Mistletoe in Texas, page 34
Except Hank’s arms weren’t waiting because she had to go to a stupid birthday party.
Scratch that. The party wasn’t stupid. Matthew was turning thirteen, and her mother rightly insisted that they make a fuss so the occasion didn’t get swallowed up by holiday hubbub with only three days until Christmas. Besides, Grace hadn’t seen Jeremiah since he’d gotten home the night before.
But when she staggered up the walk and through the front door, clutching her coat against the buffeting wind, she was greeted by her father’s glare instead. He was in his easy chair, Bible in his lap, marking passages for the sermon they would have to endure before Matthew was allowed to blow out the candles and rip into his gifts.
As Grace tried to finger comb her hair into some kind of order, he tipped his reading glasses down to glower at her. “You haven’t shamed yourself and this family enough? Now I hear you’ve been parading around with that Brookman boy again.”
And good evening to you too, Papa. Grace was tempted to turn around and walk right back out, but she refused to wither in the face of his disapproval. Or tolerate the way he said Brookman boy, as if Hank was a piece of trash she’d scavenged from underneath the bleachers.
She set Matthew’s present on an end table and peeled off her coat, fighting to keep the temper out of her voice. “Hank is a man, not a boy, and he has truly repented for his actions toward me and others.” She gave the Bible a pointed look. “I forgave him.”
Her father puffed up, indignant. “Forgiveness is one thing. But throwing yourself—”
“Grace! You’re finally here.” Jeremiah bounded in, whirled her into a hug, and hauled her toward the kitchen. “Come and help me put the candles on the cake.”
As he deposited her safely out of range, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, then narrowed his eyes. “Is it true? You and Hank?”
She stuck up a hand between them. “Not now. Please.”
“Fine. But you are gonna have to explain yourself.”
Yeah. That was what she was afraid of. As she was drawn into the noisy bustle of getting dinner on the table, jostling and laughing with her brothers, she tried to imagine Hank here, in her mother’s kitchen. She came up with a blank, as if her mind either couldn’t or wouldn’t go there.
Thankfully, her father had decided this wasn’t the time to lecture her on her lack of morals, so dinner passed as peacefully as you could expect with three teenaged boys at the table. Then they all bowed their heads and Grace tried to keep a straight face as Jeremiah nudged her during the most ponderous segments of a sermon on the obligations of a man toward family, church, and God.
“Thirteen years old,” their father declared, finally closing his Bible. “You’re not a boy anymore, Matthew. We’ll expect you to take more responsibility for yourself from now on.”
Like choosing what he wears, what he eats, and what he reads?
Grace wasn’t sure why she’d been the first child to rebel. Too much Internet? Or was it the move to Earnest and stopping by the Corral Café after school to sip a Coke and twirl on one of the vinyl-topped stools at the counter while B.J. and Carl, the openly gay couple who owned the place, exchanged jokes and gossip with crusty old ranchers. They seemed awfully nice for people condemned to burn in hell.
She’d made the mistake of broaching the subject with her father, hoping for an explanation of why that kind of love was wrong, and had been banned from the café instead. That was the beginning of her understanding that her father was not only unwilling but incapable of considering alternative points of view. His existence was built on a framework of rigid doctrine, and to question any piece of it was to risk bringing the whole works tumbling down.
Mama brought out the cake, Jeremiah lit the candles, and everyone but her father belted out “Happy Birthday” as Matthew leaned in to make a wish, his eyes shining in the reflection of the flames as he blew them out.
After wolfing down his cake, he ripped open his presents, including a bundle of athletic socks from Grace. When he came around the table to give her a thank-you hug, he whispered, “What did you really get me?”
“Socks,” she said.
“C’mon, Grace!” he wheedled.
“Inside the middle pair of socks,” she whispered back. “I downloaded the next three books in the Wings of Fire series onto my iPod.”
“Sweet!”
Grace elbowed him, but too late.
“What’s going on?” her father demanded, his gaze suspicious under his heavy gray brows.
“Matthew, you have one more gift to open.” Mama set a large, flat package on the table.
Matthew sighed. It would no doubt hold the usual button-downs with corduroys or khakis, their version of Grace’s dresses.
But when Matthew picked it up, his eyes widened. “It’s heavy.”
Their mother folded her hands and waited as he made short work of the paper, gasping as the logo on the box was revealed. “Is it really…?”
“Yes.” Mama’s shoulders squared as their father snapped to immediate, irate attention. “I’ve read that having Internet access and a computer at home greatly increases a student’s odds of success in school. But you will have to share with your brother.”
They all jolted as Papa’s fist slammed onto the table. “You bought him this thing without consulting me?”
Their mother’s expression remained placid, but Grace could see the pulse fluttering in her throat. “It’s called a laptop. And I have always taken the responsibility for our children’s education.”
Checking their homework, helping them build dioramas for earth science, attending every teacher conference, not—
“That does not include dragging filth into our house!” Papa thundered. “This so-called Web is nothing but the Devil’s trap, full of pornography and—”
“Knowledge,” their mother cut in, the first time Grace could recall her interrupting him. “My coworkers in the chiropractic office rely on it to help treat patients more effectively, and when I checked it out, I found the whole world of history, science, and classic literature right at my fingertips. Even the scriptures,” she added pointedly.
Their father snorted like an enraged bull. “Boys this age will not be reading Moby Dick.”
“As you said, Matthew is almost a man now. He and Lucas have to learn to make good choices on their own, rather than us doing it for them.” She lifted her chin, meeting his anger with dignified defiance. “And Jeremiah can get the parental controls set up to filter out the worst.”
Jeremiah started. “What? Why me? I suck at computers.”
“Another reason your brothers should have one. Do you remember Mrs. Jeppson from church?” When Jeremiah’s expression went sour, she nodded. “Of course you do. She pulled me aside after Bible study last week and let me know that her son has seen you on campus with a new girlfriend.” Jeremiah went stiff as a poker as their mother continued in the same mild tone. “I understand that she’s majoring in some kind of computer programming. And she’s Japanese?”
“She’s what?” their father demanded.
“Korean,” Jeremiah corrected tightly. “There’s a huge difference.”
“I’m sorry.” Mama’s gaze fell to her hands. “I’m embarrassed at how little I know about the world. Maybe I can borrow Matthew’s laptop to catch up.”
Matthew had extracted it from the box and had it clutched to his chest. “I get to keep it?”
Somehow, their mother’s firm “Yes” drowned out their father’s shouted “No!”
“You are going to ruin our children.” He shoved to his feet, one fist planted on the table as he jabbed a finger at Grace. “Do you want them to turn out like her?”
Before she could muster a response, her mother said, “You mean thoughtful, intelligent, and self-sufficient? Yes. I would like that very much.”
They faced off down the length of the table, an angry, embattled man and a pale but resolute woman, separated by the very children they’d created together. And then he wheeled around and stomped out. A few moments later, the front door slammed behind him, the sharp bang puncturing the bubble of tension that enveloped the kitchen table.
Their mother let out a long breath and raised an unsteady hand to her temple. Grace put a hand on her arm. “Are you okay, Mama?”
“I’ll be fine.” She gave herself a shake and forced the smile back onto her face. “I’m sorry to upset your party, Matthew, but I assume you and Lucas would rather go test-drive that new computer, so you’re excused.”
They didn’t wait to be told twice, scrambling for their room before she could change her mind. Mama patted Grace’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “And you can have your tablet back now if you need it.”
Grace flinched. Dammit. Lucas had promised to keep it hidden. “You know about that?”
“This is my house, and you are my children. I know everything.” Her mother settled a meaningful look on Jeremiah, then transferred it to Grace. “It’s especially hard for a girl to hide secrets from her mama.”
Oh. Dear. God. Grace’s heart felt like it had dropped through the floor, taking several other vital organs with it.
Mama bowed her head, suddenly small and defeated. “It was a terrible thing to realize my daughter couldn’t turn to me in her time of need. That my silence was the best I could do for her. I had let your papa dictate every word and thought for so long that I couldn’t see any other way.”
“But you do now?” Grace asked carefully.
“Yes. I’ve watched you stand up to him, and teach your brothers to do the same. I told one of my work friends I wished I was that brave.” Her mouth folded into a rueful line. “She practically sang ‘Hallelujah.’ They arranged for me to see a counselor…during work hours so your papa wouldn’t suspect.” She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “He would have insisted that I see someone at our church.”
“Talk about drinking from the poisoned well,” Jeremiah muttered.
“It didn’t used to be so bad, but these past few years…” Mama pushed a hand through her faded curls, which had once been truly red. “The message has changed. Good people have left, and those who’ve taken their place are, well, more like your papa. They feed each other’s anger and fear, validate each other’s intolerance, and become more angry, fearful, and intolerant.” At Grace’s raised eyebrows, she smiled faintly. “That’s what the counselor told me. Long story short—I was planning to ask your father to move out after New Year’s.”
The quiet declaration was like an ax, cleaving Grace’s world into before and after. From here forward, her family would be equally divided. The big three would side with Papa, of course, while she and Jeremiah and the boys stuck with Mama.
“Why do this now?” Jeremiah asked, gesturing at the scattered remains of the birthday party.
“The things that Jeppson woman said about your girlfriend… And she expected me to agree.” Mama’s face tightened in revulsion. “Your papa would have heard soon enough, and he was already on a tear about Grace’s friend Hank. Since he was going to make the holidays miserable anyway, I decided to launch a…what do you call it?”
“Preemptive strike?” Grace guessed, surprised she could find the words in her scrambled brain. Divorce. Her parents. Sweet Jesus.
“Yes. That. So…” Mama drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “We are going to get through Christmas the best we can. Then the day after, I’ll gather everyone together to break the news.”
The cake and ice cream in Grace’s stomach rolled into a queasy lump. It would get ugly. There was no way around it. They would try to badger and shame Mama into submission, and when she failed to crumble, blame would be thrown around like flaming spears.
Grace expected plenty would be lobbed in her direction—and they didn’t even know the worst.
“I’m sorry,” Mama said when neither of them spoke. “If I could find another way—”
“No!” Jeremiah said.
“No,” Grace agreed more quietly. How many times had she been forced to concede an argument to Papa out of pure futility? The only way to survive was to disengage. “You have to do this, for yourself and for the boys. Jeremiah and I will back you up any way we can.”
“Thank you.” Tears trembled on their mother’s lashes as she reached out one hand to Grace, the other to Jeremiah, as if they were preparing to bless their meal. “I’m not sure I could do this alone.”
“I’ll be right here, Mama, for as long as you need me,” Jeremiah vowed.
Grace squeezed her mother’s trembling hand. “Me too, Mama.”
She squeezed back. “After the way he treated you tonight, I understand if you have someplace better to spend Christmas.”
Grace snatched her hand away. “It’s not like that with Hank.”
“How is it?” Jeremiah asked, eyes narrowing.
“Friendly,” Grace said, acutely aware of her mother listening to every word.
Mama let go of their hands and stood, pressing her fingers to her temple again. “I’m going to find an aspirin. Grace, you go on home now and try to get some rest. I’m sure you’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
Grace could only nod obediently. “Yes, Mama.”
When she was gone, Grace slumped into her chair and met Jeremiah’s equally dazed eyes. “She knows.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And she’s never said a word, or let on in any way.”
“Nope. About any of this.”
Grace breathed a curse and closed her eyes.
“You can say that again.” Jeremiah’s face hardened. “About Hank—”
She held up the stop sign again. “You heard what I told Papa. We are putting the past behind us.”
“How is that possible when it’s out there walking around?” Jeremiah demanded, his voice low and furious.
I don’t know. And she sure as hell couldn’t figure it out tonight. She pushed to her feet, locking knees that wanted to wobble in the aftermath of the emotional storm. “It’s better for her if we’re friends.”
“Uh-huh. But is that best for you, Grace?”
She turned away, refusing to engage. She’d had a lot of practice at that in this house.
Outside, the wind was so strong it nearly ripped the pickup door out of her hands. The weather suited the typhoon inside her head, thoughts flying everywhere, but one kept slapping her in the face.
Mama knew. She knew. And she felt so guilty about not being able to help her daughter that it had driven her to break away from her husband.
So in essence, Grace’s pregnancy had destroyed her parents’ marriage. It was going to take a while to sort out how she felt about that.
Chapter 52
Driving toward the Dumas airstrip late on Friday afternoon, Hank wished desperately that Grace was with him, but they had agreed her presence would complicate an already touchy reunion. Besides, she had been in a strange mood since her brother’s birthday party. Or rather, moods. One minute she was broody and distant, the next she ravaged Hank with a fierceness that was almost disturbing.
Lord knew, finding out that her mother planned to leave her father was reason enough to be upset. Even though Hank had been there and done most of that, when he tried to talk to Grace about it, she shook him off and said it was family business. Considering that he wanted to be her family, that didn’t sit real well, but he’d decided he should hold off pushing until she’d survived the confrontation with the whole mob of McKennas. So he’d held his tongue—and held Grace as often as she would let him.
And speaking of family…he had his own to deal with. As he pulled into the visitor parking near the squat brick terminal building, he saw Wyatt’s Piper Cherokee already parked and tied down with Melanie and a pile of luggage beside it. Hank’s heart thumped at the sight of her, tall and leggy with her hair rippling in the breeze like she’d stepped out of a shampoo commercial.
“You good?” his dad asked.
“Yeah.” Hank jumped out and strode to the narrow pass gate that led through the chain-link fence and onto the tarmac. As he approached, Wyatt dropped out of the open door of the plane and froze. He looked damn near grubby in a baseball cap, plain old Wrangler jeans, and a nylon pullover with a BMCC TIMBERWOLVES logo, the deep-navy color making his eyes glow an unearthly blue in contrast. He stood rigid as Hank gave him a deliberate once-over, then turned to tell Melanie, “Your husband isn’t nearly as cool as I thought.”
“Hank!” his dad protested.
A cautious smile curved across Wyatt’s face, and Melanie grinned. “Don’t worry, Daddy. He meant it as a compliment.”
* * *
Three hours later, they had navigated dinner without any major incidents, but Hank had to retreat to his room to just breathe for a while. He and Wyatt had talked around each other—horses, roping, the foster kids, the new house—but not directly to each other. To be honest, Hank couldn’t find anything to say. All the questions he might have asked Wyatt had already been answered by either Grace or Gil, and the apologies due from both sides canceled each other out. What did that leave?
A soft knock sounded on the door, and when he called out, “Come in!” Melanie stuck her head inside. “I’m working out our schedule for tomorrow. What time do you want to do Christmas Eve supper?”
“Six o’clock?” That would give him plenty of time afterward with Grace, who intended to make the briefest possible appearance at the McKenna family gathering.
“That works.” Melanie pushed the door open wider and stepped in, her gaze running over the bare, scarred walls. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
He shrugged. “My designer is working out the new color scheme.”
“Mmm.” She moved over to the dresser, where he’d stood the only three pictures left in the room. Picking up the first, she touched the glass. “I’d forgotten this one. Wow. We do look like Dad, don’t we?”
