by Gina Wilkins
She and her uncle and cousins exchanged small talk for a few more minutes, then Kim retrieved Daryn from Sandi. “I’d like to say hello to Grandma now. She’s in the kitchen, right?”
“Mom’s always in the kitchen,” Nelson said. “Mike, you better catch that boy of yours before he pulls those blinds right off the window.”
Nodding to Tate in a signal to follow her, Kim turned and carried her daughter from the den. It had been a few years since she’d visited her grandmother’s house, but she knew how to find the kitchen. She released a light sigh after stepping out of the den and into the long hallway toward the back of the house. The initial greetings hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected, but for just a moment, it was nice not to be on display.
“That was interesting,” Tate murmured, keeping his voice low as he walked by her side.
She smiled. “I don’t expect you to remember everyone’s names.”
“Treva’s daughters are Patty and Cara Lynn. Patty’s kids are Harper and Abby, not necessarily in that birth order. Your uncle Nelson is dating Sandi and is the father of Rusty and Mike, whose son is Lucas.”
Pausing, she turned to look at him in surprise.
He chuckled. “I’m good with names.”
“No kidding.”
“Everyone seems to be getting along well enough.”
“So far.”
“Your aunt and your mother are the masters of backhanded compliments, aren’t they?”
She grimaced. “Definitely. I’m sorry you’re being subjected to all this.”
“It was my choice, remember?” He caught her forearm to detain her when she would have moved on. “You know, Kim, all big families have tensions and drama. Maybe your family has commitment issues, but others have problems and baggage of their own. I could tell you some stories about some of my maternal relatives that would make your family look like they live in a Norman Rockwell painting.”
She nodded. “I hope you don’t think I’m being judgmental about my family,” she murmured, glancing quickly around to make sure no one could overhear. “I don’t really care what they do with their personal lives. I just don’t care for all the games they try to play with me. And I guess I’m overly sensitive this time because Mom put me in such a difficult position, having to lie to everyone.”
“You haven’t actually lied to anyone,” he pointed out with a low laugh. “You’ve introduced me simply as Tate, without once referring to me as your husband. I’ve been admiring how skillfully you’ve handled it.”
She couldn’t help smiling a little in response to his teasing, which was undoubtedly his purpose. “Yes, well, the day is just getting started.”
He chuckled. “That’s true. There’s still hope that I’ll be ordering the Emperor’s Platter Wednesday—with your fifty.”
She tossed her head. “I plan to use your fifty to order the platter and dessert.”
Both of them were smiling when they entered the kitchen, which Kim figured could only help their cause, even though her smile was genuine.
* * *
From the first glance, it was obvious that the kitchen was the true heart of Grandma Dyess’s home. Tate’s initial impression was of warm colors and gleaming surfaces, immaculate floors and sparkling windows, functional appliances and retro wallpaper. His other senses were inundated with delicious aromas and the clattering sounds of cookware and cutlery and women talking over each other.
Bob was the only male in the room. He was quietly assembling food and supplies for the upcoming meal while his wife, sister-in-law and mother-in-law barked instructions at him. He even managed to look like he was enjoying himself. Tate had to admire the guy.
Kim’s grandmother sat in a chair at the small, round oak table nestled into a breakfast bay. A stainless-steel walker with wheels on the front and yellow tennis balls on the back stood within her reach.
Again, Tate spotted the family resemblances, seeing in the older woman the daughters who looked so much like her. If she’d ever shared their predilection for hair dye, she’d given it up, letting her thin hair go stark white. Judging from experience with his own mother and grandmother, he would bet that Grandma Dyess, as he’d come to think of her, still visited a beauty salon with once-a-week faithfulness. Her hair was crimped and curled and sprayed to a tidy helmet around her narrow, lined face. Large, plastic-framed, peach-toned glasses sparkled at the corners with tiny rhinestones. Her purple dress could have been chosen to make her look regal and imposing, but instead it only emphasized her fragility.
He could see now why a desire to see her grandmother had weakened Kim’s resistance to her mother’s machinations. Even on the basis of a moment’s impression, Tate would have bet that Grandma Dyess wouldn’t be around for the next family reunion.
While Betsy looked on approvingly, Kim crossed the room and leaned over to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. Tate found himself analyzing Kim’s expression, deciding he saw affection, wistfulness and a hint of intimidation there. But maybe he was reading too much.
Grandma Dyess patted Daryn’s chubby, bare leg with a gnarled, unsteady hand. “I always think those hairband bows look a little silly, since it’s obvious the child doesn’t have enough hair for a real bow. Patty always stuck them on her girls, too, and them bald as billiard balls when they were babies. Still, this one’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Looks just like you at her age, Kim.”
“I think she has her father’s smile,” Betsy said quickly, with a broad smile toward Tate that made him inwardly wince. Seriously, did the woman have no sense of self-preservation? Kim was going to strangle her yet.
He stepped forward quickly and cleared his throat, giving Kim a meaningful look.
He heard her take a breath before saying evenly, “Grandma, this is Tate Price. Tate, my grandmother, Wanda Dyess.”
He gave her his most winning smile, the one that almost always elicited a positive response from kids and senior citizens. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dyess.”
She eyed him somewhat sternly through her glasses. “You might as well call me Grandma,” she said somewhat grudgingly, not notably charmed. “Everyone else does. While they’re around.”
“Oh, Tate’s going to be around awhile,” Betsy said, giving him a smug pat on the arm as she shot a look at her sister.
Treva frowned. “If you’re going to serve that concoction you brought, Betsy, you’d better get it out of the fridge. I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m ready for this meal to get started.”
“What can I do to help?” Tate looked at Bob as he asked, since Bob seemed to be doing the majority of the work.
“Don’t you worry about anything.” Betsy patted his arm again. She was beginning to make him feel like a pet poodle. “We’ll take care of setting out the food. Go visit with Kim and Mother until we call you to eat.”
He glanced toward the table. Kim had taken a seat next to her grandmother, who was studying Daryn with a slight smile. Grandma looked as though she’d have liked to hold the baby, but didn’t quite trust her arthritic hands. She contented herself with reaching out occasionally to pat a leg or an arm. Holding her toy monkey snuggled in one arm, Daryn sucked on a finger, leaned back against her mother and studied her great-grandmother curiously, occasionally giving her a damp smile around the little digit.
“Yes, she’s a very good baby,” Kim was saying as Tate moved to stand behind her chair. “No trouble at all.”
Her grandmother nodded. “You’re still doing that therapy job?”
“Occupational therapy. Yes, I still love it.”
“I’ve been getting some occupational therapy for my hands lately. For the arthritis. Helps me some.”
“I’m glad it helps you. I work with quite a few arthritis patients, myself. I’d be happy to answer
any questions while I’m here, if you have any.”
“Could be I’ll think of some later. So who watches the baby while you’re working? Tate?”
“Tate has his own business to run, Grandma. Daryn is enrolled in an excellent day care program. She’s very happy there.”
“Hmm. Day care centers are full of germs. Hope you’re giving her plenty of vitamins.”
“She’s very healthy.”
Kim didn’t lack for childcare advice when she was around her family, Tate mused. He wondered if she was aware that her first response toward suggestions from her relatives was defensiveness. He hadn’t seen her react that way toward advice from friends, at least not during their months of lunches together. He supposed her complex past relationship with her family had something to do with the difference, but he suspected her own fears and insecurities about being a single mom had become more pronounced this weekend.
Abandoning the armchair psychology, he leaned down to pick up Mr. Jingles when the toy landed on the floor. He was beginning to believe Daryn was dropping the monkey on purpose, just to watch him pick it up. The twinkle in her innocently widened eyes when he returned it to her seemed to confirm his suspicion.
“I’m on to you, kid,” he warned her with a smile.
Clutching the toy to her chest, she giggled at Tate. As their gazes met, his smile became a full-blown grin.
Okay, the kid was a cutie. And well aware of it. A guy would have to be careful or he’d find himself wrapped right around her little fingers. A very dangerous position to be in, considering how fragile those tiny fingers really were. It was no wonder Kim had so many qualms; there was so much to worry about when it came to raising a child, from nutrition to safety to education to character building. Terrifying.
Grandma Dyess’s still-sharp eyes zeroed in on him. “Betsy just told me you’re in the landscaping business, Tate. How’s that going?”
“Very well, thank you. My business partner and I are quite pleased with our company’s growth during the past year.”
“What do you call it?”
“Price-Daugherty Landscape Design. Not the most original name, but at least I got top billing,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
She just looked at him. He still hadn’t elicited a smile from her. Tough audience, he thought with a swallow.
“How did you meet my granddaughter?”
“My sister introduced us,” he replied without hesitation. “Lynette is also an occupational therapist. She and Kim work together.”
“You get along well with his sister?”
Kim nodded. “Lynette is one of my best friends.”
“Hmm. That’s good. At least you see his family often, even if you don’t see your own. Not that I blame you entirely for that,” the old woman muttered. She cast a somewhat morose look toward her daughters, who were squabbling over whether to serve the salads as a first course or side dishes to the buffet lunch.
All of them watched as Bob tactfully settled the disagreement and began to carry dishes into the dining room. Treva and Betsy followed him with more dishes in hand, though neither overburdened herself.
Grandma Dyess shook her head in resignation. “Those girls have been fighting since the day Treva was born,” she informed Tate. “You’d think by now they’d have figured out that neither of them is ever going to win, but don’t give them that much credit. Betsy’s got Bob trained like one of those little dogs those rich girls carry around in designer bags. Hope he doesn’t get fed up with it too soon. He’s the best of the bunch of the string of men she’s brought to my table.”
Tate didn’t quite know how to respond to such blunt candor. Fortunately, Mr. Jingles hit the floor again at just that moment, so he was spared the necessity of coming up with a reply. He bent to retrieve the toy again and offered it back to Daryn with a wink. She laughed and gave the chiming toy a vigorous shake.
All in all, the baby was a much easier audience than Grandma Dyess, he thought wryly. They both unnerved him a little, but at least Daryn couldn’t talk yet.
* * *
Grandma Dyess’s long, rather narrow dining room was the largest room in her house. Originally a formal living room/dining room combination, it had been converted to dining alone as the family had expanded, with tables at both ends, each of which held eight adults comfortably, or ten when crowded. Two long buffets pushed against the far wall were covered with salads, casseroles, side dishes, breads and desserts. Kim had offered to bring a dish, but her mother had insisted that she and Bob had prepared more than their share for the family, especially since it would have been difficult for Kim to transport food all the way from Little Rock.
Glancing at the feast being descended on by a horde of hungry relatives, Kim decided that there was, indeed, plenty of food. Standing out of the way with Daryn on her hip and Tate by her side until the first rush settled, she made a quick head count, just for curiosity. Not counting herself, Daryn or Tate, fifteen people had gathered for lunch with Grandma. Some—notably Stuart and Mike—didn’t look particularly happy to be there. Her mother and Treva were too busy squabbling and supervising to relax and enjoy themselves; or maybe that was their idea of a good time. Who could tell with them?
Abby and Harper were somewhat undisciplined, dashing around the room and making noise in a way they should have outgrown by now. From her place at the head of the first table, where she waited to be served, Grandma Dyess made the observation that young ladies needed to learn manners at an early age, and then she gave their mother a stern look that had Patty’s lip quivering and Treva jumping to the defensive.
“It isn’t easy for a single mother to raise two young daughters alone,” she argued with Grandma. “The girls are somewhat strong-willed, but Patty does the best she can.”
“Needs to try a little harder,” Grandma retorted, frowning at Harper, who had just thrown a roll at her sister. “Single or not, it’s a mother’s job to teach her children how to behave in polite society.”
Patty grabbed Harper’s shoulder and bustled her out of the room for a lecture, with Harper whining and protesting all the way.
Kim winced a little, hearing echoes of her own previous soapbox comments to Tate about irresponsible parenting. Heavens, was she turning into her grandmother already?
Still, old-fashioned or not, she planned to begin comportment lessons very early with her daughter. She’d have done the same with a son. She noted with a stifled smile that Mike was suddenly hovering over Lucas, frantically whispering directions as he helped the boy fill a plate and carry it to the opposite table from where Grandma Dyess sat.
While Betsy and Treva argued about who would serve the meal to their mother, Bob filled a plate with generous portions and quietly set it in front of his mother-in-law along with a glass of iced tea. “Can I get you anything else, Mother Dyess?”
“No, that’s all. Thank you, Bob. Get yourself something and relax awhile. That wife of yours is quite capable of serving herself, you know.”
Bob chuckled. “Yes, ma’am, I know.”
Grandma Dyess shot a look across the room. “Kim, you and Tate help yourselves and then come sit at this table with me. What are you going to do with the baby while you eat?”
“I’ll just hold her. I’m used to eating one-handed.”
Nodding, Grandma Dyess efficiently ordered everyone else to the table she chose for them. In addition to Kim and Tate, she seated Betsy and Bob, Treva, Nelson and Sandi at her table. If anyone was unhappy with the assignment, no one had the courage to protest when Grandma Dyess spoke.
Because she was holding the baby, Tate helped Kim fill her plate and carry it to the table along with his own. During the meal, Kim alternated taking bites of her own food with spooning mashed sweet potatoes and bits of banana from the fruit salad into Daryn’s mou
th. Concentrating on the meal gave her an excuse to avoid some of the scrutiny aimed at her and Tate, who conversed genially with their tablemates while eating and occasionally retrieving Mr. Jingles from the floor.
Though she supposed it was foolish, considering the circumstances, she still found some satisfaction in knowing that neither she nor Tate had outright lied to any of the questions asked of them. After all those weekly lunch conversations, they knew each other well enough to bluff through most of the not-so-subtle inquisition without resorting to outright fabrication.
Her mother was the real problem. For some reason, Betsy wouldn’t allow herself to be content with her victory in getting Kim to bring Daryn and Tate to the reunion, thereby backing up Betsy’s past lies. Instead, she kept bragging about her daughter and “son-in-law” with stories that grew progressively more fake, despite Kim’s efforts to restrain her.
Not to be outdone, Treva continually jumped in with boasts about how much money Patty was making as a nurse practitioner—which was “almost like a doctor, you know”—how much respect Cara Lynn commanded with her newly obtained master’s degree in elementary education and how brilliantly both of her granddaughters had performed in first grade and preschool last semester.
Treva made a point of chastising Kim during the meal for not inviting her family to attend her wedding. “I would have enjoyed seeing you walk down the aisle,” she said, aggrieved. “And while I doubt that you and Tate could afford a big, fancy celebration, I’m sure your mother could have scraped together a little cash to help you.”
“I never wanted a big wedding, Aunt Treva,” Kim said, choosing her words carefully. “That has nothing to do with money. My idea of the perfect wedding for myself has always been an intimate ceremony with just me and the man I love. Big weddings are fine for most people, but you know I’ve always been a bit more private.”
“I’d say so,” Treva muttered, still looking disgruntled. “Since we hardly ever even see you.”
“Did I mention that Tate’s writing a book?” Betsy asked rather loudly, drawing the attention back to herself.