Reason to Breathe Read online

  “That’s not even funny, Dad.” Phee’s voice came out in a squeak.

  He ignored her and continued. “Seriously though, I hope you’ll think that through carefully. Owning the house together could be a bit of a mess once you all start getting married. And you know the house is old. It has some issues that might be pretty pricey to fix down the road. I don’t think it would be the wisest plan to try to keep the house. But I’ll pay you girls to get it ready to list. Quinn can handle the details.”

  Quinn Mitchell had worked for their dad for as long as Phee could remember. He was a nice man, and she trusted him. But that didn’t mean she liked Dad’s plan any better than she had five minutes ago.

  “Are you still there?” Dad raised his voice as if they had a bad connection. “Quinn should be getting in touch with you in a day or two, Phee, and he can walk you girls through everything.”

  “He already knows about you selling?” The hurt in Joanna’s voice was thick.

  Phee suspected it was because Dad had made Phee—the eldest daughter—the contact person for Quinn instead of law student Joanna.

  “How long have you known you were going to sell out from under us?” Britt asked.

  Phee shared her sisters’ irritation—shock, really. And yet she couldn’t help but be a little relieved that the house was all it was. Still, she had a feeling there was something Dad wasn’t telling them. In all the times he’d traveled to Florida for work, he’d never once mentioned relocating there. Certainly not since Mom had gotten sick.

  “You girls take whatever you want from the house … except I’m having my desk and the den furniture shipped down here, and I’d like the Sandzen paintings. You girls will get them when I’m gone, of course, but I’d like to have them in the new place.”

  “Place?” Britt’s voice turned breathy. “You already have a place there?”

  “I told you I’ve rented an apartment.”

  “How long have you been planning this, Dad? And why are we just now finding out about it?” Joanna spoke in a whisper, but she threw a look at Britt and Phee that said she was wondering if she was the last to know.

  But they shook their heads and shrugged, equally clueless. It was so unlike Dad to up and do something like this without a word to them.

  Phee reached for her glass and took a sip of watered-down tea before speaking woodenly into the phone. “Can’t you at least come home long enough to help with the house? What … what’s going on in Florida that’s keeping you there?”

  The three of them sat like statues, bent over the phone, waiting for him to reply.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Dad finally spoke. “I really didn’t intend on you finding out this way. I … I was going to break the news in person next time I came back, but I suppose this is as good a time as any.” He sucked in a breath that was audible over the miles. “I’m getting married, girls.”

  The glass—Mom and Dad’s last wedding glass—slipped from Phee’s grip and shattered on the tile floor.

  Chapter 2

  Phee ran to take the kettle off the burner. But she’d lost her appetite for tea.

  “Married? Very funny, Daddy.” Britt’s voice trembled.

  “It’s not a joke, sweetie. I—”

  “Dad? Who?” Joanna’s voice trembled.

  Phee put a hand on Jo’s back. It was damp with perspiration—not at all like the cool, calm Joanna who usually had her world and everyone else’s organized. “It’s okay, sis …”

  But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all. How had their father had time to fall in love? Unless it had happened while Mom was still living. The thought made her blood run cold.

  Phee could understand that Dad had already grieved losing Mom. They’d run out of treatment options the first year after Mom’s diagnosis, and they’d all had a full two years of knowing they were losing her. The three sisters had talked about the stages of grief until they were sick of the topic. But they’d lost their mother, not their life partner. Not their lover and soul mate. Was Dad so desperate not to be alone that he would grab onto the first woman he met? Before Mom was barely cold in her grave?

  But that was just it. It had to have started before Mom died. And that nurse … she’d always been just a little too attentive to Dad. Bordering on flirtatious, yet in a way that could have been simply part of her playful nature.

  “Who are you marrying?” Britt moaned and turned to her sisters. “How did he even have time to meet someone? This is insane!” She seemed unaware of the phone—set to Speaker—that they were huddled around.

  Phee nodded, but her momentary relief was gone. She knew who.

  “Wait … let him answer.” Jo jumped to Dad’s defense. “Before you convict him.”

  Britt, despite always having been somewhat of a daddy’s girl, glared at her sister. But she kept silent.

  “Is everybody still there?” Dad’s voice had lost some of its bravado.

  “We’re here, Dad.” Phee moved the phone two inches to the left on the table, as if that might influence the answer he would give.

  “Well, like I said, I’m getting married. We haven’t set a date or anything, but …” He cleared his throat. “I know this must come as a shock, and I don’t expect you girls to understand. But I want you to know it’s all going to work out. Everything will be fine and—”

  “It’s not fine! How can you even say that?” Britt covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  Joanna looked stunned. “Are you going to tell us who it is, Dad? Is it someone we know?”

  And how did you get to know her? Phee wondered. Dad had been at Mom’s bedside practically every minute the last six months of her life. If he’d been a murder suspect, he would have had an alibi with any one of them for that period of time. He couldn’t have been running around. He just couldn’t.

  “Actually, you’ve all met her. It’s Karleen, from the—”

  “Karleen?” Phee clenched her fists, and her jaw tensed. “Karleen, as in the hospice nurse?” She wasn’t sure why she was pretending to be surprised. It was a good thing Dad hadn’t waited to tell them in person, because right now she wanted to strangle him.

  “Hospice nurse?” Realization lit Joanna’s pale-blue eyes. “Are you kidding me? She’s my age!”

  “No, she’s not, Jo. She’s …” Dad hesitated. “She’s older. Older than Phee.”

  “What, thirty?” Phee hated the sarcasm in her voice, but she could not believe they were even having this conversation.

  “Listen, girls … I’m going to hang up now. I’ll explain everything. I’ll answer any questions you have, but I can see you need some time to let this sink in.”

  “This will never sink in,” Phee said between gritted teeth. “Never.”

  She jabbed at the phone until the End button appeared, then clicked off before their father could hang up on them.

  She slumped into a chair at the table. Her sisters did the same.

  “Oh my gosh, you guys. What just happened?” Britt’s eyes glazed over. “Did you know about this?” She looked accusingly at Phee.

  “I didn’t know. But I was starting to be suspicious.” Phee shrugged. “You guys know who Karleen is, right?”

  Britt nodded, still looking dazed. “Of course I know. That blond nurse that came on duty toward the end. She was … really nice. At least I thought so. She was Mom’s favorite. But … she’s really young.”

  “Exactly.”

  Joanna raised her hands in a defensive mode. “Guys, Dad’s fifty-two. It’s not like he’s an old geezer.”

  “Dad said she’s older than me. Ha, I bet she’s all of thirty-three.”

  “Phee, you don’t know that,” Britt said.

  “And it’s barely been two months since Mom … Do you think they were having … an affair? Right under Mom’s nose?” Phee’s voice scaled the octave.

  Britt shook her head. “I don’t know how else it could have escalated to … marriage—”

&nb
sp; “Hang on … let’s give him the benefit of the doubt.” Joanna straightened in her chair. “This doesn’t sound like Dad. Let’s not accuse him before we know all the facts. He has a right to be innocent until proven guilty.”

  Phee gave a little growl. “Don’t go all Judge Judy on us, Jo. What else could it be? He sure in blazes didn’t have time to fall in love with her in the two months since Mom died. The months he was supposedly devastated at losing her.”

  The more she thought about it, the more her blood boiled. But it was more than anger. Her dad was her hero. Always had been. It was maybe one of the reasons she’d never dated anyone for more than a few months. Because Dad had always been her measuring stick. And nobody ever measured up. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  She remembered how the hospice nurse—Karleen—had touched Dad’s sleeve at the memorial service. It had seemed innocent enough, and yet, even that day, a warning light had flickered. Now, that light was flashing neon red.

  “There has to be an explanation.” Britt shook her head, not looking convinced. “Something we don’t know about or—”

  “So what are we supposed to do now?” Phee shoved her chair back and paced the length of the breakfast room.

  “Dad said he was sending that guy from the office”—Britt’s brow knit—“Quinn? … to talk about getting the house on the market. How can he do that without even talking to us? Without even asking what we want to do. Where am I supposed to live?”

  “Well, it is his house,” Joanna conceded. “I guess he has the right to sell it if he wants to. But he could have at least asked us what we thought.” She reached to put a hand over Britt’s. “And don’t worry, honey, we won’t let you be homeless.”

  Joanna shot Phee a look over Britt’s head. They’d been sisters long enough they could almost read each other’s minds, and this look said, She is not staying at my apartment.

  “Dad said Mom left her inheritance from Grandma to us.” Britt’s eyes welled with tears.

  “I wonder how much it is.” Phee cringed inwardly. Now that the words were out, it seemed like a tacky thing to say. But she truly was thinking of Britt. This whole turn of events was a shock to all of them, but Britt was the one whose life would be most turned upside down, especially if Dad sold the house. “Dad said it’d be enough for you to get an apartment, Britt.” A wave of guilt swept over her. “But you can stay with me until you find a place.”

  Their “baby” sister had never been out on her own. She’d lived at home while she worked for a couple of years to save money for college, and then after less than a year in the dorms, she’d moved back home to help their father with Mom and the house. They had all put their lives on hold to help with Mom, but Britt had borne the brunt of it.

  “It’s okay, Phee.” Joanna gave her a long-suffering look. “My place is bigger than yours, and besides, most of her stuff is already there.”

  “I don’t have that much stuff.” Britt frowned. “So sorry to be such a burden on everybody.”

  Phee and Joanna chose to ignore her sarcastic appeal for sympathy, and Joanna looked thoughtful. “I don’t know how much is in Mom’s account, but remember when the Lamberts’s house came up for sale? I heard Mom tell Dad that she was tempted to buy it.”

  “She surely wasn’t serious. She loved this house.”

  “No, I don’t think she was serious. I think Mom just meant she could have bought it, and that little house was selling for almost two hundred grand at the time.”

  “Wow. You really think Grandma left her that much?” Britt’s pout disappeared, replaced by raised eyebrows. “How come she never spent any of it?”

  “She spent a little. Remember?” Phee said. “That’s how she redid the sitting room and collected the paintings.”

  “Back when Sandzen’s stuff was reasonable,” Joanna added. “You were probably too little to remember, Britt.”

  Phee must have been about twelve when Mom had received the inheritance from her mother’s estate. She vaguely remembered that Mom and Dad had argued over how she would spend the money. They rarely argued. Apparently, Mom got her way, for soon after, the rarely used sitting room off the kitchen had been painted and the carpet pulled up. Over the years, the walls gradually filled with an eclectic gallery of paintings that Mom picked up whenever she traveled with Dad.

  The two Sandzen originals had actually been an estate sale purchase, bought in Cape Girardeau. Mom paid several hundred dollars for the two small pieces, and the purchase had been a bone of contention between their parents—until the paintings appraised for over five thousand dollars a few years later.

  Mom had gloated for the rest of her life about her great eye, and Dad good-naturedly let her. Phee had always liked the paintings—the whole gallery. And the room’s decor had stood the test of time with its hardwood floors, grayed teal walls, and a worn-to-perfection Persian carpet. Dad rarely spent time in the room, and when they were younger, the girls had been forbidden to play there unless they were reading or listening to music with Mom. Maybe that was why Phee loved the room so much. She knew it was where she’d come by her love of classical music. She sometimes dreamed of recreating this room in her own home someday. It was still the place in this house where she felt closest to her mother.

  Yes, Dad had been under tremendous pressure with Mom having been sick for so long. But they’d all supported him …practically moved in with him and Mom. Britt had officially done just that. They’d all pitched in, cooking and cleaning, shopping and nursing. Panic clawed at Phee’s throat. They’d made things as easy as possible for Dad. And she thought he’d handled it well. But this?

  This was insane.

  Chapter 3

  Quinn Mitchell hung up the phone and raked a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure what was up with Turner Chandler, but it struck him as very odd that the man who’d lost his beloved wife mere weeks ago had suddenly up and moved to Florida. Especially when all three of his daughters still lived here in Langhorne. This was the third time his boss had called him in as many days, each call about Turner’s daughters. This was not part of his job description. And besides, Turner knew Quinn was putting every extra hour into finishing his own house. He didn’t have time to be worrying about his boss’s house. Or the man’s daughters.

  He buzzed the office assistant he and Turner shared at the construction company—or at least had shared before his boss’s transfer to Florida. Though he often referred to Turner as his boss, it wasn’t what people envisioned when they heard the title. Technically Turner was his supervisor, but the two of them had worked together so long—and so well—that the man felt more like a friend. At least until he’d started taking advantage of Quinn’s generosity.

  Megan appeared in his doorway a split second after her perfume announced her approach.

  “Hi, Meg. Do you have phone numbers for Mr. Chandler’s daughters? He said you would.”

  “Sure. Shall I email them to you?”

  “Actually, would you call and set up a meeting, please?”

  “With all three of them? Is everything okay? I heard a rumor Mr. Chandler was staying in Florida …” She waited, obviously hoping for all the juicy details.

  “I’m not sure how long he’ll be there.” That, at least, was true. “Everything is fine. And on second thought, yes, just email me Phylicia’s phone number.” He wouldn’t have filled Meg in even if he knew all the juicy details. Megan Spidle was good at her job, but if she had a character flaw, it lay in the arena of nosiness and indiscretion. And for now at least, this issue would require a great deal of discretion.

  She left the room, and a few minutes later the phone number appeared in his inbox. He picked up the office phone. May as well get this over with. Which was an odd thought for a man who, not that many years ago, had jumped at any excuse to be wherever Phylicia Chandler was.

  Phylicia wasn’t even the prettiest of the three blue-eyed, tawny-haired sisters. The middle daughter, Joanna, probably claimed that distinction. B
ut it was Phylicia who always drew his eye, and who could make him smile without even seeming to try. She could drop by the office for five minutes to see her dad, and the rest of Quinn’s day was somehow better.

  If circumstances had been different, he would have asked her out long ago. But given that the girl was his boss’s daughter—but more importantly, his friend’s daughter—he wasn’t about to go there. No doubt the “off limits” tag he’d bestowed upon her had more to do with the fact that she’d still been in high school when he first came to work under Turner at Langhorne Construction.

  And then there was the age difference. He’d practically watched Phylicia grow up, and she’d only become more attractive and interesting to him with every year. But their age difference didn’t seem as stark as it had back when she was sixteen and he was twenty-eight.

  Of course, she had been out of college by the time he and Heather started dating, and Phylicia kind of fell off his radar.

  Heather was history now. And Quinn could clearly see that she’d been all wrong for him, but that didn’t make what had happened hurt any less. He’d wasted too much time coming to terms with it. And he considered it a victory of sorts that he could actually feel glad for Heather, who was living her dream now, married to a miracle man, with an infant daughter and a big new house in Austin, Texas.

  And now that Phylicia was—if memory and math served correctly—probably close to thirty, it didn’t seem so absurd to think of her the same way he had BH: Before Heather. Still, Phylicia’s age didn’t change the fact that he was twelve years older than she was, and it sure didn’t change the fact that she was his boss’s daughter. Quinn liked his job and wasn’t looking to leave Langhorne anytime soon.

  Of course, if Turner ended up staying in Florida, he would no longer be Quinn’s supervisor. Turner had never said he was transferring for good, but Langhorne Construction’s interests in Florida were expanding, so it made sense he could have a permanent position there if he wanted it.

  Quinn frowned. If Turner relocated permanently to Florida, Quinn might never have a good excuse to see Phylicia again. A forty-two-year-old man shouldn’t need an excuse to call and ask a woman for a date, but he was more than a little gun-shy after everything that had happened with Heather.