Читать книгу Family: The Secret Ingredient - Leandra Logan - Страница 11

“Here’s one to ya, birthday girl.”

Michael sidled up close to Grace with a pair of fluted glasses brimming with champagne. He handed one off to her with a flourish and a wink.

“Thanks.”

They sipped the quality vintage and scanned the formally dressed guests mingling in their parents’ opulent living room that evening.

“I see you slipped a few of your artsy uptown buddies onto the guest list,” he teased.

There were a few of Grace’s most current friends scattered round. But the majority of the guests were the more established ones: a Minneapolis bank vice president, a prominent St. Paul surgeon, corporate executives from both sides of the Mississippi River, all contemporaries of the elder Norths, included at all North functions. Not wishing to upset her conservative parents, she’d chosen only those likely to blend in, at least to some degree, with the elegant ambiance of the buffet dinner.

Grace and Michael long ago accepted that their parents, Victor and Ingrid, were serious social climbers who would eagerly use any family occasions to enhance social connections. They’d shared their most personal milestones with acquaintances they might not see again for months.

“So, you like my gifts, Gracie?” Michael asked.

“I adore the kitten.”

“As for the magic chef?”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up now,” Grace murmured firmly behind her practiced party smile. “But springing a widowed Kyle on me that way was a dumb stunt.”

Michael rolled back on his heels. “I thought it would be fun for the both of you, honestly.”

Grace didn’t allow his genuine surprise to salve her annoyance. “Not only did you set up that—that situation in my own private space, but you then went on your merry way.”

“Merry? I had a lunch date with dad and a very important client we’re wooing. Nothing merry about that.”

“I was at a complete loss after you walked out, stranded there with—them,” she blurted out.

“You, mistress of your own universe, need backup?” Michael regarded her with a keener interest that made her squirm in her tight red beaded dress.

An administrative assistant from their father’s accounting firm interrupted them then, anxious to make points with Michael, presently a vice president of North Enterprises.

Michael, a company man at the drop of a coin, turned to address the associate. A chip off the old block, father’s ideal offspring, Grace thought wryly. Sometimes his position as favored son entrenched in the family business bothered her, but not at the moment. She welcomed the chance to consider Michael’s assured interrogation. It was her own fault, of course. She couldn’t resist scolding him for his stunt and now he was curious about her burst of emotion.

She gulped champagne from her fluted glass, trying to once again put her position into perspective by reviewing the events of the morning. Kyle hustling around to get his prized chili into microwavable containers and clean up after himself. Button wheeling around the cluttered and compact town house with Grace’s precious gift locked in her small arms: the prized pure-bred Himalayan, which Button insisted upon christening just plain Kitty.

How much should she confide to Michael about the unsettling feelings she was experiencing? Could she even define them to her own satisfaction?

There were solid obstacles to Kyle’s invasion. Grace didn’t want anyone tampering with her messy life. She’d deliberately set up her fashion design business in her home because she liked the aura of creative chaos and enjoyed mixing business and pleasure in one big jumble of clutter. It was plain to see that Kyle had a frightening sense of orderliness. During his brief visit he’d actually started to rearrange her pathetic kitchen inventory more to his liking, touching everything, silently judging everything with grumbles and mumbles. Surely his tongue hurt from all that tsking.

Who’d have ever guessed at such a turn of events: her first intense crush barging into her creative nest to—to put things away!

Furthermore, Grace was unaccustomed to having children in her home, save for the young actors who came for costume fittings. They were older of course and proud of behaving professionally. Button had proven what was best described as a blissful tornado. Smudging her elegant hardwood flooring, dumping a knapsack full of toys into the center of her living room. She even brought her own music in the form of a battery-operated boom box. Kyle claimed she couldn’t nap without the tinny singsongs, but she never did take a nap.

It had taken all of Grace’s resolve to endure. After two full hours, she’d finally feigned an appointment and dashed out. Some birthday gift. They’d actually chased her out of her own home! The helpless feeling left her frustrated and uneasy.

“Sorry, Gracie,” Michael said. “Pick up where you left off.”

Not wanting to appear completely bulldozed by the McRaneys, she went on to relate a condensed version of the afternoon’s events, mainly chiding him for not getting her approval for such a setup in advance.

“I probably handled the presentation all wrong,” Michael admitted. “I was just so excited to hear from him after so many years. He’d really cut ties, you know. Wanted a fresh start with Libby and I respected that decision. Finally, even the Christmas card exchange fell to the wayside. When he called to confide his new plans to me, I instinctively sprang into action. He suggested I warn you, but I thought, no, why not tease you like the old days. If it’s any consolation, he did get into the fun of it. Not many laughs for him this past year. That’s about how long Libby’s been gone,” he added.

“So how long has Kyle been back in the Cities, anyway?”

He gazed up at the high ceiling. “Oh, a couple of weeks—give or take a week.”

“Three weeks! How could you possibly lock up your excitement for that length of time?”

He was not the least bit offended. “I come by my self-control genetically. You are the odd one out, the impulsive wild mind.”

She folded her arms across her beaded bodice. “Maybe you should know better than to try and tame a wild mind.”

“Is that a threat? Hey, you aren’t seriously considering giving Kyle the brush-off, are you?”

“I haven’t decided what to do—about his services.” Her voice wobbled a little, betraying more than she intended.

Michael promptly reevaluated her. “This isn’t some kind of payback over that elopement misunderstanding is it? C’mon, he doesn’t even know you cared. And you aren’t exactly damaged goods who hid in a closet. You’ve dated a small army of men, probably broken a half-dozen hearts.”

She raised a yielding hand. “I am steady as a rock concerning him, don’t you worry.”

But she wasn’t. And she knew she looked more hurt than angry. A dangerous sign with an unfulfilled crush. “If I stretch it, I can imagine the faded bruise to your ego, but don’t try and tell me that you actually have lingering affection for Kyle.”

It didn’t seem so wrong in her imaginings. Why, she’d been indulging herself for years. But now, in light of Michael’s dismay, she felt like a vulnerable teenager again. A waiter passed by with a bottle of champagne and Grace jammed her glass into the vicinity of his scarlet cummerbund for a refill.

Michael paused until the waiter moved on. “It would be tough for Kyle to discover your secret right now, Grace. His plate is full already.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought twice before posting him in my home.”

“Okay, I should’ve considered your feelings. But he needed ready cash for living expenses. And he sure wasn’t about to take a handout—from me or anyone else. C’mon, the man wants to cook you some meals, organize your utensils. Just let him.”

“I’ll consider it, if you stop trying to second-guess me. I have Kyle firmly in perspective. I’m certainly no fool for him.”

Michael grunted to the contrary. They fell silent then, scanning the guests. “Hey, look,” Michael said moments later in a boyish guileless tone, “Mr. Wonderful is here after all.”

Grace sipped and whirled at the same time, her painted red lips lifting at the corners, her eyes lighting. She faded slightly when centering upon the man standing in the arched doorway with her father. Both were dressed in dark suits, Victor’s dark head dipped down to his pale one. Victor had an arm clamped around his shoulders, as if frightened he might somehow escape.

“You look surprised,” Michael observed. “Of course you knew I was referring to Dickie Trainor, your date.”

“He isn’t my date for tonight,” she was swift to clarify. “Mother invited him and his parents as always, because they’re old family friends.”

“But admit it, you assumed I meant Kyle.”

“Just shut up.”

“Gracie. How can you be a natural born North, the way you revel in passion, scheme the impossible? We are a practical people with perfectly useful left brains.” He gestured to his glass. “Old painful memories should hold a fizz as long as this champagne.”

Actually, Grace had spotted Dickie a full fifteen minutes ago, working the room with her father. Presently they’d paused to chat with Dickie’s parents, who were stationed near her mother. Gales of laughter rose as tall slender Ingrid related some story with an elegant flutter of hands and a nod of her blond chignon. Like Victor, Ingrid’s touch ultimately landed on Dickie, namely his lapel.

“Mother’s stroking him like a collie,” Michael observed with a chuckle.

“Wish they wouldn’t make such a fuss over Dickie,” Grace lamented.

“It’s your own fault. A few dates with the guy and they’re seeing husband material.”

“That’s way too premature.”

Michael bared his teeth. “Still, you lit the fire.”

“Yeah, a forest fire with a tiny matchbook.”

Grace sighed in resignation. It started out so casually with Dickie Trainor. She needed an escort for a leukemia fund-raiser at the Meadowlark Country Club. The sensitive artist she was dating at the time didn’t meet her parents’ club standards as he insisted upon meditating at odd moments in a high-pitched hum and limited his diet to brown rice and chopstick utensils. Henceforth, old reliable Dickie was tapped. A date for the opera followed, as did a basketball game with his law firm friends and a couple of dinners. Dickie was taking the initiative with increasing regularity. Just the same, it was still at the harmless stage.

“Look out, here comes our proud papa with his catch of the year,” Michael teased. “Got ’em hooked right under the gills.”

Grace smiled as the pair approached.

“This is the end of the line for you, young man,” Victor North announced, clapping Dickie on the back.

“Hello, Grace.” Dickie Trainor kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry I wasn’t here at the start. I was just telling your father, there was a glitch in the trial today. I had to meet with the whole legal team.”

“That Freeman case makes the newspaper every day,” Michael observed politely. “Must be pretty exciting to be on the defense team of such a high-profile extortion case.”

“Well, I’m pretty low on the totem pole at Frazer and Dupont, mostly in the background, doing fact checking in the law library.” Despite his protests, Dickie held a certain air of smugness.

“Still, makes our accounting firm look like quite the snore,” Victor said, appraising Dickie as he might a humidor of fine Cuban cigars. “Don’t you agree, Grace? You’re always looking for zip out of us. Dickie must meet your standards for zip.”

“Zippidy do dah,” she said with forced brightness.

Victor moved away soon thereafter, drawing a hapless Michael along. Dickie plucked an appetizer from a waitress toting a silver tray and devoured it. “Skipped lunch. I’m starving.”

“We’ll be eating soon,” she assured.

He shook his head with wonder as he gazed upon Victor’s retreating figure. “Your folks are treating me like royalty these days. Can’t say it isn’t flattering. I suppose it’s because I make a better impression than I used to.”

No doubt. Dickie had evolved into a polished attorney, a gorgeous specimen. It was a far cry from his brainy nerd days. Three years older than Grace and two years younger than Michael, he’d never really connected with either of them—or her folks.

The transformation had happened during his stint at Harvard Law School. The country club was abuzz when he returned full of confidence and arrogance, eager to make up for time lost as a nervous wallflower, to use his family’s wealth and social standing to his best advantage.

“You look especially beautiful tonight, Grace,” he said reverently, his eyes roving her curvy shape, set to advantage in the tight red dress.

“I’ve pulled a neat trick,” she confided. “Mother jumped to the conclusion that this gown is an original Valentino gown, but I made it myself.”

He gaped. “You just can’t resist bucking the system, can you?”

Generally speaking, Grace felt she was actually being quite cooperative with the North regime. Though her business was a strange venture in contrast with the family accounting firm, she was actually making a go of it, turning a profit. And she was giving the favored Dickie a real chance, wasn’t she? It was possible that Dickie’s conservatism might add balance to her existence in the long run. And he did seem to enjoy showing her off as his exciting bohemian find, someone a bit different than the left brain type his associates favored.

She would be the first to admit she was still confused about what she truly wanted. That left her exploring her inner self, trying to adjust her priorities without selling out to everything her parents expected.

“So, have you spoken to Heather yet?” Dickie asked, perusing the room eagerly.

“No.”

“Well, I have. Just left her and Nate outside. We were trying to set up a tennis date and thought we better clear it with you.”

Grace compressed her lips. Dickie was taking too much on for a casual date. Heather was Grace’s lifelong best friend and therefore her territory. It was tough enough to accept Nate, Heather’s new husband.

“Wouldn’t it have been right to consult me first, Dickie?”

He was blindly dismissive. “Oh, Heather mentioned another engagement tonight, so I jumped in. C’mon, let’s find them.” He took her hand and slowly steered them through the clustered guests. It was protocol to speak to each and every attendee, so Grace pulled rank on Dickie and touched base with as many guests as she could along the way.

Heather and Nate Basset were out on a spacious deck facing Lake Minnetonka, sharing a smooch against the sunset. They made a nice-looking couple, Grace thought, tall, fair, athletically built. Unlike Grace, Heather had not a minute of doubt about her destiny. She made her parents consistently proud with all the right academic achievements in school, gladly worked for her family’s hotel, and married a man of similar social standing, a rising star in the real estate game.

Heather sensed their presence and broke free of Nate. “Birthday girl!” she lilted, scooting across the deck in her flouncy silver dress and heels.

“You’re just glad we’re both twenty-four,” Grace teased with a hug.

“It is a long month for me between our birthdays,” Heather admitted, “until you catch up.”

“It used to be a long month for me,” Grace retorted. “When we were kids, you took so much pleasure in being the oldest!”

Nate stepped up to give her a congratulatory handshake. Like Dickie, his hands were thin and manicured. Her thoughts strayed to Kyle’s strong, rough, capable hands, doing a variety of tasks around her house. Why, the elbow grease he’d put into buffing away all of Button’s shoe scuffs was masterful. But such thoughts were useless distraction, a fantasy leading nowhere. Kyle was far from the reckless mate she’d once imagined. He had burdens, responsibilities.

“What do you think, Grace?” Nate asked. “About duking it out at the club tomorrow?”

“Saturday? Guess that would be fine.”

Dickie gave a quick call to the club on his cell phone, then announced, “We’ve got a court for five.”

“Great.” Nate glanced at his watch. “Hate to break this off, but we have another stop to make tonight.”

Heather leaned into Grace, whispering in her ear. “Hear from Michael there’s a new man in town playing with your staples. Sounds kinky. Can’t wait for details tomorrow.”

Grace felt a tug of loss. Before her marriage, Heather would’ve called her within hours for details. So this was how they’d be kicking off the start of their twenty-fifth year, Heather cuddling up with Nate, she with her kitten. Grace hadn’t felt this empty since…the night of Kyle’s elopement.

The buffet dinner proved a lavish feast of salmon, salads and breads, her birthday cake a white tiered monstrosity of near bridal potential.

Over cake she was forced to endure boring remembrances of previous celebrations. Accuracy varied among the storytellers. One vivid account of a pool party drenching was not hers, but Michael’s. Another of her tripping headfirst into her own sweet sixteen cake was, unfortunately, her own. Another story followed about a clown gone haywire that was completely unfamiliar. But that’s what you got when you invited acquaintances to family affairs, muddled inconsequential memories.

Each year Grace made a silent vow that she would not inflict the same sort of traditions on her own children. Celebrations would be limited to family and close friends. People who gave a damn.

It was close to eleven o’clock when the guests began to drift into the cathedral-style foyer for coats and handbags, salutations and farewells echoing off the marble. Grace was at the door to personally wish everyone a safe ride home.

Soon thereafter only Dickie lingered with the family. Ingrid urged them into the study for a brandy and a look at all the gifts assembled there on a long table. She served the brandy herself, from a small teak bar in the corner of the room.

“To my lovely daughter.” Victor stood in the center of the room, lifting his glass in toast. “Many happy returns.” Applause rose as Victor bestowed a light kiss on Grace’s forehead. A man of stern character and stiff posture, it was all the intimacy Grace ever expected from him, a peck to the forehead, a light palm on the small of her back.

The interaction triggered a vision of Kyle handling his daughter Button at the very difficult moment that afternoon when she was laying claim to Kitty. He’d scooped her up in his arms with warm confidence, getting his way with a loving firmness. It had been nothing short of magic.

Perhaps she wasn’t feeling a reawakening of her crush after all. Maybe on some level she was just envious of their father-daughter bond. She recalled thinking that Victor North would have never allowed such impertinence from her even at age three, or encouraged such close contact. And it had stung a little bit to see another father doing the right thing. Yes, she could handle Kyle from that angle, as the kind of father every girl dreams of.

The group sank into soft leather chairs as Grace began to open her gifts. Her parents presented her with a lovely emerald necklace encrusted with diamonds. Dickie gave her a pearl necklace she’d admired while shopping with her mother. Grace was torn between gratitude and suffocation over the precision shopping.

Her friends contributed mostly small humorous gifts. She knew it was awkward for them, wrestling over what to give the rich girl with enough money to open a bank. The rest of the lot were impersonal gifts undoubtedly picked out by secretaries and assistants, gift certificates to shops, a vase, chocolates, a pen set. Some of the things would be routed to the women’s shelter downtown.

“So how do you like your brother’s contribution?” Ingrid inquired, reaching out to inspect a silk scarf.

“You mean Kyle McRaney?”

Ingrid slipped the scarf over her pale chignon, unusually playful. “Now there’s a gift impossible to return!”

Grace swallowed hard, averting Dickie’s curious look. “But I am thinking of returning him. If Michael still has the receipt that is.”

Dickie perked up immediately. “What’s all this, Ingrid?”

“You remember Michael’s old college roommate, Kyle McRaney?”

“He’s back in town, isn’t he? Trying to buy the Andersons’ bistro?”

“How do you know that?” Michael asked.

Dickie shrugged elegantly. “Heard it someplace. Lot of buzz downtown, you know. Everyone knows of Amelia’s Bistro, and the fact that he is Amelia’s grandson-in-law.”

“Surprised you remember Kyle,” Michael pressed. “Never hung around Amelia’s, did you?”

“I was never one of the golden crowd welcomed in there,” he said stiffly, his poise making an unusual slip. “Though I did visit on occasion, I found it too dark and loud to study. Also didn’t care to be teased about my acne.”

“Oh, it’s long gone,” Ingrid oozed, brushing his chiseled jaw.

“Yes, it cleared up during my sophomore year at the university. Unfortunately by then I was known as Mr. Pock by twisted Star Trek fans at Amelia’s and every other cool hangout in the Twin Cities. But—never mind. What has Kyle to do with Grace’s birthday?”

Victor, always anxious to steer clear of one’s frailties past or present, spoke up quickly. “Seems Kyle’s a cook of some kind. Michael hired him to make three months’ worth of meals for Grace.”

“Kyle’s a restaurant manager, Father,” Michael corrected, “with a business degree similar to my own.”

Victor frowned, always annoyed with censure. “Well, he always liked to cook. He is cooking.”

Michael was out of practice in building up his old friend in his parents’ critical eyes, but fell swiftly back into the groove. “It’s been his dream since college to open an eatery and finally he has a chance with the bistro. Amelia’s selling it to him.”

“Kyle certainly hasn’t had it easy,” Ingrid mused. “I remember when his father abandoned the family your first year of college. If I’m not mistaken, his mother briefly cleaned house for the Hendersons before fleeing the city too.”

“He did strike out with both parents. The old man skipped mainly because he charged up some big gambling debts with local bookies. Subsequently Kyle’s mother got tired of being harassed for the same debts and skipped out as well. Luckily Kyle was too young to be harassed. But he did have to make his own way after that. Barely eighteen.”

Victor clamped a cigar between his teeth and lit it. “Must admit, Kyle always had guts.”

Not a small compliment from Victor. Michael smiled faintly before continuing. “This personal chef work is only a temporary sideline for extra cash. Kyle started it during Libby’s layup in the hospital, when he was forced to quit his job and care for Button. It allowed him flexible hours and time with Button—er ah, Betsy.”

“Button is an odd name,” Ingrid complained. “Why do people do that to a child?”

“She’s cute as a button, that’s all,” Michael said defensively. “She’s bright and wonderful.”

“What a super gift for you, Grace,” Dickie interjected, holding his emptied glass steady as Victor promptly refilled it. “Wholesome food in your kitchen. It gives a hungry man hope, a life preserver for the future.”

Not for the first time, Grace felt he was making too many assumptions, talking way too big for his legal briefs. So did Michael, by the smirk he flashed her. Predictably, her parents sat there glowing.

“Dickie does have a stake in this, of course,” Ingrid agreed. “He could benefit from the meals as well. I do worry that you can’t entertain properly, Grace.”

Victor glanced at his wife. “That chopstick phase was particularly odd.”

“I never ate with chopsticks on a regular basis,” Grace protested. “You caught Gunther and I at that once. Experimenting…”

Ingrid turned to Dickie, as aghast as if she’d caught them exploring the Kamasutra. “They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming and eating out of wooden bowls.”

“That was Gunther’s birthday,” Grace announced with a defiant lift of her chin. “Sometimes it’s just nice to think of a person’s desires on that special day.” Her hint went over every head, except for Michael’s, who flashed her a maddening grin.

Suddenly, Grace had enough. She forced a yawn, then stifled it. “It’s been a wonderful birthday. Thanks to all of you.”

“Heading home then?” Ingrid asked.

“Yes. I’ll pick up these gifts sometime soon.”

“I can drive you,” Dickie volunteered.

“That’s all right. I have my car. Stay on with Father.”

“Yes, indeed, son,” Victor concurred. “You haven’t even had a cigar yet. And I’d love to hear more about the Freeman case. Anything you’re not sworn to secrecy over, anyway.”

“So, Grace,” Michael intervened guilelessly. “Can we count on you taking Kyle’s nutrition makeover?”

We? Grace gritted her teeth. He had a nerve putting her on the spot in front of the folks and Dickie.

“Surely you can’t come up with one sensible reason for declining,” Ingrid challenged.

Of course she couldn’t. Her feelings for Kyle, for her guarded space, wouldn’t come close to registering with her impervious socialite mother who put appearances first. There was no choice but to give in.

Feeling it was high time she left, Grace stood up and made her excuses. Scooping up her emeralds and pearls she smiled down sweetly at her brother. “Now, Dad, don’t let Michael get away without telling you his exciting news. He is putting big bucks behind Kyle’s bistro deal! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Is that true son?” Victor’s silvered head rose sharply. Glaring at his son, he puffed smoke like a locomotive. “You actually made a decision that crucial without consulting me?”

Michael whitened. “I am nearly thirty! And when you hand over money to your children, it becomes theirs. Just ask the IRS.”

Grace winked at Michael as Victor fell into one of his standardized lectures on wise investment. And away we go, interfering smarty-pants…