Blueprints: A Novel Read Free Page B

barely seated when the waitress brought the mud-strong coffee he liked and a pitcher of cream. Once both mugs were filled, Roy ordered his usual three-cheese omelet, Jamie her usual egg-white frittata.
    What she really wanted was a side of the thick, sizzling bacon that smelled so good, but ordering it was out of the question, (A) because it was unhealthy and (B) because Roy would have felt the need to discuss that, and the last thing she wanted was to distract him.
    Cupping her mug, she leaned in, anxious to hear what was on his mind. Before she could ask, he confided in a hushed voice, “See that guy behind me at the end of the row, the one with the red hair? He’s a Barth.”
    Not urgent news, Dad, and nothing to do with Mom. But Jamie glanced at the redhead in question. “Barths are blond,” she said for lack of anything wiser.
    “Not this one. He’s buying the house on Appleton and plans to live in it. He just moved back from California with his wife and kids and is rejoining the business. The Barth Brothers teardown at the corner of South Main and Grove? It has location, magnitude, and visibility. They’re making a statement with it. They want to make inroads here.”
    “Why here? Williston’s our base. They have the North Shore. MetroWest is ours.” MacAfee Homes had dominated the suburbs west of Boston since before she was born.
    “They want the Weymouth acreage,” he said, referring to the largest privately owned parcel in town.
    “It’s not even on the market,” Jamie argued, though she knew that preemptive buys, negotiated directly with the seller, were common. “Is it?” she asked on an uneasy note.
    “Not yet. But Mildred Weymouth has been dead nearly a year, and her kids can’t agree on what to do with the place, much less afford the upkeep. The grounds have gone to shit, and property taxes are in default. Mildred’s trustee says they have no choice but to sell.” With a soft whistle and both hands on his mug, Roy sat back. “Thirty acres of prime wooded land? Pretty tempting.”
    Seriously, Jamie thought. Speculation had run wild since Mildred Weymouth’s passing, and Jamie was deep in the mix. She envisioned a hybrid community of single-family homes and condos, all developed by MacAfee Homes. “We can outbid the Barths.”
    Roy checked his phone, put it down. “They’ll drive up the price.”
    That was a problem, Jamie knew, but nothing MacAfee Homes couldn’t handle. A single Barth moving to town didn’t supplant the power of three generations of MacAfees who had lived here forever.
    Roy proceeded to say as much in different combinations of words, and all the while, the little voice in Jamie’s head was saying, Come on, Dad. We could have discussed this at the office. Why here? Why now?
    Their breakfast arrived, but she barely looked. Teasing—not scolding, never scolding—she said, “This wasn’t why you wanted to see me before I saw Mom.”
    Roy smacked the ketchup bottle over his omelet. “Hell, no. I only thought of it because that Barth was right there.” Setting the ketchup aside, he softened. “I hear you saw Taddy the other night. Sorry I missed you. I was at the selectmen’s meeting. How was he?”
    Jamie gave a helpless smile. “Adorable. He calls me Mamie. I love that he’s talking.”
    “Mostly he says no. Jessica’s struggling with that.”
    “She seemed okay to me.”
    Roy frowned. “I’m talking tantrums. She has no idea what to do when he throws himself on the floor and kicks and screams.”
    “But all kids do that. Sometimes it’s the only way they can express themselves. I saw one of his tantrums. It was actually pretty cute—I know, easy for me to say, since I leave when the going gets tough.” But that couldn’t be why her father had wanted to see her, either. “So, Dad. You got me here good and early.”
    “The early was your doing.”
    “And you know why.” Caroline.
    Ignoring the bait, Roy checked his phone, this time swiping once,