Grayson
When we land in Minnesota, I feel like a new man. Maybe, I was a bit reluctant to share but now I wonder what took me so long. Sex with Isabella has reached such a depth, I’m still a bit stunned.
I let Slate deal with the jet while I put my wool jacket over Isabella’s shoulders. She’s wearing one my spare white shirts with a belt wrapped around twice. The coat-check girl’s tight black pants complete the outfit along with sneakers.
In the small concourse of the airport, an older version of Isabella steps forward with arms wide, “You didn’t tell me you were bringing company.”
She gives Izzy a big hug while eyeing me, a bit suspiciously.
“Mom, this is my fiancé, Grayson Patten.” Izzy blushes a beautiful shade of red and I know she’s still thinking of us in the king-sized bed.
She flashes her mom the engagement ring and the gray-haired woman’s hands go to her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears. “How wonderful! Isabella, why didn’t you tell me?”
I step forward and shake her hand, “It’s my fault, Ms. Harte. I wanted to fly her here to tell you in person.”
“Please, call me Eleanor.” She lets go of my hand, surprises me with a bear hug, and I awkwardly pat her back while Isabella laughs at my lack of hugging skills.
Slate steps up from behind me, shakes with Isabella’s mom, and deftly steps back to avoid a mandatory embrace. “I’m the pilot, Slate Masters.”
Her eyes go wide, “Well, that explains why I couldn’t find your flight on the board. I wasn’t even sure you’d be here. C’mon. You must be tired after flying all night long.”
Izzy grabs her Mom’s arm. “I’m starving.”
“You want to have breakfast at the diner?” she asks.
“Ah, no. Can we have pancakes at home? Get everyone together? I got something to tell you all.”
“Everyone?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well. I dunno. I suppose Charles and James can come, after they finish milkin’. Fred and Paul are up north a bit, but I can ask. Frank and Justin just got redeployed, but we can call in their sons. Abe and Ronnie might be able to come. Pretty short notice. What’s this all about? You’re not still crazy-talkin’ about your former boss are you?” She turns to me. “Isabella has always had an over-active ima–”
“I can assure you, Eleanor, the threat is real.”
Then, together, we explain about Xavier. With me at her side, Isabella’s mother finally looks as if she believes her.
“That city slicker thinks he can come to our town and mess with my little girls? You should’a told me sooner. I’ll make sure everyone brings their shotguns. If that jerk tries something, he’ll have one sorry ass full of buckshot.”
It’s clear to me now where Isabella gets that spunky streak.
Her mother’s face gets red to the tops of her cheeks and wrinkles go deep by her frown lines as she punches a number into her cell phone. “Joshua? We got a situation. You stop by the house and bring one or two of your deputies.”
I must look confused because Isabella explains. “My uncle Josh is the sheriff.”
While her mother makes about twenty more calls, I begin to get a bit worried. It sounds as if she’s calling in the whole national guard. “Is she always like this?”
“Only when she’s truly pissed.”
We pile into an ancient Ford truck and soon we’re all sitting down at a kitchen table in a split-level colonial. The gathering is so large that it spills out into the living room, down the stairs, and even outside, onto the twelve-foot deck off the kitchen.
Her uncle Josh has a hard time keeping the peace when Izzy mentions how Xavier took a picture of Stacey outside the Lutheran Church and threatened to kidnap her.
Eleanor makes coffee in a five-gallon urn while another man shouts, “Why, that’s an affront to God Almighty.”
Isabella, scoots her ladder-back chair closer to mine so she can speak into my ear, above the din. “That’s Uncle George. He went to divinity school before he decided to buy a bar. I swear he preaches more there than he would from a pulpit. He sure gets more sinners.”
Walking into the living room, I stare with my jaw dropped as more trucks with shotgun racks pull up in front of the house. I wonder, and not for the first time, if it was a good idea to say anything at all to these people. A couple of uncles slap me on the back and another hands me a beer.
I try to picture my family doing the same and have to laugh as I’m called back into the kitchen for pancakes. A stack of six is placed in front of me, heaping with butter, sizzling bacon on the side.
I try to memorize names as Isabella points out each family member. Her uncles look so similar, it’s hard to tell them apart except by the clothes they’re wearing. They have Isabella’s nose, high forehead, and most still have all of their blond hair.
When we’re done eating, she pulls me aside and into the bathroom. “I’m so sorry. I probably should’ve warned you.”
“No, this is perfect. Xavier sure as hell won’t be expecting this.”
An old-fashioned wall-phone rings and everyone jumps. Eleanor answers, then stretches the long cord and passes the handset to Isabella. “I-It’s for you.”