All They Need

“It doesn’t matter, Dad.”

His father hugged him so fiercely his body trembled with the effort. It was a moment before he spoke. “I don’t want your mother to see me like this. Not yet.” His voice was low and determined.

“She won’t care.”

“I care.”

After a long beat, Flynn released his father, stepping away to give him breathing room.

“I’ll get you a fresh pair of pants. Okay?”

His father nodded, dashing his knuckles across his eyes. Flynn exited the study. His mother rose to her feet.

“He’s okay,” he reassured her.

Her eyes were full of questions.

“He needs a clean pair of pants,” Flynn explained quietly.

Comprehension dawned. For a moment her face seemed to sag. Then her chin came up and she nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

She strode down the hallway, head high. Flynn rubbed the back of his neck and stared blankly at the framed Picasso sketch on the wall.

There were going to be many, many moments like this in the future. Too many to count. Bit by bit his father’s dignity would be chipped away. It was as inevitable as the sun rising every morning, and as unstoppable.

Flynn returned to the study. He found his father slumped in his office chair, his eyes closed.

“Won’t be a minute,” Flynn said.

His father nodded. Flynn’s chest hurt, watching him. Seeing how hard this was for him. There was a knock on the door. He opened it to find his mother armed with a towel, a fresh pair of boxer shorts and a pair of trousers.

“Thanks.” He shut the door again and handed the towel and clothes over to his father.

“I’ll be outside,” Flynn said.

His father nodded, his gaze fixed on the pile of clothes in his lap as Flynn left the room.

Five minutes later, his father emerged. His mother stood and the two of them simply stared at each other for a long moment. Flynn could see how much effort it took for his father to hold her gaze, but he didn’t look away. Not for a second. His mother closed the distance between them and took her husband’s face in both her hands.

“I love you, Adam Randall,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “No matter what. Okay?”

His father blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry.”

His mother shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. Not to me.”

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. His father’s arms closed around her. Flynn turned away, using the excuse of checking his phone for messages to give them privacy.

“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea,” his mother said.

Flynn glanced surreptitiously as his watch. He and Hayley had been on the verge of leaving for their weekend away on the Mornington Peninsula when he’d received the panicked phone call from his mother. They had planned a leisurely drive along the bay before their appointment at midday to view the old Summerlea estate in Mount Eliza, but at this stage he was going to be lucky to make it at all.

He shrugged off the concern. His parents were more important than the opportunity to tour a piece of real estate, even if that piece of real estate was one of a kind. It was just a house and a garden at the end of the day.

He followed his parents into the conservatory and sank into one of the wicker chairs around the rustic table. Rosina appeared almost immediately, a tray of tea and banana bread in hand.

“I swear, you’re psychic, Rosie,” his mother said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flynn watched his father fiddling with the newspapers, aligning the stack of supplements into a neat pile. Flynn guessed that he was feeling self-conscious now that the crisis had passed, and very aware that Rosina must be privy to at least some of what had occurred.

“How is the Aurora development coming along?” his mother asked as she slid a brimming cup of tea toward Flynn.

It has been a little over a year now since Flynn had stepped in as CEO of the family business. He was still feeling his way, learning the ropes, but somehow he was managing to keep his head above water.

“It’s getting there. We’ve had to renegotiate a few contracts with suppliers thanks to the high Australian dollar, but we should be starting the groundwork on schedule.”

His father’s gaze was sharp as he eyed Flynn from across the table. “How has it affected the margins?”

They launched into a business discussion as his mother handed around slices of banana bread. His father was asking after the latest news from the sales department when his mother straightened in her chair.

“I just remembered—weren’t you and Hayley going away for the weekend?”

Flynn shrugged easily. “There’s no rush.”

“But you’re looking through Summerlea, aren’t you? I’m sure you told me you had an appointment with the real estate agent,” she said.

“It’s fine. I’ll reschedule.”

“What time is the appointment?” his father asked, looking at his watch.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t want you missing out because of my stupidity,” his father said.

Flynn frowned. “I’m not missing out, and you’re not stupid, Dad.”

“What time is your appointment?” his mother asked.

Flynn sighed. “Midday. But it’s really not a big deal. I was only taking a look at the old place out of curiosity.”

“Rubbish. You wouldn’t be going down there if you weren’t serious,” she said.

Flynn opened his mouth to protest but his mother fixed him with a knowing look. He lifted a shoulder.

“I’ll admit I was excited when I first heard the estate was on the market. But the agent said the house needs a ton of work, which probably means it’s a money pit.”

“If there is one thing we have plenty of, it’s money,” his father said dryly. He pointed toward the door. “Go.”

Flynn gave him an amused look. “I take it that’s an order?”