His-And-Hers Family

by Winn, Bonnie K.

  He nodded, watching her retreating figure. Swallowing a sip of the tea, he reached for a cookie. After one bite, he was glad he’d reconsidered the coming dinner. If the fried chicken was half as good, he’d be a fool to eat in a restaurant.

  As sunshine streaming through the parted lace curtains warmed him, Blake tried each kind of cookie, then opted for seconds. He hadn’t had time for lunch, and it had clearly been too many hours since his early-morning breakfast.

  For the moment, he was content to unwind in the bizarre room, listening to the quiet noises of the house along with the distinctive clanks from the kitchen that told him dinner was under way. The lace curtains rippled in the breeze, and the chirping music of the birds in the huge oak trees added to the comfortable sounds.

  Blake took a deep breath of the sweet-smelling air that mingled with the distinctive aromas in the room. They were triggering some forgotten memory.... Blake realized suddenly what he’d been smelling. Lemon and beeswax. Everything about the Hawkins house was an anachronism, like a page torn from another time.

  Then the door was pulled open again. This time the footsteps were quieter, gentler. Glancing up, he met a face as inquisitive as his own must be. A young girl, probably thirteen or fourteen years old, stared at him. Apparently, the missing link between the two boys. Then she took a few steps into the room.

  “Hello,” she ventured.

  Blake stood, inclining his head in her direction. “Hello.” Then he saw her tremble, a touch of fear in her eyes. He wondered if he’d caused it. Perhaps she was afraid of strangers.

  “Are you here to see Mama?”

  “In a way. I’m here to rent a room.”

  Relief flashed across her pretty young face. “Oh, good! I mean, it’s nice to meet you, sir.”

  This one, too, had manners. But he wondered what had caused first the fear, then the relief. Knowing how seriously the Hawkins children took their manners, Blake solemnly offered his hand. “I’m Blake Matthews.”

  “And I’m Katherine Ann Hawkins.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. Tell me, Katherine Ann, why do people here go by both their first and middle names?”

  The question didn’t seem to surprise her. “I know in books and on TV most people don’t, but it’s a custom that’s part of our culture. I don’t know how it originated, but it’s a common practice here and in Oklahoma.”

  Blake pushed a hand through his carefully styled hair. The girl talked as though she had swallowed an entire college syllabus. He’d only asked the question to put her at ease. “I see.” Not having any daughters of his own, he wasn’t certain how to talk to a young girl. He didn’t think they were much like the adult variety.

  But Katherine Ann rescued him. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to help my mother with supper.”

  She turned away quickly, a thin slip of a girl, but one who already moved with grace and agility.

  As she left, Jimmy Ray ran down the stairs, then skidded to a quieter pace before entering the living room. Blake hid a grin. At least the boy had some teenage behavior in him.

  “If you’re ready, sir, I’ll show you to your room.”

  “Only temporarily. It’s still yours. How ’bout dropping the sir? Blake or even Mr. Matthews would suit me better.”

  “Yes, s—Mr. Matthews.”

  Blake glanced at the boy curiously. “I didn’t see you come downstairs with anything. You sure you’re ready?”

  “I used the back stairs. It’s closer to the sleeping porch.”

  “Makes sense. I still don’t like putting you out of your room. You’ll miss watching TV and listening to your stereo.”

  For once, Jimmy Ray looked stumped. “The TV’s in the back parlor.” Then he shrugged—an even more typically teenage gesture. “And we don’t have a stereo. Closest thing to music is Mama’s portable radio, and we have to make sure we don’t run down the batteries, in case there’s a storm.”

  Blake thought about his own boys. Their professionally decorated rooms were all equipped with televisions, VCRs, stereos and telephones. And they still complained of boredom. “I’m glad I’m not putting you out of TV, too.”

  Jimmy Ray shrugged again. “I have too much studying, anyway.”

  “Your teacher really poured on the homework?”

  “No, s—Mr. Matthews. I finished that right after school. Mama won’t let us play baseball till we’re done. But I want to put in some time on my SAT prep.”

  Blake raised his brow. “Aren’t you kind of young to worry about your college entrance exams?”

  “The first PSAT, the preliminary one, is next year. To get a scholarship my scores have to be the best.”

  Blake considered this unusual teenager. His own fourteen-year-old felt mistreated because he had to attend his classes. Homework was another battle. Perhaps they were all aliens, after all.

  Jimmy Ray kept up a steady stream of chatter until they reached his room. Simply furnished in heavy, oldish oak, it didn’t resemble the teen rooms he was used to, but Blake could see himself as a kid being happy in a room like this. While the room didn’t have designer bedding, the latest electronics or expensive furniture, its spaciousness more than made up for that. Blake tried to view the room through his own kids’ eyes, but couldn’t. He was pretty sure they would be appalled by its old-fashioned simplicity.

  For a moment, Blake envied this simpler lifestyle. No faxes, no CD players... Then reality struck. He knew he’d be stark raving mad inside of a month. “This is a great room, Jimmy Ray.”

  A touch of pride lined the boy’s face. “I get it because I’m the oldest.”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  Jimmy Ray reverted to his role as man of the house. “Do you want me to get your luggage?”

  Withdrawing his keys from his pocket, Blake tossed them to Jimmy Ray who caught them easily. “Sure. They’re in the trunk. I’ll need my briefcase and computer, too.”

  “Yes, s—Mr. Matthews.”

  Blake heard him bound down the stairs, then moved to the window. A glance outside confirmed what he already knew. A sleepy neighborhood of old homes, rich with greenery that thrived on the high humidity. He wondered what it would be like to grow up here. Deciding it suited Beaver Cleaver more than him, Blake watched as Jimmy Ray seriously went about the task of retrieving the luggage.

  It didn’t take long for the boy to return. Jimmy carefully placed the suitcase in front of the closet, then put the computer and briefcase on the desk.

  Withdrawing his money clip, Blake peeled off two bills. Knowing he was overtipping, but deciding the Hawkinses needed the money, Blake held out two ten-dollar bills.

  But Jimmy Ray didn’t reach for the money. Instead, he stared at it, puzzled. “What’s that for, Mr. Matthews?”

  “For bringing up my luggage.”

  Although Jimmy Ray’s eyes widened, he shook his head. “We don’t charge for that.”

  Blake chuckled. “No, this is a tip. For extra service.”

  Jimmy Ray looked tempted, but he still didn’t reach for the money. His serious blue eyes scarcely wavered. “I don’t think Mama would like me taking money for something I’m supposed to do anyway. I’d better head downstairs. I need to help with supper.”

  “I think Katherine Ann’s helping your mother.”

  “We all have our jobs. With the house full, it’s too much work for Mama.” He hesitated for a moment. “Unless you need something.”

  “No. I can get some work done while dinner’s cooking.”

  Jimmy nodded, then slipped out of the room. In seconds, Blake heard him pounding down the wide, curving staircase.

  Ignoring his suitcase in favor of his computer, Blake took the laptop from its case and looked for the nearest outlet. Then he sighed. It didn’t take an electrical engineer to determine that the ancient wiring in the house wouldn’t accommodate a three-pronged plug.

  Cursing under his breath, Blake wondered where the nearest office supply store was, and whether they had a d
ozen battery packs in stock. Blake shoved a hand through his hair, once again disturbing the carefully cut strands. How had he managed to maroon himself in this time warp? Abandoning the computer, he reached for his briefcase.

  Later, absorbed in his contracts, it took him awhile to realize that someone was knocking on his door. “Come in,” he called out, still distracted.

  “Supper’s ready, Mr. Matthews.”

  Blake tore his eyes from the papers. It was the youngest Hawkins this time. Judging from his expression, which was just short of impish, this one was no doubt the most mischievous of the children. “I’ll be down soon.”

  David John drew white-blond brows together as his face scrunched into a frown. “Mama doesn’t tolerate anybody being late to supper.”

  Blake was tempted to tell the boy that he had paid for a room, not for Cassandra Hawkins’s house rules. A second look at David John’s face changed his mind. It wouldn’t be wise to tell the boy that he planned to ignore Cassie’s rules. No sense inciting insubordination. “Then I guess we’d better go downstairs.”

  The cloud lifted from the boy’s face. “Wait’ll you see what’s for dessert.”

  Blake’s lips curled. “Don’t you think we’d better eat dinner first?”

  David John shrugged. “Sure. Mama’s fried chicken is the best. Won blue ribbons the last three years in a row at the county fair. And we’re having buttermilk biscuits and gravy.”

  His mouth watering, Blake forgot all about cholesterol as he walked downstairs with David John. Entering the dining room, he quickly assessed the other guests. Most appeared to be tourists. He wondered which ones were the regulars. But after another quick study, they all still looked like tourists.

  Since Cassie’s chair was at the head of the table and his own was at the opposite end, he wondered if he’d been given a special honor. She glanced around at the guests, smiling, putting them at ease. Blake watched her, thinking this was like visiting with a favorite relative. Ridiculously, it brought to mind the word cozy.

  Then Cassie folded her hands together. “As most of y’all already know, we begin our supper each evening with a word of prayer, something we like to share with you.” Her smile rested again on the circle of faces sharing her table. Then it zeroed in, focusing on Blake. “And we like to ask our newest guest to lead that prayer. Mr. Matthews, would you do us the honor?”

  Chapter Two

  Feeling like a student caught without his homework, Blake squirmed as he searched his mind for a remnant of a prayer. This shouldn’t be that difficult. They used to say grace in his home.

  Or he could simply refuse. For the price of a room, he wasn’t required to say grace. Still, he mumbled out a few words.

  As soon as the amen was voiced, chattering voices dispelled Blake’s uncharacteristic moment of self-consciousness. The sound also interrupted his reverie as the food was eagerly passed around the table.

  Although the Hawkins’s children dug in enthusiastically, he noted, their table manners were impeccable. And, as the babble of voices rose, competing with the clanking of utensils against dinnerware, Cassie presided serenely. It was almost as though she enjoyed the bustle and controlled chaos. She had a seamless quality to her hosting, efficiently providing newly filled platters and bowls before an item could be missed, yet not missing a beat of the energized conversation.

  The shrill of the telephone could be heard over the noise. Cassie and Katherine Ann rose at the same time. After a look from Cassie, the girl sat back down. It was the first time Blake had seen that particular expression on Cassie’s face. Glancing down the table, he saw that Jimmy Ray’s troubled expression matched his sister’s. Curious now, Blake toyed with a buttermilk biscuit, watching rather than eating.

  It didn’t take long for Cassie to return. Her face was a shade paler than before, her eyes were troubled, and a pinched tightness circled her mouth. Still, she smiled at her guests as she took her chair. Blake suspected he was the only one who noticed the faint trembling of her hands before they disappeared beneath the napkin.

  So everything in the Hawkins house wasn’t a “Leave It to Beaver” rerun. There were troubles here in paradise, after all.

  Cassie reached for the nearly empty biscuit plate. Looking concerned, Jimmy Ray jumped up, picking up the plate before she could. “Let me get it, Mama.”

  She squeezed his hand, then nodded her head.

  Something was definitely going on here.

  It wasn’t any of his business, but the intuitiveness that had propelled him to success in the corporate world had already kicked in. And it was focusing on Cassie Hawkins.

  EVENING SETTLED over the countryside, the Texas sky reaching endlessly, the stars shining brilliantly. It was Cassie’s favorite time of the day, a time to reflect, to gather her defenses. Cicadas and crickets provided a comforting accompaniment to the creaking of the porch swing. Dew settled on the grass, glistening beneath the moonlight. And the familiar scents of honeysuckle and magnolia sweetened the air.

  Still, she wasn’t feeling any peace. This was the town of her birth, and she knew it as well as she knew herself. Each nuance of gossip, each store that lined Main Street, each house that filled her neighborhood.

  Much like her own home.

  It was the only tangible thing she’d gotten from her ill-fated marriage. The house and its furnishings had been in the Hawkins family for generations. Cassie took the responsibility of preserving that heritage very seriously.

  None of it had mattered to her ex-husband, Chuck. He itched to travel beyond the confines of Twin Corners. They’d married so young, too young. The responsibility of a wife and family had terrified Chuck, made that itch grow out of control, until he left.

  Despite the burden he’d dumped on her, both financial and emotional, Cassie wasn’t bitter. They had simply wanted different things. In his own way, Chuck had loved her. At least, he once had. And he’d cared for the children, as well, but not enough to stay and be a father to them. It had been a long time since they heard from him. Child support and alimony were foreign words to him. Despite his grand dreams, he could scarcely take care of himself, much less anyone else.

  But still Cassie felt strongly about the house. In some ways, it no longer seemed to be Chuck’s heritage, but her own. Gently rocking the porch swing, she breathed in the sweet, humid air, watched as the Carstairs, an elderly couple from the neighborhood, strolled down the street. Still hand in hand, she noted with a bittersweet smile. What must it feel like to share a love so enduring?

  Restlessly she shifted in the swing, lifting her face to the.moonlight. What had brought on such unfamiliar musings? The full moon? Or the handsome stranger now occupying her son’s room? Not that a fancy man like that would ever take a second glance at her. And not that she could return that look. Her life was her children. There was no room for anyone else.

  She reached down to pat Gulliver’s head, and he thumped his tail contentedly against the planked wooden floor. The dog had been her companion these past years, the one to whom she confided worries that she couldn’t burden her children with. “Must be too much full moon, Gulliver. Messes with my good sense.”

  “Not so it shows.”

  Cassie whirled toward the sound, nearly tipping herself out of the swing. “Mr. Matthews. You startled me.”

  “Blake.”

  Cassie hoped she hadn’t conjured him up with her restless thoughts. “Running a boardinghouse isn’t always easy. Hard to think of it as business when it’s all in your home. It helps if I can address my guests like they do in regular hotels. Then it seems like a real job.”

  Blake shrugged in the near darkness before moving closer, allowing the moonlight to chase some of the shadows away. “Whatever suits you, Ms. Hawkins.”

  At the moment, she wasn’t sure what that was, and she took refuge in the familiar. “Is the room all right? I know it’s not what you expected. It’s not one fixed up for guests. It’s Jimmy Ray’s room, through and through. And I know
it’s not what you’re used to. I imagine you usually stay in big-city hotels with room service and swimming pools. ’Course, I could take your breakfast up on a tray, if it’d suit you. But my cooking’s pretty plain. No eggs Benedict... but I can whip up some pretty fluffy French toast. As for swimming, the closest thing we’ve got to a pool is the pond down the end of the lane. It’s not really ours, but Mr. Jenks doesn’t care that we swim there. He’s too old to go swimming anymore, and—”

  Blake’s low chuckle stopped the flow of words.

  “Did I say something funny?” she asked, all too conscious that she didn’t know how to act with someone this sophisticated.

  “No, I just never heard anybody talk that long without taking a breath.”

  Cassie clasped her hands together, knowing her chatter was a habit that increased with nerves. She was glad of the darkness that hid the sudden warmth in her cheeks. He must think she was a fool. “I’m sure you haven’t.”

  “I didn’t mean that unkindly. No guarding each carefully chosen word, or gauging its effect. It’s refreshing.” He propped one long leg against the railing, pulling the material of his fine slacks taut. Apparently, there was muscle beneath that smooth exterior. Plenty of muscle.

  Cassie tore her eyes away, then searched his expression suspiciously, but saw only relaxed amusement, no cynicism. “No offense taken. I do speak my mind.” She gestured to indicate the wide, quiet street, the soft glow of lights in neighboring homes. “Not much point trying to hide anything. Here everybody knows your secrets. Pretending they don’t exist wouldn’t last the blink of a firefly.”

  “Firefly? Are there still fireflies? I thought they’d disappeared after civilization crowded them out.”

  “Not here. Guess there’s not that much civilization.”

  “Or too many people, you mean. Like in L.A.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. I’ve never been to California.”