Unfinished Business Read Free Page A

own good.”
    â€œOr anyone else’s,” Vanessa muttered, and her mother smiled again.
    â€œIt’s always hard for a woman to resist the tall, dark and handsome kind, especially if he’s a rogue, as well.”
    â€œI think hood was the word.”
    â€œHe never did anything really bad,” Loretta pointed out. “Not that he didn’t give Emily and Ham a few headaches. Well, a lot of headaches.” She laughed. “But the boy always looked out for his sister. I liked him for that. And he was taken with you.”
    Vanessa sniffed. “Brady Tucker was taken with anything in skirts.”
    â€œHe was young.” They had all been young once, Loretta thought, looking at the lovely, composed stranger who was her daughter. “Emily told me he mooned around the house for weeks after you…after you and your father went to Europe.”
    â€œIt was a long time ago.” Vanessa rose, dismissing the subject.
    â€œI’ll get the dishes.” Loretta began stacking them quickly. “It’s your first day back. I thought maybe you’d like to try out the piano. I’d like to hear you play in this house again.”
    â€œAll right.” She turned toward the door.
    â€œVan?”
    â€œYes?”
    Would she ever call her “Mom” again? “I want you to know how proud I am of all you’ve accomplished.”
    â€œAre you?”
    â€œYes.” Loretta studied her daughter, wishing she had the courage to open her arms for an embrace. “I just wish you looked happier.”
    â€œI’m happy enough.”
    â€œWould you tell me if you weren’t?”
    â€œI don’t know. We don’t really know each other anymore.”
    At least that was honest, Loretta thought. Painful, but honest. “I hope you’ll stay until we do.”
    â€œI’m here because I need answers. But I’m not ready to ask the questions yet.”
    â€œGive it time, Van. Give yourself time. And believe me when I say all I ever wanted was what was best for you.”
    â€œMy father always said the same thing,” she said quietly. “Funny, isn’t it, that now that I’m a grown woman I have no idea what that is.”
    She walked down the hall to the music room. There was a gnawing, aching pain just under her breastbone. Out of habit,she popped a pill out of the roll in her skirt pocket before she sat at the piano.
    She started with Beethoven’s “Moonlight” sonata, playing from memory and from the heart, letting the music soothe her. She could remember playing this piece, and countless others, in this same room. Hour after hour, day after day. For the love of it, yes, but often—too often—because it was expected, even demanded.
    Her feelings for music had always been mixed. There was her strong, passionate love for it, the driving need to create it with the skill she’d been given. But there had always also been the equally desperate need to please her father, to reach that point of perfection he had expected. That unattainable point, she thought now.
    He had never understood that music was a love for her, not a vocation. It had been a comfort, a means of expression, but never an ambition. On the few occasions she had tried to explain it, he had become so enraged or impatient that she had silenced herself. She, who was known for her passion and temper, had been a cringing child around one man. In all her life, she had never been able to defy him.
    She switched to Bach, closed her eyes and let herself drift. For more than an hour she played, lost in the beauty, the gentleness and the genius, of the compositions. This was what her father had never understood. That she could play for her own pleasure and be content, and that she had hated, always hated, sitting on a stage ringed by a spotlight and playing for thousands.
    As her emotions began to flow again, she switched to Mozart, something that required