Chapter Twenty-Seven
DAVIS
As a custom musical horn announced their arrival, the Lockwoods’ million-dollar motor home backed down my driveway. I knew it well, as I’d been there the day the giant home on wheels had pulled onto their newly poured RV pad—a thirty-year anniversary present to themselves. Charles had spared no expense, upgrading the flooring, the counters, and the grade of leather on their captain chairs. He’d even added a horn that played Vivian’s favorite classical melody, Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” I’d recognize that song anywhere.
Brandon shot me an anxious glance before he sprang into action, darting across the yard to wait for the passenger-side door to swing open.
“Did you know they were coming?” Callie asked discreetly, her expression as shell-shocked as I felt.
“No.” A simple reply for so many not-so-simple emotions. What on earth are they doing here?
In a flurry of satiny scarves and oversized sunglasses, Vivian stepped out. Stephanie used to joke that her mother was Audrey Hepburn reincarnated. I never once disputed her claim. The resemblance was uncanny.
“There’s my boy!” Viv pushed her glasses into her not-a-hair-out-of-place Hollywood-style cut. “It’s so good to see you!”
She squeezed him to herself, rocking him back and forth in the way she’d done since he was an infant, and planted a hard kiss on the top of his soggy head. “You’ve grown so much!” She scrunched up her face and pulled back, scanning him thoroughly. “And you’re all wet.” Her gaze traveled beyond him. To us. Me. Callie. Kosher. “Looks like all of you are wet.”
My spiraling thoughts grasped for a tether, something grounded in reality—the one where Charles and Vivian Lockwood lived five hundred miles south of here.
Charles rounded the front of the RV, wearing his usual slick, wrinkle-free golf polo, a fashion he’d donned for over a decade. He tipped his balding head in greeting. “Davis.”
On instinct alone, I shook his outstretched hand, painfully aware of the woman standing at my side. Callie’s fingers remained locked in a frozen grip around Kosher’s collar.
“This isn’t how I hoped our summer with Brandon would go, but it seemed a spontaneous visit was the only form of communication we could guarantee these days.”
I disregarded Charles’s dig—for now—and used my professional tone, the one I saved for the most difficult of pet owners. “You definitely succeeded in surprising us.”
Vivian’s gaze remained trained on Callie, though her contemplative expression didn’t budge a centimeter. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Davis?”
I placed a protective hand on Callie’s lower back, the gesture not lost on either spectator. “Vivian and Charles, this is—”
Callie pushed forward, cutting me off as she removed her hold on Kosher to shake Vivian’s hand. “I’m Callie Quinn. It’s so nice to meet—”
“No, Kosher!” But there was no time to grab his collar. Wet, muddy paw prints now stamped Vivian’s light-colored dress slacks.
Charles braced a hand on his wife’s arm and pushed our excited dog off with the other. In all the weeks we’d had Kosher in our home, I’d never once witnessed him jumping up on anyone. His timing was as bewildering as the Lockwoods’.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Here.” Before I could pull her back, Callie swiped at the dirt clods streaking Vivian’s pants. “This is such pretty fabric. I’m sure if we soaked them overnight, this stain would lift right out.”
Vivian seemed as taken aback by Callie’s eagerness to help as I was. “That’s quite all right, dear. They’re dry-clean only.” Viv flicked her gaze back to me. “Brandon mentioned you’d taken in a rescue dog recently. Seems your life is just full of surprises.”
I gripped Kosher’s collar and quickly handed him off to my son. “Take him inside, clean his paws, and put him in the crate.”
“But, Dad, he hasn’t been in that crate for weeks. He hates it in there.”
“Now, Brandon.”
Leaving no room to be questioned, Davis watched as Brandon dragged Kosher back inside, leaving the four of us adults standing showdown-style in my driveway. A collision of two worlds, past and present.
As the front door closed, a thousand unasked questions yawned open. We all knew this five-hundred-mile trip wasn’t without a purpose. Nothing the Lockwoods did was without a purpose.
“It looks like you’ve managed to maintain the bleeding hearts we’ve sent you.” Viv scanned the front walkway. “Proof you haven’t completely forgotten us.”
I refused to comment, wondering when she’d finally drop this guise and discuss the real reason they’d shown up here.
“Do you have RV hookups, Davis?” Charles strode to the curb in search of them.
How long exactly did they plan to stay? “Before you do that, I think we need to have a—”
“I think they’re on the other side of the garage,” Callie offered, moving to escort him. “It’s weird the things you notice when you own a home on wheels.”
Charles swiveled his neck in her direction, eyebrow hiked. “You’re a fellow RV owner?”
“A Tiny House owner, actually. It can use the same electrical and water hookups as an RV though. I live on my sister’s property during the summer months. I’m no expert, but I’d be happy to help if I can.”
“Isn’t there some television show about those? People who live off the land and all that?” he asked her.
“That’s Homesteaders, Charles,” Viv bit out.
“No, no. I’m pretty sure I remember seeing some commercial about people who live tiny lives in tiny houses.”
Callie swung her gaze left to right. “I’m honestly not sure what it’s called. I don’t watch much television.”
“Neither do the homesteaders,” Viv mused amiably.
“Oh, well, I do love nature, but I’m too much a fan of modern conveniences to live solely off the land.”
“I see. Well, there’ll be plenty of time for all that RV stuff later, Charles.” Viv’s flippant reply was paired with a look that could have thawed an Alaskan glacier. “First, I’d like to spend some time with my grandson and find out what all we’ve been missing.”
“Vivian,” I lowered my voice to a respectful but insistent pitch. “We need to talk about this. You can’t just show up here without any—”
Hurt flashed in her eyes and her posture stiffened. “I believe I’ve tried the more conventional approaches at least a dozen times. Without success. I hope you’ll be able to make time for us now, though, since we’ve dropped our lives to be here.”
“You didn’t need to drop anything. You saw him less than four months ago and will again during Thanksgiving’s break—just like I told you during our last phone call. My son and I have been doing exactly what I said we’d be doing this summer—spending time together.”
“That’s not all it appears you’ve been doing.” A single bend of her neck redirected her focus to Callie, who’d just retrieved my satchel from the soggy grass.
“Maybe I should add another guest to our dinner reservations tonight? The Italian Rose has us down for six thirty. I checked their reviews, and they seem suitable enough.”
I debated the two options—bringing Callie to dinner and subjecting her to heaven only knows what, or leaving her behind, which meant not having her with me all night.
But the ever-present peacemaker of the bunch had already made up her own mind. Callie returned to my side and hooked my satchel over my shoulder. “Unfortunately, I have a full evening of work ahead of me tonight, so I should probably get going.”
I trapped her hand in mine, not the least bit intimidated by Viv’s prying eyes. “You don’t have to leave. Really.” But even as I said it, I knew she wouldn’t stay. The same way I knew I had no right to ask her to.
“Actually, I do.” She smiled at Stephanie’s parents as if they were old friends. “I hope your stay in Lenox is a good one. Enjoy your dinner tonight.”
Callie squeezed my hand before letting it drop. I watched her meander down the lonely street while Viv pushed her way inside my house in search of my son.
Charles clapped me on the shoulder. “Hope you still have that bourbon I sent you last Christmas, Son. I could use a stiff drink.”
That made two of us.
The conversational dance at the Italian Rose was a delicate waltz of starts and stops. The timely interruptions of the waitstaff kept us stepping gingerly around any potential land mines while Vivian guided Brandon through a series of questions: school, friends, academics, and, of course, his art. He answered in brief but full sentences between bites of beef ravioli. To my surprise, he mentioned Callie several times—the mural, the studio at Collin’s house, even the picnic we’d shared on our living room rug two weeks ago. I, too, answered my fair share of surface-level queries. How was the clinic? How had the new business partner been working out? How was my mother and John, and when did I think they would tie the knot?
But when the candle in the middle of the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth sputtered, Viv’s gaze met her husband’s. I wasn’t sure of her takeaway, but I was certain I’d hear all about it as soon as Brandon was tucked into bed for the night.
I wasn’t wrong.
Brandon hadn’t been tucked away in his room for more than five minutes when Vivian asked to speak to me in the living room.
With a practiced jiggle of his hand, Charles clinked the ice in his tumbler before he upended the remaining liquor down his throat. Viv slid in next to him on the sofa, her legs stiffly crossed and her fingers knit together on her lap.
“He looks so much older than he did four months ago,” she said. “He’s becoming a young man—hard to believe he’s just a few months away from being a teenager.”
Her words reminded me of Callie’s comments about parents reflecting on days gone by, only her revelation felt all the more sobering when applied to Stephanie’s parents. All they had were days gone by. A recounting of memories—the good and the bad.
Viv tugged at the afghan behind her and draped it over her lap. “His hair looks just like Stephanie’s did at that age, except for the darker shade, of course. But it has the same healthy sheen.” Her gaze drifted to the bookshelves, and I wondered at the memories she was reliving now. “The texture dulled so much after her pregnancy, though.” She shook her head. “After all those experimental treatments and prescription drugs, promising to buy her more time.”
“Steph was beautiful in every season of her life.” There was no need to force empathy into my tone. I felt it. Each and every time I was with them, that familiar blade twisted further into my gut, as if I were the one who had chosen the baby over Stephanie’s health.
“Callie’s quite pretty, too.” Her words sounded polite enough, a coat of sugar to mask the underlying bitterness, but I could see the bait at the end of the fishing rod. And I wasn’t a fish to be lured.
“Callie had nothing to do with my choice to keep Brandon from traveling to California.”
“Really?” she asked, straightening and then smoothing out her blanket. “Because the way he talks about her, well, it sounds as if those two have grown quite attached over the summer. Strange how two months ago I’d never even heard of the woman, and now? Well . . .” She raised her chin, her eyes full of accusation. “If you’re making plans to . . . to start a more permanent type of relationship with her, then I feel we have the right to know.”
“Now, buttercup,” Charles said, squeezing her kneecap and lowering his tumbler to the sofa arm. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Davis is a grown man. He can date whomever he chooses.” A slight lift to his shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, Callie seems like a sweet enough gal. Not the marrying type, of course, but a nice girl for the meantime.” Charles gave me his standard this-is-how-it’s-going-to-be stare, and I flexed my fists.
Viv intercepted. “We agreed—Stephanie included—that Brandon would grow up near his maternal grandparents. If not for your father’s sudden passing, you’d still be in California. Do you have any idea how hard that was for us to watch you pack up our only grandson and move him five hundred miles away? We could have fought that decision, Davis, but we did not. We instead gave you our blessing to take care of your widowed mother with the understanding that you would send Brandon to us no less than three times a year—at our expense, I might add.” She pursed her lips. “You also agreed to keep us apprised of any and all significant life changes that would impact him.” She narrowed her eyes. “Your dating someone certainly qualifies as such a change in my book.”
I exhaled for a full five seconds, anchoring my gaze on the coffee table that Stephanie had picked out during our engagement. Years ago, I had vowed to love and cherish their daughter. I had pledged my life to her happiness and well-being. And I had made a promise to honor and respect everything—and everyone—she held dear. And for that reason alone, I would tolerate more boundary pushing from her parents than I would from anyone else.
But Callie was off-limits.
I propped my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands together. “I did agree to that, Vivian. But let’s be honest with one another. You didn’t take a two-day trip to Oregon to discuss my dating life.” I raised my hand to block Viv’s next wordplay. I was done with all the beating around the bush. “Why don’t we discuss why you really showed up here after I explicitly told you there would be no visit this summer?”
“We know he’s having trouble adjusting to middle school,” Charles stated loudly.
Viv glanced at her husband as if to pass off the confrontation baton while I pressed my back flush with the recliner. How could they possibly know anything? I hadn’t told them about Brandon’s report card or his detention for tagging school property. I’d kept that information quiet, even from my own mother. And there was no way Brandon had told them anything. The last thing he’d want was two more adults hovering over his every move.
“Do you deny it? That your lack of communication with us is because he’s been struggling?”
I tried to sort out what they could possibly know . . . the look on my face obviously giving her the answer she wanted in order to continue her rant.
“Obviously, honesty is not what you really want, Davis. Not when you’ve been working so hard to keep us in the dark. Brandon is our only grandson. Our only bloodline. We deserve to know the truth about what’s going on in his life—all of it.” She lifted her chin, and for a moment I wondered if she might cry. But in typical Vivian Lockwood style, she simply cleared her throat and regained composure. “After all we’ve been through together, do you really think that’s too much for us to ask of you?”
I took a minute to formulate my response. She knew good and well that it had never been my intention to keep Brandon away from them. It still wasn’t. But Brandon was no longer a child in need of coddling. He had given them a reason to keep going in those early years of his life, and they’d spared no expense when it came to his comfort—custom tricycles, fortress-style bunk beds, a wardrobe chosen from expensive catalogues and import boutiques.
But after burying my father and returning back home to the Lockwoods, I saw everything so clearly: my son had become their living grief therapy.
And we were suffocating at the hands of overindulgence.
I couldn’t allow it to continue.
I hadn’t planned on moving us back to Oregon. Truth was, my mother had ample amounts of support from friends and a church family she adored, but a move to Lenox was the only way I could guarantee any kind of normalcy for my son—a sense of autonomy and purpose.
He was his own person. Not their replacement child.
Separating Stephanie’s parents from Brandon was the single hardest decision I’d ever made as a parent. One I didn’t take lightly.
I shifted forward in my chair. “I could not have parented Brandon without your help in those early years, and if I’ve failed to express my gratitude, then please hear it now. Thank you. For everything you did for him—for us. Caring for a young child while in veterinary school would be a challenge for anyone, but after losing Stephanie, the task felt nothing short of impossible.”
I pushed on, my adrenaline whooshing hard in my ears. “But life has changed a lot for us since those days. Brandon isn’t a child anymore, and he isn’t a man yet either. And while I admit this in-between stage has been difficult on us both, we will get through it. He’s a strong kid, with a strong mind and an even stronger heart. It’s uncomfortable for all of us to watch him struggle, but it’s my job, as his father, to guide him.” I leveled my gaze on them both. “I’ve never been opposed to you being involved grandparents, but I need you to allow me to be his parent.”
Vivian stiffened at my bluntness. “If you’re implying we’ve been anything but supportive, then—”
“You’re not hearing me, Vivian. I recognize your support. Just like I recognize your and Charles’s role in Brandon’s life as an important one—vital, even—but if you choose to stay here, at my home, for any length of time, then we need to set some hard boundaries. Tonight.”
My bold statement was met by a prickly stare-down, and I fully expected another entitled rant from Vivian. But no matter what she threw at me, I wouldn’t back down.
Ever the practiced businessman, Charles momentarily stepped aside to let me take the lead and set the terms. “What exactly did you have in mind?”