, but strong streaks of silver dominated it now.
Pedro asked as if there were other options. Ric wanted to tel him this was standard practice in business. A venture this size didn’t get off the ground without financing. He could go to the bank and take out another loan, hopeful y. But he’d only paid a year on his mortgage so far, and as it was, the money he’d saved was quickly dwindling. If Samantha Winston financed this project, once the bed-and-breakfast was up and running, he’d be able to pay off the mortgage and pay her back with money left to live on. He’d crunched the numbers enough times to have them memorized.
“Everything wil be fine.” It was a line he’d learned from the foster mother he’d had through part of grade school. “Don’t worry,” he added.
Then, again not sure what to do, he extended his hand. “I’l cal you two once I’m done.”
Pedro was old-school, and stubborn as hel . No one could get the old man to see any viewpoint other than his own. More than once, Ric had explained why he was approaching Samantha Winston. He had no clue how Pedro ran his farm for al the years he did when he appeared to be so staunchly against borrowing money. And God forbid the old man understand a line of credit.
“You would think after a year you’d understand the concept of family, boy,” Pedro said, ignoring the extended hand and instead taking Ric by the arm and walking with him toward the driver’s side of the car. “Sometimes I think you got every lick of stubbornness your grandmother could pass down through her blood. We’re going to worry. We’re going to support you. And we’re going to ask questions and butt our heads into your business on a very regular basis. I’ve been over this with you. Your grandmother is living proof of this.”
Ric watched Colby as she circled around Pedro, sniffing his pockets with each turn. Pedro absently stroked the dog’s head but kept his stern, watery gaze on Ric. He wouldn’t admit Pedro had a point, especial y when it wasn’t the issue at the moment. He wanted Pedro to understand business, and Pedro wanted him to understand the concept of family, something Ric had never had prior to a year ago and what many people didn’t seem to give the same value to, at least as far as he’d seen. Ric stood a better chance of explaining business to his grandfather than the other way around.
“I understand,” he lied, and the look Pedro gave him proved he saw through the lie. Ric patted his grandfather on the shoulder and held the
“I understand,” he lied, and the look Pedro gave him proved he saw through the lie. Ric patted his grandfather on the shoulder and held the car door while Pedro got in. The old man slid a large piece of jerky out of his pants pocket and tossed it to Colby. “I’l be sure and let both of you know how things went as soon as I’m done visiting with her.”
“Don’t make it al about business, boy,” his grandfather said, wagging his finger at Ric. “Take time to know your blood.”
Pedro and Alicia Karaka backed out of Ric’s driveway, the old man taking it at a snail’s pace. Ric waved after them for a moment, then turned to his dog, who was on the trail of some rodent and already heading across the field where neglected banana trees and rows of pineapple bushes grew.
“You ready, Colby?” he yel ed.
Colby bayed loudly, one of her ears inside out, as she gave up on her hunt and came bounding toward Ric’s truck. She pranced around in circles until Ric opened the passe
nger door for her. She leaped into the seat and immediately sat facing forward without giving him a second glance.
“Al right, girl,” Ric informed Colby as he climbed in, then revved the engine. “You’re going to chil in the truck while I tend to some business.
You know the dril .”
Her response was to lean forward and sniff the glove box where her bone was kept, a reward for not chewing on his upholstery when Ric left her in the truck. He waited until his grandparents had pul ed out onto the road, then made a U-turn in the driveway and headed for town.
Joe Seal, whom Ric had met right after moving to the island, moonlighted as a bel hop at the Four Seasons at Manela Bay, one of the two hotels on the island. He had his eyes open for Samantha Winston’s arrival. Joe had cal ed Ric the night before and confirmed that the Samantha Winston party had arrived as scheduled and, it appeared, with more servants than usual. Ric guessed she might have quite an entourage with her. This was the half of his family that was loaded.
Not that he had any desire to drain her dry. And he expected her to be wary, to not trust him, and to anticipate that he wanted her money. His story was too stereotypical. Long-lost relative shows up on the doorstep looking for handouts. It would be what he would think if the tables were turned. No one had ever given him a handout his entire life. Not so much as a meal. And that wasn’t what he was asking for now. Corporations like Winston Enterprises invested their money in smal er companies al the time. No, Ric wasn’t after a free ride.