Stepbrother Bastard (7 page)

“
Hey,
Annie Leibowitz!
”
Sophie calls, shattering the serene
afternoon silence,
“
Look who
’
s
finally here!
”

Anna
looks up with her enormous blue eyes, looking for the world like a startled
deer. Sometimes I think she forgets the rest of the world exists when she
’
s
peering through her camera lens. She turns and lopes toward us across the yard,
a placid smile on her face.

“
Hi
Maddie,
”
she says, climbing the
porch steps two at a time. Her pale legs go on for miles. When did she go from
being my scrappy, scabby-kneed little sister to a grown woman?
“
Did
you get lost or something? The day
’
s
half gone.
”

“
Probably
just dragged her feet all the way here,
”
Sophie mutters,
“
Not
that I blame you.
”

“
Uh-huh,
”
I reply, refusing to
engage in her bantering. I
’
m here because Mom asked
me to come, and because my bosses forced me to finally take my saved-up
vacation days, not to bicker with my little sisters for two weeks.

“
Some
place, right?
”
Anna
says, beaming around the property,
“
I
can
’
t
believe we get to stay here.
”

“
The
question is
how
do, we get to stay here,
”
I reply, planting my
hands on my hips.
“
I know we
’
ve
never necessarily been hurting for money, but this seems a little exorbitant
for four people. Don
’
t you think?
”

Sophie
’
s
eyes sparkle mischievously.
“
Oh, it
’
s
not just four of us,
”
she tells me.

“
What
do you mean?
”
I
shoot back.

“
You
don
’
t
know?
”
Anna asks.

“
Of
course she doesn
’
t. Mom didn
’
t
say anything about it to us,
”
Sophie replies.

“
Guys.
What is it I don
’
t know?
”
I ask, exasperated.

“
Ask
Mom,
”
Sophie replies,
“
I
’
m
sure she
’
ll
explain everything.
”

“
Sophie,
what
—”
I press, but don
’
t
get any further. Right on cue, the front door swings open, and I find myself
wrapped up in the airy but ardent embrace of my mother, Robin Porter.

“
Finally!
All my girls are here,
”
she gushes in her light, bell-like voice.
Thick golden blonde curls fly every which way as she greets me, the
gold-flecked blue eyes she passed along to her daughters shining with happy
tears.

“
Mom,
Hey,
”
I reply, returning her
hug,
“
Sophie
and Anna were just telling me
—”

“
Just
look at you,
”
she
cuts me off, holding me at arm
’
s length for inspection.
“
I
love the short hair! So becoming, Maddie. Have you lost a little baby fat since
the last time I saw you? Oh, you must have. And there
’
s
something else different, too. A sort of
glow
. I can
’
t
put my finger on it
…”

I
step away from her, hoping that the
“
something
else
”
isn
’
t
the lingering sexed-up flush of last night
’
s
escapades. Just in case, I change the subject as quickly as I can.

“
Mom,
Sophie just told me it isn
’
t just us staying here.
”
I cut to the chase,
“
What is she talking
about?
”

“
Come
inside, let me show you around,
”
my mom trills, seeming not to have heard
me. I swallow down my annoyance with her habit of not listening when other
people speak. After 24 years, I
’
m pretty accustomed to
her talking right over everyone else. Like little ducklings, my sisters and I
fall in behind our mother as she glides into the impressive house.

A
huge great room opens up before us, its far wall an enormous window that looks
out onto the deck and lake beyond. I
’
m
struck dumb by the gorgeousness of the view, and the fine craftsmanship that
’
s
gone into every detail of the home
’
s
decor. Midcentury modern furniture and fixtures populate the high-ceilinged
space, which includes a fully stocked kitchen, breakfast nook, and fireplace.
The combination of rustic and sleek touches is truly striking. There must be at
least half a dozen bedrooms upstairs, judging by the size of this place. But
then, who
’
s occupying them besides us?

“
Don
’
t
you just love it?
”
Mom asks rapturously, doing a little spin
around the great room. Her long bohemian skirts fans out around her, the
bangles around her wrists jangling.
“
Every
single detail was handpicked. John really does have incredible taste. And not
just in design, either. You should see the wine cellar
—”

“
John?
”
I cut her off sharply,
“
Who
’
s
John?
”

“
Oh!
”
she exclaims, her hand
flying to her chest,
“
You haven
’
t
met John yet! He was here just a second ago
…”

“
OK,
but who is he?
”
I
ask again, trailing my mom as she peers around the ground floor.

“
He
owns the house,
”
Mom replies distractedly.
“
He
built it, actually. Incredible, right?
”

“
Yeah.
Sure. So, what is this
—
like a house share or
something?
”
I
ask, exasperated,
“
Is he running a B&B,
or
—
?
”

“
Here
he is!
”
Mom cries out, clapping
her hands together as the door to the porch swings open into the kitchen. 

The
man who steps inside has to stoop to keep from smacking his head on the door
frame. He
’
s absolutely huge
—
at
least 6
’
5
”
,
and built like an ox. His arms and legs are bulky with muscle, his stance
combative. His face is halfway hidden beneath a thick brown beard, flecked with
white. His defined brow is deeply creased, and his resting expression is a
standoffish scowl. But the second he sees the four Porter woman standing around
the kitchen, his eyes crinkle into a benevolent, if reserved, smile.

“
The
whole brood is finally here,
”
says the enormous man, shucking off his
green baseball cap now that he
’
s inside.

“
Yep!
”
my Mom chirps happily,
“
Maddie,
this is John. John, Maddie.
”

“
Nice
to meet you, Maddie,
”
he says, extending his free hand to me.

“
And
you,
”
I offer, as John
’
s
plowshare of a hand swallows mine whole.
“
It
’
s
a pleasure I wasn
’
t expecting. I actually
didn
’
t
realize there would be anyone but us Porter ladies here.
”

John
lets my hand drop, glancing back at my mother.
“
Didn
’
t
you tell them?
”
he
asks.

“
I
could have sworn I mentioned it
…”
Mom drawls, her freckled forehead
furrowing slightly.
“
At least, I meant to.
”

“
It
’
s
totally cool,
”
I
go on,
“
I
just didn
’
t realize, is all. Mom
’
s
never been a huge stickler for details.
”

“
That
’
s
our Robin for you,
”
John says with a short laugh, looking
warmly at my mom. She gives him a little bump with her hip, clucking her tongue
at him. I glance at my sisters with raised eyebrows, but they don
’
t
look as surprised as I feel. Why do I get the sense that I
’
m
still lacking some information here?

“
So.
How did this house sharing arrangement come about?
”
I ask, as my mom goes to
the fridge and produces a pitcher of lemonade.

“
Well,
”
John says, sitting down
at the long kitchen table and kicking off his boots,
“
Your
mom and I go way back. We both grew up here, you know. Went all the way through
high school together before she pissed off to the big city.
”

“
I
hardly call going to art school
‘
pissing
off
’
,
but that
’
s
the gist of it,
”
Mom laughs airily, setting the pitcher
down before John, who helps himself to a glass.
“
When
I decided to come back here and get in touch with my roots, John was one of the
first people I reached out to. He
’
s
one of my oldest, best friends.
”

“
That
’
s
one way to put it,
”
John cuts in, wiping his mouth with the
back of his hand.
“
To tell you the truth,
your mom here was my One Who Got Away.
”

“
Huh,
”
I say flatly, as Sophie tries
not to laugh at my surprise,
“
That
’
s
…
interesting.
And now you
’
re, uh, renting out part of this
house to her? To us?
”

“
Renting?
”
John says, looking almost
offended,
“
I
’
d
never take money from a friend. Especially not this one. Your mother
’
s
been staying here at the house as my guest. And now you girls are, too.
”

There
it is. The little piece of information that changes the entire nature of this
getaway
—
the
less-than-pleasant surprise I knew would be waiting in store for me, courtesy
of my mother. She hasn
’
t just been visiting her
hometown these past few months
—
she
’
s
been living here with an enigmatic mountain man, who seems to have quite the
thing for her. And from the way she
’
s
beaming at him across the kitchen table, I can only assume the feeling is
mutual.