Winning Over Skylar

Skylar winced. Back then, clothes were the least of her problems. The police and her teachers had labeled her incorrigible, and she’d come close to self-destructing. Her mother and father hadn’t noticed—they were too busy having public screaming matches and getting arrested for bashing in the windows of a neighbor’s car or some other drunken behavior. Skylar had both envied and resented the other kids for having nice, ordinary parents who didn’t knock them around, the way her parents did when they were tired of beating on each other.

Yet somehow, for reasons beyond understanding, she’d believed in the fairy-tale family, and Aaron’s family had seemed oh-so-respectable from the outside. That could be why she’d finally gone out with him. She hadn’t realized that being rich and publicly proper didn’t mean a thing. You could still be a louse.

The phone rang, and Skylar hurriedly started the washing machine before answering.

“It’s me, dear,” said her mother-in-law. “Are you busy?”

“Hi, Mom. No more than usual.” Skylar tucked the receiver under her chin as she folded clean towels. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. But Joe has the baseball game on, and I was wondering how it’s going over there.”

Skylar pictured her daughter’s stormy face. “The way you’d expect. Karin is watching, too.”

“I figured she would be.”

They were both silent for a long moment. Skylar wished she could tell Grace about her confrontation with Aaron, but she’d never discussed Karin’s biological father with her in-laws. Jimmie was the only one who’d known it was Aaron Hollister. Well...almost the only one.

It was odd. She would have sworn that nobody had guessed she was pregnant when she dropped out of school, and she’d deliberately moved to Trident to keep anyone from guessing. Yet S. S. Hollister had tried to give her payoff money after Karin was born. Skylar figured Aaron must have put it together and told his father—but if she was wrong and he didn’t know that Karin was his biological child, or had made himself forget, she’d rather keep it that way.

Payoff money...Skylar gritted her teeth. As if she’d gone to them for support or something else. She had ripped the check in half and told Sullivan Spencer “Spence” Hollister exactly what she thought of him and his son and where he could stuff his money. He’d simply laughed and walked away...forever, she hoped.

“Oh. Sorry, Grace, what was that? My mind was drifting,” she apologized, realizing her mother-in-law had broken the silence with a question.

“I just asked how Karin is doing in school so far. She was obsessed with her studies last year.”

“She’s no longer obsessed,” Skylar said drily. “This afternoon she informed me that her geometry problems are lame and aliens have replaced the principal with an android look-alike who drinks double espresso lattes all day and plots ways to kill students with boredom.”

Grace chuckled. “Good Lord. Aliens?”

“Yes. She’s now into Star Trek. Yesterday I found her practicing the Vulcan hand signal for ‘live long and prosper.’ At least I think that’s what it was, not something rude.”

“She wouldn’t have to practice that.”

Skylar instinctively looked at her fingers. No, you didn’t have to practice rude gestures. She’d begun flipping birds at her teachers in junior high school...a piece of information she’d prefer her daughter didn’t find out. Karin may have heard stories about her mother over the years, but since she hadn’t asked any questions, she probably wasn’t taking them seriously.

“When did this new interest in science fiction begin?” said Grace.

“That weekend she was sick and we couldn’t come for dinner. One of her friends loaned her a set of the Trek movies. Two days and half a bottle of cough syrup later, she was a fan.”

Grace chuckled again. “That’s our Karin. When she embraces something, it’s with all her heart.”

They chatted another few minutes before saying goodbye.

Skylar put the clean linens away and went to check on Karin in the family room. Things had been awfully quiet—no yelling at the pitcher, no declarations that the umpire needed glasses, and no shouts of triumph or despair.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s the score?”

“Five–zip, Dodgers.”

Skylar might not be a baseball fan, but she knew Karin’s three-word report meant the Los Angeles Dodgers were ahead. “Isn’t that the team you’re rooting for?”

Karin shrugged. She wasn’t crying, but she wasn’t happy, either. “It’s only the bottom of the fourth inning. They’ll probably blow it.”

Skylar let out a discouraged breath. Karin was a bright, enthusiastic kid...except when she was thinking about her dad being gone. “And they might win,” she reminded gently. “I’m sure Grandpa Joe would love to get on the phone with you.”

Karin didn’t respond, but she inched farther toward the end of the sectional couch. Right. She didn’t want the phone; she wanted someone sitting next to her...she just didn’t want to ask someone to sit next to her. Skylar thought of the dozen different tasks she should get done. It was a busy week, and she had a meeting on Thursday at City Hall that would take all evening.

She sat down. “Okay,” she said. “It’s time I learned more about baseball. Tell me what’s going on. The ones in white are the good guys, right?”

A small giggle escaped from Karin. “You’re really silly, Mom.”

* * *

AARON DROVE PAST the Nibble Nook the following morning and scowled. He had a huge job in front of him getting Cooper Industries back in shape, and Skylar wasn’t making it easier by befriending his sister. Well...her daughter had befriended Melanie, but it was essentially the same thing.

There were numerous cars at the hamburger stand, along with motorcycles and a couple of big rigs parked at the side of the road. They obviously served breakfast, and he had to admit, the scents wafting into his car were tempting. On the other hand, the presence of motorcycles and 18-wheelers was disturbing—the drivers of those vehicles weren’t necessarily a bad element, but there were no guarantees.

Almost as if taunting him, a tattooed cyclist got up from a table and strolled to his Harley. He spat on the ground and adjusted himself in his grubby-looking jeans before roaring away.

Wonderful.

Exactly the element an impressionable teenage girl needed.

Peggy was at her desk when he walked in, and he gave her a brief nod. He wasn’t thrilled with having Peggy as an assistant; she was efficient and responsible, but she was zealously loyal to his grandfather and likely calling him daily with reports on the company. Someone was informing George Cooper of the changes and new policies being made by his grandson, though he wasn’t showing a great deal of interest other than to say, “What’s good for Cooperton is good for Cooper Industries.”

Any warmth George possessed had mostly been shown to his employees and the town. He could be a genial man-of-the-people in the flash of an eye, but inside his own home he was cold and uptight. No wonder Aaron’s mother had rebelled—she’d fled Cooperton and done nothing but play ever since.

The phone rang before he reached his desk. It was Peggy, saying his father was on line one.

“Yes?” he said, punching the button.

“That’s a fine way to greet your old dad.” Spence Hollister was only “your old dad” when he wanted something.

“I don’t have time for games, Dad.” Aaron tucked the receiver under his chin and sorted through a stack of phone messages Peggy had left on his desk. A new phone system with voice mail had been installed months before, but he hadn’t decided whether his calls should continue to be screened by Peggy in a traditional executive style, or to take them himself.

“That’s always been your problem—you don’t enjoy life.”

“Some of us have a job. Why didn’t you call my cell phone?”

“I assumed you’d changed the number after moving to that Hicksville. You didn’t have to take over the Cooper company, son. For God’s sake, give it a decent burial and get out. Your mother never wanted to go back there—it’s the only thing we ever agreed on the entire time we were married.”

A headache stabbed Aaron’s temples. Much as he regretted giving up his lucrative position as CEO of a computer company, he couldn’t abandon Cooper Industries. He might have to give it a decent burial, but not until he’d done his best to keep it alive.

“What do you want, Dad?”

“I... Hang on. We’re having a spot of trouble with a champagne cork.”

A feminine laugh sounded in the background, and Aaron shook his head. His father was between wives, so his companion could be anyone from a London society deb to a belly dancer. Spence liked his ladies young, beautiful and endowed—and since he had an abundance of charm and wealth, they liked him, too.