Annie's Rainbow - Fern Michaels [77]
“I suppose we could do that. It’s highly irregular. Your credit card, sir.”
Parker thought his head was going to spin off his neck when he saw the total price, plus the tax, before he signed his name.
A shopping bag in each hand, Parker made his way to the jeep waiting for him outside the front door. When he dumped the bags unceremoniously in the backseat of the jeep, he saw the clerk wince and shudder. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Andy, take Queen Kaahumanu Highway and I’ll tell you where to turn. We’re going to Kiki’s house. Do you by any chance know if she went to the office today?”
“No show today, boss.”
Parker adjusted his Padres baseball cap until it covered his dark glasses. With his feet propped on the dash, he fired up a cigarette. He thought about his sister and how well she’d done over the past few years. She’d taken his blistering criticism without blinking, intent only on learning the business. She’d been an asset, too. The last two years he knew he could leave the business in her hands and not worry. But the big plus was he’d become close to his sisters and their families. He knew the kids now as well as their friends and all the dogs and cats. If Kiki was truly, truly angry, he could lose it all. He realized in that one heart-stopping moment that he didn’t give a hoot about the business. He didn’t want to lose the closeness he’d established and found so comforting. He liked going to birthday parties and graduations, liked picking up the phone to hear a childish voice say, “Hi, Uncle Parker.” Because of one thoughtless remark he could well be back to square one. No family, no business, no Annie, no prize contract that he needed so desperately. He shuddered.
“Turn here, boss?”
“Yes, it’s the third house on the left.”
“Let me go in first, Andy, just in case Kiki starts throwing things. Give me five minutes and bring up the bags. Okay?”
“Okay, boss.”
Parker walked up a neatly trimmed brick path to the front door. There was always a fresh plumeria wreath hanging on the front door. His other sisters had wreaths on their front doors, too, the same way his mother had them. Like mother, like daughters. He rang the bell.
Kiki opened the door, still in her robe. “What do you want, Parker? Oh, I get it, you came for the credit card. Wait here, and I’ll get it.” Parker stepped back when his sister slammed the door in his face. He opened it boldly.
“I didn’t come for the damn card. I came to say I’m sorry.” He motioned for Andy to bring the bags into the house.
“You’re too late, Parker. Get out of my house. I don’t want you here. Here’s your card. You know what you can do with it, don’t you?”
“Look, Kiki, I’m sorry. Old sayings, old habits die hard. I told you it wasn’t going to be easy. I told you I’d slip and for you to bring me up short. I can accept criticism, and I can accept you telling me off. I don’t want you to quit. You’re doing a hell of a job. Customers like you. That thing about Tom and the handshake came out of left field. What can I do besides say I’m sorry.”
“I could accept that if you were sincere. Sometimes, Parker, you just mouth words and don’t know what you’re agreeing to. You agree because you think it’s what I want to hear. If you don’t understand it, what’s the point?”
“I want you to come back.”
“Why? So you can get the Daisy Shop contract? I canceled it.”
“I know. I don’t care about that, Kiki. I care about us, the family. Annie Clark can buy her coffee wherever she wants. I brought something for you. I didn’t know what color to get, so I bought them all. They’re going to deliver the boxes and some kind of bags. The clerk said women want the boxes and the bags, and I didn’t want to wait for them. Why would you want empty boxes and bags?” he asked fretfully.
“How many . . . You bought them all! Parker, this is ridiculous.”
“I know. It’s my point, Kiki. You and the others are worth more to me than these silly pocketbooks. I hate it when we squabble. I hate it when you’re right, and I’m wrong. If you want, Kiki, I’ll turn over