Page 14 of Family Affair
Ward remained curiously silent.
Steps approached, soft and unhurried. Prying one eye open, Frank caught sight of black tasseled loafers.
“Get up, Frank. Come with me.”
He got up, acutely aware of his father and Abe’s hostile stares. He didn’t look back, instead concentrating on picking his way without stepping on smears of paint decorating the hardwood. He’d catch hell for the ruined floor.
Correction, he’d catch more hell.
Ward made him approach the easel. “Is this your work?”
Frank wished with his entire being he could say no, yet this time there wasn’t a way out.
Mutely, he nodded.
“Why did you do it?”
Why? Because he had thought he could do better than the sweaty asshole. Now he knew he could.
He remained silent.
“Tell me. I would like to know.” Ward didn’t sound angry. He sounded surprised, and curious, like he really wanted to hear his reasons.
Tears welled in his eyes, and he was mortified at his own weakness. Damn Ward. Father could slap him around until he couldn't see straight, and he never, ever cried. Give him Ward with his gentle, compelling voice, and he turned into a soggy mess after just a few well-aimed words.
“He didn’t do it right,” he motioned at Abe with his head and wiped his running nose with a sleeve.
“And you think you did?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in a way of a reply and risked a glance at Ward. The older man seemed absorbed by the Madonna on the easel. “I… am sorry.”
He hung his head.
“Sorry? You sniveling, no-good little bastard!” Abe hit high notes, and Frank winced. “This is serious business! The people who asked for this job that aren’t amateurs! They can hurt me! Rick, do something! Ward!”
Rick took a step toward Frank.
Ward wheeled around. “We will take care of it.” He gave Rick a meaningful glance before training his sharp eyes on Abe. “Will you give us a minute? I think I have a solution. Please, feel free to help yourself to the drinks. We’ll join you shortly to talk about compensation.”
After more grumbling and bemoaning the “snotty little bastard,” Abe took himself out of the study.
Silence descended. Frank’s insides shrunk and he gazed around, noting that Cade was nowhere to be seen, having escaped in the commotion. He didn’t begrudge him; it wasn’t Cade’s fight. But at the moment, he was crazy jealous of his brother.
“Well, Frank, you made a mistake, and now you have to fix it.”
His throat dried up in despair. His eyes flew to Ward’s face and… the old man was smiling.Smiling.
“How?” Franks croaked.
“You heard your father. We need five identical Grieving Madonnas. Can you replicate the one you just did?”
Confused, he nodded. Of course he could.
“Can you fix the one Abe had done? Make it look like yours?”
He nodded again, more vigorously this time. “I’ll try.”
“Well, that’s it. You do that, and we’ll be fine. We’ll be perfect, son.”
