Only The Beginning

Chapter Eight

Beside that picture was an empty space, for Lance's wedding picture Craig assumed.

Mr. Donaghy slipped his glasses back on and opened the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a file and placed it on the desk. "I'm glad family still means something to you," he said.

Craig put his hands in the front pockets of his jacket, hiding his fists. "How long has Mom's picture been off the bookcase?" he asked smartly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. This was an old dance between the two of them that had been going on since his mother died.

"That only took..." His father glanced at his watch. "Two and a half minutes, give or take," he said. "I wonder if we might ever get past your need to keep blaming me."

"And I wonder if we might ever get past your need to control everything?" His voice rose unexpectedly. 

Craig didn't want to open this wound so early, but his father had a way of putting him on the defensive automatically.

Mr. Donaghy flatted his palms on the antique desk. "You're finally home. Can't we just focus on the present?" His father phrased the question like a demand. "I want this wedding to be perfect."

The spiteful words were just below the surface, but when Craig looked up at his brother's engagement photo, he reeled in the anger, biting the inside of his cheek.

"And for God's sake," his father whispered sharply. "Keep your voice down. There's been enough drama this afternoon to keep the girls gossiping at the watercooler."

'Girls' is right, Craig thought. He took in his father; refined, polished, not hair out of place. "Your secretaries keep getting younger, Dad."

He barely lifted a white eyebrow. "No, you're getting older." Then he gave Craig a rare smile, a real one, not the one saved for business meetings and photo ops. It was like a cautious olive branch.

A small part of Craig relaxed. "I suppose you're right," he agreed, crossing his arms and taking a few steps around the office. Getting too old? He was only thirty. Still, in his father's eyes, he was way overdue for some kind of life accomplishment. A restaurant on the brink of bankruptcy didn't have a place of honor on his father's shelf of pride, apparently.

He glanced at the photographs again. Too old for a university degree? Too old for an engagement photo? Too old to become a business tycoon like dear old Dad?

"Lance called me before I came down here," Craig began, trying to refocus. "He wants to make sure you realize why they changed their minds about the wedding."

A disgruntled sound emerged from his father. "I can't believe Sue Yin is behind this decision," he said. "As soon as they set a date all she could talk about was the wedding. She gushed, full of excitement and ideas. I know as father of the groom I'm not supposed to be concerned with the details, but I was anticipating this event as much as they were. This family hasn't had anything to celebrate in a long time."

He fought the painfully strong urge to kick something. Craig took a deep breath and made his way across to the floor to ceiling windows, concentrating on the waves in the harbor. Did his father even hear his own words? He knew he was a disappointment, but to hear him categorize Lance as a let-down as well was beyond his usual martyr-like outlook.

"It will still be a celebration," Craig said, taking his time with each word. "This is their wedding, not..." he stopped himself from finishing the sentence. The missing wedding photo of his parents from the bookcase made a harsh statement. A dull throb began to ache at the back of his skull.

Both men stayed quiet.

Craig continued to stare out the window. A cruise ship navigated its way past George's Island, guided by several tugboats. There was already one docked at Pier 21 and Craig guessed this Norwegian liner probably had at least a thousand tourists onboard soon to disembark on downtown Halifax. Growing up, ships like these were far less frequent. His hometown was becoming popular in his absence.

Calgary, on the other hand, felt the effects of low oil prices. When budgets get tight, people don't eat out as often.

There was a quick knock, then the same brunette who had greeted Craig at reception appeared in the doorway. He thought she'd put on more lipstick. "Mr. Donaghy," she said. "I have the contact information from your last meeting. Would you like me to start a file for them?"

"No need, Claire," he answered, waving a hand to the side. "I saw them as a favor. When they call to reschedule the next meeting, give them a ten-minute slot. That's all the charitable time I can afford this month."

She nodded, then glanced at Craig. There was a slight hesitation before she said, "I hope you enjoy your stay." Her intonation had a salacious quality that lingered in the air until she closed the door behind her.

Mr. Donaghy cleared his throat. He looked at Craig with a mixture of watchful amusement. "Maybe you're not too old after all."

But Craig's attention wasn't on the receptionist. "What was your meeting about? The one I walked in on?" He only now began to wonder about the partner that was with his mystery lover. He'd helped her up and guided her out of the office when all Craig could do was stare daggers at her. A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over him. He ran a shaking hand down his face. What was her angle?

Shutting down his computer, Mr. Donaghy took the file off the desk and tucked it under his arm. "Only a couple of amateurs still wet behind the ears. I gave them a work project to appease them. It's better to tell them to work harder than to turn them down flat."

"So they're in advertising?"

"Yes." He glanced at his watch. "We need to leave soon." He made his way to the door. When he put his hand on the knob he paused and turned to Craig.

"Thank you," he said. "You coming home is important to your brother."

"Of course." He followed his father out of the office, noting the file still tucked under his arm.

"Mr. Donaghy?" Claire had her hand over the mouth piece of the phone. "I'm sorry to bother you on your way out, but Ms. Fontaine is on the phone. She said you'd been expecting her call. Would you like me to take a message? Or shall I have her call your cell phone at a later time tonight?"

Craig saw an immediate brightening of his father's countenance. "Perfect. Transfer her through. This should only take a few minutes," he said over his shoulder to Craig as he disappeared back into the office.

Claire replaced the phone and sat taller in her seat.

Craig made his way over to reception desk and leaned against the counter. There were a number of sticky notes with names and numbers neatly lined up on a clipboard labeled with today's date. "Do you like working here?" he asked, giving her his best smile.

"I'm fortunate," she said, tidying a pile of papers.

"Your father is the best boss I've ever had."

"He said you're one of his favorites."

She laughed, keeping her eyes down. Her manicured hands made minuscule adjustments to the placement of the stapler. 

"Ms. Fontaine must be an important client," he nettled.

"Oh, she's not a client." Claire looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "She owns several construction companies." Then she lowered her voice. "I suspect she's very important because your father is usually the one who dictates when he's available, not the other way around."

The annoying throbbing that had begun at the back of his brain was beginning to sharpen. Everywhere he turned today the secrets were piling. He winced and put a hand to his temple.

"Are you okay?" Claire stood up. 

"A headache. Jetlag and caffeine withdrawal, I think."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "You wait here. I've got just the thing."

He gave her a grateful smile and waited until she disappeared around the corner, then he slipped behind the desk, studying the clipboard. The sticky notes were filled with names and phone numbers, but there wasn't a Melissa or even a Brooke on the list. He looked at the small waste basket closest to Claire's chair. Resting on the top of the day's garbage was a crumpled sticky note. He grabbed the balled-up note and slipped it into his pocket.

Craig was leaning against the counter, looking completely innocent by the time Claire returned with a black coffee and two aspirins.