Читать книгу Family Be Mine - Tracy Kelleher, Tracy Kelleher - Страница 9

September, four months later

“RUN, FRED, RUN!” Huntington Phox called to the black-and-white dog that was dashing from one side of the backyard to the other. A mixture of Australian cattle dog and an undisclosed number of hounds, Fred was low to the ground and moved like a bullet train.

“Uh…Hunt, I think he’s mastered running. It’s ‘stop’ that might need a little more work.” Ben Brown turned from watching the hyperactive animal to his longtime friend and partner.

He and Hunt went back more than a few years, first working at the same investment firm on Wall Street before Ben unnecessarily took the fall for an insider trading scandal and left the company. The two had gone on to found a successful venture capital firm in Grantham. Hunt knew that Ben was grateful. For his sticking by Ben no matter what, Hunt also knew his friend was more than grateful.

He also knew he was cagey. Ben might gladly walk through fire, walk on water, or put out the fire with the water for Hunt. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own agenda.

So Hunt waited, knowing that Ben was mindful of the tactical nuances necessary when it came to persuading Hunt about something. Because, even though Hunt may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he haggled with all the skill of a Bedouin horse trader.

“So when did you acquire this…this…beast?” Ben asked, opening with what Hunt surmised was a sideways gambit.

Hunt glanced at Ben before returning his attention to Fred. The “beast” raced along the winding paths fronting the flowerbeds, scattering pine-bark chips and beheading several black-eyed Susans.

“For your information, Fred happens to be a dog, a one-year-old dog, and I picked him up today when I was driving by the animal shelter.”

“Well, if you say he’s a dog, I guess I’ll have to believe you. But he looks more like a big tail attached to an unidentified flying object.”

Fred chose that moment to leap a hydrangea bush with a single bound. He made it about halfway before losing air and crashing into the branches. Ben winced. Fred bounced out and looked around. His tongue hung out, practically reaching his knuckles. His eyes were bright and eager.

Ben shook his head. “All I can say, you’re a braver man than I to risk bringing a new puppy to your mother’s garden.”

Hunt turned. His hands were thrust into the pockets of the khaki pants that hung from his slim hips. He had finished his rounds of chemotherapy three months ago, but his weight loss was still apparent. Not that he had ever been heavy. But the lanky physique that had proved ideal for skiing and tennis and wearing a custom-made tuxedo with debonair flair, now resembled an undernourished teenager’s. The bulky fisherman’s knit sweater only accentuated his sunken chest. And the baseball cap he wore barely concealed his stubby hair, thinner and curlier than the thick blond waves he once had.

“It’s not a question of bravery,” Hunt said in response to Ben’s remark. “I brought Fred here because my house doesn’t have a fenced-in yard.” That was true. His ultra-modern in-town dwelling might have a rooftop pool, a state-of-the-art sound system, and a well-stocked wine cellar, but it lacked even a single blade of grass.

He went back to admiring the dog’s antics. “Besides, Mother won’t know. She’s in Manhattan, attending the opening of a new exhibit at the Met.” Those of Hunt’s social ilk only ever used the shortened form of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“And you think she won’t notice when she gets back?” Ben watched as Fred finally gave up the chase and plopped down in a sunken reflecting pool. The mutt lapped the water, then raised his head and panted. Water dribbled from his corrugated black lips. He looked very wet, very tired and very proud.

Ben laughed.

Hunt shrugged. “I’ll figure out something. In the meantime, I keep reminding myself that I am her only son and heir.”

Ben walked over to the pond and looked more closely. “At the same time you might try reminding yourself that your mother’s prized water garden used to be in that pond.”

Fred burped. He waggled his narrow bottom on what was once a rare species of water lily.

Hunt winced.

Ben straightened up. “Although I don’t have the name of an exotic-plant specialist on speed dial, I’m not without some equally powerful resources. Lucky for you, I think I know how to smooth this over.”

Hunt raised his eyebrows doubtfully. He had an inkling his friend was about to show his hand.

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Ben pulled out a pamphlet from the back pocket of his jeans.

Hunt looked at it. “Don’t tell me. Some little idea of my mother’s?”

“What did you expect? She drove out to my place a few days ago and showed me the course listing for the new session of the Adult Education School. She thought you might be interested, and I agreed it was a good idea.”

“She scared you witless, didn’t she?”

Ben held up his hands. “Completely. Still, in my defense, after she left I stuffed the pamphlet in a pile of junk mail, never intending to talk to you about it. But now, given the circumstances….” He nodded toward Fred. A water lily pad adorned his forehead.

Hunt flipped open the front cover and read the introductory remarks in mocking tones,

“Dear Grantham Community Members,

Welcome to the twenty-sixth year of the Grantham Adult School! As in years past, we are delighted to offer a wide range of classes to meet the needs and interests of the community. Our instructors include noted scholars from Grantham University, as well as artists, artisans and business experts residing in the area. Above all, we at the Adult School believe that education does not end with a diploma. Hence, our motto, Education: the Wellspring of Life.

Iris Phox, President

Grantham Adult School”

Hunt snapped the booklet shut. “As I recall, those very words practically made you gag not all that long ago.”

“Yeah, I admit that’s true. But think what it did for me. When I finally went—okay, not entirely on purpose—to Katarina’s class, I found the woman I love, got my relationship with my son back in order, and acquired a whole new set of friends and family. That’s what I call adult education!”

Hunt slipped his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry.

“Who are you calling?” Ben asked.

“Oprah. Your story needs to be told to a larger audience.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I know it sounds hokey. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a smart thing to do. I mean, look at you. You just hang around doing nothing. You’re not interacting with anyone except…except some mutt whose social skills leave more than a little to be desired.”

“I presume you are referring to my friendship with you?” Hunt joked.

“All right, I asked for that. Not all of us were born on the right side of the tracks.”

Hunt knew that Ben’s declaration grossly understated the harshness of his childhood years.

“But say what you will, at least I’m working my butt off to earn an honest living,” Ben continued.

Hunt rubbed his cheek. “I thought you were okay with me taking a leave from work. If you’ve changed your mind, then you’re free to get a new partner.”

“Jeez, Hunt, I don’t want a new partner. And I’m perfectly okay with you taking time off. What I’m not okay with is you taking a leave of absence from life. I mean, to tell you the truth, I just don’t get it. When you were first diagnosed with lymphoma and had to go through all that wretched treatment, you were amazing, more than amazing. I still can’t believe how you insisted on coming in practically every day while you were undergoing chemo, let alone dealing with the stress and worry. But now that it’s behind you, you’re a wreck. Logic tells me it should be the other way around.”

Hunt frowned. “There’re those people who can’t cope with the prospect of death. For me, it’s the prospect of living that’s got me stymied.”

“Well, just get out there and join the human race. If I can do it, you can! I mean, we all know how hopeless I am when it comes to remembering names and making polite small talk.”

“Let alone impolite small talk.”

Ben pointed at his friend. “See! You’re witty even when you’re not trying! My God, you could practically charm a doorknob!”

“And don’t think I haven’t.”

“So think how many more doorknobs are out there awaiting your unique talents.” Ben noticed the dog in his peripheral vision. “Besides, if what I’m saying doesn’t convince you, I’m pretty sure Fred here will.” He nodded in Fred’s direction. “Don’t look now, but I think you’ll find there’s something shiny hanging out the side of his mouth, something finlike.”

Hunt rushed over to the reflecting pool. “Holy crap, Fred!” He slapped the pamphlet he was still holding against his pants to get the dog’s attention. “That’s one of Mother’s prized koi. She’s going to kill you.” Fred bit down proudly. There was a noticeable crunch.

“Your mother would never kill an animal. She’s on the board of the Grantham animal shelter. I know because she hit me up for a large donation,” Ben said.

Hunt rubbed his mouth. “You’re right. Fred, I think you’re going to live.” He turned slowly back to Ben. “Do you think Mother would hit a recent cancer victim?”

Ben crossed his arms, looking very pleased, indeed. “With gusto. During her visit she was telling me how much she enjoyed the class on weight lifting to prevent osteoporosis.”

Hunt took off his baseball cap, and ran his hand through the thin strands. “Then the only way to get out of this…” He reluctantly looked down at the Adult School listing.

“Exactly.”

Hunt raised his eyes. “And I suppose she already has a course in mind?”

Ben scoffed. “You doubted that for a second?”

“Tell me it’s a large lecture where I can hide in the back of the room,” Hunt implored.

“I could tell you that, but…”

Hunt closed his eyes. “Okay, tell me the truth. I’m man enough to take it.”

“It’s a water aerobics class. Here, give me back the course listing, and I’ll read you the details.”

“Water aerobics?” Hunt grimaced and held out the pamphlet.

Ben flipped the pages. “Here it is. ‘Light Water Aerobics. This six-week class is designed for pregnant women, older citizens and those recovering from injuries, or those wanting a lighter, low-impact workout. Meets Wednesdays, 7:30 p.m., Grantham Middle School Swimming Pool.’” Ben closed the booklet. “See, it sounds perfect.”

Hunt frowned. “If it’s so perfect, why don’t you sign up for it?”

“Because I’m not pregnant, old—”

Hunt snorted.

“Excuse me, thirty-eight is not old. Nor am I recovering from an injury. Besides, I know from Katarina’s experience that her knee rehabbed really well in the water. I mean, what have you got to lose?”

Hunt rubbed his lips again. They were perennially chapped despite a constant application of lip balm. “I don’t know. My dignity? Besides, six weeks? That’s kind of a long commitment.”

“I’ve got news for you. Getting a dog isn’t exactly a short-term affair either—right, Fred?”

Hearing his name, the dog sat up in a way that for any other dog might be considered majestic. On Fred, it emphasized the fact that his head seemed to belong to a breed completely unrelated to the rest of his body.

Suddenly inspired, Fred jumped out of the pool and shook himself all over Hunt.

Hunt brushed the water off his pants. “This affair could be shorter than you think. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly ingratiating himself.” He bent down to grab the leash lying on the flagstones and reached for the dog’s webbed canvas collar. Not quickly enough, though.

Fred was off and running again, this time through a stand of hibiscus.

Hunt stared gloomily at the leash hanging limply in his hand. “So what do I have to do to join this class?”

“Nothing…well…practically nothing. Your mother has already enrolled you. All you need to do is show up tomorrow night, with a bathing suit and towel. How hard can that be?”

Hunt sighed as Fred moved on from rummaging through the hibiscus to trampling the fragile pale pink flowers of fall-blooming cyclamen. “Tell me, do you think Mother has any pâté in the house?”

“Why? Are you feeling peckish?” Ben asked.

“No, I’m looking for something to bribe the dog with to get him to come. And knowing Mother, she won’t have anything as mundane as liverwurst.”

Ben laughed. “I’m sure there must be some imported Brie.” Then he glanced down at his watch. “I’d stay and help, but I’m already late for picking up Matt from school. The only thing worse than seeing your mother angry is seeing my teenage son pissed off.”

“And you call yourself a friend?” Hunt teased. “Oh, all right, far be it from me to cause any family disharmony. And just to show you how cooperative I can be, I’ll make nice with Mother and attend this water-whatever class.”

“Light Water Aerobics.” Ben sidestepped to the gate. He rested his hand on the latch. “Hunt, one more thing…”

Hunt was busy weaving and bobbing, trying to out-maneuver the dog. Fred let him come to just beyond arm’s length. Hunt lunged. Fred scampered away. Hunt swore.

“Hunt?” Ben said again.

“I know, I know, tomorrow night. Seven-thirty. I’ll be there.”

Ben paused. “Do you want me to leave the course listing?”

Hunt waved him off. “Don’t bother. I think you pretty much hit the highlights.”

“If you say so,” Ben agreed. He left quickly—Hunt couldn’t help thinking—curiously relieved.