by Lynne Gentry
“Daddy!” Aria flies off the porch and runs to the gate.
“James?” My jaw drops and I choke on the dust swirling around the shiny black rental car coming to a stop in Momma’s drive. “What the heck?”
Aria rips the gate open. “Daddy!” She has her arms around her father’s neck the second he pokes his slick hair and dark glasses out of the car. “You came!”
James jumps out of the vehicle with the ease of a man who prides himself on how good his middle-aged body looks in skinny jeans and a tight, white t-shirt. “Told you I would.” He scoops up Aria and swings her around. By the time he sets her on the ground, Aria is beaming.
I start for him, intent on wringing his sorry neck, but Winnie pulls me back. “Let’s see what happens.”
“I thought you weren’t coming, Daddy.”
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He taps her nose. “Brought you something.”
“What?”
He reaches into the back seat and pulls out an expensive leather case. “Thought it was time you had your own camera.” He drops the strap over Aria’s head.
Aria fingers the block dangling against her chest. “Thanks.” Disappointment dulls her smile. “I thought you were getting me a new piano.”
“You have a piano.” He pushes a strand of her hair away from her face. “Back home.”
“But I live here now.”
“Not for long.”
How dare he put our daughter in the middle of this mess. In the time it takes for James to slide his sunglasses up onto his Tom Cruise haircut, I exchange my shock for anger.
I shake loose of Winnie and storm to the gate. “What are you doing here, James?”
A side-winder smile splits his tanned face, confirming my suspicion that he’s been hiding on his parents’ tropical island until the bad press dies down. “You look good, Charlotte.”
I jam my hands on my hips. “Why are you in Texas?”
“I invited him,” Aria defends.
“Why?”
“It’s her birthday.” Momma threads her arm through mine. “I told Aria she could invite whomever she pleased to my home.”
The mental energy I’m expending to process James’s threat is the only thing keeping me from ripping into Momma.
James steps forward and offers my mother his hand. “Sara, you look...”
She doesn’t accept. “Better than you expected?”
“I was going to say you look good.”
“Well,” Momma says. “You look...hungry.”
He flashes a smirk at me. “Starving.”
Before I can flail my mother for colluding with my daughter, I feel Momma tug me in close, her age-old warning to hold my tongue. “Aria,” she says calmly. “Why don’t you get your guest a plate?”
“Hope you made one of your to-die-for peach pies, Sara.” James gives Momma a peck on the cheek.
The stiffening of Momma’s spine is imperceptible to the untrained eye. But I can feel every muscle in her compact little body bracing for battle. In an instant, she’s once again the same mother bear who told my first-grade teacher that she’d be sorry if she ever tried to make me drink all of my milk again.
“Hummingbird cake is Aria’s favorite.” Momma’s aim is level, steady, purposeful. “I hope you’re not disappointed, James.”
“Whatever the birthday girl wants, right?”
“Unlike some people, Aria’s smart enough to know that we don’t always get what we want.” Momma’s grip holds me stationary as James and Aria saunter over to the food table.
Everyone snaps into gear. Itty snags an empty platter off the table and holds it so Bo can take the meat off the grill. Teeny and Ira scurry to remove plastic wrap from the salads.
“Let me go, Momma,” I growl between clenched teeth.
“For once,”—Momma pulls me tighter—“use your head. Not your heart.”
“He’s here for Aria,” I confess.
“Then this family will just have to see to it that he leaves empty-handed.”
Chapter 33
CHARLOTTE
Toward sunset, I’m leaning against a porch pillar, my temper simmering just below a boil. The hateful stare I have fixed on James doesn’t seem to be affecting his horseshoe game in the least.
“Thought you could use a drink.” Itty holds out two icy bottles.
I cut a sideways glance at the awkward giant standing beside me. “Is Coke the strongest thing we’ve got?”
“Come to band practice tonight and I’ll take you to the Sonic for something that has a little more kick.”
I nod toward the man my daughter’s busy adoring. “I’m married.”
“It’s an invitation to play some music and have a limeade, Charlotte. Not a proposition to jump in the sack.”
Startled by Itty’s straightforwardness, my focus whiplashes to him. “Sorry, Itty.”
“No apology necessary.”
I can feel his gaze trail mine back to James.
We sip our Cokes in silence. James seems to sense our scrutiny and proceeds to make three consecutive ringers on the stake. After the last horseshoe lands with a steel-on-steel clang, Aria cheers then throws her arms around her father’s neck. Her reaction to her father succeeding at something so simple reminds me of how much I loved my own father...faults and all. Having my child’s father involved in her life is the picture I’d always envisioned. I intended to do things differently than my mother. Work. Marriage. Kids. Everything. Yet, here I am wishing Aria would see the truth for herself.
“James makes the game look easy.” Itty takes a swig of his drink.
“It’s what initially attracted me to him.”
“Horseshoes?”
“No.” While I take a long draw from my soda bottle, Itty says nothing. His non-judgmental quiet invites me to reveal my aches and pains on my own time, an invitation I can’t resist. “After Caroline and Daddy died, I was tired of life being hard. I wanted easy for a change. James seemed like the solution. Smart, ambitious, successful.” I take another sip. “Imagine my disappointment when I learned that nothing with James is ever easy.”
Itty ponders my revelation. “Music is a great stress reliever.”
I turn and study Itty carefully. He’s not movie-star handsome like James. And yet, something about him is very attractive. Perhaps it’s the kindness of the smile framed by his red beard. Or the inner peace sparkling in his eyes. I’m not sure. But somewhere along the line, the scrawny boy who struggled beneath the weight of a tuba is now a broad-shouldered man capable of carrying many loads. Mine included, if I weren’t a woman hell-bent on doing everything myself.
“Is this the prescription you give everyone dealing with a mentally unstable mother, a rogue husband, and a teenager barreling down heartbreak road?”
“I can only prescribe.” Itty’s large hand gently pats my shoulder. “Whether or not my patients take the medicine is up to them.” He clinks his empty bottle with mine. “Sure you don’t want to come to band practice?”
“It’ll be late by the time we get this all cleaned up.”
“Tomorrow’s a holiday. You can sleep in.”
“There are no holidays from some ailments, Itty.”
He hands me his empty bottle. “We’ll keep the doors to the sanctuary open if you change your mind. Thanks for letting me be part of your family today, Charlotte.” He descends the porch steps. “Happy birthday, Aria,” he calls, his good wishes booming across the lawn.
To my surprise, my daughter leaves her father and rushes over. “Thanks for coming, Doc.”
“Always glad for an opportunity to check a patient’s progress,” he smiles. “You’re going to have to bring me up to speed on the latest in brain games so I can prescribe them to my other patients.”
Aria’s face lights up. “You think they’re working?”
“I think your grandmother’s doing much better since you moved here. Don’t let her give you any grief or slack off.”
�
�I won’t.” Aria points to the record player still spinning out old jazz. “Don’t forget your music.”
Benjamin gives her a little shake of his head. “That’s for you.”
“Really? Your whole collection.”
“And the record player.”
“You sure?”
“Every good musician must expand their repertoire beyond their wheelhouse,” he says. “Besides, I don’t think this world can have too much music, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” Aria reaches up, throws her arms around Itty’s neck, and gives him a quick hug. “Thanks, Doc.” She turns and runs back to her father who’s stopped his horseshoe game to watch the exchange. Envy doesn’t look good on his perfect face.
Itty ambles to his four-wheel drive pickup, nods to me before he gets in, then drives off. As the dust cloud trailing him disperses so does my hazy thinking.
I stomp down the porch steps. “James.”
“C, wait.” Winnie flies out the screen door. “You sure you want to do this today?”
“Aren’t you the one who said it’s time I deal?”
“When you’re calm.”
“That ship has sailed.” I storm toward the horseshoe pit. “Aria, can you help your Nana clean up?”
Aria sizes up my intentions in an instant. “Geez, Mom. If you need to talk to Daddy, just say so.”
“Okay, run along so I can talk to your father.”
“No.”
“Ari.”
“Do I need a lawyer?” James’s attempt to make light of my tone is gas on my fire.
Feeling Aria’s eyes boring into me, I do my best to appear calm. “Only if you’re planning to slow up our settlement.”
“What settlement?” Aria asks.
He shifts three horseshoes from hand to hand. “Look, Aria. Maybe you should go help your grandmother.”
I’m done giving him a pass. “Tell her James.”
“Tell me what, Daddy?” Aria’s eyes cloud with concern. “Are you sick?”
“No, baby. Nothing like that.” James tosses the horseshoes aside. “You know how much I love you and your mom, right?”
“But?” Aria’s tone tells me her baloney meter has finally been activated. She may not be able to ascertain all the legal ramifications James and I are facing, but my girl has proven herself astute and resourceful when it comes to relationships. Forcing her to choose a side will only push her from me.
I take a page from Momma’s unwillingness to trash my father and decide to stand down. To let Aria see James’s manipulation for herself. But unlike Momma, I stay close, ready to pounce if she can’t handle this.
James combs his fingers through his hair, a tell of his I picked up on years ago that gives him away whenever he’s about to lie. “But sometimes it’s best for the family if parents...”
“Are you divorcing Mom?”
He looks to me for help, but when I give him none he nods. “I think it’s for your good if your mother and I go our separate ways.”
“No!” Aria raises both palms and backs away.
“Listen, Aria,” James advances toward her. “I know this is hard, but once everything is settled and you’re living with me, I’ll see that you get to visit Texas and...”
“You want me to come back to DC?”
“It’s your home,” James says. “I’ve talked it over with your grandmother and she’s going to move in and help us get you settled.”
“Grandmother McCandless?”
“Yes.”
“But Nana needs me.”
“Your Grandmother McCandless can help you prepare for Juilliard and...”
“Nana’s helping me.”
James plants both hands on Aria’s shoulders. “Your Nana almost got you killed.”
“That’s it.” Ignoring my earlier inclination to let Aria handle her father, I step into the ring. “What are you talking about?”
James turns on me. “Aria told me about the river. About how she fell in and nearly drowned.”
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
I silence her with one brief look. “First of all, she didn’t nearly drown.”
“This time,” James says.
“I was there.” I leave out my frantic search in the stirred-up silt. “She’s an excellent swimmer.”
“Letting Aria live within easy access of a river that’s already killed two people in this crazy, mixed-up family is out of the question.” He waves his hand in the direction of the odd assortment of rubbernecking party guests. “Look at them! Two certifiable geriatrics. A gas station mechanic. A gypsy. A bat-crazy grandma.” He turns and points his finger at me. “Are you running a ranch or a home for misfit toys?”
“Whom I choose to call family is my business.”
“Family?” He scoffs. “Is that what you’re calling this menagerie?”
“That’s enough,” I say.
Disgust comes over his face. “What’s happened to the high-powered, put-together lawyer I knew.” He waves an accusatory hand over my t-shirt and paint-splattered overalls. “All I see is a backwater music teacher who can’t pay her bills. There’s not a judge in the country who’ll grant you custody when I can give our daughter the world.” He grabs Aria’s arm. “I’m taking her and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
I lunge for him. “Let her go!”
“Whoa!” Winnie floats between us. “There is one little thing Charlotte can do, James.” She pulls a manila envelope from the pocket of her skirt. “Send you to jail.”
“What are you talking about?”
“These are the signed affidavits of several underaged models willing to testify in open court of your...C, cover Aria’s ears.”
My gaze locks with the wide-eyed terror in my daughter’s eyes. “Aria’s old enough to hear the truth.”
“Like her mother, she is wise beyond her years.” Winnie’s implication is not lost on me. When this is over, Aria deserves the whole story of the river and the valley it has cut between me and Momma.
James releases Aria and rips the envelope from Winnie’s hand. “What is this crap?”
“The beginning of an extensive investigation into accusations of your continued sexual misconduct.”
He scoffs and rolls the envelope into a club. “It’s their word against mine.”
“True,” Winnie smiles. “However, in our country’s current politically-correct environment, it’s much easier than it used to be to prove you used your power in the modeling industry to destroy the careers of women who refused to give into your lurid desires.” Winnie thumps the envelope. “You’ll sign whatever custody agreement we send your lawyer. You’ll be prompt with your child support. And...”
The distinctive cock of a gun cuts off Winnie’s ultimatum. I don’t have to turn to know who’s brandishing the shiny barrel to my left.
“And you won’t ever threaten my family again.” Momma levels her aim at James. “Get off our land, you, sorry excuse of a man.”
Chapter 34
SARA
In a way, I’m relieved Charlotte has finally agreed to tell Aria about Caroline’s accident and Martin’s suicide. Now I don’t have to. Makes it easier for me to remain Aria’s favorite. Unless, of course, Charlotte lays the blame for these tragedies at my feet. Which, truth be known, is where the blame truly belongs. After all, if I’d been truthful with my girls, they would have known about Martin’s secret weakness. I could have forbidden them from accompanying their drunken father to the river that day, they would have understood why, and none of this would have happened.
I scoot around the piano bench and inch a little closer to the window. Ira thinks it’s wrong of me to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place on the porch swing. But just because Charlotte’s decided to be open with her daughter, that doesn’t mean she’s ready to clear the line of communication with her mother. I need to know where I stand with Charlotte, especially after I pulled a gun on her husband.
“Ember says my dad’s hot.” Ar
ia’s unnaturally giddy voice reminds me of that short-sheeted laugh thing Charlotte does whenever she’s worried a conversation will not go well.
“I’m sure he’s still steaming.” Charlotte’s remarkably controlled. “James hates to be one-upped.”
“Geez, Mom. Hot doesn’t mean mad at you. It means handsome. Good-looking.”
Charlotte laughs, freer than she has in years. “I’m not as out of touch as you and your grandmother seem to think.”
“Did you tell Nana what Daddy was planning?”
I can hear Charlotte ripping that charm I gave her back and forth on the chain around her neck. I pray it gives her courage.
“No.”
It hurts that we’ve come to this, but I can’t blame her for growing weary of trying to scale the wall I built.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
There’s a long moment of silence, one I fully understand. Charlotte had only wanted what mothers have wanted since the beginning of time: to spare her child the painful cost of loving someone who does not deserve it. I’d done the same. But in the end, not letting my daughters know of their father’s weaknesses had only hurt them more. I pray Charlotte doesn’t make my mistakes. Twenty-five years can spool past faster than the river at flood stage.
“You deserve a beautiful, stress-free childhood, not an ugly custody battle. And that’s what it will be if I fight him. Your father will drag our current lifestyle before the court and I’ll be forced to drag his past from the shadows.” Charlotte exhales slowly. “I don’t want you to think less of your father...or me, for that matter.”
“You gotta quit treating me like a baby, Mom.”
“You’re right,” Charlotte says. “I know firsthand how scary it is to be kept in the dark. You can start imagining all sorts of reasons why, reasons that just aren’t true.”
I swipe proud, happy tears from my cheeks, grateful for well-grounded maturity the Lord had accomplished in my daughter’s life...in spite of me.
Charlotte clears her throat. “I loved growing up here, Ari.” Her appreciation surprises me. “I have so many wonderful memories.”
“Did you swim in the river?”