Bliss and the Art of Forever (A Hope Springs Novel) (38 page)

Dolly gave a dismissive wave of one hand. “Of course not, dear.”

“If that woman has an issue with you,” Jean said, gesturing with her fork, “it’s all in her mind.”

“Jean.” Dolly nearly bit off the word.

“It’s okay,” Brooklyn said. “I’d rather hear the truth.”

“The truth is that Vaughn Drake is a saint to have put up with that woman all these years,” Jean said, never one to hold anything back. “Good riddance, I say. And I mean it.”

“Oh, Jean, no.” Dolly reached across the table and patted the back of Jean’s hand. “Yes, Shirley can be trying, but you know Vaughn’s got to be hurting. And think about Callum and his little girl.”

But Jean wasn’t having any of it. “I saw Vaughn in HEB just yesterday. He’s not hurting at all. Or he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it.”

“Not to take away from what Mr. Drake is going through,” Brooklyn said, “but would one of you tell me how this involves me?”

Jean reached behind her for her monster-sized purse and pulled out a flask, doctoring her coffee with a big splash of bourbon. “Oh, some BS about how her son deprived her of having a grandbaby, since she didn’t meet Adrianne until the girl was already a year old. And now that you’ve caught his fancy, she might as well write off the idea of ever being a grandmother again, since you don’t want children.”

Brooklyn waited for the reverberation of the sledgehammer to stop. Her head ached. Her heart ached. Poor Callum. Poor Addy. Poor Vaughn. “I never told him I didn’t want children. I told him Artie and I had decided not to have them. It’s the same thing I’ve told others when it’s come up in conversation. But I can’t imagine him telling his mother any of that.”

“Oh, I don’t believe for a moment he did.” Jean pushed her empty plate to the side and lifted her coffee cup with both hands, breathing in the aroma of the added bourbon. “She either heard it elsewhere or she made it up. She’s obviously jealous of the time he’s been spending with you. It’s nothing more than her being her usual petty self.”

“Jean!”

“Oh, Dolly. You know I’m right. Pearl’s will be a much quieter place Friday mornings without Shirley moaning about every pothole put in the road just to ruin her brand-new tires.” She turned to Brooklyn. “You want a piece of cake, hon? A cup of coffee?”

Brooklyn shook her head. “When did this happen? When did she leave?”

Jean glanced at Dolly, and Dolly was the one who spoke. “I believe last Saturday morning. Or last Friday night. I didn’t hear about it until Sunday at church.”

So Callum had known on Saturday when she’d gone to his house, and on Tuesday when he’d come to hers. He’d told her his mother was out of town, but said nothing about her leaving his father. And Vaughn . . . he’d sat there and eaten hamburgers and talked basketball and crawled around looking for 16d framing nails without so much as a hint of anything bothering him.

Elbows on the table, Brooklyn rubbed at the pressure in her temples. “I saw them last Saturday night. I had dinner with them.”

“With Callum?” Dolly asked. “And Vaughn?”

“And Addy. He bought a house out on Three Wishes Road. They moved earlier this month. He cooked burgers. Addy stepped on a nail . . .” She shook her head. This wasn’t making sense. “I saw them on Tuesday, too. Callum and his daughter. They came over for dinner. I cooked lasagna.”

“Artie’s lasagna?” asked Jean. When Brooklyn nodded, Jean muttered some choice words under her breath. “I can’t believe I forgot the date when I agreed to host that Bunco party with Pearl. I should’ve invited you to come.”

“What date?” Dolly asked. “What am I missing?”

Shaking her head solemnly, Jean set down her coffee cup. “Tuesday was Brooklyn and Artie’s anniversary.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Dolly reached over and took hold of Brooklyn’s hand with both of hers. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I would’ve been there with a gallon of ice cream and a pan of fresh brownies.”

Tears welled in Brooklyn’s eyes and her throat ached with emotion. She was so very lucky to have such very dear friends. “Thank you both. I’m fine, really. I’m not so sure Callum is.” She shuddered. “I still can’t believe I thought it a good idea to have him for dinner.”

“And did you?” Jean asked, her lips pursed against a grin. “
Have
him for dinner?”

“Jean!” Dolly and Brooklyn gasped the other woman’s name at the same time.

Jean waved off their shock. “Just trying to lighten the mood. And wondering if he’s as good in bed as he looks like he’d be.”

Brooklyn blushed, and Jean said, “Aha,” and then Dolly shook her head, saying, “I don’t want to know. I don’t even want to know.”

“Well, I
do
want to know why he didn’t tell me about his mother leaving,” Brooklyn said. “Though for all I know he planned to. Until he found out I needed his company to get through my anniversary with another man.”

“He’ll get over it,” Jean said. “And knowing the kind of man he is, I have no doubt he’ll take it as the very real compliment it was.”

“And you’re still leaving next week?” Dolly asked, before Brooklyn could respond to Jean.

She nodded. “I think so. I fly out Friday evening.”

Dolly and Jean exchanged a glance, then Dolly was the one to say, “That doesn’t sound like you’re sure about this trip you’re taking.”

“It’s complicated. I need to go. I
have
to go.”

“But you don’t want to leave Callum.”

Hearing the words come out of Jean’s mouth . . . Brooklyn shook her head slowly, her stupid eyes filling with tears again. She was so tired of the tears. So tired of being torn between duty and honor and love, and not even knowing which emotion belonged to the past, which to the present.

Or which to which man.

MAX MALINA’S
MAMA MIA!
ITALIAN CREAM CAKE

For the cake:

1½ cups sweetened shredded coconut, toasted

1 cup buttermilk, room temperature

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

2½ cups cake flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking soda

12 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces and softened

4 tablespoons vegetable shortening, cut into pieces

1¾ cups granulated sugar

5 large eggs, room temperature

2 cups pecans, toasted and chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees (F).

Grease two 9-inch round cake pans and line with parchment paper, coating with nonstick spray.

Process the coconut in a food processor until finely ground. Combine the coconut, the buttermilk, and the vanilla in a bowl and let sit until coconut is slightly softened.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, the baking powder, the salt, and the baking soda. Using a stand mixer fitted with a paddle, or an electric mixer, beat the butter, the shortening, and the sugar on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat until combined. Reduce the mixer speed to low and add the flour mixture, alternating with additions of the reserved coconut-buttermilk mixture, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Fold in ¾ cup of pecans.

Pour equal amounts of the batter into the prepared pans and bake for 28–32 minutes, or until a tester inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Cool the cakes in the pans on wire racks for 10 minutes. Remove the cakes from the pans and cool completely.

For the frosting:

12 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

2¼ cups powdered sugar

½ cup cream of coconut

½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract

16 ounces cream cheese, cut into pieces and softened

pinch of salt

Using an electric mixer or a stand mixer fitted with a paddle, mix the butter and the sugar on low speed until combined. Increase the speed to medium-high and beat until pale and fluffy. Add the cream of coconut, the vanilla, and the salt, and beat until smooth. Add the cream cheese, one piece at a time, and beat until incorporated. Frost the cake and press the remaining pecans onto the sides.

Sunday night following Tuesday’s disastrous dinner at Brooklyn’s, when Callum had cleaned up the owls Addy had broken, then cleaned up the rest of the dishes while Brooklyn had held his daughter on her lap and read her a book on her Kindle, Callum met his dad at the back door of his parents’ home, climbing the three concrete steps into the kitchen with Addy asleep on his shoulder. He’d hated getting her out of bed, but it couldn’t be helped. Well, it could have been, but only if he’d decided to do this before she’d gone to sleep.

“I really appreciate this,” he said to his father as the older man closed the door. “And I’m sorry for calling so late. How’re you doing?”

“It’s no bother. You know I’m a night owl.” He gestured for Callum to follow him, shutting off the kitchen lights and leading the way down the hall to the spare bedroom Addy used when she slept over. “Your mother would’ve loved to wake to find Adrianne here, but now I get to have all the fun. And I will. So don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll be back first thing,” Callum told him, worried anyway, even though his father looked less wan and less stressed and less . . . stooped and old than he had in months. “Hell, I may come back and crash on the couch so you don’t have to deal with breakfast. Addy’s still acting out about her Grammy being gone.”

“Then she needs to see exactly how much fun breakfast can be when we don’t have to worry about our silverware matching while we eat pancakes shaped like snowmen.” His father gestured toward the bed, where he’d pulled down the covers before they’d arrived. The lamp on the bedside table burned on low.

After laying down his daughter, Callum waited for her to roll onto her side before pulling the bedspread around her shoulders. His father was taking his mother’s absence a whole lot better than Callum would’ve imagined. He wasn’t even sure
he
was taking it as well, but then, he was dealing with Addy’s emotions and outbursts, which influenced his own feelings about what his mother had done—and not for the better.

“I would say you don’t have to spoil her with snowman pancakes, but maybe it’s what she needs. God knows I’m not exactly doing the best job of figuring that out these days.” Then again, he wasn’t doing such a good job with any of his relationships except maybe with Lena, and that was because she didn’t let him get away with shit.

“How’s Brooklyn?” his dad asked as if reading his mind. “The two of you doing okay? Getting any closer to making things official?”

“You know me,” he said, wiggling his daughter’s backpack off his shoulder and tossing it to the seat of the corner chair. “I’ve been kinda snake-bit these last few years when it comes to making choices.”

His father huffed. “Easy to understand when you get told you’re making bad ones often enough.”

“Took me until ten thirty-three tonight to make the one that brought me here.” And then he’d called his dad at 10:34.

From the doorway where he stood, his father chuckled. “Marking the date and time for posterity, huh?”

“Not on purpose,” Callum said. “I can’t let her go. Not without her knowing . . .”

He let the sentence trail, and smoothed Addy’s hair over the pillow. He was still on shaky ground, and wouldn’t have his footing right until he talked to Brooklyn in person. He glanced at the clock beside the bed, his stomach tumbling. Time was ticking.

After kissing his daughter’s temple, he headed for the door. His father backed into the hallway, waving him toward his study.
Ticking, ticking, ticking.

“Dad, I really should go. It’s late.”

“Humor me for five minutes.” The older man walked into the room, lit a bright aquarium blue, and switched on a lamp. “I know what you feel for Brooklyn has come on suddenly, but that doesn’t make it suspect. There is such a thing as love at first sight.”

Callum hoped his father was right, because he didn’t want to think he was making a mistake, falling so hard and so fast. Falling in love—because he was. Completely. In ways he’d never known love existed.

“Dad,” he said, his throat tightening around the words. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a while,” he said, the big wide grin splitting his face quickly turning into a frown. “Except didn’t you tell me the night we cooked burgers that she’s flying out of here later this week?”

“She is,” Callum said, nodding, his hands at his hips, the thought a monstrous weight dragging him down. “She’s scheduled to, anyway. I’m hoping she’ll change her mind. Or at least do what she needs to do and come back sooner than she’s planning to.”

“What is it she’s doing?”

He gave a sharp snort. “Believe it or not, scattering her husband’s ashes.”

“Ah,” his father said thoughtfully. “So changing her mind has some complications.”

Callum nodded. They were complications he wasn’t sure he could overcome. One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to get anything settled standing here. “Dad, I really need to go.”

“All right, but I’ve got something I want to give you first,” his father said, making his way to his desk. “I’ve been holding on to it for a long time.”

“Well, it can’t be a piece of advice, since you never held back any of those,” Callum joked as he walked closer.

“Funny man you’ve turned out to be.”

“I had a good teacher,” Callum said, his chest tightening as the realization of how much he meant it struck unexpectedly hard.

Closing his desk drawer, his father walked to where Callum stood and handed him a hinged jewelry box. “This belonged to my mother. And to her mother. She wouldn’t tell my grandfather which stone was her favorite, so he gave her one of each. Your mother wanted to resize it and replace some of the stones, but I told her we’d just save it for you, since it never was to her taste.”

Swallowing hard, Callum opened the box and stared down at the ring of gold and precious gems, picturing it on Brooklyn’s hand. He couldn’t imagine anything more perfect, more suited to her understated style. But even more moving was the very idea of his father saving this for him.

The older man, never physically demonstrative, wasn’t one for sentimental gestures, either, and the surprise of his doing so, of his doing this . . . Callum cleared his throat as he closed the box, then wrapped both arms around his dad, who returned the hug, patting him on the back, then covering his own mouth with his fist as he coughed his emotion away.