Chapter 21: Dell
Arianna is starting to lose it. Her breath is speeding up.
“I’m sure your parents can spare a minute,” Bridget says. She’s suspicious and more than a little cool. The exact opposite of her warm, friendly daughter. I’m used to women like Bridget, society types. It’s what makes Arianna so special, that she can come from a life like that and be as wonderful as she is.
“Relax and take a breather,” Cambridge says, pressing his hand on his wife’s thigh. “We just got here.”
Bridget relents for the moment, settling back in her seat.
The race outside has ended, and the chatter starts up again, laughter and the tinkling of glasses.
A waitress comes by to ask if we would like drinks. I have every intention of keeping a clear head. But Arianna orders tequila, straight, so I order the same to avoid her looking out of place.
Bridget raises an eyebrow and declines a drink.
Beck turns to us again. “How did your dog run in the last race?” he asks Arianna.
She hasn’t paid any attention to the results. “I don’t think I remembered to place a bet,” she says.
“Let’s figure out a winner for you in the next one,” he says. “One for you and one for mom.” He’s angling to curry favor, but I can tell from a hundred paces that gambling is not Bridget’s thing. He should back off.
But if Arianna’s mother is good at anything, it’s keeping up civil appearances. She fakes interest in the tip sheet and allows Beck to run the machine for her. She doesn’t even glance at the betting receipt when he lays it on the table in front of her like an offering to a queen.
The drinks come and Arianna downs hers straight, earning her another disapproving glance from her mother.
So I do what any self-respecting future husband would do, and that’s down my own shot and look curiously at Bridget, saying, “I guess you’re not much for flattering the locals.”
Bridget sits tall, shocked to be caught doing something that could be considered ungracious. When the girl comes to take our empties, she says, “I’d love to try one of those.”
Arianna squeezes my hand. She knows tequila is not native or particularly important to Alabama culture. And that my family is not necessarily a representative sample of Birmingham’s population. But we’re in this together.
“Are you sure we can’t just pop in to say hello to Dell’s family?” Bridget asks Arianna. “If not the father, then surely the mother. Can you ring them, perhaps? Let them know where we are?”
“Mom doesn’t keep a phone on her,” I say. “She enjoys being off grid.”
“I’d do it if I could,” Cambridge says. “I feel tied to the damn thing.” He tugs out his phone and sets it on the table.
Beck clears his throat. “I’ll send someone to fetch her,” he says. He waves over the girl who met us at the escalators.
My brother leans in. “You sure you want to let him do that?” he asks me. “Mom is not a fan of Beck.”
I’m not sure of anything.
“Why don’t we arrange a nice breakfast tomorrow?” I ask Bridget. “Away from the track. You two must be exhausted from the travel.”
“I’d love to get their perspective on the facility,” Bridget insists. “How long has your family been involved in racing?”
“Since before I was born,” I say.
Beck claps me on the back. “This little guy used to shadow his father. He loved the dogs when they arrived in ’92. Perfect work for a young man.”
“We had horses before,” Theresa adds. She is eager to get back into a conversation with Arianna’s parents. “Tried them again a few years back, but the business has changed a lot.”
Bridget doesn’t react to any of this, just watching one person, then the other. She’s a hard nut to crack.
“Mom,” Arianna says, “I really think it’s best we do something tomorrow. We didn’t plan for you two to be here. You could have let me know.”
Bridget waves her hand to dismiss her daughter’s complaint. “I’ve already realized I needed to take the bull by the horns if I was going to get anywhere with you. You’ve been too secretive lately.” She glances around. “I assume someone is keeping the baby?”
“Oh, she is a precious little girl,” Theresa says. “Life of the party last night.”
This conversation can’t go on another minute. We need to take Arianna’s family aside about Grace, and this is not the place to do it.
“That reminds us,” I say swiftly. “We have been definitely intruding on Marge’s time.” I turn to Bridget. “My aunt is watching Grace. We should get back to her.”
“Oh no, Hasmund,” Theresa says. “The baby is surely sleeping by now. Enjoy yourselves.”
And there it is. My old name.
Bridget stares pointedly at the woman. “What did you call him?”
“Hasmund,” Theresa says, uncomfortable under the other woman’s glare. “We aren’t very formal here.” She glances at her husband uncertainly. “But if Mr. McDonald is more appropriate…”
Her voice trails off. Everyone is quiet.
Well, hell. We really could have stood to have prepped Arianna’s parents on this too.
Bridget flattens her hands on the table. “Will someone kindly explain to me what is going on? Why can’t we see the Brants? And why is everyone calling Dell by this other name?”
I’m about to come up with a workable lie, when my brother leans into Bridget, as if telling her a secret.
“My brother here never really liked his given name,” Donovan says. “He hasn’t used it since he was a teen. Everyone used to tease him.”
Saved by the brother. I shrug like it’s all no big deal. “I’m known professionally as Dell,” I say.
Arianna clenches my hand like she’s going underwater. “Mom, we’re leaving. You can stay if you like.” She gestures to Theresa and Beck. “You have great hosts.”
Dang, Arianna is taking a chance, leaving her parents with people who have a different story about Grace. But I help her double down.
“Or you can ride with us,” I say. “We can take you where you are staying, perhaps have a drink downtown. I can show you my home city.”
Before Bridget can respond, Arianna stands up. I move with her. Donovan stands also. The Harts have to come to their feet or look impolite.
“All right, Arianna,” Bridget says. “We’ll play along.”
Beck and Theresa scramble from their chairs.
“So glad you could make it out,” Theresa says.
Beck comes up to shake Cambridge’s hand. “Sure wish you could hang around a spell.”
“Next time,” he says. “I’m sure we’ll be back.”
I hope not. Not here, anyway. I place my hand on the back of Arianna’s waist to lead her out.
The next room is raucous and loud. Bridget has to arrange her expression carefully to avoid telegraphing her displeasure.
The main club space is more spread out and quieter.
Arianna leans in. “What are the odds we’ll run into your mother on the way down?”
“Low,” I assure her. “She clears tables on the bottom floor, which is a nightclub. It’s crowded and loud and rowdy. We’ll avoid it.”
We head for the escalators. Bridget keeps her arms close to her body, clutching a designer purse as if she might get soiled by the unwashed masses.
Our little party goes down one set of escalators, then two.
And it happens.
As we go down, my father passes us, going up. He’s sweaty and somewhat grimy, hoisting a case of hamburger buns on his shoulder. He runs supplies for the concessions during the busy times.
His face whips around, taking in me, then Arianna, and visibly reacting to the Harts. They definitely don’t look like they’re from around here.
We keep descending, but he shouts, “Hasmund, you wait right there.”
I’m not sure what to do, ignore him or comply. Damn rotten luck.
“Who is that?” Bridget asks.
I find it best not to answer, as both a lie and the truth are problematic.
We make it to the next landing and are headed toward the mouth of the next escalator when we hear a THUNK.
Dad has dropped the plastic tray holding the buns on the floor and races down the escalator, skipping stairs.
Now I know exactly how Arianna must have felt when she saw her family. I turn to Donovan. “Might as well go find Mom. This is about to get interesting.”
Donovan takes off down the escalators.
We wait for Dad to arrive. Bridget’s hand is on her chest. Cambridge looks amused. Arianna has a death grip on my hand.
Here we go.