American Daughter by Stephanie Thornton Plymale

Author:Stephanie Thornton Plymale
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperOne
Published: 2020-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Dear Owen,

Obviously our working relationship has strayed into an awkward place, and over the last few days, I have been able to find clarity around this. The past several months have been a very troubled time within my marriage, and because of this I allowed my own professional boundaries to blur in a way that wasn’t appropriate. I regret this deeply and feel it would be best to avoid further contact . . .

No. Too confessional; too intimate. Best to avoid any further disclosures about my personal life; best to be brief and to the point.

Dear Owen,

Given the circumstances of our last interaction, I’ve decided it would be best to end our working relationship. Fortunately, the work on your house is just about finished. I will arrange for the final delivery of your drapes, and . . .

This was no good either. It was too formal and stilted. It was right to cut him off completely, but I didn’t have to be icy. We had both gone too close to the edge, and we both bore responsibility for that.

Finally, I decided to skirt acknowledgment of our last encounter altogether. I would just make it clear I had no intention of returning to his home.

Dear Owen,

Your drapes and pillows were delivered today, and I won’t be able to drop them off. My husband Jim will be bringing them by late this afternoon.

JIM AND I were having breakfast when the drapes arrived on our doorstep. It was the first such breakfast we’d eaten together in months: facing each other in the sun-splashed kitchen, with coffee and eggs and toast on the table between us. It was hard to believe how good it felt just to begin the day this way. It had been so long.

When the doorbell rang, we were caught off guard.

“You’re early,” I said, upon opening the door to find one of the men from my workroom on the porch.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I have a delivery.” He was holding a heavy stack of folded drapes sheathed in plastic. They were for Owen’s master bedroom.

“What’s this?” Jim asked, appearing in the foyer.

“Um,” I said, flustered. “It’s a shipment of drapes and pillows for a customer.”

Jim took them from the workman while I signed the delivery form.

“Do you want me to bring them out to your truck?” he asked once the man had gone.

“Well—” I said. “I don’t think I should be the one to deliver them. They’re for Owen.”

“Oh,” said Jim.

“I mean, I don’t think I should go back there.”

“No,” he said grimly, firmly. “I don’t think you should either.”

“I’ll get someone from the company to take them over,” I said.

“I’ll take them over,” Jim replied.

“You?”

“I’d like to.”

I felt my forehead crease as I considered this. “Really?”

“Yes.” His tone was unequivocal.

“Well . . . okay. If you really want to,” I said. “You won’t do anything unprofessional, will you?”

“Of course not.”

I IMAGINED I would laugh about it someday: Jim’s account, afterward, of how Owen came to the door looking like a guilty dog.

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