His father lifted understanding eyes to his. “You’re it.”
“Apparently so,” Ryder said on a breath as his phone buzzed.
The one-word text was from Mel:
Dinner?
* * *
Despite her resolution from the night before, it had taken Mel until after lunch the following day to work up the cojones to text Ryder and take him up on his offer. But she needed to talk to him alone, where Quinn couldn’t hear them. And when he texted back, suggesting Emerson’s, the town’s best seafood restaurant, her mouth watered.
Not that they’d ever been there together, she mused as she parked beside Ryder’s sturdy little Toyota RAV in the lot and trudged up the wide plank to the dock bordering the weathered, flat-roofed building—although calling it a building was a stretch—set on pylons in the water. Nobody ever dressed up to go to Emerson’s, either, except for the occasional, clueless tourist. Because when you’re expected to eat until you pop, you may as well be comfortable. Hence Mel’s jeans and faux Uggs now, although she had raised the bar with a dark rose cotton turtleneck and some dangly earrings she’d picked up on a whim at one of the shops in town. Oh, and she’d tossed on some mascara and lipgloss, too. Just for kicks.
Long before she reached the double doors, the scent of steamed crabs and fried fish, spicy crab cakes and hush puppies beckoned, stoking more memories. Inside, the aroma almost made her too dizzy to spot Ryder, seated at one of the oilcloth-covered tables—all the better to crack crabs on—beside a window overlooking the marina and the water beyond.
Shoulder-hugging, dark blue sweater: check. Furrowed brow as he apparently studied the menu he had to have known by heart: check. Huge, delighted smile when he glanced over and noticed her: check.
Hammering heart in reaction to the huge, delighted smile?
Uh-boy.
No sooner had she taken her first nervous steps in his direction, however, than Estelle Emerson, who with her husband Clarence had kept St. Mary’s residents’, not to mention thousands of tourists’, bellies filled for more than thirty years, swooped down on Mel with outstretched arms.
“I don’t believe it!” she sang out, her dark skin glowing from the steaming pots for the hapless crustaceans that filled those bellies. “Oh, my gracious, girl—aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! I remember your daddy and mama coming in here with you when you were a bit of a thing. I heard about your grandma, honey...I’m so sorry. Although I suppose she lived a good long life. You here by yourself?”
“Um, no, actually I’m...” She nodded toward Ryder. One of maybe a half dozen patrons in the place, what with it being off-season. In fact, many of the local joints closed down between September and May altogether. But as Estelle had so often said, what else was she gonna do? Go to Florida for the winter? So she may as well feed whoever was left.
Now Estelle’s gaze slid toward Ryder’s, then back to Mel. If Estelle knew about their old friendship, Mel had no idea. No reason for her to, she supposed. But her eyes sure lit up now, even as she leaned close to whisper, “You be careful, baby—boy’s still nursing a broken heart.”
Mel whispered back, “It’s okay. So am I.”
Now, whatever made her say that, she had no idea. But Estelle’s little moan of sympathy, as well as another hug, did feel pretty good, she had to admit. Then the older woman said, her voice even lower, “Just remember—blessings often come out of adversity. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mel said, polite as she could be, before finally making her way over to the table, blushing when Ryder—all five o’clock shadow and dark, soulful eyes, damn the man—stood to pull out her chair for her. Except Emerson’s was not a pulling-out-a-chair kind of place. At least, not before this.
“You look great,” he said, sitting back down, and a nervous chuckle burped from Mel’s mouth, provoking an understandably curious look from Ryder.
She unwrapped the gigundo paper napkin from around the chintzy flatware. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“The obligatory ‘you look nice’ thing. This isn’t a date, for heaven’s sake.”
His brows crashed. Over eyes determined, apparently, to hold hers hostage. Uh-boy, again. “I can’t give you a compliment?”
Mel grabbed the Ten Commandments-tablet-sized menu, feeling her cheeks go about the same color as her sweater. Let’s hear it for coordination, yay. “It feels...weird, coming from you. I didn’t expect it.”
“You needed a warning?”
She blubbered out a laugh. “No, I...” Her eyes lowered to the menu. To get away from his, if nothing else. “Just not used to them, that’s all.”
“From me?”
“From anybody.”
His fingers hooked over the top of the menu and yanked it down.
“Hey, I was reading that—”
“You are crazy beautiful,” Ryder said. Frowning. “You always have been. I just couldn’t say it before.”
“But you can say it now.”
“Yes. So. What do you want to order?”
You?
Blushing again—this was getting to be a really bad habit, yeesh—Mel cleared her throat as Estelle appeared to take their order. “This,” she said, pointing to a combination platter of friend oysters, fried shrimp, fried perch, hush puppies, and Estelle’s famous potato salad.
“You want a salad with that?”
As in, iceberg lettuce with some shredded carrots and a tomato wedge.
“Sure. With ranch dressing.”
“To keep the arteriosclerosis theme going,” Ryder said with a bemused smile after Estelle left.
“Hey. I’d rather shave a few years off my life and die happy than live to a hundred eating cardboard and grass clippings. Although,” she said as he chuckled, “if it makes you feel any better I actually love veggies.”
“Drenched in butter, I presume.”
“Is there any other way?” When he rolled his eyes, she reached over and patted his hand. “I also run and ride a bike. Not to mention cleaning out my grandmother’s house is the best cardio workout ever. I’m thinking we should charge. But if God hadn’t meant for us to eat butter he would’ve made cows give skim milk. And are we both tap-dancing around why we’re really here, or what?”
Ryder leaned back in his chair, one wrist on the edge of the table. “By that, I assume you mean Quinn? Who I assume is with April?”
“No, April’s in Richmond. But the Harrises still live next door, and their granddaughter’s a year or so older than Quinn, so I pawned her off on them. They were thrilled, she was thrilled, so it was a win-win.”
When Ryder chuckled, Mel let her gaze drift outside, where the sky was turning a deep periwinkle-blue. “But anyway...yes. Quinn.”
Who had yet to initiate the “things don’t feel right” conversation, even though—as much as the prospect of said conversation freaked her out, because she still had no idea what the heck she was going to tell her—Mel had given the kid several openings throughout the day. So, yeah. Time bomb.
She huffed a sigh, then let her eyes meet Ryder’s again, seeing the same compassion that had always been there, but coming from a much deeper place than before. A place of grief and loss that made her ache for him. “My cousins finally knocked some sense into me, that somehow or other I need to lay this issue to rest.”
“Really.”
“Yep. Like it or not, I can’t protect my daughter forever. And she’s apparently indicated to April that she can sense that something’s off, although she doesn’t seem anxious to talk to me about it.”
“You think maybe she’s afraid of what she’ll find out?”
“I have no idea. But she deserves to know who her family is. And it might be better to do this before she hits puberty,” she said with a slight smile. “A
nd...I need your help.”
After a moment, Ryder leaned forward to slip his hand around hers and her throat went dry. “You got it.” Then he released a breath, although not her hand. “Dad wants to meet her. Asked me to arrange a meeting, in fact.”
Mel started. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope.” He gave her hand a brief squeeze before letting go to take a sip of his water. “Not really a surprise, since apparently he was never particularly on board with this, anyway.”
“And what did you say?”
Estelle brought them their food; Ryder waited until the steaming, fragrant plates were set in front of them and Estelle was gone, before continuing. “That it was up to you. And that I wouldn’t even say anything unless he got Mom to admit she screwed up. But since you brought it up first...” He lifted his hands.
Mel dunked a shrimp into a plastic cup of cocktail sauce. “You really think your mother would ever do that?”
“I haven’t talked to her since that first night, so I have no idea what she’s thinking. But stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
“Stranger than your mother actually conceding she was wrong? I doubt it.” Fork in hand, Mel tackled the tender, flaky perch, remembering how she’d been the only one of her cousins who actually preferred her fish to taste like fish. Although the things she could do with sole and tilapia had been known to make people weep.
Ryder forked in a bite of his broiled salmon. Weenie. “So how do you feel about letting Quinn and my dad meet?”
“With or without your mother knowing?”
“Either.” When Mel hesitated, Ryder leaned forward again. “Honey, there’s no way out of this but through it. And maybe if Quinn got to know us—Dad and me, at least—it might diffuse the shock. At least a little?”
For several seconds, Mel stared at her food, twirling her fork in her fingers and wondering why, if she’d already made the decision to move forward, the idea of actually making that move was twisting her up in knots. Finally she lifted her eyes to Ryder’s again. “It’s just been the two of us for so long. Well, yes, my mother had been part of that, but she’s gone, and...” She swallowed. “This is hard—”
“I know it is, sweetheart—”
“No, I mean what I’m about to say.” She took a breath, letting it out on a tiny laugh. “Damn, Ry, I am so conflicted about all of this. Sure, finally coming clean about what happened...I know that will be a relief. At least, once the dust settles from the ka-boom. But to be honest, the idea of sharing her isn’t sitting all that well.”
Ryder’s brows pulled together. “You’re not going to lose her, Mel.”
“No, I know that. Especially since I’m going back to Baltimore as soon as possible. So that’s not even an issue, really. But it’s more than that. Watching her with Lance—my ex—and then, worse, seeing how torn up she was when it was over...I’m sorry, but your mother is still the unknown quantity in all this. And your father...”
“Is likely to do whatever she wants.”
“There is historical precedent.”
One side of Ryder’s mouth pushed up. “True. So you’re concerned Quinn will become attached to my dad and then my mother will find out and put the kibosh on the relationship?”
Mel dunked the next shrimp. Like it’d been accused of witchcraft. “Not only your father.”
He frowned, then pushed out a sharp laugh. “Mel, whatever happens, whatever kind of relationship I end up having with Quinn, is up to you. Not my mother. If her opinion didn’t sway me then, it sure as hell won’t now. If I do become part of Quinn’s life,” he said carefully, his gaze riveted to hers, “it’s for the long haul. Whatever she needs, whatever you need, it’s yours.” Smiling, he raised his hand, three fingers extended. “Scout’s honor. I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”
The sincerity in his eyes, his expression... Mel ripped her gaze away from Ryder’s to the other diners enjoying their meals, their lives, secure in those lives, while her traitorous heart whispered things that could break that heart, if she let it.
“You don’t trust me,” he said quietly, and her head snapped back to find something like hurt etched into his features.
“You, I trust. It’s all the rest of it...” She shrugged, then let out another little laugh. “I may regret admitting this, but I am so tired of doing all the thinking.”
“Then lucky for you I’m really, really good at thinking,” he said, and she laughed again, and he reached for her hand, again, and that no-account heart started up with the whispering—again—that she’d wasted ten years looking for a clone of what was right in front of her. Especially when he said, “You don’t have to do this alone, Mel. I’m right there. Right here, for both you and Quinn. We’ll get through this, I promise.”
“How?” she squeezed out past the lump in her throat.
“Well...tell you what—Dad and I usually play hooky on Wednesday afternoons, anyway. If the weather cooperates, how about Dad and I take you and Quinn out on the boat for an hour or so? No pressure, just an opportunity for friends to hang out. That way Dad gets to meet her, and, if my hunch is correct, you get an antsy kid out of the house for a little while.”
“Oh, Lord,” Mel said on a short laugh. “You got that right. Child’s about to drive me nuts.”
“Then...is it a plan?”
“O...kay. Deal. But I’m gonna need some of that coconut cream pie for fortification.”
Grinning, Ryder signaled to Estelle. “Anything for my girl,” he said, and Mel seriously considered asking for two pieces.
* * *
For the second time in a week, Lorraine’s husband had flabbergasted her.
“You’re going to do what?”
“Meet our granddaughter,” David said mildly as he slipped on his favorite old tennis sweater over a plaid shirt. “Ry thought it might be a good idea for us all to go sailing. And Mel agreed. Reluctantly, though. Can’t say I blame her for that.”
“Are you saying they’ve told the child—”
“Quinn.”
“They’ve told...Quinn the truth?”
“Not yet. But that’s the plan. At some point.”
“And this was Ryder’s idea.”
“Meeting Quinn?” Tugging down the sweater’s sleeves, David shook his head. “Nope. Mine. Now what on earth,” he said, vanishing into the walk-in closet, “happened to my deck shoes...?”
“You decided this without even consulting me?”
The found shoes dangling from one hand, David dropped onto the edge of their four-poster bed. “Here’s the funny thing, Raney—when I first mentioned to Ry that I wanted to meet Quinn, he said no. Flat out. To protect Mel as well as Quinn, I imagine,” he then said, his gaze drifting across the room, as though talking to himself more than Lorraine.
Then his eyes touched hers again, until he dropped them to this shoes, lying on their sides on the thick ivory carpeting, and something about the slump to his shoulders, the more pronounced gray in his hair, made Lorraine suck in a tiny breath. Almost without knowing she was doing it, she braced one hand on the mattress to lower herself to the floor, slip his shoes on his feet. David chuckled.
“What on earth are you doing, Raney?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, rapidly tying the first shoelace. “Best not to question it too hard.” Then she looked up into the face she loved more than life itself, into the face of the man she knew loved her the same way, even if she often felt she didn’t deserve it. “What made him change his mind?” she said, finishing up the second shoelace and awkwardly pushing herself back up to sit beside him, their shoulders touching.
“He didn’t. In fact, he first said he wouldn’t even consider asking Mel if I could meet Quinn unless I talked to you first. Got you to admit what you—we—did was wrong.”
Her
face flamed. “I can’t do that.”
“Of course you could. If you’d just set aside that stubbornness for more than a half second.”
She stretched out her hands, blinking at the three-stone diamond ring David had given her for their twenty-fifth anniversary. If only it were that easy. “So why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because I knew what you’d say. And anyway, as it turns out he and Mel had dinner together that very night, and she said she was ready for this all to be over.”
Lorraine’s stomach clenched. “That’s not her decision.”
“Yes, Raney,” David said, laying a hand on her knee. “It is. Can’t protect the kids forever, you know—”
“So, what? You’re simply going to rip this whole thing wide open? What about Jeremy? What about me?” she said, pressing a hand to her pounding heart.
“What about you?” David said calmly, gently stroking her leg.
“I’ll...I’ll look like...”
“A fool?”
“David!”
With a final pat to her knee, her husband got to his feet, standing straighter than she’d ever seen him. “It’s okay, honey, we can look like fools together. Because for what it’s worth—which isn’t much at this point, I’ll grant you—when the truth does come out, I promise I won’t tell Quinn whose idea it was. That, she doesn’t need to know.” He pocketed his keys and cell phone, then cut his eyes to hers. “I suppose I’d need to clear it with Ryder, first, but...you could come with us, if you like—”
“What?” She practically jumped to her feet. “No! Are you mad?”
“Clearly. Although you’d only be there as Ryder’s mother, of course. Not Quinn’s grandm—”
“I said no! I can’t...I couldn’t...” Her eyes stinging, Lorraine walked over to the window overlooking the expanse of lawn interspersed with soaring loblolly pines, the wharf jutting into the inlet beyond. Her own reflection stared back at her, pale and distorted. Accusatory. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“I understand,” David said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. Except how could he, when she didn’t fully understand herself?
The Doctor's Do-Over Page 10