by Tina Ness
When we reach my car, he opens up my hand. My keychain with some added bulk drops into my hands. I look up at him.
“What’s this?” I point to the small, unfamiliar remote.
“Happy Birthday, Beth. Better late than never, right?” He leans in, kissing me on the forehead. “I called Roger early this morning for an upgrade… press the orange button twice.”
I do, and my car fires up.
“This winter, you won’t need to get into a cold car. Everyone who lives in Minnesota should have one of these babies.” He has me press it twice again, and the engine shuts off. “Now for the most important part of this little bugger. Hold down the red button,” he instructs.
My car goes off like there’s a national emergency. Lights blink, and a siren screams. Anyone within a two-mile radius would stop and look. It’s utterly obnoxious. I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. I hold down the red button again, hoping the neighbors don’t come out of their homes with bats in their hands, ready to defend the neighborhood. The look on my face has him laughing so hard that he folds at the waist to brace his hands on the tops of his knees. I can’t help but join him.
“What the hell, Marshall?” I continue to laugh.
He’s still cracking up to the point that a few tears have rolled down his cheeks. “That look on your face when the alarm went off was priceless.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I’m sure your neighbors will be mighty pleased with you too.” I shake my head at him with a cheesy grin plastered on my face.
We both look over as his neighbor’s door slams shut. There stands an elderly man with his arms crossed.
Marshall waves at him. “Sorry, Arthur,” he yells.
The elderly man lights up when he realizes its Marshall, just like everyone else seems to light up when they see him. He waves back and turns back inside.
I look again at the remote in my hand, and he takes my hand in his.
“It’s a panic button, Beth. If you’re ever in trouble, you can just press the red button, and no one in their right mind will come anywhere near you with that racket.” He takes the keys from me and presses the unlock button.
I round the car to take a seat on the driver’s side while he takes a seat on the passenger’s side. His tall frame takes up every inch of available leg room. Our eyes lock on the place where the bloody fingerprint stain was before either of us inspects the rest of the interior. I swear my car is cleaner than it was when I bought it. Even the stain on the passenger’s side floor—from when I’d spilled my coffee while flailing my arms one morning, belting out one of my favorite songs—is gone. I’d even bought a spot remover to try to get that one out.
“Wow, Marshall, it looks new. This is all really thoughtful of you.” I touch his arm. My eyes will him to kiss me.
He leans over the console, placing a warm hand on my neck. “I’m pleased you like it.” With that, his mouth captures mine, so tenderly that if it were humanly possible to melt, I would. It’s almost like I can feel what he is feeling as our lips softly dance to the rhythm of a symphony he is conducting, music that is more beautiful than anything these ears have ever heard.
“Beth,” he says, his lips lingering on mine. “You mean so much to me. I …”
Please say it. Please utter those three words to me. Say those three words that could change my world forever. This is the man whose love is all I’ve ever wanted from the moment I laid eyes on him.
I lean back to find his eyes and see what reads on those denim blues. First I notice passion in them, but as fast as I can register it, they turn dark with pain as his hand leaves my neck and he sits back.
“You deserve to be treated well, Beth.” His voice is low and strained.
Where on earth did he go just now? I exit the car with determination to soften his mood. Right now I just need to focus on getting ready to meet his family. “Tomorrow,” I vow silently, “we will talk.”
I meet him on the other side and I squeeze him tight. “You’re spoiling me,” I whisper.
“You deserve to be spoiled.”
“Hmm,” I say with a sly grin, biting at my lip for good measure. “I sure hope you plan on spoiling me some more tonight.”
“Now’s as good a time as any,” he says as the light reappears in his eyes as he scoops me up to carry me into the house.
“Down boy. I’m afraid you will have to wait. I hardly have enough time to get ready.”
He sets me down with a puppy dog face. I just love that I have the ability to turn his mood.
Alright, so I cave. A quickie it shall be.
***
We pull up to a spectacular home with a brick driveway that alone must have cost more than my townhouse. There’s a traditional front porch with pillars, a landscaped lawn that would have my father swooning, and cedar shake siding with rich mahogany trim and stunning stone accents. My nerves are in overdrive as Marshall steps out and comes to my door, taking my hand as I step down from the truck. He offers me his arm in true gentlemanly Marshall fashion. When we get to the front door, he stops and turns to me.
“Beth, my family is going to love you.”
I offer him a smile, but inside, I’m screaming, What the hell were you thinking agreeing to this?
Marshall turns the knob, and we enter the foyer onto a large wool rug. The room feels surprisingly warm, even with the high ceilings and tile floors. A dramatic, eye-catching oil-rubbed bronze chandelier with glass crystals hangs above our heads. The sand-colored wall along a monstrous set of stairs is littered with family photos I can’t wait to have a peek at.
“They’re here,” calls out an older, equally handsome version of Marshall with salt-and-pepper hair as he comes into the foyer. His smooth stride reminds me of Marshall’s, as does his posture that practically bellows self-confidence, a confidence that rarely wavers and makes most everyone clamber at a chance for their friendship.
Before Marshall can even introduce me, the two little blond girls from the picture hung on Marshall’s staircase—only they now appear to be a few years older—run out and latch themselves to his legs. His face lights up just like in the picture.
“Hey, it’s Bob and George,” Marshall says, causing the two girls to giggle uncontrollably.
“Marshall, you know that’s not our names,” says the older one.
“Yeah, Uncle Marshall,” squeals the other.
He bends down and grabs them up in a hug. “I’ve missed my beautiful girls.”
Both girls wrap their arms around his neck, and he stands.
I nearly laugh at myself as I recall the first time I’d heard him say those words and how totally wrong I was about him.
“I have someone I want you to meet, girls. This is Elizabeth.” He comes to stand before me, and the girls nuzzle into his neck. “Beth, this is Emma and Kayla, Aubrey’s girls.”
The older one, who must be Emma, looks up at him with a sour expression. “I thought you said her name was Elizabeth?”
Marshall laughs. “Well, it is, but I call her Beth.”
“You can call me Elizabeth or Beth. Some people even call me Liz or Lizzie.”
Both girls look mildly stunned. “Boy, you have a lot of names,” Kayla chimes in.
“Take your pick. You can call me any one of them, or even Bob or George if you really want.” I wink and grin at Marshall, who is beaming. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of father this man would be. I do my best to hide the awe I’m feeling.
Both girls giggle as Marshall sets them down, and I know I have scored a few points by the way all three of them smile at me.
“I’ll call you Lizzie,” says Emma.
“Me too,” Kayla eagerly adds.
“Beth, this is my father, Kenneth.”
“Please call me Ken.” He extends his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth.”
I grab his hand firmly in respect. Nothing is worse than a limp handshake. I would rather have someone hurt my hand than put a de
ad fish in it. I get the sense Ken approves of the firm shake as well.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ken.”
I wore my hair down so I could cover up the faint bruising and cut that still exist along my hairline. My lip had thankfully healed fast, and any trace of it was easily covered with makeup, but I still can’t help but worry they may notice. What would they think of me? Will they compare me to his deceased wife, Sarah? Had they loved her like their own? Could they possibly ever love me?
Before I know it, a cluster of family members round the corner to meet me: Aubrey, Eva, his brothers-in-law, Maureen, and Eva’s little boy, Dustin. They welcome me with open arms, the way my family would have, and it feels immediately comfortable, like Marshall made me feel on our first date and every date since.
After introductions, Marshall leads me around for a tour of what he tells me was his childhood home since he was five. After his dad and Maureen had married, they’d bought the house together—a mansion compared to my childhood home. I try to look at all the pictures along the stairway as I pass, but Marshall’s hand on my back has us moving swiftly. I don’t see many of them—wedding pictures, baby pictures, and school pictures from what I can tell—but as fast as we move past, I can’t even look to see if any pictures of him and Sarah are in the mix. I can’t help but be curious about how she looked and what she was like. I’m only human.
After our tour of bedrooms, most of which appear to have been turned more into rooms for the grandkids, we head into the kitchen. The kitchen opens up into the living room and dining room, where dinner is ready and on display on the most perfectly set table I’ve ever seen. Layers of summer-colored linen tablecloths are set out in a staggered design. The table’s centerpiece is a decorative greenhouse filled with three candles and laced with a variety of red, green, purple, and orange flowers. Cloth napkins are wrapped in raffia at each place setting, and a nametag written in lovely calligraphy on a paper flower is tied, also in raffia, to the stem of each wine glass.
I do my best to not let the shock and awe show on my face as I take my place between Marshall and Eva. Dustin is on Eva’s lap and grabbing everything on the table he can get his hands on. He must be about two, I’d guess.
Marshall’s stepmom went all out to have us for dinner. Is all the fuss for my benefit, or is this just how they do things around here?
I’m startled as Aubrey speaks up. “So, Elizabeth, Marshall tells us you’re an interior designer.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Our mother here was all worried about how the house looks. As you can see, she had nothing to worry about,” Eva says while continuing her wrestling match with Dustin, who now has a roll in one hand and a spoon in the other, ready to dig in to his soup.
“This house, this table,” I say, motioning to the centerpiece, “are absolutely stunning. I could learn a thing or two from you, Maureen.”
Marshall places a hand on my thigh and leans in closer. “Beth here has fabulous taste.”
Marshall’s sisters gag playfully.
“What? I wasn’t implying that it was me she has good taste in, but she did kind of get that one right.” He laughs.
“Jury is still out on that one,” I say with a smile.
“Wow, Marshall. Looks like you’ve met your match with this one,” Ken adds before sipping his wine.
“I most certainly have.” Marshall’s hand squeezes my thigh. It’s more of an endearing gesture than a sexual one, but it turns me on as much as if he’d just rubbed the warmth beneath the zipper of my jeans. I’m temporarily speechless and blushing for his whole family to see.
“Marshall also told us that your family is really close and that you’re a twin.” Maureen’s eyes sparkle as she speaks. She is a stunning woman with her flawless skin, pale brown eyes, and rich chestnut-brown hair. This family seems very intrigued by the fact that my family is close.
“Well, Maureen, it seems that you’re at an advantage. Marshall hasn’t given me much insight into your family.” I shoot him a sideways glance, knowing I’m totally throwing him under the bus. “Yes, my family is pretty close. It appears this family is quite close as well.”
Ken beams as he speaks. “Well, it wasn’t always so, but yes, we have come a long way, and I have much pride in our family.”
I can’t help but notice that Aubrey has looked at her phone for the second time since we sat down, her brow furrowing each time. I do my best to bring my attention to my dinner instead.
I take a few bites of my salad, hoping Ken will go on, but I am not going to be nosy. I can only hope Marshall will feel he can talk freely with me. He had been adamant about the past being the past, at least as far as relationships are concerned, and I can’t help but wonder what this family has been through.
Clearly, Marshall and his sisters learned to cook from his stepmom, because every bite of food these women prepared is sinfully delicious. We started with a cold cucumber soup, which was a first for me and I find I love, followed by steak bites with a spicy cream sauce, eggplant primavera and amazing sourdough bread with garlic butter. Marshall’s passion for a good drink no doubt comes from his dad. He mixes us a few of the best and most unique martinis. The first one is pink with hints of coconut and lime, complete with a cherry on a cocktail spear. The second one is served with our dessert—an espresso martini. Dessert is a decadent tiramisu with decorative ribbons of dark chocolate on top; it just might be the best dessert I’ve ever had.
The backyard is landscaped to perfection: stone patio, flagstone pathway, colorful plush patio furniture in burnt orange, manicured hedges, and even a small waterfall running into a pond with a small footbridge. The bridge leads to a lower level of grass, where the guys are setting up the fireworks display. Nearby, neighbors are positioning chairs and blankets in their backyards, getting ready for the show. They apparently know something I don’t. Marshall must have left out how big a deal his family’s fireworks are.
Marshall went to go prepare the fireworks with the guys, leaving me with his sisters, while Maureen has taken the kiddos to go chat with some of the neighbors. I take a seat on one of the blankets that were laid out in the grass along with a few oversized pillows. Eva and Aubrey have a seat on the blanket next to mine.
“This firework show must be a pretty big deal,” I offer, to start our conversation.
Eva replies, “Yeah, the boys take their fireworks pretty seriously.”
Aubrey once again looks down at her phone before she changes her position from seated to lying on her side resting her head on her hand while her other hand twirls the fringe of the blanket. Is this woman always so attached to her phone?
I look away from Aubrey, who seems less than present, and over at Eva. “Marshall sure loves those kids.”
“He sure does. And they all just adore him.” Eva says.
“We need some tunes,” says Aubrey as she pops up to her feet and heads to the house. I wonder if Aubrey’s apparent fidgetiness is normal behavior. She seems miles away from the polite, put-together beautiful woman I’d met at the hotel.
Eva looks back at Aubrey before she speaks. “Marshall makes sure that the two weeks he takes them every summer are unforgettable, and believe me, they don’t forget any of it. I think he’s still trying to make up for everything that happened.”
Eva looks at me and quickly realizes this is news to me. “Oh no. Marshall didn’t tell you? It must be part of his whole ‘the past is the past and should stay there’ theory.”
The sting of betrayal gnaws at my throat. What things has he kept from me? Do I even know anything about his history other than the fact that he lost his wife?
“Um, no he didn’t. He hasn’t shared much with me apparently. What happened?” I don’t even care that I’m being nosey—I just need to know more. I hope his dear sister doesn’t hold back.
“Aubrey has had some rough times, and, well… I’ve already said too much. You will need to ask Marshall about that mess.”
I turn my eyes o
ut to the field where the guys are setting up for the fireworks show. It’s getting dark, but I can still see them. I watch as he pats his dad on the back, then turns toward me, giving me one of his sexy smiles. I don’t feel like smiling at this moment, but I paint one on, thankful for our distance.
Aubrey comes back with the speaker blaring, and I’m grateful to not have to talk for a little bit, while I process this news. Marshall told me I could ask him anything I wanted, but how on earth would I have known what questions to ask him? How can he think his past isn’t important—just something to forget? Is it the pain he is hiding from? Aren’t I doing the same thing by keeping my fears from him and using him as my escape from reality? What I’m doing might just be worse than keeping the past in the past.
Chapter 27
When it’s time for the fireworks to begin, Maureen and the kids come back. Dustin hops onto Eva’s lap, and, much to my surprise, the girls take a seat by me. Aubrey has once again disappeared into the house. I find it strange that she doesn’t choose to stay here and be by her daughters, and I can tell by the looks on Maureen’s and Eva’s faces that they don’t approve, either.
The fireworks are seriously just as good as any I’ve seen in Duluth. The Rodericks must have some pretty impressive contacts to get a permit for this big a display. Every color imaginable lights up the night sky. The girls are so thrilled every time they see purple, so we turn it into a color game—with blue we frown, which turned into a giggle every time; with yellow we would clap; with green we had to rub the grass; with pink we stuck out our tongues, which also turned to laughter; and purple was a dance. I was having fun, but frequently when the fireworks lit off, I could see Marshall illuminated by the brilliant display and the fear of losing him would surface. I can’t help but feel that the two of us are dooming any possible future while we protect ourselves from the things that hurt us most. The topics we have both been avoiding need to be addressed, and soon, or we just may lose any chance we have for a future together.