Читать книгу The Good Kind of Crazy - Tanya Michaels - Страница 9

“You okay, kid?”

Vi sent a glare of female empowerment toward her brother, but the full effect was probably lost behind her tinted sunglasses. “I hate when you call me that.”

Douglas gave her a deliberately irritating smirk from the driver’s seat. “Why do you think I still do it?”

She laughed despite herself. He had that effect on her—on all women, really. Whether it was making a sister laugh or getting a female client to confide in him, dark-haired, dimpled Douglas was good at charming the ladies. He’d told her it was a shallow talent but not without its uses, especially when it came to jury selection. Or when it had come to sweet-talking their older sisters into covering for him, but that was before her time.

Flipping on his left blinker, he waltzed the luxury sedan across two lanes on 85, toward the exit that led to the run-down duplex Vi shared with a Hispanic single mother and her children. Vi, who used the MARTA bus and subway system as her primary means of getting around, didn’t have a car of her own. But that lack was not going to excuse her from monthly Sunday dinners, particularly now that Douglas lived so close.

Geography-wise, anyway.

The condo he’d taken a few blocks from his firm’s downtown building seemed worlds away from Vi’s weathered brick house with its rusty porch rail and torn window screens; her low-budget rental agreement had stipulated “as is” conditions, making most repairs her responsibility but giving her leniency in terms of redecorating. She kept meaning to spruce up the place, but with classes and three part-time jobs, she had even less time than money. Plus, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to invest when she and another waitress were talking about maybe looking for an apartment together to help lower bills.

“Thanks for the ride home, old man.” A fitting response to the kid remark. “If I’d had to wait for Savannah, who knows when I would have escaped? They looked like they were settling in for the long haul.” June was still a few months off, but their mother had acted as if all the wedding details had to be nailed down today.

“You’re not upset they didn’t ask you to stay, are you?”

Vi blinked. “For planning all that girlie stuff? Please. I know even less about weddings than you do.”

She knew enough about Neely, however, to recognize the trapped expression in her blue eyes as Savannah and Beth tag-teamed her. Savannah could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two about putting together a beautiful event, and Beth, who’d helped raise two younger sisters and then four children of her own, could have organized the entire Confederate Army if she’d been born a century sooner. And if they’d given women meaningful leadership roles. So Vi had no doubts that Neely’s wedding would be a lovely, well-run occasion. She just wondered if, between her sister and her mother, any of Neely’s personality would show through.

Assuming Neely had one.

Her efficient, detached older sister had a brain like a calculator. Of course, most of Vi’s family would say she had enough personality for all of them, and they wouldn’t mean it as a compliment. The thought bothered her more than it normally would.

With a start, she realized that Neely’s announcement today had broken the only real bond she’d shared with her sister. Savannah was perfect and Douglas, if flawed by his divorce, was successful and charming enough to secure his parents’ adoration. But Neely’s “spinsterhood” had always earned their mother’s and aunts’ disapproval, much like Vi’s…everything.

“Well, here we are.” Douglas pulled onto the cracked driveway that led up to the left half of the double-home. On the parallel right-hand strip of pavement, a shirtless teenager had his head stuck under the hood of an old blue Cadillac. Douglas flicked his gaze in that direction. “You may not have a car for me to work on, but I’ve been meaning to ask, do you, um, need a little help with repairs on this place?”

Since she doubted her brother had lifted a hammer his entire adult life, she snorted at the offer. “Mom said something to you about my disgraceful living conditions.”

“While also managing to cast aspersions on my manhood and ability with power tools.”

The idea of Douglas near a power tool made Vi’s fingers itch to dial 911. Zoe, his ex, used to joke that he drank straight Scotch over ice because he couldn’t even build a decent drink. Vi had liked the woman and occasionally still ran into her on campus, where the willowy brunette taught a civics class. At thirty-seven the former Mrs. Mason was attractive enough that Vi wouldn’t be surprised if freshman boys had hot-for-teacher fantasies over her.

For that matter, Vi had reason to believe her brother still fantasized about Zoe on a regular basis. Their divorce was no healthier than their marriage had been, but given Vi’s own dysfunctional love life, she wasn’t one to judge. Her relationships seemed to come in two modes—low-key fun with guys she knew she’d never stay with long, and passionate flings characterized by intense sex but too much fighting. Frankly, until today’s revelation, she’d always wondered if Neely had the right idea by staying single.

Oblivious to Vi’s mental meandering, Douglas was still defending his masculinity. “All right, so I’m not…some guy famous for renovating stuff. My employers must not think I’m useless because they pay me pretty damn well. Even if I don’t rescreen your windows myself, I can certainly write you a check to get it done.”

Yes he could, without even blinking. It was so Douglas to offer the easy solution.

She sighed, wishing his attempted generosity didn’t leave her feeling snide. “Nah, I’d probably just blow the money on booze and extreme makeovers.” Besides, if she really needed something fixed, she could always ask Brendan, her most recent low-key boyfriend, a nice guy with whom she had little in common.

As if she were the kid he’d jokingly called her, Douglas reached over and tousled her hair, a chin-length platinum shag. “I like this, but I kept waiting for Mom to say something about it.”

Please. As if Savannah hadn’t been dyeing her hair for years? Or did Douglas think it was naturally retaining its youthful gold, unmarred by the hereditary gray that streaked Neely’s ash-blond bob? Vi had heard their mother sigh to Neely as they’d set out the china, “I suppose that awful bleaching is better than some of the colors Vidalia could have chosen.”

She forced a laugh. “Pointless to say something about it now that it’s done, isn’t it? Besides, I’m a grown-up, and it’s my hair.”

Douglas stared at her for a long, unsmiling second, then ducked his head, a wry grin and one dimple evident in profile. “You’re no more a responsible grown-up than I am. We just play different games, is all.”

Savannah parked The Tank, her SUV, wondering if she’d ever be completely comfortable maneuvering the vehicle into her half of the garage. When Trent left for university next fall and she was officially beyond her toting-children-around years, maybe she’d buy something small and sleek. The thought should have made her smile, but instead a cold shadow passed through her. It seemed like only yesterday her sons had been strapped into car seats behind her, pelting each other with Cheerios.

She unfastened her seat belt with a sigh, her mood not lightened by the realization that she should have called. Arriving home late with no word was the kind of behavior that would have earned her boys a reprimand. Even though her husband and youngest son knew she’d been with her family, a lot could have happened between Kennesaw and Roswell. She’d been so caught up in the excitement of Neely’s wedding plans that she’d forgotten to phone them so they didn’t worry and let them know what dinner options were in the refrigerator.

But a voice that sounded more like one of her sisters’ than hers whispered, Trent is seventeen and Jason has a medical degree, they can darn well open the fridge and see for themselves what’s available. Okay, maybe that didn’t sound exactly like her sisters. She couldn’t imagine no-nonsense Neely saying darn, and the thought of Vi using such a watered-down expression was enough to restore Savannah’s grin as she opened the door that led into her spacious navy-and-white kitchen. Sunflower accents added bright splashes of cheer.

Although she hadn’t done any baking today, the room smelled as homey and delicious as it did on Thanksgiving, thanks to the cinnamon spice potpourri she kept in the windowsill over the double sink. She worked hard to make this house a comfortable, inviting place to live. Whether he was capable of checking in the refrigerator or not wasn’t the point—Jason Carter, one of Atlanta’s best obstetricians, worked long, draining shifts and provided well for his wife and two sons. The least she could do was insure he came home to lovingly prepared meals and clean rooms.

The kitchen was unsurprisingly empty. Though the women in her family were known for congregating in kitchens, Savannah’s sons and husband normally gravitated toward the big-screen television. She heard muffled sounds from the den down the hallway.

“I’m home,” she called out, kicking off her shoes before she padded across the pale carpeting.

Trent and Jason were both in the den, her son stretched across the couch with his size twelve sneakers on the velour arm, and her husband sprawled in the recliner she’d bought him for Christmas. An open cardboard box on the coffee table between them revealed two uneaten slices of pizza, and while both men said hello, neither looked away from the basketball game they were watching.

“Honestly, Trent, you’re old enough to know better than to put your shoes on my furniture.” And a shower after his softball practice wouldn’t have killed him, either.

“Sorry.” He bent toward his feet with teenage flexibility, tossing the shoes to the ground with muffled thuds while his gaze stayed locked on the foul shot being made. Now the room smelled like sweat socks and sausage pizza—she squelched the urge to run for her vacuum cleaner and some carpet deodorizer.

“I hope you two weren’t worried about me,” she said, feeling like an idiot even as the words left her mouth. The glassy-eyed, sauce-smeared faces before her did not hold expressions of concern. “I know I’m normally back long before dinnertime, but—”

“Now that you mention it.” Trent craned his head, his hazel eyes finally meeting hers as he flashed her an impish grin. “What are we having?”

It was just plain sad that some part of her was pleased by his request, felt gratifyingly needed. “Didn’t you have pizza already?”

He crinkled his nose. “That was an afternoon snack. I’m starved. But I can finish off those last two slices if you don’t want to cook, Mom.”

“I don’t mind.” The words came out too fast, the echo of desperation worse than the locker-room-meets-pizzeria aroma. “Any special requests, Jason?”

Her husband shook his head. “I made the mistake of having a piece of our son’s killer pizza when I got in and have the heartburn to show for it. I’ll probably take some antacid and hit the sack early.”

“Deliveries go okay?” she asked.

“One emergency C, but all mothers and babies are in good health. I’m exhausted, though. I swear I could just sleep here—this chair’s even more comfortable than our bed.”

If Trent hadn’t been in the room, would she have flirted a little, teased that she’d miss her husband if he didn’t come to bed? The truth was, with the crazy hours he sometimes worked, she was accustomed to sleeping alone. Besides, his snoring on the mattress next to her didn’t always make her feel less lonely.

She forced a bright smile, not that anyone was looking at her. “Well, I have big news! You’ll never believe who’s getting married—Neely.”

That got their attention. Jason looked up, grunting in surprise. “Neely? I half expected you to say Vi followed a wild impulse and ran off with her pottery instructor or something.”

“Aunt Cornelia?” Trent’s mouth had fallen open. “Wow. Why?”

Men. “Because she’s in love.”

Her son ran a hand through his dark hair, considering. “I guess. It’s just weird to think about someone her age, you know, dating.”

“She’s younger than I am.”

“Sure, but not by much and you’re a mom. You’ve got grown kids. You don’t date!”

No, she didn’t. She went with her son to scout universities and planned meals, making jokes about how much her grocery bill would drop once she no longer had teenage boys in the house. Reverting to type now, she left the guys to their game and retreated to the kitchen, deciding a chef salad would work nicely for her and Trent’s dinner. It had been tough when Adam, her twenty-year-old, left for school, but having Trent at home had helped ease the ache. Once he was gone, her life would be so…

Quiet. She tried to put a relaxing spin on the word. Less stressful without a seventeen-year-old and his appalling musical taste. She wouldn’t have to wait up on Saturday nights, lying in bed and listening for him to come home from his dates. Oh, who did she think she was kidding? With her baby out on his own, she’d probably lie in bed worrying about him every night. Hoping he didn’t fall in with the wrong kids, wondering if he was keeping on top of his course work, praying he didn’t get some pretty young coed pregnant.

Jason had chuckled at those same concerns when Adam left for university. “You raised good kids,” her husband had assured her. “Now it’s time to let them go and become the men they’ll be.”

Raised good kids—past tense. She’d been a full-time mom and housewife for two decades. Her days were going to be strangely empty without PTA meetings, doctors’ appointments, football booster club. Not that she felt sorry for herself. She was proud of her nearly grown sons, and aware of her blessings. How many of her friends and neighbors had marveled over Savannah’s life?

You’re so together, Savannah, I could never be that organized!

You have such great boys.

How on earth do you find time to cook like this—and with such sinful desserts, how do you stay so trim?

She knew she was lucky.

It was just…since she didn’t turn forty-six until late April, Savannah and her sister were the same age one month out of every year. She and Neely were both forty-five. So, why did it seem like Neely’s life was about to hit a new beginning while Savannah’s, in so many ways, seemed to be coming to a close?

“So, how’d it go?” Because Robert was too kind to hold grudges, there was no lingering annoyance in his gray eyes, no resentment that Neely had argued against his coming to lunch. There was only affection and a hint of amusement.

“Great.” She leaned against his kitchen counter, where breakfast and lunch dishes were stacked. Must not have been room for them in the sink—not with last night’s dinner plates, abandoned in passionate haste, still piled beneath the faucet. “It went great.”

Other than Vi thinking she was a lesbian, her divorced brother becoming uncharacteristically withdrawn after he’d absorbed the wedding news and their mother’s insistence on calling Neely’s soon-to-be in-laws the Yankees.

With a sigh, she abandoned the pretense. “My family makes me crazy.”

Robert laughed. “Isn’t that what families are for, to offset all the needless sanity in our lives?”

Grinning back at him felt good. “Then my mother deserves some kind of award for going above and beyond. She’s known about the wedding less than twelve hours, and already she’s trying to take over. How many groomsmen were you thinking, because she’s suggesting distant cousins I swear I’ve never met to be bridesmaids.”

“Groomsmen? Well, there’s Stuart, of course. Maybe Bryan. Is it okay that I haven’t actually given this part much thought? I’ve only been engaged for a day.”

Engaged. Her heart fluttered at the newness of it, the wonder that she’d found someone who wanted to spend his life with her. “Of course it’s okay that we haven’t figured out the details yet. One step at a time. But it might have simplified my life, at least short term, if I’d waited until later to tell her.”

His arms fell to her waist, and he pulled her closer. “How much later?”

“Umm…June?”

He chuckled again, as he so often did. Robert had a perfect laugh, deep and warm—neither self-conscious titters, nor the loud, my-jokes-are-so-funny bray of a guy who pokes fun at others. Merely the comfortable reaction of a man who saw the humor in life. And helped her see it more clearly.

She’d always been reserved, figuring someone in the family should be. She wasn’t like outgoing Savannah who knew the perfect response to every social occasion, mouthy Vi who delighted in audaciousness, or Douglas, who, in the course of charming and joking his way through life, sometimes failed to respect the gravity of a situation. Except for one disastrous period of college rebellion she didn’t like to remember, Neely had clung to hard work and staying focused. As a result, she now held a good position working for Cameron Becker. Seriousness had served her well.

It just hadn’t gotten her laid very often, Vi would point out.

Neely’s relationships with men who matched her personality had been sensible, but boring. On the other hand, her two affairs with guys her polar opposite had ended badly, the first in college which had left her humiliated and heartbroken, the second just before she hit forty. She’d ended the latter relationship quickly, before she killed the man and had to retain Douglas to defend her.

But now she had Robert. It was one of life’s ironies that she’d found her perfect balance when she wasn’t even looking. Between all the time she’d devoted to work and the girls’ nights she’d spent helping Leah through her separation and eventual divorce, Neely had barely dated in four years before Robert kissed her on that beach.

She snuggled into his shoulder, the memory of sea air superimposed over the familiar smell of his aftershave. “If the end result is marrying you, I can handle anything my mother dishes out over the next three months.”

“I love you, too.”

“Just remember that later this week, okay?” Neely finally had escaped her parents’ house today with sworn oaths to bring Robert over in a few days and discuss wedding plans more then. The thought of the coming conversations made her head hurt. “You’re sure I can’t talk you into eloping?” Quick, simple, and no worries about assigning someone to keep cousin Phoebe away from the bar.

“Sorry.” He grinned that rakish smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Since I’ve waited so long to find the right bride, I insist we do the wedding right. Have you recruited Leah as your maid of honor yet? Maybe she can help run interference with your mom.”

Recalling the shadowed expression in Douglas’s eyes before he’d left, Neely struggled against a wince. It was tough to share the news of your engagement with someone whose own marriage had collapsed. Still, she knew Leah would be thrilled for her. It should help that her friend already knew about Robert and that she’d been divorced considerably longer than Neely’s brother.

“I’m telling her tomorrow. I asked her this morning if we could meet for lunch.”

“Well, then. That will take care of the most important people, except…”

“Your parents.” She’d never met them, but since they were the people who’d raised Robert, she assumed they were wonderful.

“They’ll be back from their cruise by next weekend. Not nervous, are you?”

“No.” Sure, she’d experienced the odd apprehensive moment over informing the future in-laws that their only child was taking a bride, but it had to be easier than dealing with her family today. “Your family’s normal, right?”

He grinned. “Normal is such a relative term.”