Seasons of Darkness

By Belinda G. Buchanan

Everett Harrington should have taken Natalia's behavior that night as a sign of things to come, but hadn't. When it came to her, he could never think clearly. Now, left alone to raise a son he can't talk to, and a daughter that he wants nothing to do with, he chooses to spend his evenings drowning his frustrations in a bottle of scotch, an action which escalates his already volatile temper.

Ethan's innocence was lost seven years ago when his mother took her own life. Forced to grow up in a hurry, he quickly learns to build a wall around his heart, vowing never to let it be marked again. Left alone with his estranged and abusive father in an isolated farmhouse, he struggles to live among the shattered remains of a family that was never functional to begin with.

Then one fateful summer, love finds both men.

For shy, lonely Ethan, it's his first, and one that he is bent on keeping. Finding that nothing else matters when he's with Mary, he immerses himself in their relationship, being content to lie to her when it comes to holding on to his family's secrets. As time slips away, however, Ethan, now sixteen and still ravaged by his mother's death, turns to what he has seen his father take comfort in time and time again - thus giving rise to an inner demon that will not turn him loose.

For Everett, it's his second chance at love, and something he thought would never happen again - yet it does not come easily. Over the years, he has grown stubborn and set in his ways, and the arrival of the new nanny turns all that - as well as his emotions - on end.

A story of hope - even in the darkest of times, this is a coming-of-age novel that depicts the sometimes difficult, and oftentimes complex, relationship experienced between fathers and sons when tragedy strikes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belinda G. Buchanan
• Release date: Aug 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301323319

Belinda G. Buchanan

Adultery, alcoholism, & mental illness are very real, but sometimes overlooked, social issues that I like to write about.Why, you ask?Because drama is raw, drama is pure-and drama evokes emotion like no other. And when you combine it with tall, dark, & handsome-it's positively electrifying. Giving my characters these afflictions is what makes them human, warts and all. Even heroes have a chink or two in their armor.My stories are filled with angst, intimacy, despair, and hope. If you like these things, and don't mind a few racy scenes or a sprinkling of profanity here and there, then my books are for you.I have written four novels to date: "After All Is Said And Done", "The Monster of Silver Creek", "Seasons of Darkness", "Tragedy at Silver Creek", and the recently released "Winter's Malice".Be sure and click on the video trailers to get a sneak peek of what I'm talking about.I love to chat almost as much as I like to write, so come visit me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/Belinda.G.Buchanan.authorOr hop on over to my website to learn about my newest releases and giveaways: https://belindagbuchanan.comThanks for stopping by my page!

Book preview

Chapter One

Everett Harrington quickly scanned the lines of the resume. You come highly recommended by the agency, Ms. Schmidt.

Call me Greta, please.

He looked at the woman sitting nervously on the edge of his sofa. Her hands were clasped together so tightly he couldn’t distinguish one from the other. Did they tell you that this is a live-in position?

Yes, sir. Six days a week with Sundays off.

My work hours are long, so I would need you to get the children off to school and prepare their meals.

Yes, sir.

It would also require housekeeping and laundry.

I understand, sir.

Everett placed the papers on the table in front of him and leaned back, hoping to put her at ease. Tell me a little about yourself.

Well, she said, smoothing the folds of her dress, I love working with children. They bring me a great deal of joy and happiness.

He waited for her to continue, but she seemed satisfied with her answer. How long have you been a nanny? he asked, hoping to get a bit more information out of her.

Twelve years, sir.

He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. She was obviously a woman of very limited vocabulary, and despite the fact that she’d come with glowing recommendations, he began to doubt her abilities. It had been his past experience that the quiet ones never worked out.

How many children do you have, Mr. Harrington?

Two—a boy and a girl, he said, checking his watch. They should be getting home from school any minute.

And their ages?

Renee is twelve, but she likes to think of herself as an adult. She’s also quite the chatterbox. Her mouth moves from the time she wakes up in the morning until her eyes close at night.

She sounds delightful.

He shook his head. "You say that now, but wait until you’ve been in the room with her for an hour."

All right, she said, smiling. I shall reserve my judgment until then.

Everett smiled back at her. It was nothing more than a simple reflex on his part, but it caused her cheeks to turn a bright crimson. Although he found her shyness amusing, he couldn’t help thinking that he’d just wasted his afternoon.

He watched in silence as she began smoothing the folds of her dress again. It looked as if she were trying to pull it farther down over her already modestly covered knee—and from what he could tell—a very shapely pair of legs.

Mr. Harrington?

He felt a burning sensation in his own cheeks as he subtly shifted his gaze back to her face. Yes? he said, clearing his throat.

What about your son?

Ethan is sixteen, he answered with a sigh, and you’ll be lucky if you get two words out of him.

~

The heat from the pavement was warm on the bottoms of Ethan’s shoes as he walked along the edge of the narrow road. It had been a long time since he had felt the sun on his skin, and he slowed his pace, wanting to enjoy it.

Clink, rattle, rattle, rattle. Clink, rattle, rattle, rattle.

A soda can suddenly rolled past him, followed by Renee. She caught up to it and kicked it once more, sending it spiraling down the middle of the lane. Aren’t you glad school’s over?

Yes, he said, realizing it was the only answer he could give her in order to avoid fifty questions.

They turned off the main road and began making their way down the long gravel drive that led to their house.

Watch out for the puddle, Renee— The heel of her shoe just barely missed landing in it as she jumped. Undeterred, she hurried on up ahead to the next one and bent her knees. He sighed inwardly. His sister had the uncanny ability to irritate him even when she wasn’t trying.

Ethan, look, she said, pointing. There’s someone here.

Glancing towards the house, he saw that a dark green car was parked out front.

Renee took off running. Let’s go see who it is.

Ethan’s footsteps quickened. He was curious himself as to who the owner of the vehicle was. It wasn’t often that they had a visitor.

Renee bounded through the front door, her eyes searching the living room for the stranger. Hi, she said to the woman on the couch.

Greta smiled warmly at her. Hello.

Everett gestured for her to come his way. Where’s your brother?

He’s coming, she answered, giving him a peck on his cheek.

A moment later, Ethan appeared in the doorway.

Renee leaned in close to Everett’s ear. Is she going to be our new nanny? she whispered loudly.

Yes, but let me introduce her first, all right? he answered with a chuckle. This is Greta Schmidt. Greta, these are my children, Renee and Ethan.

Ethan took a step forward. It’s nice to meet you.

And you as well, Greta replied with a slight nod.

Renee took her by the hand. Would you like to see my room? I can show you yours, too.

She glanced in Everett’s direction. If it’s all right with your father.

Go ahead, he said, rising from the chair.

It’s this way. Renee pulled her to her feet and led her towards the staircase.

Everett ran his fingers through his hair, wondering to himself what he had just done. Up until fifteen seconds ago, he’d had no intention of hiring her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ethan edging his way towards the stairs. How was school?

Fine, he answered, resting his foot on the bottom step.

Did you have a good last day?

Ethan tapped his fingers impatiently on the banister. Yeah.

Everett let him go, knowing that would be the extent of their conversation. It was as redundant as it was predictable.

~

Later that evening, Everett sat in his study, looking over his final bid to purchase Glasco. They were the leading manufacturer of synthetic rubber, supplying nearly thirty percent of the world market. Two years ago, its parent company had run into financial trouble and sold the lucrative business to a bank.

The employees of Glasco, some eleven hundred strong, had banded together and bought the company back. For the first few months, their margins had stayed in the black, but the new owners lacked the experience needed to keep it afloat. It was now in arrears and close to heading for bankruptcy.

This was the type of company Everett loved buying. He would go in low and sell it off piece by piece for a substantial profit.

He closed the file and rubbed his forehead. This particular endeavor, however, had been nothing but a headache for him. Despite an endless array of meetings, conference calls, and expressions of goodwill on his part, he was still no closer to owning it than he was three months ago.

Some of the employees at Glasco viewed Harrington Enterprises’ bid to purchase them as a hostile takeover, and they had gone as far as to seek outside help, hiring a turnaround consultant to get them back on track. These past few weeks had become a push and pull as the company grew increasingly divided over their fate.

He had yet another meeting tomorrow with John Walker, their vice-president of operations, whom Everett knew wanted to sell. He closed the folder and stuck it in his briefcase, hoping this would be the beginning of the end. Having sunk a great deal of his time and money into this deal, he was ready for closure.

He could faintly hear the sound of dishes rattling as he finished off what was left of his drink and stood up. Walking into the kitchen, he found Renee filling the sink with water.

Are you hungry? she asked when she saw him standing there. There’s plenty left.

He meandered over to the stove and peered inside the pot. Something unrecognizable stared back at him. Mmm, no, thanks.

When are you going to buy us a dishwasher?

I already have one, he said with a wink.

She made a face at him. Child labor is against the law, you know.

Where’s your brother?

Guess, she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her; it was hard not to. He’s down at the stable.

Yep. Him and his imaginary horse.

~

The bottle dangled carelessly from Ethan’s fingertips as he sat gazing out the small window of the loft. The sun was beginning to sink behind the tree line, painting the entire horizon in a soft orange.

A gentle breeze fluttered around him, carrying with it the sweet smell of honeysuckle. He settled back against an old bale of straw and breathed in deeply, enjoying the silence.

He found himself wishing that he could be as excited about summer vacation as his sister was. Although he liked being older than her, there were times he longed to be a kid again, as her days off would no doubt be spent playing with friends and going swimming at the public pool in Manchester. For him, however, it meant interning three days a week at his father’s company. He took another sip from the bottle and sighed. It was going to be a miserable summer.

He was jarred slightly by the sudden sound of metal hitting wood, but knew what the noise was without turning to look. The wind had stirred the pitchfork that was hanging on the wall behind him. He listened as its tines clanged softly against the slats of the barn. It reminded him of a bell—the kind that you heard on the water.

When he was a boy, his mother would take him down to the canal to see the boats. They used to stand on the cobblestone sidewalk and watch the ships pass by one after the other.

He sank farther into the straw and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift.

The ship’s enormous bow sliced through the water in front of him as he leaned over the rail. He watched it intently, certain that its massive hull was going to hit the edge of the concrete wall and send it crumbling into the depths below.

The ends of his toes curled up inside his shoes as the ship loomed beneath him. It was so close he could count the wooden planks on the top of its deck. He tightened his grip on the rail as he braced for impact. He watched with both fascination and disappointment as the captain of the boat guided the craft safely through the narrow opening with master precision.

With danger averted, Ethan pushed himself away from the railing and grinned at his mother. When I grow up, I’m going to be the captain of a big ship. Just like that one.

She looked down at him and smiled. Is that so?

"Yes, and when I pass by here, I’ll be sure to wave at you. He squinted up at her. Will you come and watch me?"

"Of course I will, love, she said, cupping the side of his face in her hand, but I shall miss you terribly while you’re gone."

"It will just be during the day. I’ll come home every night like Daddy, I promise."

She arched her eyebrows. Promise?

"Promise."

"All right, then. Come on, she said, making her way over to a park bench. Mummy needs to sit down for a moment."

The shrill horn of a boat sounded in the distance, indicating it was about to pass underneath the bridge.

He sat down beside her and watched for it.

"Here, she said, reaching into the folds of her purse. I’m sure the pigeons have missed you."

Ethan took the brown paper sack from her and opened it up. The birds heard the crinkling and immediately began gathering at his feet. He pulled out a handful of breadcrumbs and tossed them onto the sidewalk. Within seconds, every morsel had been devoured. The birds looked up at him, cocking their tiny heads from side to side, waiting for more.

His mother sat forward. Where’s Stubby?

"There he is, he said, pointing to the bird with the missing toe. He’s standing next to Fatso.

"Ah," she said, smiling.

"Which one shall we name today?" he asked, searching out one to pick.

"Oh, I don’t know, love," she answered, slumping against the bench.

He held his hand out in front of him and blew the crumbs from his fingers. Mummy?

"Yes?"

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked out across the canal.

"Did you always want to be a mummy?" he prodded when she didn’t answer right away.

Her lips wavered slightly. For as long as I can remember.

He eyed her stomach for a moment. Is that why you’re having a baby?

"I suppose so." Her voice was distant.

The big tug slowly came into view as thick black smoke billowed from its stack.

Ethan sat back and watched it glide silently across the water. He wasn’t sure about all this baby business. His parents had told him repeatedly that nothing was going to change. Yet, last week, he had been relocated to the bedroom at the end of the hall in order to make room for what they kept calling his little sister.

His mother put her arm across his shoulders and drew him close. Did you know that I asked the angels to send you to us?

An absurd image formed in his head as he pictured winged beings with halos bringing him down from the clouds. Did they put me in there? he asked, touching her belly.

She laughed. Yes, I guess they did.

"Did you ask the angels for this one?"

"No, she answered as her smile slowly faded. She was a surprise."

Ethan turned the sack upside down and emptied it, sending the pigeons into an ecstatic frenzy.

"You and I will always have a special bond, his mother said, squeezing him tightly. No matter where you go or what you do, I’ll always be thinking of you. And no matter how big you get…you will always be my little boy."

Resting his head upon her shoulder, he closed his eyes as she began stroking his hair.

"I will never stop loving you," she whispered.

The tug sounded its horn again, drowning out her last words.

Ethan opened his eyes and looked up at the darkening sky. He figured heaven must be somewhere past the clouds. There were times he wondered if she ever thought about him now, or even knew how old he was.

He pressed the bottle against his lips and took two long swallows, hoping to wash away the lump that had formed in his throat. His shoulders involuntarily shook as the liquid heat traveled through him.

Ethan?

He bolted upright at the sound of his father’s voice. Yeah?

I need to speak to you for a moment.

Coming, he said. His fingers trembled as he screwed the cap back on the bottle and stashed it in the hay beside him.

What are you doing up there?

Nothing, he replied, making his way down the wooden ladder.

His father looked up at the loft for a moment before letting his eyes settle upon him. You must be doing something.

I was just thinking, he said, being sure to keep a safe distance between them so he wouldn’t smell the scotch.

Thinking about what?

Nothing.

His father took a deep breath and sighed. It was exaggerated and meant for Ethan to know it was a sign of his frustration with him.

Greta will be here tomorrow afternoon, he said. I need for you to keep an eye on your sister until she arrives.

Ethan secretly hid his delight as he nodded. If he had to watch Renee, that meant he wouldn’t have to go to the office with him in the morning.

I expect you to help Greta get her things upstairs and be mindful of her, he said in a stern tone.

I will, Ethan answered, irritated that his father thought he had to tell him that.

The last of the sun’s light began to fade, casting a dark shadow inside the barn. Silence soon followed.

Ethan stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shifted his feet.

His father finally turned and walked over to one of the empty stalls. This place is cleaner than the house, he said, taking a moment to look inside.

Ethan remained silent, uncertain if that was a compliment or complaint. He watched as he ran his fingers along the stitching of the leather saddle that sat astride the stall door.

This weekend, I’m going to go see a man about a horse.

Ethan blinked as his mouth fell open. Really? he asked, uncertain if he’d heard him correctly.

His father’s mustache turned up at the corners. Really.

Ethan could not contain the smile that consumed his face at that point, and it brought forth a small chuckle from his father as he turned and headed towards the door.

~

Ethan sat on the side of Renee’s bed, watching her choose which stuffed animals she was going to sleep with. It was a nightly ordeal that usually drove him crazy, but the news his father had given him earlier was making it somewhat tolerable.

Renee held up two of them side by side, her face deep in thought.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on his leg. Can you hurry, please? he asked as politely as he could.

She finally picked the last one and crawled under the covers.

Now came the task of tucking all ten animals in there with her.

Mr. Wuzzles can’t sleep next to Mr. Bear.

I know, he said, switching them around.

And Mrs. Prickly doesn’t like sleeping on the edge.

He sighed inwardly as he moved the porcupine to the inside.

After what seemed an eternity, Renee was satisfied with the arrangement. She now lay nestled in the middle of the bed with five of her closest friends on either side of her.

Ethan reached down and picked the storybook up from off the floor. Where did we leave off?

The prince is at the wicked queen’s castle.

Right, he said, thumbing through the pages.

Are you all tucked in?

Ethan looked up from the book to find his father standing in the doorway.

Yep, Renee answered. Do you want to stay and hear the story?

He set his drink down on the nightstand and leaned over to give her a kiss. No, thanks.

She giggled as his tie fell across her face. Goodnight, Dad.

Goodnight. Love you.

Love you, too, she answered.

Ethan watched silently as he retrieved his drink and walked out.

Ready, she said, settling into the pillow.

He turned his attention back to the book and cleared his throat. The prince jumped off his horse and frantically searched for a way inside the castle. Spying the window at the top of the tower, he carefully began scaling the wall. One wrong move, and he would surely fall into the crocodile-infested moat below. It was dangerous, yes, but his love for Princess Penelope was too strong to ignore.

Everett walked across the floor and sat down on the landing at the top of the stairs, listening.

…prince heard a strange noise. He looked over his shoulder and found a huge dragon with a forked tail hovering behind him.

He heard a slight pause and the rustle of paper as Ethan turned the page.

The prince held onto the ropelike ivy with one hand and drew his sword with the other. The dragon opened its mouth and shrieked, sending a huge fireball hurtling towards him. The vine between his fingers disintegrated, and Prince Galen went plummeting towards the moat. The evil dragon flapped its enormous wings and dove after him. It caught the prince in its jaws just before he hit the water—devouring him in one bite.

There was nothing but silence for a moment.

"It doesn’t say that," Renee protested.

"Yes, it does," answered Ethan.

Everett shook his head and began to laugh.

Chapter Two

Everett walked briskly down the hallway towards the conference room. A last-minute phone call had put him behind for the meeting.

Clint Owens hurried out of his office and fell into step with him. Sir, he said, giving him a brief nod.

I need an update on First Solutions when this is over.

Yes, sir, Clint acknowledged without missing a beat.

This meeting with Glasco was important, but it wasn’t the only deal to be had. Everett made sure that whenever one was about to close, another one was waiting in the wings.

The conference room came into view as they rounded the corner. He could see Glasco’s vice-president sitting inside, but he wasn’t alone. Who’s the chap in there with him? he asked, keeping his pace.

Clint casually glanced through the glass partitions. I’ve never seen him before, sir.

Everett paused just outside the door. He did not like surprises. His meeting today was supposed to be with John Walker only.

He may be their consultant, Clint offered.

Everett checked his watch, trying to appear unconcerned about the interloper. He then gave a slight nod to the men that were standing at the end of the hall and pushed open the door. John, he said, extending his hand. How are you today?

Glasco’s vice-president offered Everett a limp handshake when he noticed the five suits behind him. I’m good, Mr. Harrington.

A small rush flowed through Everett as he felt the sweat on the man’s palms. The first rule of business was to always outnumber your opponent. Unbeknownst to John Walker, four of the men with him were from human resources and brought absolutely nothing to this meeting.

Mr. Harrington? The stranger stood up to shake his hand. I’m Clay Gehring, attorney for Glasco. I represent the workers.

Mr. Gehring, he said, hiding his irritation with a confident smile.

They all took a seat.

Thank you for coming, Everett said. I know it’s a long drive over. The second rule of business was to never meet your opponent halfway. Compromise was for the weak. The fact that they were having the meeting here, at Harrington Enterprises, was yet another small, but effective, tool.

Clay Gehring cleared his throat. Mr. Harrington, I’ve been going over the purchase plan for Glasco, and there are a few points that I would like for you to clarify.

Everett looked down the table at him. I’m sorry, Mr. Gehring, but I didn’t catch the name of the firm you’re with.

He blinked. I’m not with a firm.

Realizing at this point what was going on, Everett leaned back in his chair. If you don’t mind my asking, what year did you graduate from law school?

The man’s face turned a shade of red, highlighting the rash of acne under his chin. Earlier this year.

John Walker shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

As I was saying, Mr. Harrington, regarding the contract, Gehring continued, trying once more to take control of the meeting, there are a few points that we need clarification on.

Everett continued leaning back in his chair. Gehring had been brought in as nothing more than a stall tactic. Do you have those points highlighted?

Uh... He looked down and began leafing through the pages. Yes.

May I see a copy? Everett asked, feigning interest in them.

Of course. Gehring slid the paper down the table.

Everett picked up the contract and handed it to one of the men seated next to him. I’ll have my attorneys look over your concerns and get back with you.

Gehring opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Discerning that he’d just been played, he quietly bowed his head in defeat.

Now, John, said Everett, returning his attention to Glasco’s vice-president, I’d like to hear from you on where we stand.

The rotund little man pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his sweaty nose and cleared his throat. We’re still divided on selling. The latest vote showed sixty-three percent were willing, but we’re a little shy of having the two- thirds majority.

Each day we delay is only costing both sides money, John. And quite frankly, I’m not in this business to lose money.

I understand that, Mr. Harrington, but your reputation precedes you. Some of the workers are afraid of losing their jobs once the buyout takes place. As you are aware, Glasco is a unique company. We’re able to manufacture, process, and distribute our product on site. If you sell those departments off, we’ll lose our foothold in the market.

Everett leaned forward. "Your foothold has already slipped, John. Now, a hard decision has to be made. Harrington Enterprises has laid out a very generous offer for you."

I’m not denying that, he replied, shaking his head. But we need more time to consider.

Everett hid his disappointment. This was not the news he had hoped to hear. Pursing his lips, he slipped a document out from the folder he had brought in with him. I’m prepared to give the employees of Glasco an incentive if they agree to the purchase. You can call it a signing bonus if you want.

John took the paper from him and began reading it.

His reaction was predictable.

A broad smile formed on his haggard face. This is most kind of you, Mr. Harrington, he said as he handed the document over to Gehring.

Yes, it is, Everett acknowledged. "But be sure and have your attorney read the fine print because, from this date forward, it drops ten percent for every day you delay."

The man’s smile began to crumble.

Everett stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. I’m done negotiating, Mr. Walker.

~

Ethan braced the two by four with his knee and raised his hammer. A sharp, cracking noise echoed across the pasture as it struck the head of the nail. The wood was warped, making it rather difficult for him to drive it straight in, but after several whacks, it finally conceded.

Tossing the hammer onto the ground, he took a step back to survey his progress. There were still several boards along the back fencerow that needed replacing before he felt confident it would hold a horse, but overall, he was pleased with the results.

His eyes went from the fence to the open pasture in front of him. The heavy rains they’d had the past few days had turned the field a beautiful shade of green, making the old white barn that sat in the middle of it, look pale in comparison.

He bent down to pick up the hammer only to wince as his hand wrapped around it. The wood he had been using for the fence had to be cut, and the only tool he had at his disposal was a rusty handsaw left behind by the previous owner—the handle of which had rubbed the inside of his palm raw.

Ignoring the discomfort, he finished sinking the nail through the new board and moved on to the next section. It was getting late in the day, and although he had no desire to, he knew he needed to go check on Renee. She had been out here helping him earlier but had grown bored when he wouldn’t talk to her.

He hooked the hammer on the side of the fence and began making his way towards the house. The two-story structure sat nestled beside a small grove of trees; its magnificence lost amidst its peeling paint and sagging roofline.

There were times Ethan wondered why they had ever moved here. It was situated far from town on the very outskirts of the city—and was as lonely as any place could ever be.

The floorboards of the back porch creaked beneath his feet as he flung open the door. Renee? he called out as he moved over to the sink to wash his hands. The water hissed and spat a couple of times before the pressure came up. Renee?

There was nothing but silence.

He flipped off the faucet and stalked into the living room. Renee! He knew she was here somewhere, but the fact that she wouldn’t answer was making him angry. He jerked open the front door to see if she was in the yard and found her sitting on the porch. "What are you doing out here?"

I’m waiting for Greta, she replied, keeping her eyes focused on the road.

Ethan’s anger left him.

She seems really nice. Don’t you think?

Mmm-hmm. He leaned against the column and glanced at the empty driveway. His sister always took quickly to the new nannies. Outnumbered by men two to one, he knew that she craved a mother figure, but unfortunately, none of them ever stayed for more than a few months. In this house, it was his father’s way or the highway.

There had been a few that had stirred things up, but in the end, they had left quietly—counting the cash as they went out the back door. He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. He seriously doubted that the new nanny would be any different.

The sound of an engine made Renee get to her feet.

A dark green car was turning in.

She’s here! She jumped off the porch and went running across the yard to greet her.

Ethan hung back for a moment, not wanting to appear eager.

~

Everett locked the door to his office and began walking down the deserted corridor towards the elevator.

A few stragglers hurried past him. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington, they murmured. Have a nice weekend.

He watched with amusement as they crowded into the stairwell, electing to walk down seven flights of stairs rather than ride in the elevator with him.

Do you have a moment, sir?

He recognized his director’s monotone voice and turned around.

I’m sorry to spring this on you last minute, but we’ve got a problem.

Clint Owens had been Everett’s director of finance and strategy for nearly fifteen years. There was no one that he trusted more, and if he said there was a problem—there usually was.

Is this about the numbers for First Solutions? he asked, pressing the button for the elevator.

No, sir. First Solutions’ financials are looking good. This is regarding Conclave.

What about them?

They’ve filed an application for a CVA under the Insolvency Act.

When?

The Adam’s apple in Clint’s throat went up and down as he swallowed. Last week.

Everett struggled to maintain his composure. The purchase of Conclave was supposed to be finalized at the end of this month.

They kept it quiet, Clint said, hurrying to explain, and the only reason I know now is because I have a mate over at Mead Shipping.

Everett felt his blood pressure rising as the elevator doors slid open. All the meetings with Conclave had gone extremely well. There had been no indication that they hadn’t wanted the sale to go through.

~

A wonderful smell greeted Ethan as he came through the back door. It tantalized his senses, making his mouth water.

Greta was standing over a sizzling skillet stirring its contents. That’s perfect timing, she said, smiling. Dinner is almost ready.

He gave her a slight nod before walking over to the sink. When he had met her yesterday, he hadn’t realized just how tall she was. She was nearly the same height as his father.

Can I stir now?

Of course you can, Greta said, handing the spoon to Renee.

He flipped the handle on the faucet and gingerly began washing his hands. The blisters that had formed earlier now stung beneath the cold water.

Ethan? Did you know that Greta is from Germany?

Yes, he answered, setting the soap aside.

"How did you know?"

He rolled his eyes.

Greta smiled at her. I think my accent gave me away.

How old are you?

Thirty-three.

Are you married?

Ethan glanced over his shoulder. That’s a personal question, Renee.

Greta shook her head with amusement. It’s all right. No, I’m not married.

Do you have any children?

"Renee," he said, turning around.

She placed her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at him. She doesn’t have to answer if she doesn’t want to.

No, I don’t have any of my own, Greta replied, still smiling.

Ethan tossed the towel down on the counter and folded his arms. It seemed to him that she was enjoying Renee’s interrogation of her.

Anybody home?

Renee dropped the spoon into the skillet and ran across the floor. Hi, Dad, she said, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Everett smiled as he yanked gently on one of her pigtails. Have you been good today?

"I’m always good, she answered, resting her chin on his belt buckle. Guess what?"

What?

I’m helping Greta make dinner.

It smells good, he said, detaching her arms from him. I’ve got some work to do now.

Ethan watched silently as his father slipped into his study, leaving Renee standing in the doorway like a lost puppy.

Greta appeared in his line of sight. Would you mind setting the table?

We always just eat at the bar, Renee answered for him as she bounded back into the kitchen.

You don’t eat in your dining room?

No. Her pigtails swung back and forth. That’s where we fold laundry.

Really? She walked across the floor and through the swinging door with Renee on her heels.

See? I told you.

Ethan remained in the kitchen while Greta surveyed the room. The table had always been a catchall for everything, the most recent being laundry.

She leaned over and began gathering the clothes in her arms. Let’s clear it off for now, shall we?

Ethan suddenly hurled himself through the doorway. Here, he said, snatching the garments from her. Let me take all that.

Thank you, she replied, eyeing him curiously.

He shoved the garments into a laundry basket, taking care to bury his underwear. Within a few minutes, their folding station had been transformed back into a dining table.

Greta left the room and returned with a steaming dish. Renee, would you please go and tell your father that dinner is ready?

The door’s closed. That means we’re not supposed to bother him.

I see, she said, setting the dish down on the table. Well, we shall start without him, I suppose. She scooped out a generous portion onto a plate and handed it to her.

Ethan saw his sister scrunch up her face.

What do you call this again? she asked, poking it with her fork as if she expected it to move.

"Bauernfruhstuck, Greta said slowly. It means farmer’s breakfast."

Ethan looked down at his own plate. He had lost track of how many months it had been since he had eaten a home-cooked meal. Despite its unsavory appearance, it smelled too good to ignore. He picked up his fork and tasted it. A delightful flavor began to fill his mouth. This is delicious, he said, scooping up another bite.

Thank you, Ethan. Greta seemed genuinely happy that he liked it.

Renee kicked him playfully underneath the table. "I helped you know."

He arched his eyebrows. Stirring doesn’t count.

She went to kick him harder, but he moved his leg out of her reach.

~

Everett was busy pouring himself a glass of scotch when he heard a knock upon his door. Yes? he said politely, knowing that the person on the other side was not one of his children. They knew better.

The door slowly opened.

I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but dinner is ready.

He stared at her blankly for a moment

Reviews for Seasons of Darkness

[Eileen Bantel · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It never really dealt with the father’s abuse of his son. Didn’t like that Greta knew about the abuse but to some degree accepted it and still loved the father which certainly did not sit well with me at all!