Читать книгу Celebration's Bride - Nancy Thompson Robards - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Several cars were parked in the suburban cul-de-sac of Miles’s parents’ neighborhood. He stopped the car at the first break in the line of vehicles and parallel parked along the curb. He sat there looking at his childhood home for a moment before he killed the engine.

The last time Miles had come home, the visit had been a disaster.

He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, wondering if this was a mistake. Maybe he should’ve met them out somewhere, on neutral territory.

But no, he was doing this for his mom. For that reason, he reminded himself that this time things would be different. Even if he had to bite a hole in his tongue. Lightly, he closed his teeth around the tip of his tongue as if giving censure a practice drill.

His mom was the peacemaker of the family and deserved better than the scene that had unfolded between Miles and his father the last time Miles had come home for a visit. Five years ago.

He and his dad hadn’t spoken since. Even if Miles couldn’t go back and change what happened on that day, he could take the high road and move forward.

For his mother’s sake.

He unlatched his seat belt and let himself out of the car. The sturdy brick, two-story Colonial, which was surrounded by trees, sat atop a small hill and seemed to be looking down on him as he made his way up the paver-lined driveway. It wasn’t the most fashionable house, especially not compared to some of the homes in Hollywood he’d visited, but it was a family home, warm and inviting, well-kept with a lived-in patina. He had to hand it to his old man. The guy would make sure his yard was manicured if he had to crawl around on all fours to get it done.

Window boxes sported bright red geraniums. There were two white wicker rockers on the front porch that looked as if they’d recently received a fresh coat of paint. A closer look revealed that the seat cushions were fraying, but the paint made the chairs look nice and inviting, even if they weren’t brand new. That was his mom’s handiwork. So was the sunflower wreath on the front door. All these little touches made a person feel welcome and wanted.

If that didn’t sum up the difference in his folks: his dad tended to the practical matters like the lawn, weeding and edging, while his mom added the nice touches that made this middle-class house a home.

When he’d talked to his mom to tell her he’d be back in town, she’d assured him his father would be heartbroken if Miles stayed away.

“Mom, Dad and I haven’t spoken in five years. What makes you so sure he’s so eager to see me now?”

“You just leave everything to me, honey. I’ll deal with your father and he will welcome you as warmly as if nothing ever happened. Trust me.”

That was another thing about his mom: when she got her mind wrapped around something—especially if it had to do with her family—nothing stood in her way. She was a woman of her word. So when she said, “Trust me,” she left no alternative.

As he climbed the brick steps toward the red front door, a calico cat he didn’t recognize sprinted past him, making him do a stutter step so he didn’t step on it. The animal stopped under one of the rockers, eyeing him warily.

“Don’t believe a word he told you about me,” Miles murmured. “It takes two to box.”

Actually, his father had never laid a hand on him in anger. His words had always been his most powerful weapon. It was his military background that made him that way. Miles Mercer III was an army man through and through. He did everything by the book—well, his own interpretation of the book—and expected everyone to conform and follow suit.

Few were brazen enough to dispute him, because when you did, well…you paid the price. In Miles’s case the price was exorbitant: excommunication.

For a moment, he stood there watching the cat watch him, realizing he wasn’t sure if he should knock or walk in. This had been his home for the first eighteen years of his life. At twenty-nine, he’d still spent more time under this roof than anywhere else. But things were different now. As his father had so aptly pointed out the last time Miles had walked out this door—the last time they spoke—this was no longer his home.

He pulled back his hand and landed three sharp raps with his knuckles. In less than ten seconds the door swung open and his mother’s squeal of delight pierced the air.

She threw her arms around him.

“Miles, my baby boy. I cannot believe you are finally home.” She pulled away from him suddenly and held him at arm’s length. “I just want to look at you for a minute. I cannot believe you are finally here.”

Tears made her eyes sparkle.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, unable to suppress a smile. “It’s great to see you.”

She looped her arm through his and walked inside. “Everyone! Everyone! Come here! Miles is home.”

As if someone had opened up the flood gates, about twenty people crowded into the foyer, each of them talking at once and nudging each other out of the way to give Miles hugs, handshakes, high fives and slaps on the back.

His three brothers, Christopher, Grant and Ben, were there. His oldest sister, Patricia, her husband and their four kids were in the mix and over in the corner, he spied his baby sister, Lucy, hanging back from the rambunctious group, studying the display screen on her phone like kids these days tended to do.

She looked up and flashed him a shy smile and gave him a little wave. Miles gave her a salute and she laughed and rolled her eyes.

That’s when he saw it. She wasn’t such a little kid anymore. She had to be what—he quickly did the math in his head—she had to be fifteen years old by now. He’d sent her birthday presents every year, mostly cards with money tucked inside, but he was floored by how the years had stacked up and flown by.

He also noticed that his father was not among the greeting committee. For an instant a thought burned inside him that maybe the old man had skipped out on the occasion. Then Miles took a deep breath, swallowing the bile burning his throat and forced himself not to jump to conclusions. That’s when he realized his mom was cooking something that smelled delicious. He breathed in again, this time letting go of the simmering anger and enjoying the familiar sights and scents of home.

As if reading his mind, his mom asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he said. “Whatever you’re cooking smells like exactly what I’m hungry for.”

“Okay, everyone take a step back,” his mom ordered. “Give Miles some room to come inside the house.”

The family obeyed, except for a little girl who looked like a pre-teen, lingering in the foyer looking up at him expectantly.

“You’re not Zoe, are you?” he asked. She beamed up at him, nodding her head.

“Naah, you can’t be Zoe,” Miles teased. “Zoe was just a tiny little girl the last time I saw her. You’re a teenager.” A slight exaggeration, but something told him saying that would make her smile.

“I am Zoe and I’m ten,” she said. “Do you work in the movies?”

“I do.”

“Do you know Justin Bieber? Has he ever been in one of your movies?” Her hazel eyes shone as bright as the sun.

“I hate to disappoint you, but Justin Bieber has never been in one of my movies. I did see him once at an awards show in California.”

Her mouth formed a perfect O.

When she recovered, she asked, “If you ever put him in one of your movies, can I meet him?”

“You’ve got a deal,” Miles said. “If he’s ever in one of my movies, I will make sure your mom brings you out to California to meet him.”

“My mom’s your sister, right?” she asked as they made their way into the family room.

“That’s right,” he said.

“So you’re my uncle, right?”

“Yep, and that makes you my niece.”

“Cool!” she said and ran off to another part of the house, yelling to anyone who would listen that she was going to meet Justin Bieber someday soon.

As Miles made his way into the living area, he glanced in the open door of the office, which was located between the family room and kitchen. There he glimpsed his father at the desk concentrating hard over notes he was making on a yellow legal pad. Miles hesitated, wondering if he should go in and say hello, but mostly hoping his father would look up, see him standing there, and break this insidious wall of ice that had stood between them since they’d last exchanged words.

Before Miles could say anything, his brother Ben came up to him, clapping him on the back. “Hey, Mr. Hollywood, it’s about time you came home. Come over here, I want to introduce you to my fiancée.”

What? With one last glance at his father, who was still presumably caught up in his work, as if nothing were going on outside of the ordinary day-to-day grind, Miles followed his brother into the kitchen where a pretty blonde was talking to his mom and making a salad.

“You’re getting married?” he asked.

“We are,” Ben said. “Miles, this is Jeanie, my future wife.”

The blonde beamed as she wiped her hands on a dish towel, held up her left hand to show off the modest diamond on her ring finger, and then enfolded Miles in a hug.

“Congratulations,” Miles said, suddenly realizing that life in Celebration had indeed been speeding on without him. Not that he expected things to come to a screeching halt, but having been away for five years, the differences were more pronounced—children were growing up, his younger siblings were getting married and making lives of their own.

“When did this happen?” he asked.

“Two weeks ago,” said Jeanie.

“Have you set a date?” Miles asked.

“Not yet,” said Ben. “We wanted to talk to you to see when you thought you might be available. You’re going to be my best man, right?”

“O-of course,” Miles stammered. “You just tell me when and I’ll be there.”

One of the other nieces, Ivy, came and got Jeanie to turn one of the jump-rope handles in a tournament she and the other kids were having on the porch.

“Well, sweetie, I’m helping your grandma get dinner on the table,” she said.

“Oh, no, you go on and play with the kids. I’ll finish up here,” Deena said.

Jeanie thanked Deena and flashed Miles an apologetic smile. “I’m going to play with them, but we will talk more about the wedding later, okay?”

“Of course,” Miles said as his brother’s fiancée, allowed the little girl to lead her away. Fiancée. The reality that his little brother was engaged blew him away. He couldn’t quite get his mind wrapped around it.

“We just love Jeanie,” his mom said. “We would love it if you would settle down, too. No pressure, though.”

For some reason Sydney James’s face flashed through Miles’s mind—the way she looked last night in the dim light of Murphy’s as she sipped her wine and spilled her secret about the job interview with that accent that made him more than just a little hot and restless. He intended to keep her secret, but he also intended to entice her to stay. She was exactly what Catering to Dallas needed and somehow he would convince her that she needed them just as much.

“Are you staying for game night, Uncle Miles?” asked his sister’s oldest daughter, Sally. “We usually have game night on Saturday night, but it’s a special occasion since you’re here and Grandma said we could have game night tonight. Will you stay? Pleeease?”

“We’ll see,” Miles answered. “Sounds like fun.”

Saturday night family game night was another long-standing tradition in the Mercer household. Miles was glad to see it still prevailed. Back in the day, his friends used to come over and hang out. Sometimes they’d stay over. His mom prided herself on providing the kids with a place where they were all comfortable. His dad had been on active duty back then, on assignment wherever the army sent him. He petitioned for assignments at Fort Hood—or as close as possible—and sometimes he got them. But when his dad had been sent to places far away, his mother had been adamant about maintaining a normal life for her kids, giving them a permanent home base. Looking back, it seemed like their father was away more than he’d been home. Miles wondered how a marriage could’ve survived under those circumstances. Then again, his parents were built for the long haul. That’s just how his folks operated.

As various friends and relatives drifted in and out, hugging him, asking for the quick catch-up, Miles had a chance to take in his surroundings, marveling at how it all looked the same as when he was growing up, only now he saw it through a different lens.

The lower level of the house was an open floor plan with the kitchen, family room and a casual dining table contained in one area. The space that had once seemed so large looked a little smaller than he remembered it. The tile-covered countertops that he could vividly recall his mother being so excited about years ago looked a little worn and dingy now.

The same chalkboard from his childhood hung on the wall next to the refrigerator. The same linoleum that used to be a shade of off-white and was now leaning towards light gray, still covered the floor up to the point where the carpet in the family room began. It delineated the space where the kitchen ended and the family room started.

The same large, overstuffed sectional sofa sat atop the same Berber carpet that still looked brand new thanks to his mom’s TLC and obsessive vacuuming.

He watched her as she stirred pots on the stove and checked something in the oven—it looked like meat loaf—and worried over something else in the refrigerator.

“Hey, Ma,” he called. “Let me help you. What can I do?”

“Not a thing. You just talk to everyone and relax,” she said. “Lucy can help me here in the kitchen. Lucy, I’m talking to you. Lucy!”

The girl looked up from her place on the corner of the couch where she’d been texting and pulled one ear bud out of her ear.

“What?” she snapped.

Miles saw his mother give her a look and the girl immediately straightened up. Miles was all too familiar with that look. It was a silent warning. If she didn’t comply, the punishment would be worse than a court marshal. Deena Mercer’s husband might have retired a sergeant first class, but she was the long-standing general of the Mercer army. She commanded respect and her family gave it to her.

“I think you know that the correct response is yes, ma’am,” Deena said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy answered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.” Miles could see the way the girl’s hands were fisted in her lap, but her tone of voice was much softer now.

“Please put that cell phone down and come here. I need you to set the table in the dining room and the one here in the family room, and then set the picnic table out on the back porch for the kids. We need twenty place settings in all, please.”

Lucy didn’t smile, but she nodded and set about her duties, tucking the phone into the pocket of her jeans rather than setting it down as her mother had told her to do. Miles sensed something was up. His little sister had an edge that went beyond typical teenage angst and moodiness.

When the girl was out of the room, he asked his mom, “Is Lucy okay?”

His mother’s face tightened and her mouth flattened into a grim line. She hefted the pot of boiling potatoes off the stove and dumped them into a large colander in the sink.

“It’s been an interesting year,” she said as she set the pot back on the stove and turned back to the sink to shake the remaining water out of the potatoes.

“Grab yourself a beer out of the fridge and I’ll tell you about it,” she said. “While you’re over there would you hand me the cream, please?”

Miles handed the quart-size container to her and then opened his beer.

His brothers were occupied by a game of Mario Kart with the nieces. His older sister, Patricia, was following her toddler around making sure she didn’t get into anything she wasn’t supposed to. The others were out in the backyard, or grouped in various sets talking about one thing or another like big families did.

Miles pushed back the question of when his father might grace them with his presence. He hadn’t materialized since Miles had seen him in the office, and after mulling over the expression his dad wore, he decided he’d be damned before he asked about him. Especially since he had these few moments alone with his mother, and he could tell she wanted to catch him up on what had been happening with Lucy.

“Thank you, hon,” she said as she took the carton from him and brushed a lock of graying hair off her forehead. “Your little sister has been a bit of a handful this past year. She’s had a hard time, but she’s settling down now.” Deena heaved a sigh and looked around, as if making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. Miles guessed she might’ve been looking for Lucy, who wasn’t within earshot. He could see her through the sliding glass doors, standing next to the picnic table she was supposed to be setting, on her phone texting.

Pushing the envelope.

“About six months ago, your little sister snuck out in the middle of the night and went joyriding with that Phillips boy. She had no business being out with him at a decent hour much less in the middle of the night. He’s seventeen years old.”

Deena gestured with the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir the butter and cream she was heating up on the stove. “The boy’s parents woke up at about 2:30 in the morning, realized the car was missing and reported it stolen, before they realized their son had taken it. When the police found them, the boy was drunk. The police hauled both him and Lucy down to the station and made them call their parents, which was fine with your daddy and me because after that stunt, we’d reached our wits’ end with that little girl.”

Miles grimaced, thinking about what a nightmare that must have been for all involved. He’d pulled some pretty dumb stunts when he’d lived at home. Nothing as brazen as what Lucy had done—or at least he’d never been caught doing anything that stupid. Although his father would have an opinion or two when it came to the subject of Miles and stupidity. “So what happened?” Miles asked. “Was she okay?”

“Well, yes. She swore she hadn’t been drinking. The police made her take a Breathalyzer, so I knew she was telling the truth. And of course the parents didn’t press charges against their own son…although he did get into a heap of trouble over the underage drinking and driving. Lost his license, I think, and he’ll probably be on restriction until he’s thirty. I know we grounded Lucy for a very long time, even though the sheriff did a good job of scaring them both.”

His mom looked tired. Under the kitchen’s fluorescent lights he could see the creases etched into her face. There was a weariness about her that he’d never noticed before.

“After everything settled down and we had a chance to talk about it calmly, Lucy admitted she had been in way over her head with that boy that night. Apparently, he got a little handsy.” Deena shook her head. “I think it scared her. Like it scared me to death.” Deena was wringing her hands. “Just think of all the things that could’ve happened. I told her nice girls have no business out after midnight. That’s why she has a curfew. Nothing good happens past midnight.”

Miles winced at the irony of his mom’s words. He half expected her to chuckle and say, “Sorry for the pun. I loved your movie, honey. Even if it was a little too scary for my taste.”

Obviously, she hadn’t realized what she’d said because she shuddered and gave her head a quick shake as if clearing it of the what if cobwebs.

“How are things now?” Miles asked instead of agreeing that nothing good had happened since Past Midnight. “Lucy seemed to hop-to when you asked her to set the table.”

Deena’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Yeah, if you don’t count the preamble of sassiness. Well, she’s not allowed to date or wear makeup until she turns sixteen. Unless we make a special dispensation like we’re doing this weekend. She’s going to a dance—with an age-appropriate boy, who does not drive. His parents are taking them. And really, she’s been working hard at school and helping me around the house, basically keeping her nose clean and out of trouble. She’s invited her daddy to speak at career day next month. That made him so happy. He’s been working on his speech since the moment she asked him.” His mother sighed again. “She made a mistake. I really want to believe she learned from it. You know what we’ve always said. Only new mistakes.” Miles felt his father’s presence before he heard him enter the room. Because when he turned around, Miles Mercer III was standing in the threshold between the family room and the office where he’d been holed up since Miles had arrived. He was regarding his son with a look that fell somewhere between neutral nonchalance and general irritation.

That’s why Miles Mercer IV was shocked as hell when his father walked over, extended a hand and said, “It’s been a long time.”