The Carpenter & the Queen (16 page)

“I guess you’ll have to leave that part out
of the story,” Jill said.

“But it’s bothering me now. I looked up a
bunch of stuff on the Internet, but nothing really describes
exactly how the door opened. If I ever had the chance, I’d study a
medieval door knob until I knew exactly how it worked.”

“Sounds enthralling.” Jill glanced at Dad
after she made her comment and noted his mustache moved.

“Do you know how a plane is able to keep you
in the air?” Dad asked.

Joanna frowned. “Something about the air
across the wings creating lift. I should look that up.”

“And yet, you managed to get on a plane
today and fly here from Minneapolis. How’s that possible?”

“You’re saying I don’t have to understand
exactly how something works in order to use it?”

“Now we’re getting back into your mother’s
territory,” Dad replied. “I don’t do psychology.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Your father’s got a
point. These door knobs sound like an excuse to avoid writing.”

“Excuse or not, they got me kicked out of
the writing group.” Joanna sneered as she took another bite of
cake.

“Then the door knobs weren’t the only
problem?”

Joanna blushed. “They said the ‘love
conquers all’ story line was overdone and hackneyed. I was
mortified.”

One look at her father told Jill that he
hadn’t the faintest idea what
hackneyed
meant, and neither
did she, but Joanna’s tone communicated the word was definitely an
insult.

“Then they told me my wedding planner story
read like a bad romantic comedy. Gordon said the main character—and
everyone knew it was me—had super hero fantasies because there was
no way a wedding planner could solve a case of mistaken identity,
settle a family feud, and still get the bride down the aisle in
time.”

“But that’s exactly what you did.”

“Apparently, reading my work is like eating
cookie dough—too many spoonfuls made people sick. Twenty-first
century writing calls for sex, profanity, darkness and despair—and
possibly an appearance from the undead.”

“Well, phooey on them,” Mom said. “Someday
when you’re a best selling author, you can look down their nose at
them.”

Joanna’s wan smile indicated her lack of
belief in her mother’s prediction.

Mom turned to Jill. “And someday when you’re
running a company, all those people at work who don’t listen to you
will have to.”

Jill appreciated Mom’s attempt to keep the
future predictions equitable, but Jill had no intention of running
a company. She didn’t really know what she wanted to do except go
on an adventure—and corporate America didn’t offer many
opportunities for her style of excitement.

After the twins helped clean up the kitchen,
Joanna and Mom retired downstairs to check out bedroom curtains on
the Internet for Mom’s plotted redecoration project. Jill excused
herself from weighing in on the decision (she had never developed
an interest in home décor) and settled on the couch at an angle
from her dad who sprawled in his leather armchair reading his
tablet computer.

“I found something you might be interested
in,” Dad said. “It’s the press release on your company’s new vice
president. Have you seen it?”

He passed her the computer and Jill read the
headline:
Goodwin new VP at Houston’s United Petroleum.

“It got sent to the company yesterday.”

“What do you think?”

She passed the tablet back to him. “Hard to
tell from just an email.”

“The article makes it sound like he’s some
sort of entrepreneurial prodigy. But I’d bet anyone whose father
was a billionaire shareholder in the company can buy whatever
credentials he wants. Did you know he was British?”

“It’s a British-owned company, Dad.”

Her father shook his head. “I don’t see why
they can’t hire an American. After everything that’s happened in
the Gulf, it’s hard to believe anyone from England could appreciate
our resources. We have 300 million people in this country, and they
couldn’t find any American qualified to run the site? Didn’t we
learn anything from taxation without representation?”

“Afraid they queen will try to retake the
colonies?”

“Don’t forget your ancestors were patriots.
Zachariah Mason fought under George Washington.”

Jill flashed back to family vacations when
her father used to drag the family across Boston’s Freedom Trail in
ninety-degree weather, all the while reciting family history.

“‘The Mason family has always played an
important part in history.’ Isn’t that what you always say?”

“It’s the truth. I’ve been working on our
family tree.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“I’m just getting started. But I suspect
that our family has been at the center of everything important that
has happened in the western world.”

“Obviously, Dad. Obviously.”

Dad looked like he was pondering the level
of sarcasm in Jill’s response when Joanna and Mom returned to the
living room.

“Joanna likes the
purple
curtains.”
Mom’s emphasis indicated Dad had supported a different choice.

He snorted. “She doesn’t have to look at
them every day.”

Mom curled in her floral armchair next to
Dad and faced the couch where Joanna had joined Jill. “Are you
ready for your presents?”

When the twins nodded, Mom looked
expectantly at Dad, her smile fading at the seconds of silence
ticked by.

“Frank? The presents?”

“What presents? I don’t remember
presents.”

Mom shook her head in frustration. Dad’s
mustache twitched as he slid two envelopes out from underneath a
lamp on the table and handed them to the twins. Jill passed Joanna
the one with her name on it.

“You have to open them both at the same
time,” Mom instructed.

Used to the ritual, Jill watched Joanna out
of the corner of her eye to ensure their motions of opening the
flap, pulling out the card, and reading the front were
synchronized. On the inside, after the birthday message, Jill read
this handwritten note: “Redeem this card for $300 toward a plane
ticket to the destination of your choice.”

Jill didn’t know how to respond. Her parents
didn’t have a great deal of money, especially to give both twins
such a gift.

“We want you to take a trip . . . together,”
Mom explained. “Since you’re spread out between Minneapolis and
Houston and you don’t get to see each other very often, we thought
you might enjoy a little outing just the two of you.”

“If you’re willing to fly at odd times, that
money could get you to Disney World,” Dad suggested.

“Or New York,” Mom countered. “Wherever you
two could have an adventure.”

Adventure
. Jill’s heart beat
quickened.

“We thought about planning the trip for
you,” Mom said, “but your father and I couldn’t decide on the
destination.”

“You did love Orlando when you were kids,”
Dad offered.

“But two women alone in New York could have
some great shopping adventures,” Mom countered.

“I like the idea of a trip,” Jill said. She
met Joanna’s eyes and knew Joanna already agreed on where they were
going. The twins had kept this secret for a long time. While the
money wouldn’t pay for an entire plane ticket, it provided the
motivation to actually do what they had been planning for
years.

“Orlando and New York are great ideas,”
Joanna ventured, “but Jill and I want to travel out of the country.
We both have our passports already.”

Mom blinked. “Well, that’s great!”

“You’re not going to Cozumel, are you?” Dad
asked. “I just read an article about women getting kidnapped down
there.”

Joanna laughed. “We have some place much
more civilized in mind—England.”

“Lovely!” Mom exclaimed. “They speak English
there.”

Jill looked at her father to gauge his
reaction. His mustache remained still.

“There’s a simple psychological principal at
work here, Frank,” Mom teased. “You’ve railed against the Brits for
so long that it’s had the opposite effect you intended.”

Dad grunted. “All they’ve got over there is
a bunch of old rocks and hot dishwater that passes for the national
beverage. I don’t see the appeal.”

“Oh, come on, Dad,” Joanna goaded. “I was an
English major for crying out loud.”

Dad’s lips pursed. “If it’s what you want,
you should go.”

Jill and Joanna would have gone even without
their dad’s blessing, but having him agree to a scheme always made
everyone’s life a little easier.

“I’m glad you’re getting this out of your
system,” Dad continued. “I won’t worry about you over there. Once
you see what England’s really like, I’m fully confident that you’ll
never want to stay.”

About the Author

Michelle Lashier is an independent author who
lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Visit her website at
www.michellelashier.weebly.com
to sign up for her mailing list, find out when new novels are
available, and access special bonus features.

Acknowledgements

My special thanks go out to the people who
helped make this book possible:

My mom Charlene, proofreader
extraordinaire
and endless source of encouragement.

My sister Nadine, fearless beta reader and
sounding board.

My son Nathan, resident webmaster and
technology guru.

My dad Larry, who always believed I would
publish, even though he didn’t live to see it.

My friends, family members, colleagues, and
students over the years who have encouraged me to publish.