Ginger leveled a serious gaze at me. “We need to do some cleaning. Sarah’s mother does it every year before Thanksgiving, and it’s nice.”
“Does she?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. I glanced at Dawson to see he shared my puzzlement.
“Would you like to help, Mari?” the girl asked.
I coughed to cover a laugh. “I would, baby, but I think you’ve got it under control. Besides, the house doesn’t need a lot of cleaning anyway.”
Dawson shrugged and bent to pick up a t-shirt, probably collected from another room, and put it in the laundry hamper. “Then will you just watch, Mari?”
This time, I threw my head back and laughed. “Sorry, sweetie, I have to go shopping. Again. I came to ask if you’d like to come, too, but I see that…”
“Oh, we’re coming!” Dawson shouted, interrupting my assumed rejection. “Isn’t that right, Ginger? Shopping for the perfect Thanksgiving dinner.”
She scrunched her nose, obviously torn between choices of entertaining activities. But finally, she said, “Okay. Do you have a shopping list?”
“I know what I’m going to buy, baby.”
“But you need a shopping list!” she insisted. “Or you’ll forget the most important thing, like Daddy always does.”
“Is that so?” I gave Dawson a meaningful look, amused by Ginger’s bossiness. I had to give it to her – she was right. “You are a very organized girl. Shall we make a list together, then? I still need the ingredients for your cranberry sauce anyway.”
“Of course you do. Let’s do it.” She led the way with a determinate march that would make the Third Reich jealous. “Daddy, can you show Mari the recipe? It’ll make it easier to make the list.”
The syntax was a question, but Ginger’s tone was commanding. Dawson was already searching for the recorded cooking show as I grabbed a pen and notebook, waiting patiently. “Shall we?” he asked, sitting beside me. Ginger sat at the head of the table, supervising the procedure.
“We shall.”
I turned to face the TV. The operation went smoothly, and I jotted down what I needed, after which we came up with suggestions for the rest of the meal. Ginger asked a thousand questions, many on subjects she still knew nothing about, and I felt like I was back in class, something that apparently amused Dawson greatly. I threw a couple of side glances at him, but all went well, and we were soon the proud owners of a hefty shopping list.
“Are we done?” Dawson ran an impatient hand through his hair.
“It only took half an hour!” I joked, standing to stretch.
“’It was only half an hour,’” he mocked.
“Can we go now?” Ginger called, already standing by the front door.
I nodded. “Come on, Mr. Dawson. Time to shop.”
He made a face but complied in silence. Outside, he ran to my car, shouting, “I’m driving!”
Giggling, I threw him the keys and settled Ginger in the back. By the time I took my seat, he had the engine rumbling, eager to be useful. He hadn’t been much help in determining whether to use mandarins or blood oranges. “Where to?”
I looked at him like he asked if we could fly to another planet. “Um, to the supermarket.”
He pouted his lower lip but drove off.
“Can I play a game on your phone, Daddy?” Ginger asked.
“Sure,” he told her. He gave me his phone, and I turned to pass it to Ginger. “Doesn’t she have a phone?” I whispered as she searched dozens of apps.
“No, her phone only accepts calls. No games, no apps. And she only has my number to call. Speed dial 1.” He winked, and I, once again, saw the responsible father. Absently, I reached for the dial to turn on the radio, in the mood for music. But it seemed Dawson had other ideas. “Why haven’t I heard of this mysterious sister before?” he asked.
I pulled back from the radio and frowned. “Because we don’t see each other very often. We have an annual tradition on Thanksgiving, and that’s about it. Sometimes she calls, maybe a couple times a year.”
“Why don’t you call her?” he suggested. Or maybe he was digging.
I stared out the window. “She’s a bit wild. Always traveling and changing numbers. Last time I heard from my baby sister, she was working at a casino in Vegas and living with an indie metal band. And she had a motorcycle.”
“She sounds interesting.” He was banking on the bike.
I dashed his hopes. “She can’t ride a motorcycle.”
A moment passed, and we both laughed. “Why did she get it?”
“She said she liked how it looked. And she’d just won a small fortune playing slots.”
“Aren’t casino employees prohibited from playing?” he asked suspiciously.
I nodded, smiling reluctantly. “That’s why she got fired the next day.”
“Now, I’m definitely interested,” he teased.
I scoffed. “What am I, chopped liver? Am I that boring?”
“Not at all. But you have to admit, you’re a good girl.”
I didn’t know quite what to think. Was he just teasing, or did he really have a problem with that? “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” I crossed my arms, a bit injured at his words.
But he reached out a hand to caress my cheek. “No, a good girl is exactly what I need.”
His low tone and husky voice made the butterflies in my stomach rise and flutter in a wicked dance, and I felt my cheeks flush. After a moment of silence, I said, “I think you’ll like her.”
“I’m sure I will. I trust your instincts, babe. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” The conversation trailed off, and I started to relax. But after a while, he asked, “What about your parents? Are they coming?”
I cleared my throat. “My parents are dead.”
He frowned, and I saw the regret in his eyes for asking. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I shrugged. “It’s not that bad. My mother had cancer, and it was a long illness. She died when I was eighteen, and we all expected it. I was there, and it was peaceful.” I felt his eyes on me, but I kept looking out the window. My past didn’t have a lot of drama, but it still hurt not having my mother. And as well as I held to my promise to respect her wishes and not be sad, I still had moments of tears about those times and felt like they wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want a moment like that now, so I kept my words short.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, resting his hand on my thigh. I thanked him silently, covering it with mine. He squeezed my fingers, the gesture warm and comforting.
I cleared my throat and continued, “My father died last year of a stroke. He was much older than my mother and struggled with his blood pressure all his life. And he loved his bacon.” I tried to be flippant. He said nothing, just squeezed tighter, and I added, “That was the last time I saw my sister.”
“Is that so?”
I nodded. “I think she takes after our father.”
He tilted his head in question. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, for starters, she loves her bacon, too.” He glanced at me, gauging my mood. I smiled, and so he chuckled. More seriously, I added, “He was a free spirit, an artist. And my sister…”
“Is just as interesting,” he finished for me as he pulled into the supermarket parking lot.
I watched Dawson maneuver my car into the only spot available – a tiny one – and I got out. The chill in the air settled me. I needed to get back into character. Ginger wouldn’t like it if I lagged behind, lost in thought and moody. I helped her out with a grin and checked her jacket, making sure it was straight. “Shall we?” I asked, holding my hand out to her.
She took it. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Between tidying, prepping ingredients, defrosting turkey, and taking care of other menial chores I suddenly felt were necessities, I was so busy I didn’t notice the hours passing. I barely had time to breathe, and I was shocked to see the clock had slipped from morning to afternoon.
“What have I
done all week?” I asked myself aloud. How had I managed to end up doing everything on Thanksgiving day? I shook my head, wiping the already clean counter.
“Hello? Anybody home?” I heard Dawson call from the entry.
“Don’t be silly, Daddy. Of course Mari’s home,” came Ginger’s typical voice of reason.
I was laughing by the time they reached the kitchen. “You two should do a comedy show together,” I suggested, turning a cheek for Dawson to kiss.
He shook his head. “I get stage fright.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Really?” It seemed highly unlikely to me.
“I haven’t been on stage since an incident in first grade,” he confided. He made himself comfortable, fumbling with the French press.
I gasped. “Oh, God! I forgot coffee!” I felt like the day would be totally ruined.
“I’m making some. Want a cup?” Dawson pretended not to notice my freak out. I exhaled some tension and understood he stayed calm to calm me down as he said, “Why don’t you sit down and have some coffee, baby?” He took my hand and let me to a barstool, and Ginger eyed me with interest.
“You look tired, Mari. Didn’t you sleep?”
“I did, but not very well,” I admitted.
“Why? There’s lots of work to do today.” She was confused.
“I know, but that’s part of why I didn’t sleep good,” I told her.
“Like you were nervous?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
She came over, and I bent to kiss her. She told me matter-of-factly, “Well, you shouldn’t be. When is your sister coming?”
I gasped again. Another fail. “I completely forgot!”
“What?” Dawson asked as he poured the aromatic coffee into matching cups.
“My sister! She texted me her flight info, and her plane gets in this afternoon. What time is it?” I couldn’t see the clock from where I sat but I prayed that I still had time to make it.
“It’s 3:15,” he called.
“Oh, God, she lands in an hour.” I jumped to my feet and started pacing. “Oh, my God! I still have to season the turkey and put it in the oven. And I have to cut the apples for the stuffing. The pumpkin pies have to come out of the fridge. There’s no way I can do all that before I leave!” I looked down at myself and groaned. “I have to change, too, and I’ll need a shower when I get back.”
“Baby?” Dawson’s gentle voice cut through my manic episode, and I realized I’d practically worn a path in the carpet as I ticked off tasks on my fingers.
“What?” I asked, feeling defeated.
“Go change, and I’ll pour your coffee in a thermos. I can season the turkey and cut apples. And Ginger can help. Isn’t that right, baby?”
The girl smiled. “Uh-huh.”
Dawson offered me an encouraging nod. “You can leave for the airport now. How does that sound?”
I could have cried with my relief. “Thank you, Dawson,” I called over my shoulder, running to my room. I should have kissed him first, but I was already struggling with a purple sweater and knew I was in a race against time. I would have run to the kitchen half dressed and hopping into my pants, but I remembered Ginger and finished buttoning my jeans first. I pulled on socks and tied my hair back, and I stopped in the kitchen on the way to grab my purse. I hugged the thermos Dawson handed me, and I pushed up on my toes to kiss him.
Then, I flew out the door and was headed down the road. “Oh, shit! I forgot to tell him how the oven works,” I cursed, wincing. I squeezed the steering wheel and fought the initial urge to turn around for a full technical presentation. “He’ll figure it out,” I told myself, repeating it a couple of times for reassurance.
Halfway through the drive, my shoulders started to relax. I looked to my right and saw the coffee thermos. “Hallelujah!” I whispered, reaching for my salvation in a cup. I needed to calm my nerves before meeting my sister. Her energy was enough to handle, so I breathed in and out rhythmically, sipping the coffee every three breaths as I focused on the road. As the airport loomed in the distance, I was as calm as I could get under the circumstances. I noticed my hands shaking and decided to lay off the coffee.
I checked my wristwatch as I finally stepped out of the car and felt a bit lightheaded from too many deep breaths. I grew agitated as I counted only ten minutes before the plane touched down. “Breathe,” I encouraged myself, “but not too deep.” I raced through throngs of people arriving for Thanksgiving and ran, tunnel vision coming on like a superpower. I managed to zigzag around people I didn’t truly see without bumping into anyone. It took about five minutes to reach the designated baggage claim area, and I leaned against the wall, trying to control the burning sensation in my lungs. It was harder than it sounded.
I was still looking down with my eyes closed, trying to breathe evenly, when a set of arms pulled me away from the wall and wrapped around me tightly. I almost kicked the person until I smelled my sister’s familiar perfume. She still rubbed some scented dry oil on her skin, giving the illusion of a natural scent of rose and lime.
“Mari! What on earth are you doing?” she asked with a bright smile.
“Catching my breath,” I admitted, ashamed.
“And people think you’re the organized one?” Georgie teased. I had to admit, despite being wild and adventurous; she was the most punctual person I knew. It was a trait of Georgie's that you could always depend on, if nothing else.
“How have you been?” I eyed the bags around her in amazement. “God, that’s a lot of luggage.” I reached to help with the loaded trolley, but she slapped my hand away.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry, I’ve been into sports lately. I can handle it.”
“Oh? Sports?” My incredulity must’ve been written all over my face because she looked offended and then laughed riotously. I shook my head. “I’ve missed you.” I hugged her tightly.
“That came out of nowhere.”
“I’m serious,” I insisted as we started walking. “How have you been?”
“I’m fine. Got this awesome job, been training a little with this guy I met a while ago. Things are great. What can I say? But who cares about me? I want to know about your Mystery Man.”
“You’ll see. You’ll meet them when we get to my house.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Them? Are you a closet naughty girl?”
“What?” Then, I realized what I said…and what I hadn’t told Georgie yet. “Oh, no, he has a daughter.”
She frowned. “How old?”
“Five. She’s one of my students.”
“Oh, Mari! You are a naughty girl!” she teased, her laughter so loud and contagious that people turned to stare.
I walked ahead of her, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Before Georgie could say anything, my phone rang. I was literally saved by the bell. “Hey, Dawson.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked. I heard water running in the background.
“Yeah, I’m with my sister now. We’re heading home.”
“Okay, good. I thought I’d keep you updated with the preparation here. The turkey’s roasting, and I have a surprise for you. Rather, we have a surprise.”
“Please tell me you haven’t burned down my house,” I joked, though I considered the possibility.
“Woah! Are you psychic?” he asked.
“What? Stop it, Dawson!” My heart raced, and it took several attempts to unlock the car.
He laughed before reassuring me. “Don’t worry, everything is fine. I said a surprise, not a catastrophe.”
“That would constitute a surprise, too.”
“Do I put the bags in the trunk?” my sister asked.
I turned and nodded.
“Is that your sister?” Dawson asked.
Two conversations. Great. “Yep.”
“She sounds so much different than you,” he commented.
“Is that good or bad, I wonder?” I eyed Georgie as she threw her bags on top of each other with no reg
ard to contents or space management. “I have to go. I need to teach my sister to load the trunk. I’ll see you at home.” I hung up.
Georgie rolled her eyes at me and stepped back.
“What? There’s not enough room in my trunk,” I said defensively. I took everything out and played Tetris, loading it so that I didn’t need to jump on the lid to make it latch. Georgie was already belted into the passenger seat, searching for a radio station. I climbed in. “Let’s go home.”
HAWK: The Caged Kings MC Page 35