Alex Carter from a Minor Opposition
The annoying ring of the phone interrupted a strange, yet beautiful
dream. Alex Carter groped for the
receiver and mumbled a greeting. Instead
of the husky drawl of his answering service, the sound of his sister’s voice confused
him. She spewed a stream of sentences
with the force of a flash flood. “Megan,
slow down. Do you know what time it is?“
“Six AM and I have to
work and Laurel
Alex pushed into a
sitting position. “It’s Wednesday.”
“Very good.”
The sarcasm in her voice
made him clench his teeth. “Brat.”
“I know you’re off and
since I can’t go and neither can Jen, you have to. Just think, you can do this favor for me
without rearranging your office hours.
Were you planning something special with Johnny?”
“Noooo” He dragged out his response. Who was Laurel
“Please say you’ll
go. The other day when she called, I was
so excited about her coming home, I never thought about who would meet her.”
Alex interrupted her
stream of words. “I’ll do it.”
“Great. See you.”
“Wait a minute!” He shouted to gain her attention. “How will I know her?”
“Brown hair, brown eyes,
tall, slender. She was here the summer
Mom got sick. She roomed with Jen and me
at Grantley.”
“My memories are vague.”
“Alzheimer’s so soon.”
“I’ll remember
that.” Alex stretched. “Once I have her, what will I do with
her.” Megan’s giggle pressed a warning
button. “No way, sister mine.”
“We’ll see.”
He imagined the cat in
the cream smile on her face. “Megan!”
“I’ll leave my key under
the mat. Have her call the minute you
arrive. See you.”
Alex held the receiver
until he heard a dial tone. Why did he
have the feeling Megan had just orchestrated a crescendo in his life? His sister had a habit of trying to match
every unmarried acquaintance, friend or relative with someone. He shook his head. Being involved in one of her schemes was the
last thing he wanted.
Should he take Johnny or
arrange for Sarah Rodgers to pick him up from kindergarten? He wasn’t sure.
After he finished
dressing in jeans and a cream-colored knit shirt, he decided that while a five
year old might find the airport fascinating, if the plane arrived late, his son
would complain and fidget.
Alex remembered hours
wasted at the airport waiting for his wife to return from one of her vacations
in Europe with her “beautiful” friends. Though nearly three years had passed since
the divorce and six months since her death, his anger remained strong.
Pushing thoughts of
Rhonda aside, he ran down the stairs of the post-Revolutionary farmhouse. The aroma of fresh coffee made his stomach
rumble.
While he breakfasted, he
reviewed his memories of Laurel Richmond.
Bit by bit, he built a picture of a tall, slender girl with a mass of
brown hair, huge amber eyes and a propensity for popping into his presence as
though she’d set an ambush.
His hand tightened on
his coffee mug. “Poor little rich
girl.” The comment had been his
mother’s. Laurel Richmond was an
heiress. Megan, he silently
shouted. Not me. There was no room in his life for another
spoiled rich woman.
He been there, done
that. Money bread selfishness. His dead wife was proof of that. The moment her trust fund had been hers,
she’d run to destruction. Parties,
alcohol, drugs. She hadn’t had a thought
for her son or the man she’d professed to love,
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