Together With You (12 page)

R
yan sauntered into the kitchen after a long day at the office, smelled fried chicken, and congratulated himself on guessing Carly's menu. What else would a southern woman fix for a family dinner? The anticipation was the one bright spot in a day that included bad news from the mechanic. The van needed a part that was back ordered, and it wouldn't be ready until late tomorrow. He hoped the bad day wasn't a harbinger of things to come with the meal.

Carly saw him and smiled. “Perfect timing.”

“Hey, Dad.” Kyle stuck a napkin under a fork. “You should see what Carly fixed.”

“It smells great.”

She tossed him a look he interpreted as
“See? Normal talk. That's not so
hard.”
After setting down the platter of chicken, she surveyed the table and turned to Kyle. “Would you get Eric?”

“Sure.”

“Don't forget to wash up,” she added.

Next, she glanced at the tent in the family room. Ryan followed her gaze and saw Penny silhouetted against the tan fabric. Giving
her a safe place in the middle of the house was brilliant, another one of Carly's innovations. As he turned to comment, she faced him. “I'll call Penny in a minute. How was your day?”

“Long.” Five patients didn't show up, a thorn to both the bottom line and his usual busy pace. He'd been distracted all day. “I have bad news about the van. It won't be ready until late tomorrow.”

“There's nothing on the calendar. At least no carpool duties. We'll be fine.”

There it was again, that
we
that wrapped around them like a lariat and pulled tight. He needed her tonight, so he didn't pull back from her mentally, or from the table set with red gingham place mats and white dishes. “Dinner is served,” he said dryly. “Why do I feel like a sacrificial lamb?”

He was looking at the table and his place at the head when Carly laid her hand on his arm. The touch was feather light, but it carried the weight of all her goodwill, the hours she'd spent fixing the meal, and most of all, the fact she was on his side.

“Relax,” she said to him. “Families do this all the time. Why don't you change clothes?”

“Good idea.” He excused himself to go upstairs, where he put on old Levis and tried to stop thinking about Carly and lambs. She was right. For most people, a family meal was as routine as brushing one's teeth.

Somewhat fortified, he returned to the kitchen, where Eric and Kyle were seated on one side of the table, with Carly and Penny on the other. Only one seat remained—the empty chair at the head of the table.

Feeling more like a CEO than a dad, Ryan sat. All eyes were on him, every ear waiting to hear what he'd say. Carly met his gaze and held it, silently telling him to break the tension. What did he do? Tell a joke? Explain why he'd called this meeting together? None of the above, he decided. After clearing his throat, he put his napkin in his lap. “This sure looks good—”

“We have to say grace!” Penny cried out.

Ryan never said grace. He didn't believe in God, but others did, and that was fine by him. “Okay, honey. You can say it.”

“No,” she said. “You.”

Eric and Kyle knew how he felt about religion. If he said grace, he'd be a hypocrite. But with four pairs of eyes staring at him, he latched onto a compromise. “We'll have a moment of silence. Anyone who wants to pray, can.”

He bent his neck and stared at his empty plate, silently counting to ten, when Kyle's voice, as deep as Ryan's, broke the silence.

“Father God, thank you for the food we're about to receive, for Carly who cooked it, and for Dad who earned the money to pay for it. Amen.”

Ryan sat stunned. Deep down, he didn't think his kids appreciated what he did for them—food, clothes, doctor visits, college funds. What kid
did
appreciate those things? Ryan hadn't appreciated his own father until he was married and paying his own bills. He swallowed hard and nodded an acknowledgement to Kyle. His throat was too tight to speak, and besides, he didn't like mush and neither did Kyle.

“Dig in!” Carly reached for the chicken, served Penny, and passed the platter to Eric across from her.

Quiet as usual, Eric took a drumstick.

Kyle helped himself, then passed the platter to Ryan.

They repeated the ritual with the serving bowls, sitting in silence, punctuated by the scrape of forks. Even Penny was quiet for a change. He might have enjoyed the quiet after the hectic day, but Carly waggled her brows at him. A cue.
Say something.

Ryan cleared his throat. “So, Kyle. How was baseball practice?”

“Good,” Kyle said between bites. He was a lot more interested in the chicken than in conversation.

Ryan tried with Eric. “How about you, Eric? What did you do today?”

The boy let out a sigh. “The usual.”

Whatever that was. Ryan decided not to push. “Penny? How about you?”

She didn't make a sound, not a peep. Maybe she heard him; maybe she didn't. With her auditory deficits, he couldn't be sure. Rather than push Penny into frustration, Ryan focused on Carly, willing her to play social worker and lead the conversation. Instead, she glanced from face to face, saying nothing.

“Good chicken,” he said to her.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him. “How was your day?”

“Normal.”

He sounded just like Kyle and Eric. No wonder his kids didn't talk at the table. Neither did he, and he didn't know how to fill the silence.

Carly couldn't stand the tension. No one put an elbow on the table. The boys kept their napkins in their laps. Not a single drop of milk dripped down a chin. Penny's fidgeting was the only hint of normal behavior, and even she was more subdued than usual. If her own family had acted this way, she'd have lobbed a biscuit at her brother to see if he was breathing.

She didn't think Ryan would appreciate a flying biscuit, and Penny might imitate her. Belching might have done the trick for the boys, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Still pondering, she reached for the pepper shaker, caught a whiff, and realized the answer was in her hand.

Humming loud enough to draw attention, she lifted the pepper shaker and shook it over her food. She shook and shook until everyone at the table was staring at her plate with reactions ranging from confusion to amusement. Ryan's brows were arched as high as she'd ever seen. Kyle's expression matched his father's. Penny was laughing in that maniacal way of hers. And Eric . . . Eric's
eyes were sparkling with a mirth she hadn't seen in him before. She winked at him, and he smiled back.

Carly kept shaking the pepper. Her plate was nearly black with it, but she shook until pepper covered every inch of her meal. Everyone just stared at the mess until Eric burst out laughing. Penny laughed too, then she shouted, “Carly's crazy!”

Kyle looked at her plate with a mix of horror and confusion. So did Ryan, but his face stayed stiff.

Ramping up the joke, she leaned forward and inhaled through her nose. The pepper tickled her nostrils with the start of a sneeze. “Ahh . . . ahhh . . .” Snatching up her napkin, she reared back in the chair with her eyes watering. “Aaaatchoooo!”

She sneezed two more times, then fanned herself. “Well, excu-uuu-use me,” she said, like in the old Steve Martin routine.

Kyle burst out laughing. He was in stitches, and so were Eric and Penny. And then suddenly so was Ryan. Carly had never heard him laugh so hard and so freely. Her heart melted into a puddle of warm butter, the best part of eating a biscuit, and she knew she'd never forget this moment.

The entire family was laughing now, and so was Carly. Her chest ached with the force of it, and her eyes watered with bittersweet tears. She didn't want this moment to end. Yearning for a family of her own, a husband and children who'd laugh and cry with her, she turned to Ryan. His eyes, twinkling and full of joy, locked on to hers, and she felt a nudge under the table, his foot against hers, a wordless
thank you
that flooded her heart with both joy and trepidation. She didn't dare lose her heart to this man. They were as mismatched as day and night, darkness and light.

The kids were talking at the same time now, about food they hated and food they liked. Forcing her thoughts away from Ryan, she made notes about what to cook for them. Kyle liked corn better than peas, and Eric frowned at gravy. And Ryan, he was on his
third piece of chicken and second helping of hash-brown casserole, which he announced was his new favorite food.

The dinner settled into the relaxed meal she'd hoped for, and the family cleaned out the serving bowls except for some of the hash-brown casserole, which she decided to take to Bette. They were all too full for the chocolate meringue pie, but no one wanted to leave the table. Finally, worried about driving home in the dark, Carly prodded the guys into doing the dishes and took Penny upstairs for a bath and pajamas.

“Carly?” the little girl asked as she flopped on her pillow, her hair damp and her eyes shining.

“Yes?”

“Would you read me a story?”

She glanced out the window, saw the elm silhouetted against the royal blue sky, and shook her head. “I have to take care of Wild Thing. Let's ask your daddy to do it.”

“No. You do it. You make funny voices.”

Carly was about to insist that she needed to leave, when Penny bolted upright, wrapped her arms around Carly's ribs, and squeezed. Warmed to the core, Carly surrendered to both Penny and her own desire. She didn't want to leave, not really. “You pick the book, okay?”

Penny scrambled to the bookshelf, opened the bin that said “Bedtime Books,” and climbed back on the mattress. Snuggling against Carly's side, she let out a big yawn as Carly opened the book and started to read. After just three pages, Penny's eyes fluttered shut, and her breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep. Carly turned off the lamp, kissed her warm forehead, and went downstairs.

The kitchen sparkled from top to bottom. Kyle and Eric were in the family room wrestling, literally, for the remote. Ryan was nowhere in sight until he came through the back door. “I took out the trash,” he said with a grin. “We did rock-paper-scissors. I lost.”

Happiness welled in her heart. “You had a good time.”

“Yes, we did.” He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “What you did tonight . . . it was amazing.”

“You mean the pepper?” She laughed a little.

“I mean everything.”

“It's just how I was raised. My daddy loves a good practical joke.”

“I'd like to meet him.”

She imagined Ryan and her father sitting down for a cigar and a debate on God, life, and everything in between. Sparks would fly, but in a good way.

Ryan indicated the family room with a stretch of his arm. “Eric suggested a
Jaws
marathon. How about it? Want to join us?”

“It's tempting,” she admitted.

“Then stay.”

What harm would there be in staying just one night? She had clothes and toiletries in the nanny room, and Bette would be glad to feed Wild Thing. Wise or not, Carly wanted to bask in the warm glow of family a little longer.
Family.
The word echoed in her mind along with a hint of warning, because she could have changed
family
to
Ryan
. Even so, a happy shiver danced down her spine. “All right. I'll stay. But I have to call Bette.”

Ryan spoke in a husky voice. “We'll wait for you.”

Blushing a little, she went to the kitchen and lifted her cell phone off the counter. When Bette's house phone went to voice mail, Carly's brows pulled into a frown. Next she called Bette's cell phone. A second round of voice mail turned the frown into a knot of worry. Bette was always home this time of night. If she'd been asked to work late, she would have called Carly. Maybe she was in the bathroom. Carly waited a few minutes, busying herself by wiping the shining counters yet again, then she tried both numbers a second time.

Again, voice mail.

In Boomer, she could have asked a neighbor to knock on Bette's
door. In Los Angeles, she didn't have anyone to call. Jamming the phone in her pocket, she hurried to the family room where Ryan was seated on the couch with his arm stretched across the back. Eric was kneeling in front of the diorama to tweak something, and Kyle was seated in the recliner, a switch because Ryan usually sat in the big chair. The
Jaws
theme played a cruel reminder that danger lurked unseen in even the most tranquil times.

“I have to leave,” she said in a tight voice.

Ryan leapt to his feet, concern etched across his angular face. “What's wrong?”

“I can't reach Bette.”

“Try again,” he suggested. “Maybe the phone's on silent.”

“It's not. I've tried twice now—both numbers.” Carly glanced at the boys. They were standing now, much like their father, and watching her with concern. The Tremaine males made quite a picture. “Have fun,” she said to them. “I'll see you in the morning.”