Keeping the Peace (8 page)

John nodded politely and proceeded down the aisle. It wasn’t the first time he had heard a brother-in-law story. There was a brother-in-law story for just about any scenario anyone could think up. Marsha probably had the most entertaining brother-in-law in the state of Vermont, or at least her tales about him were entertaining, regardless of whether the stories were true or not. It stood to reason, the chief thought, that standing behind the cash register for twenty years couldn’t be easy. At least she had something to talk to the customers about. John picked up a small grocery basket and strode up and down the aisles, picking his purchases with care. Twenty minutes later, he was on his way back up the hill to the stone house.

Plowing his way past the Dearborne farm, he glanced toward the big yellow house. A single pale light shone from the kitchen, but on the other side of the road, the barns were lit, looking warm and inviting. Becky’s car was parked in the barnyard. John knew she had stopped to help her husband finish the evening chores. It was the Dearbornes’ good fortune that their nephew/farm manager had married a girl who liked cows. In fact, John thought, if Becky had been born an animal, she probably would have been bovine. Warm and maternal with her large dark brown eyes, she prodded her husband and two sons along the cow path of life with gentle bullying and an occasional swift kick.

John smiled and drove on. He looked up the hill and saw the lights of his own home glowing through the still thickly falling snow. The windows were golden with light, and some of that gold spilled out through the windows onto the undisturbed snow, making it glittery gold, too. The Christmas wreath was still up, illuminated by the lanterns on either side of the door. As he turned into the driveway, he saw his mother-in-law’s pickup truck parked there. She would be checking on Mia, he figured. He backed the Suburban into the garage as quickly as possible, gathered up his groceries, and went into the house.

The warmth of the room surrounded him as he entered. The dogs crowded around him, begging for attention. His mother-in-law, who had been sitting in the big chair, rose to meet him.

“Hello, John,” she said. “Can I take one of those bags for you?”

“No, thanks, Catherine. I can manage.”

She was a handsome woman, taller than her daughter, and lean. She kept her hair blond and wore it in a classic pageboy. Had there been any spontaneity in her laugh or flush to her cheek, she might have resembled Melanie more closely, but Catherine Dearborne was cool and precise in everything she did or said. John often thought of the emotional effort it must have taken her to decide to have the one child. And then to have a child as warm and earthy as Melanie. It was as though the Ice Queen had given birth to spring.

“Hi, Daddy!” Mia called out to him. She was lying on the couch, her neck in a foam collar and her arm in a sling. Her bare feet were in Emmie’s lap. Emmie was painting her toenails.

“Hey, Mouse,” he answered. “How’re you feeling?”

Emmie spoke first. “She’s fine, Chief. She was going to get up, but I made her stay down.” Emmie looked fondly at her friend. “Did you get the prescription?”

John hid his amusement at her matter-of-fact intimacy. “Yes, Emmie, I got it.” He humored her. “Do you think she needs one?”

“Well,” said Emmie with authority, “I would say no, she doesn’t.”

“Hey, I’m the patient,” howled Mia. “Somebody ask me!”

“Do you need a Vicodin, Mia?” Emmie asked.

“No, I don’t, thank you.”

Catherine said, “Oh my word! Of course you don’t need a Vicodin! We don’t take things like that.” It was one of her favorite personal declarations:
we
don’t do this, or
we
don’t do that.

John finally managed to wade through the dogs and set his burden down on the kitchen counter. “The house smells like bread,” he said. “Did Mom make bread?”

“Yes, she did,” Mia said, not turning away from the television. They were watching music videos.

“Where is she?” John asked.

“She and Peter are out bringing in wood. They went out just as you were coming in,” answered Mia. “Hey, Dad, look, quick. This is Ragged Rainbow. It’s their new video. Look, there’s Gabriel Strand. Look, Daddy!”

He squinted, and then, honestly curious, he crossed the room to look at the television. It was the visiting rock star, all right, complete with band members, singing a rock ballad unfamiliar to John. The sound was good, though, and he stood there watching.

“Isn’t he gorgeous!” breathed Emmie.

“He’s adorable. Ha! And he spoke to me! And he
touched
me, Em. He
touched
me,” Mia said, lording it over her friend. “You’re so jealous.”

“Oh, yes I am,” said Emmie, “but if I had been there, he would have liked me better. Then what? You’d get stuck with the manager!”

They both squealed, and Emmie, forgetting she was armed with a nail polish brush, accidentally painted a plum-colored streak across Mia’s bare foot. They both squealed again.

“Argh! Get it off me, Em. Get it off me!” Mia continued to giggle as she waved her foot in the air.

At that moment, Melanie and Peter came into the room, each dumping a huge load of wood into the wood box. John was surprised to see a third person, also carrying an armload of wood, with them: Michael, his oldest son.

“Mike! What are you doing here?”

“Power’s out at school. Classes canceled for tomorrow, maybe longer. I didn’t want to stay there and freeze.”

John asked, “Did you drive here?”

“Yes.”

John rubbed his hand across his face. “Doesn’t anybody in this family do what I tell them? Mike, you see your sister. We’ve had one accident. You turn my hair gray!”

Except for his coloring, Michael looked more like a Dearborne than anyone else in the family. His hair was longish, wavy, and dark brown. His eyes were nearly black. His coloring may have been Mediterranean, but he was built more like the Dearbornes, taller and thinner than his sister or brother. He was unlike them in personality as well, more reserved and cautious with his emotions than his sister or brother. “Look, I made it, didn’t I? I just went slow. It wasn’t that bad. Calm down.”

Melanie pulled off her gloves and walked toward her husband. “Peter, fill that stove and put another log on the fire in the fireplace,” she said as she, as always, reached out her hand to John. They kissed, and Melanie said back over her shoulder, “Girls! Really, you sound like something from another planet.”

“Why do I have to fill the stove?” groused Peter. “Make Michael do it. I’ve been doing it all day.”

“You’re such a dweeb,” Michael said to his brother, but their quarrel was interrupted by their sister.

“Look, Mom, they’re going to do another Ragged Rainbow video,” Mia said excitedly.

John needed his wife’s attention. He was taking things out of the bags and asked her, “Want to be my sous chef?”

“What’re we making?” she asked.

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Love,” he said.

“You guys make me sick,” said Peter, plunking himself down on a kitchen stool.

Catherine was putting things away in the refrigerator, pretending not to hear, and John and Melanie ignored him.

Mia shouted, “Oh, Peter, shut up. Come watch Ragged Rainbow with us.”

Michael sat down on the couch with the girls.

“Not me,” Peter grumbled. “He wrecked our car, and I couldn’t go to the gym. I need to practice. There’s a competition coming up next month. If anybody cares.”

At fifteen, Peter Giamo had not reached his adult height, nor even his eventual shape. Now, he was rather stocky. He looked more like his father than anyone else, but his eyes were truly green. He was a martial arts aficionado, and he was good at what he did, winning most of the competitions he entered. Peter had his first-degree black belt test coming up in two weeks, and his anxiety was making life difficult for the rest of the family.

Purposefully, John turned his attention to his younger son. “Is your black belt test before this competition?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s the competition?”

“I told you. Nobody ever remembers what I say.”

Mia was on her feet now. “Peter, shut up. You’re just whining, whining, whining. Mom always listens to you. You always get whatever you want.”

They were really bickering now.

Melanie raised her voice. “Okay, that’s enough. We’re going to make dinner now. Mia, get back on that couch and stay quiet. Emmie, keep your BFF quiet. Peter, you—” But Peter was gone, stalking through the house to his room upstairs.

“Really, Melanie,” said Catherine to her daughter. “You’ve got to do something about that boy. He’s downright rude. What’s his problem? You’ve spoiled him rotten.”

“I know, Gram,” Mia said from the couch where Emmie was fussing, covering her with the light wool throw.

“It’s true,” Michael injected.

“Everybody, get off my back,” Melanie said good-naturedly. “He’s just upset about his black belt test. He’s always like this when the pressure’s on.”

“He doesn’t need to inflict it upon the rest of the family. He’s got to learn some control,” the grandmother said firmly.

“Oh, Mother, he’ll be fine. Are you staying for supper? John’s going to make something yummy. You can give Dad a call.”

“No, thank you. Your father and I aren’t too fond of Italian food. No offense, John.”

“None taken,” said John, rattling around for the proper baking dish under the counter. Years ago, it would not have been so, but then Melanie had said she would marry him and the dynamic had changed. Nothing the Dearbornes could say from that day forward could raise his ire again. He had what he wanted.

Catherine pulled on her coat. “I’ll go along home, then. I just wanted to make sure you were both okay.”

She crossed the room and bent over Mia on the couch. No matter what their opinion of their daughter’s choice for a husband, or the staid, antiquated Yankee standards they expected Melanie to adhere to, both Dearborne grandparents adored their three grandchildren. It was as though the loving emotions they had fought so hard to suppress while raising their own child had finally bubbled to the surface and spilled over, to be lavished on their grandchildren.

Catherine cupped Mia’s chin in her long, patrician hand and kissed her on the cheek. “Do as your mother says, Mia,” she said. “Try to rest as much as possible. Grampa will probably stop up tomorrow. You’re not going to school, are you?”

“I was planning on it,” said Mia, “if they have school. It’s still snowing.”

“Oh,” her grandmother said, “I think school is out of the question for you, snow or no snow, for at least a couple of days.” Then the older lady bundled her scarf around her neck and head and turned to leave. “Good night, everyone.”

“Good night,” chorused John, Mia, Emmie, and Michael.

Peter sauntered back into the room. “Night, Gram,” he said pleasantly.

“Drive carefully going down that hill,” Melanie called out as the door closed.

Instinctively, those in the kitchen waited, looking through the windows until they saw the lights of the heavy Dearborne pickup truck shining through the snowstorm as it stalwartly made its way down the hill.

“Your mother doesn’t like my cooking,” teased John.

Melanie made a face.

“What are you cooking for dinner, Dad?” Mia asked.

“Baked penne with sausage and Parmigiano Reggiano, your mother’s fresh bread, and Caesar salad. Something warm for this cold night.”

“And I’m making an apple pie,” Melanie chimed in.

“Oh, wow!” Emmie clasped her hands under her chin. “I’m glad I’m staying tonight.”

“Hey.” Peter was still peering out the window. “Grammie’s back.”

The lights of a vehicle pierced the flying snow as it crawled up the road toward the house.

“Oh, no,” said Melanie, going over and standing by her son in front of the window. “Maybe a tree is down across the road or something.”

Michael joined them. “That’s not Gram’s truck. That’s a smaller vehicle.”

It was impossible to see through the storm.

“Well, someone’s coming here,” said Melanie. “It can’t be through traffic. Not on a night like tonight. We’re the last place for two miles, and the houses at the other end are easier to get to from the main route.”

“They’ve got to be coming here,” Michael said.

John snorted. He didn’t want to face more drama.

Sure enough, as they all stood there watching the lights, the vehicle turned into the driveway.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” said Melanie, going to the door. She went out into the mudroom to open the front door.

Everyone waited, curious and just a little apprehensive.

John heard the door open and a voice say, “Hello, Mrs. Giamo. I was wondering whether I could come in for a minute.”

“Oh, my, what are you doing out on a night like this?” Melanie asked with surprise in her voice. “Of course, of course, come in, please.”

Gabriel followed her into the warm living room, and Melanie closed the door behind them. Several things happened at once: the dogs started barking, the girls on the couch made a strange sound, and the knife that John had been using clattered to the floor.