Chapter 6
“As God is my witness, Naomi Marie, I do not understand why I have to pry these things out of you.”
Naomi’s mother couldn’t bear not knowing every little detail about her daughter’s life. Almost upon her arrival for their Sunday-morning planning session, Naomi had faced an intense interrogation regarding her date the night before.
The CIA had nothing on this woman.
“There’s nothing to pry out of me. Michael and I didn’t work out.” To cover the lie, she pulled the sleeve of her hoodie firmly over her bruised wrist. Naomi had expected the marks to be gone by morning. Instead, they’d turned an ugly shade of purple.
Not that she needed the bruises to know Michael Swanson was a jerk. His unprovoked attack on Chance had been illuminating enough.
Dawn tapped one of the index cards on the table before them. “I don’t think the bounce house is going to work here.” She slid the card to the opposite corner of the layout. “This side is better. Then we won’t have to worry about leaves falling in from that big hickory.”
Relieved by the change of subject, Naomi quickly agreed. “That’s a good idea.”
The annual Mallard Family Memorial Day Cookout had started fifteen years ago as a barbecue for the neighbors. The employees of her father’s dental practice had been added around the ten-year mark, and since then the event had taken on a life of its own, complete with a dunk tank, fireworks, and the newest addition—a bounce house.
“So it just ended?” her mother asked. “For no reason?”
Like a dog with a bone, this woman. “I told you the reason, Mother. We didn’t work out.”
“That isn’t a reason.” Dawn topped off her wineglass. Her second refill since their planning session had started less than an hour ago. “That’s the end result. A statement of fact. I want to know why it didn’t work out. You didn’t cook for him, did you?”
Burn one pan and you were typecast for life. “No, I didn’t cook for him.” She’d never gotten the chance.
For most of their dates, they’d either met at their destination, or Michael had sent a text from his car to let her know he was waiting in her parking lot. April was right. That was a slimeball thing to do. Regardless, in a month and a half of dating, they’d never stepped foot in each other’s places.
“Then what happened?”
Anger got the better of her, and Naomi bent the stack of blank cards in her hands. “He’s a jerk, okay? He was rude to a friend of mine, and when I called him on it, he said he could do better than me anyway.”
Calling her cold had been the hurtful part. Naomi had never been an overly affectionate person. That didn’t make her cold. Not in the way he’d meant it.
“Then you’re better off without him,” her mother exclaimed, setting down the wineglass hard enough to splash Merlot onto the table. “He was lucky you gave him any time at all. Do better, my left elbow.”
As frustrating as she was, Dawn never tolerated a slight to her children.
Naomi straightened the cards. “Can we drop this now? You still haven’t decided how many tables you want in the eating area. And are we adding another tent? Even if it doesn’t rain like last year, the guests would probably appreciate the chance to get out of the sun.”
“You’re right. Call the rental company tomorrow and add another tent.”
Her mother could call the rental company; while Naomi would be at work all day, her mother would be spending two hours visiting with her book club—which was little more than an excuse for seven middle-aged women to sit around gossiping about their neighbors and drinking wine in the middle of the day. But then the guilt trip would begin.
The mournful apology for enjoying time with her daughter, and how she never meant to be a burden. Naomi should feel free to withdraw from all of the planning, but would hopefully still attend. If she had time.
This was probably the reason Naomi didn’t have children. The universe was making sure these passive-aggressive tendencies weren’t deployed on other innocent young souls.
Naomi was adding the task to her to-do list when her mother asked, “What do you think of having a singles table this year?”
The pen streaked across the notepad. “A what?”
“A singles table. You know. So that young, unmarried guests can mingle with each other.”
This had epic embarrassment written all over it. She wouldn’t be surprised if singles table was code for “Naomi plus all eligible men of a certain age within twenty miles.” “I don’t think so.”
A coral-colored nail tapped the table. “Come on. It could be fun. Gladys has already said Neal would love it.”
A fact Neal would likely dispute. “You need to let this Neal stuff go. I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. With Dylan’s success and now Chance on board, I have enough on my plate at work without throwing another relationship into the mix.” Taping the bounce house card onto the cardboard diagram of the Mallard backyard, she added, “Besides, Neal and Naomi Nelson? That’s too many Ns.”
“The boy’s a doctor, for heaven’s sake. At least consider him.” Raising her glass, she added, “You aren’t getting any younger, darling. I want more grandchildren, and your sister insists she’s closed for business.”
Teeth grinding, Naomi ignored the age comment. “You still have Baker, Mom. He seems to be enjoying sowing his wild oats. It’s possible you have another grandchild out there that you just don’t know about yet.”
A manicured hand slapped the table. “Why would you say such a thing? Your brother wouldn’t do that. And he isn’t ready to be a father yet. Baker is still finding his way.”
Finding his way? What did that even mean?
“Mom, he’s twenty-six years old. You’ve been pressuring me to have kids since I was twenty-four.”
“Boys are different. They don’t mature as quickly as girls do.” She paused to pop a grape into her mouth. As if the wine didn’t contain enough of them. “I sent you that article, remember? Didn’t you read it?”
No, Naomi hadn’t read it. Between her duties at Shooting Stars and her job as family manager, she hadn’t found the time. In the rare moments when she did get the chance to read, her choices did not include articles that justified coddling her brother.
“I must have missed it.”
Before the reprimand could form on her mother’s tongue, Naomi was saved by the arrival of three rowdy little girls.
“Grammy!” they cried, excited to see their favorite redhead.
Mary Beth lived three houses down, so the girls visited their grandparents any time they wanted. Naomi had tried to warn Lawrence what moving so close to his in-laws would mean, but he hadn’t listened. When she brought it up now—only between the two of them, of course—he smiled and said, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
Which was a valid philosophy. There was no beating Dawn Mallard when it came to meddling in her children’s lives. That he was a good sport regarding his mother-in-law was further proof that Mary Beth had been handed the one good guy on the planet.
Dawn hugged her three favorite humans all at the same time before asking, “Who wants Popsicles?”
Squeals of delight bounced off the walls as Grammy led her darlings into the kitchen. Mary Beth took a seat beside Naomi at the dining room table and surveyed the diagram before her.
“If this thing gets any bigger, they’re going to need corporate sponsors.”
“Tell me about it. Have you seen the newest addition? I have a feeling your munchkins are the reason for this.” Naomi stretched to point to the bounce house card, causing her sleeve to ride up.
“Oh my gosh, Naomi. What happened to your wrist?”
She tucked her arms under the table. “It’s nothing.”
Her sister was not dissuaded. After a short wrestling match, Mary Beth examined the bruises. “The heck it is. Your arm looks awful. Who did this to you?”
Naomi broke her sister’s hold and shoved the sleeve back down. “Be quiet before Mom hears you.”
“Did that Michael guy do this? Is that why you broke up?”
“How do you know we broke up?”
“Mom told me in a text about forty-five minutes ago.”
Unbelievable. “How could she have done that? She never left my sight.”
Mary Beth propped her arms on the table. “Did you use the bathroom?”
“Dammit!” Naomi’s bladder had betrayed her. “I knew I shouldn’t have told her.”
“It’s cute that you think you can keep secrets from a pro like Mom.” Her sister sobered. “Seriously, though. Did Michael do that to you?”
“Yes.” Shame tasted bitter on her tongue. “I thought he was a nice guy, but I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, hon. Maybe you should let Mom set you up with Neal.”
Naomi burst from her chair. “Not you, too.”
Mary Beth followed her into the living room. “Come on, sis. How many times have you dated a guy, had it blow up in your face, and then said the exact same words you just said about Michael? I’m sorry, but you suck at picking men. Neal has a great job, looks like a freaking fitness model, and asked about you three times last night.”
This was insanity. “He hasn’t seen me in years. And back in high school, he only talked to me to get my notes from every class we had together. He probably only passed med school because some gullible woman gave him all her notes.”
She dropped onto the couch and hugged a coral pillow to her chest. Her mother had a weird obsession with coral.
“Fine,” Mary Beth said, plopping down beside her. “He was a typical male in high school. But considering the guys you’ve gone out with, it couldn’t hurt to at least give Neal a chance. After all, I let Mom fix me up and look how well that turned out.”
Naomi hated when her sister was right. But before admitting defeat, she asked one important question.
“What if the problem isn’t the guys that I’m choosing? What if the problem is me?”
A loving arm pulled her in for a squeeze. “Why would you say that? You’re a great person.”
“But I’m a terrible girlfriend.” She settled her head onto her big sister’s shoulder. “I’m overbearing and bossy. I take charge of everything. And according to Michael, I’m cold.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Others have said the same.”
Mary Beth spun on her cushion, holding Naomi by the shoulders. “You’re a beautiful, kind, generous person. You’d give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it, and when the right guy comes along, he’s going to thank his lucky stars every day for having you in his life.” Her green eyes glowed with love and support. “Now, no more of this crazy talk, you hear me? You’re perfect just the way you are.”
This sounded very similar to what April had preached the night before.
“Okay. No more wallowing.” Accepting her sister’s hug, she said, “You know what would make me feel better?”
“Hmm . . . a Popsicle?” Mary Beth darted off the couch. “I call grape.”
Leaping after her, Naomi banged her knee on the coffee table and locked her lips against a slew of profanity. Breathing through the pain, she yelled, “Save one for me!”
He’d tried the back deck, the table, the couch, and the front porch. Two hours of pen to paper, and Chance still couldn’t write another song.
So much for the night before breaking the dam.
His trusty notebook had grown considerably thinner as page after page hit the floor. Some covered with gibberish. Others with two or three lines that went nowhere. One page contained a list of words that rhymed with pants. Because everyone knew heartbroken cowboys liked to water their plants.
Five of the discarded sheets contained actual tunes. Three were virtual copies of his past hits, one had taken such a sappy turn that Chance wouldn’t be able to sing it with a straight face, and the fifth one just sucked.
“Do you have any marketable skills, Willie?” he asked the tabby stretched out on the wooden boards at his feet. “Because it’s looking more and more like I’m washed up.”
The cat blinked and raised his head as a car pulled up the drive. Recognizing the vehicle, he surged to his feet and ran inside. Willie wasn’t a fan of Shelly’s youngest. Unfortunately for the feline, Shelly’s youngest was a fan of Willie.
Chance set his notebook aside and sauntered to the end of the porch. He hadn’t expected visitors today. The second the car came to a stop, Tristan bolted out the back door and sprinted for the porch.
“Uncle Chance, we’re gonna have a baby!”
“I heard,” he said, sweeping the boy into his arms.
With a milk-stained frown, the youngster aired his disappointment. “But Mama said we was coming to tell you! It’s supposed to be a supwise.”
Shelly shot Chance a dirty look. “Have you checked your phone today?”
“No.”
“Forget it, then. Just play dumb.”
She cut around to the passenger’s side and helped Debra get out of the car. Years of hard living had taken their toll, and bad knees, likely from being thrown around one too many times, limited her mobility. Once Shelly had eased her stepmother from the Lexus, Izzy handed over her cane.
As the trio made their way to the porch, Chance whispered in Tristan’s ear. “Pretend I don’t know and tell me again.”
“All right. We’re gonna have a baby!”
“Good for you, buddy.”
Debra beamed from the sidewalk. “I was just thinking I could use another grandbaby to spoil. Ask and ye shall receive.”
Religion had come along with sobriety for Debra. Chance hadn’t embraced that part of the program, but his mother had gone all in. Her mistakes far outweighed his own, and he didn’t begrudge her any source of peace.
“I guess one more rug rat won’t be so bad,” he replied.
Tristan squirmed to get down. “Where’s Willie? I want to tell him about the baby.”
Chance set his nephew’s feet on the floor. “He’s in there somewhere. Go have a look.”
Izzy climbed the stairs with her lips sealed tight, then flopped into a rocker.
“How’s it going, squirt?”
She shrugged. According to Shelly, getting braces had turned her sweet little girl into a sullen teen. Chance figured her age was more to blame than the metal in her mouth. At eleven, she was well on her way to being a tall, blonde replica of her mother, but still too young to recognize her own potential. Before long, she’d be breaking hearts and taking names.
And once she gave him the names, Chance would be breaking heads.
“I’m not prepared for entertaining,” he said as Shelly helped Debra onto the porch.
“Dang it. I forgot the sandwiches in the car. Izzy, go get them, please.” With a huff, the child exited the chair and stomped off toward the car. Shelly exhaled. “Pleasant, no?”
“A virtual bucket of sunshine.”
“How are you, son?” asked the older woman. “Sorry I missed your party.”
“I’m good, Debra.” Chance had taken to using her proper name years ago. “No worries. You didn’t miss much.”
“Well, happy birthday to ya.” She patted his arm on her way into the house.
Shelly stood beside him, watching the frail woman disappear inside. “I don’t know how much longer she’s going to be around, Chance. You need to find a way to forgive her before it’s too late.”
Chance retrieved the notebook and pen. “It’s already too late. I’ve given her a nice place where she can live out whatever time she has left. And she has you and the kids. That’s probably more than she ever expected.”
“You’re her son.”
“The son she let be beaten and bullied.” Some chasms were too deep to cross. “Let it go, Shell. Let it go.”