The Game of Denial (2 page)

WHEN MEG TROTTED down the front steps, Charmaine howled with laughter. She reached out and pulled out one of the earbuds. "Wonderful fashion statement, Meg," she hollered.

"Thanks." Meg beamed at her oldest sister. She turned the volume down slightly and looked back at Joan. "Has Mom got a board meeting or something before we zip off to the airport? She seems awfully tense."

Charmaine glanced at her impeccably dressed mother and shook her head. Joan was wearing her usual chic business ensemble. A light gray, pin-striped Armani power suit over a light pink Perry Ellis shirt, accented by the ever-present double strands of small pearls. Charmaine smiled to herself. Even ten years after her wife passed away, Joan still wore the reminder of her almost every day. Sensible black pumps completed her no-nonsense outfit. Charmaine had to admit the color looked good on the fifty-fiveyear-old businesswoman with her short blonde hair combed across her forehead in her usual mannish-style. Charmaine couldn't remember a time when her mother's hair had been styled differently. Despite her clothing and hairstyle, Joan Carmichael was unmistakably feminine, in a butchie sort of way.

"Take a good look around," Charmaine sighed as they climbed in the limousine. "It's our last view of civilization for nearly two freakin' weeks."

AS WAS HER habit, Joan was the last to board the company jet. Their flight time from New York to the closest airport to their destination in rural southern Virginia was less than three hours. She draped her suit jacket on the seat back, settled into her seat along one side of the cabin, which looked like a smaller version of her living room, and secured the seatbelt around her waist. She looked across the cabin at her son, Tucker, and his wife and children. They were a handsome family. She was proud of her only son. As the corporate attorney for her company he had kept them on track and out of trouble with copyright questions. A few of her junior executives had managed to come up with memorable advertising slogans which were now legally protected from being used by other agencies without forking over a sizeable fee. Life was good, she thought as she glanced around the cabin. She enjoyed a successful and profitable career, was the mother of four beautiful children. She paused as her eyes fell on Meg. Make that three and a half beautiful children. But one day hopefully even Meg would grow up and blossom into another successful member of the Carmichael clan. What more could a mother ask for? Perhaps not having to spend ten days in the boonies, but every venture had its downs as well as its ups.

When the jet leveled off at cruising altitude, everyone relaxed and unfastened their seatbelts. Joan's grandchildren, Mitchell and Morgana, settled on the cabin floor with a super-sized pail of LEGOs, while the adults were served alcoholic beverages. She smiled when Meg accepted a glass of white wine, her Mama's favorite brand, from the hostess. She was only eighteen, but her Mama had been European and they were accustomed to providing wine to even the smallest child. Martine was gone, dead by the time Meg was eight, but Joan tried to keep as much of her influence alive as possible.

The thought of her wife filled her with warm memories and the coldest despair she had ever known. All of their children were minor reflections of the woman Joan had loved with every fiber of her being. Martine would have been proud to see them all now grown, having become beautiful, mature individuals. She took another glance at Meg whose head was now bouncing along to the beat of whatever she was listening to. Some more mature than others, of course. She swiveled her chair and looked out the window at the ground passing quickly beneath them. She wished Martine could be there to see their daughter get married. She would have been so happy, so proud, so...alive. Joan closed her eyes and rubbed them with the tips of her thumb and index finger.

"You okay, Mom?" Tucker asked.

"Just dandy," she said.

"You've been working too hard. You can use some time away from the agency. It's in good hands with Cleo."

"I know, sweetie. But I'm not sure what I'll do for ten days."

"Fran said there's a lot she wants your help with as far as setting everything up is concerned. There's something important she wanted to ask you, but she wouldn't tell me what it was. Guess she wants it to be a surprise."

"Goody," Joan mumbled as she took a swallow of her drink and resumed gazing out the window. "Another surprise."

"When are Uncle Ron and
Meme
arriving?"

"Waaay too soon," Charmaine said before chugging the remainder of her drink.

Joan shot her the look of reprimand all mothers developed over time. "
Meme
will arrive two or three days before the ceremony. You will all have to find your own ways to endure it. You know how she is."

"She's the battle axe from hell," Charmaine said as she waited for her glass to be refilled. "At least Uncle Ron is usually good for a few laughs."

"Is Uncle Gerard coming?" Tucker asked.

"As far as I know, but I haven't received his travel plans. Fran may know." Joan shrugged. She hadn't seen Martine's twin brother since her funeral ten years earlier and wondered how much he had changed.

Joan closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. The years had flown by faster than she would have believed possible. By working virtually non-stop she had been able to dull her grief and loneliness, but never able to erase it completely. She missed the time she and Martine spent alone, often doing nothing more than sharing a light meal and pleasant conversation. There had been something stable about their life together. Joan never ceased being amazed at how easily Martine, a beautiful, sophisticated, thoroughly European woman, gave up that life to become a wife and mother who worked hard every day to provide a comfortable and peaceful refuge for Joan and their children.

Martine loved children and would have liked to have had a dozen more crawling around, getting into everything. "Children keep you young," Martine said. To Joan, especially after her wife died, they only kept you exhausted with their constant demands. Theirs had been a perfect relationship in so many ways. Joan was willing to work and provide the lifestyle they all enjoyed and Martine reveled in her work as a homemaker and lover. When they first met, Joan could never have envisioned such a relationship. Martine gave up everything to be with her and Joan couldn't have loved her more. Despite four children under foot, Martine still managed to find time for just the two of them. Intimate, passionate time to enjoy one another.

Then Martine was gone.

It took Joan a long time to come to grips with her grief and even though the feeling of sadness still swept through her unexpectedly from time to time, she thought she had taken control of her life again fairly well, even if she sometimes came across as cold and stand-offish. Now that she was jetting off to spend ten glorious days in the company of what she was sure was a frumpy farm frau who would soon be her in-law, she would have to concentrate of putting forward a friendly demeanor.

"MOTHER," CHARMAINE'S VOICE said, pulling Joan away from Martine once again. "We're approaching the airport. Time to buckle up and suck it up."

Joan nodded and watched the trees below grow larger. The landing gear snapped into place and the jet banked to the left. Joan caught a glimpse of the runway before the jet leveled out and dropped lower. The pilot drifted to the tarmac and set the aircraft down softly. A few minutes later they taxied toward a small, single story terminal building and stopped.

"Showtime!" Charmaine announced as everyone unbuckled and stood, stretching the kinks out and picking up small personal items. Joan slipped her jacket over her shoulders and knelt down to help Mitchell and Morgana pick up the last of their LEGOs. As the children left to catch up with their parents, Joan made her way to the cockpit. She tapped on the door and smiled when Karina Ochoa opened the door dressed in her captain's uniform.

"A very smooth flight, Karina," Joan said. "As always."

"Thank you, Ms. Carmichael," Karina replied with a smile.

"Wednesday morning, please fly to Omaha to pick up my mother and brother. Then take some paid time off. After spending time with them, you'll probably need it. I'll contact you a day or two before we're ready to return to New York so you can make the necessary plans to pick us up."

"Please give Fran my best wishes," Karina said. "I know she'll be very happy."

"Hmm. I hope so," Joan said as she turned to leave. Checking everything in the cabin one last time, she picked up her briefcase and walked to the folding steps at the jet door. She slid her sunglasses on and glanced around. A smile lit up her face when she saw Francesca walking toward her at a leisurely gait that reminded her of Martine.

Joan set the briefcase down in time to sweep her daughter into her arms and hug her fiercely. "God, you're beautiful, Frannie. You remind me more of your mother every time I see you," she said as she held her at arm's length.

"I'll never be as beautiful as Mama, Mom," Fran said. "But thank you." The two women hugged briefly once again before resting arms around one another's waist and strolling toward the terminal.

"Tuck is seeing to the luggage," Fran said.

"It'll take a caravan to haul all this crap. Are you sure it wouldn't be easier to just rent a floor at a local hotel?"

Fran laughed. "It's a big house, Mom. But I can tell you Brad's mother is a little nervous about the invasion of the Carmichael clan."

"I can't imagine why," Joan smirked. "Mitchell and Morgana are the only normal ones in the bunch. Have you warned her about
Meme
yet?"

"I don't think there's any way to fully prepare someone for
Meme
." Fran stopped and leaned closer to Joan. "I did reserve a suite of rooms for
Meme
and Uncle Ron at the local hotel though."

"You always were our smartest child. I've missed you so much." Joan leaned over and kissed her temple.

"I've missed you too, Mom," Fran said.

Chapter Three

EVELYN CHASE PACED nervously in her living room and checked her appearance in the hall mirror for the fifth or sixth time. She was wearing her best slacks and a new white, long-sleeve Oxford shirt. The logo for Meadowbrook Farms was brightly embroidered on the upper left portion of the shirt. Her favorite polished loafers completed her outfit.

"Will you give it a rest, Mom," her daughter, Elizabeth, said. "You look fine. I'm just guessing here, but I bet they all put their panties on one leg at a time just like you do."

Evelyn glanced at her daughter. "And I'm just guessing the price of those panties is triple anything I own."

"God, Mom! When did you become so class conscious? The chances are pretty good you'll never even see their panties."

"I'm not planning to, but I want to make a good impression on Fran's family. I'll probably never see them again, but still..."

The front door opened and Ralph Tannenbaum, the farm manager, stepped quickly into the entryway. He grabbed the baseball cap from his head. "We need you in the barn, Miss Evey. Sheba's down."

"Call Doc Grainger," Evelyn yelled over her shoulder as she pushed past Ralph and ran down the front porch steps. Her mind was on nothing other than the welfare of her pregnant mare. She ran into the area, grabbed the gate to Sheba's stall and shoved it open. Sheba was lying on her side and her breathing was slightly labored. She pulled a blanket from the railing and draped it over her. "You'll be fine, Sheba," Evelyn whispered softly while stroking the mare's neck. "Doc'll be here soon."

BRAD CHASE BROUGHT the Suburban to a stop on the drive next to his family's two-story farm house. He reached over, squeezed Fran's thigh, and winked. "The moment of truth is upon us," he whispered as he opened the door. Fran slid out the door behind him. Joan opened the front passenger door and was grateful to finally be able to stretch her long legs. She looked around at the immaculately mown and trimmed front lawn before walking to the rear of the vehicle.

"It's a beautiful farm, Brad," she said.

"It's a handful most of the time, but worth it," her future sonin-law said. "Mom! Beth!"

Beth stepped from the side door of the house. "Mom's in the barn with Doc Grainger and Ralph. Sheba went down about an hour ago."

"She all right?"

"I hope so. It's too early for her to foal."

"Beth, this is Fran's mother, Ms. Carmichael." He glanced back at the other passengers and pointed as he spoke. "That's her older sister, Charmaine, and her youngest sister, Meg."

"Wow, what a fine looking group. Where's your brother?" Beth asked Fran as she approached the group.

"Tuck rented a car. They'll be here in a little bit," Fran said.

"Mom's scared to death about finally meeting your family," Joan heard Beth whisper to Fran.

"I told her she doesn't have to impress anyone," Fran said with a frown.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of tires spinning on the gravel road leading to the main house. A black 1958 Chevy short bed truck with red, orange and yellow flames painted over the hood and down the sides fishtailed around the final curve before the house. When the truck slid to a stop it threw up a small cloud of dust. The driver's door popped open and a young man with collar-length curly black hair beneath a faded yellow baseball cap dropped from the running board. He was wearing a dusty black t-shirt and smudged light blue jeans over black work boots.

Joan observed the young man as he swaggered toward them.

He smiled when he saw Brad and Fran and strode over to them. "Need some help, big bro?"

"Yeah. Grab a couple of these suitcases so everyone can get settled," Brad said. "Then attach the road rake to the bumper of your truck and level the gravel again."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," the young man muttered. He squinted slightly and looked over the newly arrived houseguests. He stopped when he saw Meg and grinned as his eyes scanned her body. He wiped his hands on his jeans and strolled toward her, sticking his hand out. "Tully Chase."