Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)
“That’s enough, Hoagie. You’re headed down the wrong road,” Burke said, cutting him off. “Allison may not be another Kate, but I fell in love with her for my own reasons. If you don’t understand those reasons, that’s your problem. I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Well, all right.” Hoagie threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”
A moment of awkward silence hung between the two friends. Then Burke changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking of selling my boat,” he said. “If you know anyone who might be interested—”
“You’d sell your boat? The Lady Brianna?” Hoagie was aghast. “But you love that boat. Kate loved her, too. Think of all the good times we had on her, all the fish we caught—all those great memories.”
“That’s just it,” Burke said. “I put the boat in dry dock after Kate died. Brianna didn’t want to go out in it anymore, without her mother. Neither did I. And Allison’s never shown any interest in boating or fishing. Why pay storage to the marina for a boat that doesn’t get used?”
Hoagie gave him a mournful look. “I’ll ask around. Somebody’s bound to want her. She’s a great boat. But, damn it all, Burke, selling her would be like selling a member of your family!”
“I know. But my daughter’s got her heart set on a new BMW convertible. Selling the boat would make it easier for me to buy it.”
Hoagie shook his head. “Blast it, Burke, I know you love that girl. And I know you’ve knocked yourself out trying to make up for her mother being gone, and that you’ve got some guilt over marrying a woman Brianna doesn’t like. But a college student doesn’t need a new BMW. A decent used car for ten or fifteen thousand would get her anywhere she needs to go. If she wants fancy new wheels, she can graduate and earn the money herself! She’ll appreciate it more that way.”
Burke exhaled and took a sip of water. “You’re probably right. But I promised her any car she wanted. And I’ve always taught her that promises were meant to be kept.”
Hoagie swore under his breath. “I never thought I’d say this to your face, but I’m saying it as a friend. That girl hasn’t heard the word no from you since her mother got sick. And it hasn’t done her any good.”
“You’re saying I’ve spoiled Brianna?”
“Well . . . yes. And even though you haven’t talked about it, I know your business is having money problems. Hell, we all know it, the whole gang.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe it’s time for Brianna to grow up. And maybe that classy new wife of yours needs to grow up, too. Look at the money she spent fixing up your house, when it was fine the way it was before. Hell, man, Kate would never have—”
“I told you, that’s enough, Hoagie,” Burke said. “I know you mean well, but when you criticize my wife, that crosses a line. Leave it at that, and I’ll forget what you just said. All right?”
Hoagie shrugged. “All right. I was just giving you a little friendly advice, that’s all.”
“I know. But I’ve got to ride out this storm in my own way. All the friendly advice in the world won’t make any difference.”
“You always were a stubborn son-of-a-gun.” Hoagie rose to his feet. “Even flat on your back and hooked up to machines, you don’t back down. You may be my best friend, but sometimes you can be a mule-headed idiot.”
Burke forced a smile. “Thanks, Hoagie. I can always count on you to say what you think. You’ll ask around about the boat?”
“Sure. But I still think you’d be crazy to sell it. You get better, okay?”
“Just watch me!” Burke managed to hold his smile until his friend walked out the door. Then, clenching his teeth against the pain, he pressed the call button for the nurse.
* * *
By the time Allison pulled the car into the garage, exhaustion had caught up with her. She knew she needed to rest, but it was early yet, not much past nine thirty. And she was too wired to sleep, especially with Brianna out partying and likely to be home late.
In the kitchen she laid the loan application on the counter while she checked the landline for messages. There were none, and none on her cell phone. She didn’t have much appetite, but the unfinished bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge had some appeal. She poured a glass half full, crossed the living room, and stopped in front of the fireplace, where the Kathleen Petyarre painting hung above the mantel. It was titled Mountain Devil Lizard, a traditional “dreaming” of the Aboriginal artist. Burke and his friends had made fun of it, asking why she didn’t just hang up a slab of cement. Allison had forgiven them for not understanding. But she loved the nuances of light and shadow and the deep, hidden meanings in that painting.
How much would it be worth now? Ten thousand? Fifteen? At least the money should be enough to make a small dent in the
short-term loan on the American Heartland, or pay for a few more months of Brianna’s education.
It wouldn’t be enough to solve any of Burke’s problems. But the painting was the one valuable thing she owned outright—the one thing that was hers to sacrifice.
The San Francisco art dealer she’d bought it from was a friend. Tomorrow she would call him to ask how much he could get her for the painting and how soon he could find a buyer. With luck, if she lowered the price, the sale might not take long.
Still holding the glass, she wandered out onto the balcony and stood at the rail, gazing at the lights on the far shore. The night breeze was cool on her face, the wine burning a cold trail down her throat.
A single tear trickled over her cheek. Burke was the love of her life. When they’d married in that dream of a ceremony, she’d promised herself that she would be the perfect wife to him. Now everything was falling apart, and she didn’t know how to hold it together.