Up On Cove Bay

3

Ian hadn't been home for a month, not that Cove Bay felt much like home anymore. He'd spent most of that time in a frustrating battle of wits with officials over building permits for his latest planned community north of Edinburgh. Given the number of hurdles, he was beginning to question the wisdom of going through with the development. Then again, he'd put his reputation on the line for this one, and what would it say if he folded up and went away without a fight?

He'd just finished a meeting with his associates from Corsie & Company, his contractors and the subcontractors about the latest delay when his phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he saw that it was his mother, who rarely ever called him these days. In the past she'd only called in an emergency, and there'd been plenty of those with five kids in the house.

"Hey, Ma, how are you?" he said, walking away from the other men so he could have the conversation in private.

"Fit as a fiddle," she said. "Wish I could say the same for your daughter."

Ian felt his pulse speed up. "Is something wrong with Rachel? Or Jen?" he asked. Then added almost as an afterthought, "Or is it Erin?"

"Interesting that your concern for Erin came last," she said, her tone accusing. "That's always been the problem between you two. Sometimes I think you forget you have three daughters. It's little wonder the girl works so hard to try to get your attention."

"I hope you didn't call just to give me another lecture on how I've shortchanged Erin. We've had that conversation too many times to count."

"Then it amazes me that it has yet to sink in," she retorted. "And actually that's exactly why I called. When was the last time you spoke to her?"

"A few days ago, I suppose." he said, searching his memory, but unable to come up with anything more precise. That gave some credence to his mother's accusations, but he wasn't planning to admit that anytime soon. He hadn't spoken to Rachel or Jen, either.

"More like a month, I imagine," she said. "If I had to guess, I'd say it waas when she drove you to the airport. I doubt you've given her a second thought since then."

He winced as the barb hit its mark. "Okay, that's probably right. What's your point? She's a grown woman. She doesn't need her dad checking up on her."

"Checking up on her, no," his mother agreed with undisguised impatience. "But how about checking in just to see how she's doing, maybe asking how the guest house is coming along, inquiring if she could use any help in getting it ready to open? Would those things be too much to expect from a loving parent, especially one with an entire construction company at his disposal?"

Ian bristled at the suggestion that he wasn't interested in his own daughter's life or that he'd been unwilling to help her out. "Erin made it plain she didn't want my interference. You sat right there at the kitchen table when I offered to send one of my guys round to look things over and she turned me down flat."

"Ian, for a bright man, you are daft as a brush," she chided. "Maybe she didn't want one of your men over there. Maybe what she needed was you."

Ian might be past fifty, but he still hated being called on the carpet by his own mother. He'd rather face down a hundred angry Glaswegians than be made to feel that somehow he'd let down his family. It wasn't as if he didn't know he'd failed them by making life so miserable for Marion that she'd left him. He hadn't been able to fix that, and it was likely that whatever was going on right now with Erin wasn't something he could fix, either. What kind of man was he? He'd built two multi-million pound companies and yet he couldn't stop his own family from falling apart.