by Sally John
Dear God, thank You for Brady’s friendship. Please don’t let me…don’t let us make a mistake.
“Amen,” she said to the mirror. “Just stay cool and aloof.” She smiled. “A little.”
At the top of the staircase she heard her mother say, “You look exactly like your father.”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Aunt Lottie added.
“I hear that often.” There was a grin in his voice.
As she descended, all three looked up. Her eyes locked with Brady’s, and she knew cool and aloof were out of the question. They didn’t stand a chance under his intensely approving gaze.
“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t ready on time.”
“No problem.”
“Tell us where you’re taking her.” Aunt Lottie prompted with a smile.
“The Landing.”
Gina noticed his black slacks and the soft, short-sleeved pale blue shirt that set off his tanned arms and face. His blond hair glistened. He towered over Mother and Aunt Lottie.
“Where is that?” Maggie asked.
“Up the river, about ten miles north of Rockville.”
All four moved toward the door, Brady and Maggie murmuring polite phrases about meeting each other. Gina sensed their initial face-to-face had gone smoothly. Both were smiling.
“Don’t be late.” Maggie bit her lip. “I didn’t mean that.”
“She forgets I’m not 16,” Gina explained.
“Brady.” Maggie sighed and glanced at her. “Sorry, honey. I do know your age. Brady,” she paused, “take good care of my daughter. Please.”
He hesitated a beat, keeping eye contact with her mother. “You can trust me, Mrs. Philips.”
“Call me Maggie.” She hugged Gina, squeezing her extra tightly. Her voice caught as she whispered, “You look so beautiful.”
Had she missed something?
She left the question behind the closed screen door and slipped her arm through Brady’s. “Hi,” she whispered.
He patted her hand, almost absentmindedly. From his profile, he appeared somber. Maybe she couldn’t leave the question behind. They walked down the porch steps.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“No.”
Her heart sank. It was that old family feud business. She should have—
“The thing is,” he said softly, “I’m having an extremely difficult time preventing myself from kissing you.”
She stared up at him as they walked along the front walk.
He took a deep breath, still not looking at her. “And your mother knows it. I find both of these things rather, uh, disconcerting.”
Apparently she had missed something, but it seemed to have been an undercurrent rippling right before her very eyes. Talk about disconcerting!
He held open the passenger door of the car while she slipped inside. As he walked around it, he waved toward the house. Maggie and Aunt Lottie still stood behind the screen door. She lifted the corners of her mouth and waved to them as the car pulled away from the curb.
Car? “Where’s your truck?” She ran her hand across soft red leather. It was a small, two-seater, old model sports car.
Brady drove hurriedly through town. “Traded vehicles with my brother for the night. Look.” The car squealed to a stop on a side street. He cut the engine and unfastened his safety belt. “Can we start over?”
Just as she was rebuilding her cool and aloof armor, he turned toward her. Again the defenses melted away. “Hello.”
Slowly, he smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Hi. How are you?”
“I don’t really know. My head is swimming.” Inwardly she cringed. She shouldn’t have admitted that. “How are you?”
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a semi.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh.” Oh my.
“Mm-hmm.” He leaned over and softly kissed the corner of her mouth, then straightened. “You look beautiful tonight. Shall we go?”
Words caught in her throat. In less than a minute they had settled into the comfort of last night. There was no denying a connection with him.
He winked, depressed the clutch, and turned the ignition key. They headed out of town and were soon on the twolane highway. “I like your mother.”
“Really?” she scoffed in a teasing manner. “She is a Lindstrom, you know.”
“Ooh, that was low.”
“But deserved.” She smiled at him.
“Touché.” He shifted into fifth, then reached for her hand. “Seriously, no hard feelings along those lines?”
“Seriously, no.” She squeezed his hand.
“I liked her mother-grizzly spirit.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time she met my date at the door.”
“Well, these are unusual circumstances. I mean, I am an Olafsson.”
“That’s true.”
“And it’s probably been kind of tough on her watching you go through this time, being hurt and losing your job and all.”
She thought of her mother’s special attention in recent months, of the hours she spent at the hospital, of worry etched on her face whenever Gina cried because of the pain. The way she blanched when she looked at her leg. “Very tough. She’s always fixed things, you know? This she couldn’t fix. But she was…there for me.”
“You said you moved back home months ago?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And she hasn’t met a date at the door for some time. Let’s see…exactly how long has it been since you’ve had a date?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
He shrugged. “I was just curious if we’re talking lo-ong time.”
“Brady, we’re talking desperate time.”
“Desperate? You mean it’s been so long that you’re desperate?”
“Tell me now, why else would I say yes to an Olafsson in Podunk?”
“You really know how to build up a guy’s confidence. Want to know how long it’s been for me?”
She grinned. “No.”
“It’s been—”
“I said no!”
“Not very long. But I have to say, as far as a kiss goes, we’re talking desperate time.”
“Brady!” She punched his shoulder.
“Hey, with the remarks you dish out, you’re fair game, sweetheart.”
He teased, but the term of endearment warmed her.
“And,” he continued, “I sincerely hope you’re not expecting a romantic evening.”
“Well, of course I am. I told you I was desperate.”
“You’re out of luck. We have reservations at The Landing. I asked for a window table that overlooks the river. Sunset view. The décor is burgundy and black. Elegant. Linen tablecloths. Two forks. Three if we get the cheesecake or chocolate torte. Lemon wedge in the water goblets. Soft, chamber-type music. They have raspberry-flavored butter. Fresh fish entrees. Soft candlelight.”
“That’s not romantic?”
He shook his head. “Nah. In the Midwest romantic is picking up dinner at the fast-food drive-through and renting a hunting instructional video.”
Gina laughed until her side hurt. Desperate or not, she knew Brady Olafsson was having a considerable impact on her life.
Twenty-Six
With synchronized footwork, Maggie and Marsha kept the porch swing going at breakneck speed. They giggled like little girls.
“Aunt Lottie might yell at us,” Marsha warned.
“Remember that one time she did?”
They squealed in unison, and Maggie relished the silliness. She and her sister both needed a respite from real life. Wedding details had been discussed. They had examined the emotionally draining details of forgiving Dottie Olafsson. She had unloaded her apprehensions regarding Brady. The handsome young man couldn’t hide his adulation of Gina. The thought of her fragile daughter being in close proximity to that kind of attention unsettled her. Would he capture Gina’s heart and thoroughly confuse her?
&nbs
p; Marsha had declared a recess from heavy-duty subjects. They scanned the movie listings for a comedy, chose one, then started their silly swinging, waiting until it was time to leave.
“Reece comes tomorrow.”
“Maggie, we called recess.”
“I don’t want to deal with him right now.”
“Don’t. Wait until tomorrow.”
“You know what I mean. I’m starting to get a handle on myself, but he’ll bring in the here and now and all that entails.”
Marsha sighed. “I don’t have an answer, sis. Just be honest, be yourself, and let God take care of things. Pray about it. I’ll pray about it. Why don’t we go to the movie now?”
Maggie watched as an unfamiliar white car pulled into the driveway. Her feet fell behind the synchronized pushing and the swing wobbled crookedly. “Better pray quick, Marsh.”
“Why?” She followed her sister’s gaze toward the drive. “Who’s that?”
“Reece.”
“Kind of early, isn’t he?”
“Only by about 15 hours.”
The first time Maggie laid eyes on Reece Philips, nothing much happened. She was in her junior year at Northern Illinois University. He was older, working on his MBA. He was an assistant to one of her business professors and in her classroom Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
It was ten weeks before she noticed his friendly, energetic personality, his clear gray eyes, and his wide, masculine mouth. That came about only because they happened to be standing near the same exit door during a torrential downpour.
It was another month before she confessed to her roommate that thick black hair and a height under six feet were indeed attractive. She even went so far as to muse that racquetball could probably be as exciting a sport as basketball.
Reece, on the other hand, admitted to noticing her the previous year. According to him, she was the cause of a few relational dismantlings. He knew that he hadn’t met the “right one” as long as he remained intrigued with a green-eyed stranger whose enticing blonde hair swished almost to her waist as she strode across campus or cleared tables in the student union.
An air she carried about herself fascinated him. It was a hint of delicacy, of sadness. Hesitant to enter her world, he watched from a distance until, quite simply, he could no longer. The rainstorm had been a godsend.
When she told him about Rosie, he didn’t flinch. He sent white roses that first December twenty-seventh while they were apart during Christmas break. He introduced her to his friends. By spring, she was laughing again and falling in love with him.
His mind was made up; hers wavered. He gave her space and was incredibly patient. It wasn’t until a month before they received their degrees that she consented to marry him, consented to follow him anywhere.
She had followed him first to the altar at a chapel near the school, not her home church in Valley Oaks. Next, they moved to Chicago, then to California. Their life had been rewarding together. They liked each other, shared similar interests and the same friends. He spent almost as much time with Gina as she did during her growing-up years.
Ten years ago Gina graduated from high school. Nine years ago Reece got the big promotion. As Vice President of Acquisitions, he oversaw everything west of the Mississippi River. He began traveling even more frequently and for longer periods of time. Maggie’s world changed. While he still included her as much as possible, his driven personality remained in high gear and directed him toward places she couldn’t follow either physically or emotionally.
Something inside of her disintegrated.
Whenever she tried to explain it, he brushed away her concerns like flies from a picnic basket. She meant the world to him, he’d say. He’d do anything for her, he’d say, then change the subject.
She knew he was hiding again, hiding from that hint of sadness that had been too long buried and now, like a submerged buoy, flung itself to the surface. Something had to be done about it.
Well, she was doing something about it, but now, here he came. Interrupting the process. He would push it back down, pretend it wasn’t there. She would follow his lead, save it for another day, accommodate him.
Or not.
She watched him climb from the car. Eighty degrees and he wore his usual: suit pants—light gray today—and a white long-sleeved shirt. The cuffs were rolled halfway up his forearms and the powder blue tie was loosened. His hair, still thick but conservatively cut, was more salt than pepper, with a silvery sheen that almost glittered in the sun’s late evening rays. He opened the back door and pulled out his briefcase.
Numbness crept over her, as if switches were being clicked off, shutting down whatever it was that energized the ethereal sense of emotions. This dulling was familiar; she didn’t know why the sight of her husband triggered it.
He spotted her and Marsha and grinned. She went down the porch steps to greet him.
“Reece, what are you doing here?”
He embraced her and murmured, “Oh, you know me and Podunk-I-mean-Valley Oaks.”
“I know. That’s just it. You hate it.”
He kissed her quickly, then dropped his arms. “Not exactly hugging weather, is it? You look hot in those blue jeans. Lottie has air, doesn’t she? Hey, Marsha!” He climbed to the porch and gave his sister-in-law a brief hug.
They exchanged pleasantries, and then Marsha announced she was leaving. Reece protested. “Let’s all go to dinner. We’ll pick up Dan—”
“No, no, no.” Marsha was adamant. “You two need some time alone—”
“I want to go to a movie,” Maggie interrupted.
They both turned puzzled expressions toward her.
“Marsh and I were going to a movie.”
“I thought we’d go to dinner.” Reece smiled. “Is that one place still there in Rockville? They had decent prime rib—”
“We just ate chicken salad.” She knew she sounded like an obstinate child, but so did Reece, barging in on the middle of something and demanding his own way, however politely. “I’m not hungry for anything except for popcorn with extra butter and a large diet soda with lots of ice. I want to eat it at the freezing theater, and then I’d like ice cream at O’Malley’s.”
Marsha had a distressed look on her face. “Maggie,” she admonished. “Reece probably hasn’t eaten.”
She turned to her husband. “Want some chicken salad? It’s made with mayonnaise, though, not your favorite, and there are eggs in it.”
Reece had always been undemanding on the surface. Intense and driven, but always undemanding. She had seen him harried, in stressful situations, frustrated with her or Gina, and yet his pleasant mannerisms never diminished. She had heard stories about him in business situations, going for the jugular with positive words and a smile on his face, resulting in the other guys thanking him. But Maggie had never intentionally pushed him to the wall like this. Best friends didn’t take perverse delight in such things, and he had been her best friend. Had been. When did it become past tense?
“Margaret, if you want to go to a movie, we’ll go to a movie. I’ll eat popcorn, too.” He smiled his genuine smile, deepening the creases in his cheeks. “Ladies, please tell me this season of life will pass and my Margaret will return.”
Marsha sighed. “It will pass.”
“But,” Maggie warned, “it sometimes takes ten years.”
His jaw dropped. “Ten years?! What’s a husband to do?”
The sisters looked at each other. Tell him, Marsha, she pleaded silently. Tell him what I don’t understand! Tell him what you said about him not giving me something I need.
Marsha squeezed her brother-in-law’s arm. “Hang on. I hear it’s a bumpy ride.”
Maggie blinked at them. Yes, it was a bumpy ride. An incredibly bumpy ride. And she felt as if her last link to shore had just been cut.
Twenty-Seven
Aunt Lottie cooked up a storm Saturday morning. Aunt Marsha and Uncle Dan brought homemade caramel rolls. Lauren brought dou
ghnuts. Favorite cousins Alec and Anne brought fresh strawberries from their patch.
Gina thought it was great. Dad had arrived ahead of schedule and everyone stopped by to say hello. With food. She smiled now, watching her 90-year-old great-aunt flirt and her father tease as they stood beside each other at the stove, one cooking bacon, the other veggies and scrambled eggs. He wore shorts and a polo shirt. He didn’t have his contacts in yet, and his wire-rimmed glasses added to his sporty appearance.
Odd that Dad didn’t visit more often. Everyone loved him. Of course there was that issue with the Olafssons. Nice guy though he was, Dad didn’t hide well his disdain for Valley Oaks in general. It was where she’d learned it. A bad habit that Brady kissed away once and for all last night…
“Gina.” Dad’s voice broke into her reverie. “You going to tell me about your new friend?”
She glanced at her mother, who smiled as she walked past carrying a stack of plates toward the dining room. “I told him he’s a very nice Olafsson. Must take after his mother.” It seemed she had been impressed with Brady. This was her first smile of the day. She appeared fresh enough with her curly hair still damp from a shower and a trim white T-shirt tucked into navy walking shorts. Her eyes, though, looked as if it had been a toss-and-turn night, and she definitely seemed out of it.
“Uncle Reece,” Lauren interjected as she walked into the kitchen, “he’s going to be my cousin-in-law. He’s a good guy.”
“You’re marrying an Olafsson?”
She wrinkled her brow for a moment, thinking. “No, he’s Aaron’s cousin on his mother’s side.”
Dad shook his head. “It’s amazing nobody marries their own cousin in this town.”
“Reece,” Aunt Lottie said, “did I ever tell you about my cousin who married Clint Eastwood’s aunt?”
Her father laughed heartily. “Do you think we’re in the will?”
Aunt Lottie punched his arm. “Well, you never know. That marriage means we are related. Gina, honey, hand me that bowl, please. I think we’re ready.”
They all sat around the dining room table. Several conversations continued simultaneously. Aunt Marsha announced that the menu for the reception had to be decided today, and once again the choices were discussed. Gina heard Aunt Lottie tell her mother that someone had called while she was in the shower but he didn’t leave a message. Dad asked Alec about the school superintendent, whom he was to meet later in the morning to talk about the new housing development. Lauren asked what time she and Aaron could pick her up. Brady had invited the three of them over for dinner that evening.