Lakeside Reunion (12 page)

“Little guy? She had a boy?”

Stephen nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Lindsey's face blurred. He stared at the carpet and forced the lump in his throat to dissipate. When he figured he could talk without blubbering like his newborn nephew, he opened his mouth. “Five pounds nine ounces. Nineteen inches long. Light hair like his dad and lungs like his mother. Poor kid.”

“You're an uncle.” Lindsey stood and folded the afghan, placing it over the back of the chair.

He nodded again, feeling like a bobblehead. Another rush of emotion swept over him. He sniffed quietly, hoping Lindsey wouldn't notice.

“Congratulations! Have they picked out a name yet?”

“Nathanial Stephen. They asked me if I minded and I told them I was honored.” To his horror, his voice cracked. He clasped his hands and stared at his feet, blinking rapidly. Lindsey would have a good laugh if she saw him tearing up.

“Nice, strong name. Did Nate make it before Melissa had the baby?”

“Yeah, he took my place. I paced the waiting room with Dad and Ma. They made it back in time, too. I'm really sorry I didn't call. I was, well, kind of preoccupied. Not a very good dad when I forget about my own kid.”

She sat on the other end of the couch. Her brows creased. “Stop beating yourself up. You're a great dad. Tyler was fine.”

“What did you two do all evening?”

“We ate dinner and he helped me do dishes. We played checkers and raced cars. The kid's a champ. He beat me every time.”

Stephen laughed. “Yeah, he's the reigning checker champ in this house. He and my dad play all the time. Did he fuss about going to bed?”

Lindsey shook her head. “No. He put in a movie and started falling asleep. He showed me his photo album.”

Stephen glanced at Bethany's picture staring at them from the mantel. “He misses his mom. I try, but it's not the same.”

Lindsey reached over and touched Stephen's shoulder. “You're doing a great job with him. He's a wonderful little boy. It will take time for you both. It's been a rough year for you.”

Stephen covered her hand. “Thanks. We're taking it a day at a time.”

Lindsey pulled her hand away from his grasp and glanced at her watch as she stood. “I should be going.”

Stephen pulled himself to his feet and walked her to the door. “Hey, let me pay you.” He dug his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Are you kidding me? I don't think so. I was helping a friend.”

Stephen tossed his wallet from hand to hand. He looked
at her. “Do you ever see us becoming more than friends, Linds?”

She captured his gaze and held it a moment as his words registered. He knew the moment she realized what he meant because she looked away and reached for her jacket. As she thrust her arm into the sleeve, the movement unleashed the floral scent that he always associated with her. It lingered between them as she slipped on her shoes.

“Lindsey.”

Her hands stilled. Head bent, her hair fell forward, shielding her face from his view. Slowly, she straightened. She lifted her head and looked at him. She swallowed hard.

He took half a step forward and stretched out a hesitant hand toward her—as if a sudden movement would startle her. He cupped her cheek and caressed his thumb over her rose-petal skin. He repeated, “Do you see us becoming more than friends?”

Lindsey licked her lips and took a step back, out of his reach. She closed her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That's all you can be to me, Stephen. The rest is too complicated.”

“It doesn't have to be.” He took another step forward. Before she had a chance to turn, he cupped her face with both hands, stroking the gentle curve of her ear with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes scanned his face. He brushed his lips across her forehead. She released a sigh, warming his neck with her breath. He kissed her long lashes. Her shoulders relaxed. He lowered his mouth to her soft lips.

Lindsey leaned into him, her hand on his shoulder. Her fragrance blanketed him, scrambling his senses. He kept the kiss gentle, despite his instinct to draw her closer. Every cell in his body protesting, he released her lips and touched his forehead to hers.

Lindsey's breathing told him she was as affected by the
kiss as he was. Eyes still closed, she touched a finger to her lips. Then, as if realizing what she was doing, her eyes shot open. She shrugged out of his grasp and speared him with a glare. “You shouldn't have done that.”

He shoved his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I should probably apologize, but that would be a lie. I've wanted to do that since I pulled you over in that ugly blue car with the broken taillight.”

L
indsey pulled into the driveway. Next to Max's sedan.

Oh, right. Mom said he was there when Lindsey called to check on her.

Shifting her convertible into Park, she sat with the engine idling. She closed her eyes and touched her lips, reliving that kiss for the hundredth time since she left Stephen's house.

She should have stopped him. Pushed him away. Something. Anything to keep distance between them. But that kiss… A sigh slipped over her lips.

Sitting in the driveway and daydreaming over a kiss like a fifteen-year-old wasn't doing anyone a bit of good. Lindsey shut off the engine and slid out of the car. Slamming the door behind her, she headed for the house.

The living room lights cascaded across the front porch. Lindsey opened the front door and dropped her purse on the chair while she shrugged out of her coat and hung it up.

Laughter from the TV in the living room drifted into the popcorn-scented foyer. Mom and Max must have been caught up in their movie and didn't hear her come in.

“Mom? I'm back.” Lindsey padded into the living room.

She gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Sorry.”

Oh, they were caught up all right.

Mom and Max broke apart like two teenagers caught making out on the family couch. The tips of Max's ears reddened as he smoothed down his hair. A similar shade stole across Mom's cheeks.

It was only a kiss.

Then why did part of Lindsey want to wither and blow away like a dried leaf?

“Well, this is awkward.” Max rested his head against the back of the couch.

Lindsey wrapped her arms around her waist. Mom played with the fringe on the white crocheted afghan in her lap. What happened to the quilt? She usually covered up with that.

Max laughed quietly and shook his head. He slid an arm around Mom's shoulders. “Linds, there's something you should know.”

Her mother clamped a hand on Max's knee. “No, Max. Not yet.”

“
Bella,
we can't hide this from her.”

“What? What should I know? Mom, are you okay? Does your leg hurt? Did something happen?”

“No. No. I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about. I promise.”

If there wasn't anything to worry about, why wouldn't Mom look at her? “Then what's going on?”

Max grinned, then smeared a hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the smile. He stood. “As you know, your mother and I have been dating for six months now.”

“Right.” Not that she had known that long, though.

“Well…” He shifted from foot to foot. “We're not getting any younger. And when you know, you know. You know?”

Lindsey shook her head, not having a clue what he was babbling about. That's one thing she was coming to realize—when he was nervous, Max babbled.

Mom still wouldn't look at her. What was that all about?

“Look, I'm just going to come out and say it. I love Grace with all my heart. I've asked her to marry me. And she said yes.”

Lindsey tried not to flinch, but her body betrayed her. The air whooshed out of her lungs as Max's words punched her in the solar plexus.

Stay calm. Don't react.

The room spun. The laughter from the TV echoed inside her head, the sound getting louder and louder as if mocking her. Lindsey stepped back until the backs of her legs smacked into the ottoman. She dropped onto it.

Her eyes darted to Dad's recliner, angled to have a perfect view for Sunday-afternoon football. How many times had she wrapped herself in the wedding ring quilt and curled up in that chair to watch Saturday morning cartoons? Where
was
that quilt? It should have been folded and hanging off the back of the brown corduroy recliner with the worn arms. Mom hated that thing. It didn't match the rest of the room with its rose chintz furniture, ruffled throw pillows or the mauve-colored carpet. Despite her threats while Dad was alive, Mom hadn't parted with it after his death.

The chair belonged. In this room. In this house. Along with the quilt.

“Where's the quilt, Mom?”

Mom jerked her head up. “What? What quilt?”

“The quilt that laid on the back of Dad's chair? It was there this morning.”

“I don't understand why you're worried about a blanket. Did you hear what Max said?”

Blood rushed through her veins, pumping so loudly through her heart that she was sure they could hear it. “A—a blanket? Are you kidding me? How could you call it
that?
That
quilt
belongs on the back of Dad's chair. And now it's gone. If you don't want it anymore, if you're going to just
throw it away and replace it with a new one, well, I'll keep it. Where is it?”

“Lindsey…” Max stepped forward and held out a hand.

Lindsey flicked her gaze from Mom to Max and then back to her mother. “Mom.”

“It's in the basement. It needs to be washed.” Mom's shoulders sagged as if the admission heaped a steaming pile of guilt on them.

Lindsey headed for the basement. She snapped on the light and slowly made her way down the steps. There, on the cold cement floor, in front of the washer, laid the quilt.

Crumpled.

Discarded.

She moved to the washer, picked up the quilt carefully as if touching it would cause the threads to separate, hugged it to her chest and buried her face in the multicolored rings.

Her chest shuddered. She leaned against the dryer as Max's words echoed inside her head. The seams of her heart ripped open—one by one—until it lay exposed, ragged. Here, away from questioning eyes, she allowed herself to give in to the sob, soaking the fabric.

She breathed in her mother's familiar fragrance—the expensive perfume that Lindsey always paused to smell when she passed through Macy's. Usually the scent surrounded her with the familiar comfort of home, back before times changed and a girl's life was thrust in limbo.

Lindsey breathed deeply to inhale the very faint aroma of Dad's cologne. Well, not cologne actually, but a girl could pretend, right? Dad's scent consisted of Irish Spring soap and menthol shaving cream. If she closed her eyes, if she breathed deeply enough, if she allowed the door to that memory to open, she could smell it. She could remember.

But Lindsey couldn't smell it. She breathed in again. No,
this time, she smelled an expensive men's cologne. A scent so out of place she nearly tossed the quilt on the floor.

Then she saw it. A dark stain embedded in the threads. It smelled like tea. And something else. A scent she couldn't place.

The door opened. “Lindsey? We need to talk.”

Lindsey closed her eyes. Mom deserved to be happy, right? Didn't she say Max made her want to live again? And everyone kept telling her what a great guy he was. She needed to give him a chance to prove it.

Knowing there was no other place to go than up, Lindsey clutched the quilt and headed for the stairs.

Leaning on her crutches, Mom balanced herself in the open doorway. Mascara smudges and her pink nose showed Lindsey that she wasn't the only one who had been crying.

“Lindsey.”

Gripping the banister, she stopped halfway up the stairs.

Mom gave her that same penetrating glare she used to get when she had done something wrong. “I spilled tea on the quilt. Max was kind enough to take it downstairs and spray it with stain remover. That's what he was trying to tell you before you jumped all over him. He wasn't sure how to wash it, but I assured him we'd take care of it tomorrow. I would never do anything to ruin that quilt. I will always treasure it. But just because I wasn't using it doesn't mean I don't love it. It's a part of me, Lindsey. Nothing will change that. Nothing.”

Lindsey's eyes burned. “Mom—”

“I love him.”

“I know.” The wooden banister needed to be sanded, Lindsey realized as a sliver pierced her skin.

“He's a good guy, honey. He'll take great care of me.”

Lindsey took another step. Then another. “As long as he
makes you happy, Mom.” She forced a calm tone into her voice. Her hand began to throb.

Her mother stepped back to make room for her. She reached out and cupped her chin. “He does, honey. So much. There's something else. I'm selling the house.”

“What? Why?” Frowning, she closed the basement door.

“It's too big. I want to start fresh. Something small enough for Max and me. With no ghosts. For either of us.”

“This house…” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? She hadn't lived here in five years, but it was the only place she'd ever called home. Her last link to her dad. But her mom was right—she and Max needed a fresh start.

Would the new owners take down the tire swing that still hung from the sturdy oak in the backyard? Would they replace the board in front of her bedroom that squeaked every time someone paused in front of her door? Would they dig in the flower bed and find the box she buried with Melissa when they were ten—the one that contained their hopes and dreams?

She wrapped one arm around her mother and hugged her. “You deserve to be happy, Mom. Max seems like the right guy for you. I'm going to step outside for some air and give you two some privacy.”

She brushed past the same moment Mom redistributed her weight on her crutches. Lindsey's foot accidentally kicked the rubber cap on the end of Mom's crutch, sending it backward.

Mom cried out as she fell forward. Her crutch clattered to the floor.

Dropping the quilt, Lindsey grabbed on to her mother's arms to keep her from falling. Her shoulder slammed against the doorjamb, sending a wave of pain down her arm.

They piled near the basement door. If Lindsey hadn't closed it, they could have rolled down the steps. She stared
at the ceiling as bright spots danced in front of her eyes. She tried to sit up. “Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't—”

Max rushed in from the living room. “Gracie, what happened? Are you okay?”

“It was an accident, Max. Nothing to worry about. We tripped. That's all.” Mom rolled off Lindsey. A grimace of pain sliced across her face.

As he helped her mother to her feet, Max held out a hand to Lindsey. “Are you hurt?”

She glanced at his hand a minute and then searched his face for a thread of condemnation. Instead, compassion filled his eyes as concern knitted his brows. “I'm fine. Make sure Mom is okay.”

“I will. I promise.”

Max led her mother into the living room, leaving Lindsey feeling ashamed at her self-centeredness. Max would take great care of her mother. And Mom deserved every ounce of happiness he could give her.

Rubbing her shoulder, she peeked into the living room. “Mom, are you okay? I feel terrible. I'm so sorry.”

Mom waved away her apology. “Honey, I'm fine. It was an accident.”

“Well, I'm going to get some air, to give you two some time alone.” She headed for the front door, shoved her feet in her shoes, grabbed her jacket and closed the front door quietly behind her.

Fumbling for her keys in her pocket, she hurried through the darkness to her car.

For the next hour, she drove around Shelby Lake, kicking herself again for acting so stupid over that quilt. Of course it needed to be washed. Otherwise the tea stain would ruin the fabric.

What was up with that childish meltdown?

Her mother seemed happy with Max. Who was she to stand in the way of that?

Her headlights fanned across Stephen's garage as she pulled in his driveway. The motion light above the wide door flashed and illuminated the front of her convertible.

Why was she here?

Realizing she was playing with fire, Lindsey slid out from behind the wheel and closed the car door quietly.

She brushed a hand across her face, breathed deeply and knocked quietly on the front door.

The outside light flicked on. The door opened.

Stephen stood on the threshold wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans. Barefoot. “Lindsey?”

The way he whispered her name—a touch of curiosity mixed with a hint of surprise—showered over her, melting the barrier around her emotions. Her chest heaved as she struggled to compose herself. “Hey.”

Stephen glanced behind him and then stepped onto the porch. He closed the door behind him. “What's up, Linds? Everything okay?”

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. Tears pooled in her eyes. One slid down her cheek. “I need to let her move on, right?”

Stephen thumbed away the tear and then folded her against his chest. She relished the warmth, the strength of his arms that wrapped around her. “Why don't you come inside?”

“I'm sorry. It's late. Ty's in bed. I shouldn't have come. It's just—”

He kissed the top of her head. “Don't apologize. Come in.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.

She stood in the entryway, shivering. She left her jacket in the car. Along with her purse. And her common sense. What was she doing here?

“Have a seat.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her to the living room.

She settled on the corner of the couch and drew her knees to her chest. Stephen wrapped an afghan around her shoulders and left the room.

He had started a fire, warming the room. The golden flames danced across the wood. A log split, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. The snap and crackle was the only sound in the room.

She shrugged off the afghan to stand in front of the fire.

Stephen returned a couple of minutes later and handed her a mug. “Here. This will warm you.”

“Thanks.” She took it, smelling tea. She sipped it, wrapping hands around the thick ceramic mug.

He stoked the fire, returned the poker to its iron holder and faced her, shoving his fingers in his front pockets. “What happened?”

She set her mug on the mantel and crossed her arms over her chest. “Max proposed to Mom. She said yes. She's selling the house. Time to move on. She has every right, but it all just seems so sudden.”