by Pamela Bauer
“Dylan! Over here!”
At the sound of the man’s voice, he turned and saw his brother Shane standing off to one side of the arrival gate. If there was one person Dylan hadn’t expected to see at the airport it was Shane, not after the sharp words they’d exchanged the last time they’d been together.
Dylan knew that the grief over their father’s death and the stress of the funeral were partly to blame for the tension that had existed between them after their father’s death. He also knew that not all of the blame could be assigned to the difficult circumstances.
Of the four brothers, Dylan and Shane had always had the most tumultuous relationship. Being only eleven months apart, they’d been extremely competitive and had often found themselves at odds with each other. Whatever Dylan had done well, Shane had always wanted to do better.
It was a rivalry their mother had done her best to discourage, often telling the two boys they were supposed to support, not fight, each other. She was the peacemaker of the family, forever assuring them that one day they would be the best of friends.
Their father, though, hadn’t seen anything wrong with their relationship. He believed it was healthy for the two of them to challenge each other.
Dylan wondered if that wasn’t the reason Shane had reacted the way he had at the time of his father’s death. When Dylan had tried to make decisions on behalf of the family, Shane had challenged his right to assume that responsibility. The friendship their mother had promised they’d have was nowhere to be found. He’d wondered then if she’d been wrong. Maybe they would never be friends.
When his brother greeted him with a smile, he had reason to hope they could.
“Welcome home, Dylan. How’s the shoulder?” Shane asked, sounding more like the kid who had played catch with him in the backyard than the man who’d confronted him in anger at their father’s funeral.
“Garret tells me it’ll be fine in a few weeks. It’s good to see you, Shane,” he said, realizing that it was the truth. He had missed his brother.
“You look good. Your hair’s lighter,” Shane noted.
Automatically Dylan ran a hand through his hair. “That’s from working in the sun. I’m surprised to see you here. I thought Mom was picking me up.”
“She wanted to, but when your flight was delayed I offered to come so she wouldn’t have to miss her class.” Before Dylan could ask him what class, Shane looked to his right and said, “Mickey. Come say hello to your uncle.”
It was then that Dylan realized that his brother wasn’t alone. Standing only a few feet away, watching the airplanes taxi across the runway, was a small boy who looked like a miniature Shane. At the sound of his father’s voice, he came running toward them.
“Remember Mickey?” Shane asked Dylan as the boy barreled into his legs.
“That’s the baby?” Dylan stared at him in astonishment.
“I’m not a baby. I’m four,” Mickey declared, holding up four fingers.
“Mickey, say hello to your uncle,” Shane ordered.
“Hi, Uncle Dylan.”
Dylan stooped so that he was eye level with his nephew. “Hey, Mickey. How’s it going? Can you give me five?” He held out his hand and the four-year-old smacked it in delight.
“We saw your plane come down. It went really fast.” His eyes widened at the memory. He glanced toward the window and said, “Look! There goes another one!”
Dylan watched him scramble over to press his face against the glass. “I can’t get over how much he’s changed.”
“Yeah, well, kids grow up fast and it has been over two years since you were home,” his brother reminded him, in a tone that held more than a hint of admonishment.
Dylan fought the temptation to defend himself, knowing it would only add tension to their conversation. He said simply, “He’s a good-looking kid.”
Shane nodded, then extended his hand toward his son. “Come on, Mickey. We need to get Uncle Dylan’s luggage. Do you have your mittens?”
“They’re in my pockets.”
Shane looked at Dylan’s short-sleeved shirt. “I don’t suppose you own any winter clothes.”
“It seldom goes below seventy-two in Saint Martin,” he said with a half smile.
“You can probably buy a parka in one of the shops here at the airport. They’ve practically made this place into a shopping mall.”
Dylan gave his brother’s shoulder a playful punch. “You’re dealing with an ex Boy Scout. Remember our motto? Be Prepared.” He grinned. “I have a leather jacket in one of my suitcases.”
“Then we better go.” He looked down at Mickey. “Take my hand so you don’t get lost,” he instructed as they merged into the crush of people heading toward the baggage claim area.
The four-year-old not only grabbed on to his father, but Dylan as well. His tiny hand felt soft against Dylan’s palm. As they walked through the crowded concourse, Dylan thought about how familiar yet how strange he felt walking alongside Shane and Mickey. Looking at his brother, he felt that thirteen years hadn’t passed, yet all he had to do was look at his nephew to realize how much everything had changed.
Feeling the need to make small talk, Dylan asked, “How have things been going for you?”
“Not bad,” Shane responded.
“How’s Jennifer?”
“She’s good. You’ll see for yourself. She’s at the house with the rest of the women. Maddie’s doing her thing.”
Maddie. There was that name again. Whenever Dylan had spoken to his mother in the past two years, that name had crept into the conversation. Even Garret had mentioned her when he’d called.
He had to ask, “Who’s Maddie? One of the college students living with Mom?”
“She lives with Mom but she’s not in college. You’ve met her…Maddie Lamont. She came and stayed with us one summer. Long hair pulled back in one of those big clips, glasses, real skinny.”
“Are you talking about that scrawny little Madeline from North Dakota? The one who was always dancing even when there wasn’t any music playing?”
“Yeah, only she goes by Maddie now.”
“She showed me how to dance. Want to see?” Mickey dropped both hands and began to wiggle.
“Not now, Mick. We’re in the middle of traffic,” Shane said, grabbing his hand and getting them moving again.
“She was a couple of years younger than I was so she must be what…late twenties?” Dylan tried to remember the summer she’d stayed with them.
Shane shrugged. “Somewhere around there.”
They passed another set of windows and Mickey said, “Oh-oh. It’s snowing again.”
Dylan asked, “You like the snow, Mickey?”
“Yeah, but Daddy’s gonna get crabby because he hates driving when it’s snowin’ out.”
Shane met Dylan’s glance. “The roads are actually in pretty good shape considering the storm that passed through here.”
Feeling as if he’d imposed on his brother, Dylan said, “You didn’t have to come get me. I could have taken a taxi to Mom’s.”
“If Mom had thought you were taking a taxi, she would have changed her plans and come and picked you up herself.”
Again Dylan wondered about those plans, but before he could ask, Mickey announced in an urgent tone, “Daddy, I have to go to the baffroom.”
They had reached the baggage claim area and Shane turned to Dylan. “Why don’t you find your luggage and I’ll meet you back here after I’ve taken him to the men’s room?”
Dylan nodded just as an alarm sounded indicating the bags would soon be tumbling down the conveyor belt. As he watched a steady stream of suitcases go by, his thoughts wandered back to that summer when Madeline Lamont had shown up at the house.
He remembered his mother giving him and his brothers orders that they were to treat her as if she were their sister. Dylan knew it was a warning not to think of her as a possible girlfriend—as if he, a senior in high school, would ever consider dating a freshman.
Once he’d seen what she looked like, he knew there was little chance of his being tempted to regard her as anything but a friend of the family’s. Shane was right. She’d been as thin as a post and about as shapeless. She’d looked to be all arms and legs as she twirled and spun her way through the house.
As he hoisted his luggage from the carousel, he remembered something else about her, too. She was smart. She could beat Garret at chess—something neither he nor Shane had been able to accomplish. And when his mother had trouble doing the crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper, Madeline was the one she’d ask for help.
Skinny, smart, shy Madeline.
She’d never been particularly friendly toward him. Actually, when he thought about it, she’d treated him with a disdain he hadn’t understood. Not that it had mattered at the time. She was closer to Garret’s age than she was to his and those two had gotten along just fine.
“Got everything?” Shane interrupted his musings.
“Yeah. Just let me get my jacket out of my suitcase.” When he had the dark brown leather jacket zipped up, he said, “Let’s go.”
On the way to his mother’s house, Shane talked to Dylan as if he were a visitor, telling him about the local professional sports teams’ successes and pointing out changes to the Twin Cities skyline. Listening to him made Dylan realize just how little attention he’d given to what had been happening to his family while he’d been in Saint Martin. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared, because he had. But work had always taken precedence over everything else in his life, including his personal relationships.
Not wanting to be treated like a stranger, he said, “Shane, I can read about the basketball team in the paper. Tell me what’s been happening with Mom and the rest of the family.”
“What do you want to know?”
He shrugged. “The usual stuff. What’s this new job Mom has? She said something about writing a column for the paper?”
“Yeah, she really likes it.”
“What kind of column is it? Helpful household hints?”
“She hasn’t told you what she writes?” he asked with a frown.
“Is it a secret or something?”
He shrugged. “No, but since it’s her work, she should probably be the one to tell you about it.”
His comment only intensified the feeling Dylan had that he wasn’t a family member returning home, but rather a guest coming to visit. Determined not to be put off by his brother’s attitude, he asked, “What about her renting out rooms to college students? Has that been working out all right?”
“Sure, it’s been good for Mom. Are you worried about having to stay in a house full of women?”
Dylan chuckled and, before he could respond, his brother added, “Now that was a dumb question, wasn’t it? Since when have you ever objected to being around women?”
“I love being around them. Living with them is another thing,” he said with a sly grin.
“You still living alone?”
“Yup. I like having my place to myself.”
“Well, you’re not going to have much space to yourself at Mom’s.”
“I thought she remodeled the house and the tenants live upstairs?”
“They do. When she got rid of Dad’s office, she had the workers put in a separate entrance for the upper floors.”
“I didn’t realize she got rid of Dad’s office.”
“There wasn’t much point in keeping an office at the front of the house when the business had been moved. I work out of the office towers over on Lexington.”
“Then you didn’t have any problems taking over for Dad?”
He didn’t answer, but cast a curious glance his way. “What’s with all the questions? You’ve never expressed an interest in any of this in the past.”
“Just because I haven’t lived here doesn’t mean I haven’t been interested.” He knew that before they arrived at his mother’s house, there was something he needed to say. “Look, Shane. Now is probably as good a time as any for this.”
“For what?” His brother didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“I know that we’ve had our differences and that the last time I was home, things were said that neither one of us probably would have mentioned had the circumstances been different,” he began, trying to find the words that wouldn’t put his brother on the defensive. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want our family to be one of those kept apart by hard feelings.”
Shane cast a sideways glance at him. “Is that an apology?”
“Yes, it is. I’m sorry about what happened the last time I was home. I know your relationship with Dad was different than mine was.”
“Maybe we should just leave it at that,” Shane said, then motioned with his thumb toward the back seat. “Little pitchers have big ears, if you know what I mean.”
Dylan glanced at Mickey and then back to Shane. “Point taken.”
“Dylan, we can’t change the past.”
“No, but we don’t have to repeat it, either.”
“I agree.”
There was a short silence, which Dylan broke by saying, “You know, it really was good to see you standing there at the airport. It made me think of when we were kids and all the fun we had. I’d like to think there can be more good times for us.”
“I know it would make Mom happy.”
“There’s Grandma’s house!” Mickey’s tiny voice squealed with delight, as Shane pulled up in front of the big blue Victorian house Dylan had called home for eighteen years.
His mother may have remodeled the inside, but not much of the exterior had changed. It looked as familiar to Dylan as the day he’d left. The only thing missing was the small sign with the words Frank Donovan, C.P.A., written across it in bold letters. It had been on the newel post for as long as he could remember, a small lamp lighting it in the darkness. Now the only light came from the recessed fixture above the door where the number fourteen was painted on a tin frieze.
As soon as Dylan stepped inside the house, he saw the results of his mother’s remodeling project. Gone were the accounting offices where his father had spent his days working. One room had been converted to a library, the other a dining room. Dylan hung his jacket on a coat tree, aware of two things: the aroma of freshly baked bread and the sound of Middle Eastern music.
Mickey noticed the latter, too, saying, “Hurry up, Daddy. The music’s on.” He tugged at the snaps on his jacket while his father untied his boots.
“Are those bells I’m hearing?” Dylan asked as he wandered down the hallway. He found his answer when he stepped around the corner. Gathered in the middle of his mother’s living room, waving their arms and swishing their hips were at least a half dozen women dressed in what could only be described as harem apparel.
“Remember, you’re drawing a circle with your hips, keeping your movement fluid.” A melodious voice directed the women. “Shift your weight from side to side, then back and forth.”
“Move, Uncle Dylan,” Mickey pleaded, pushing on his legs to get him to step out of the doorway. “I want to belly dance.”
Activity ceased as six pair of eyes turned toward Dylan.
“Oh my gosh, you’re home. I didn’t hear you come in!” one of the dancers exclaimed as she rushed toward him.
He stared in surprise at the woman wearing red harem pants and a matching blouse with poufy sleeves—or maybe he should have called it a half blouse since it didn’t cover very much midriff. She looked nothing like the woman he remembered. No brown hair peppered with gray, no glasses, no apron covering her matronly skirt and blouse. Nothing about her was familiar except her voice, and it told him in no uncertain terms what he found difficult to believe. This was his mother.
CHAPTER TWO
Dear Leonie: The nicest guy just moved into the boardinghouse where I live. I’d like to let him know I’m interested, but there’s one small problem. He’s my landlady’s son and I’m not sure she’d appreciate me making a mov
e on him. What should I do?
Signed: Don’t want to be out on the street
Leonie says: How nice is your apartment? Are you willing to sacrifice it for something that might never develop into anything special? On the other hand, there are lots of nice apartments. Can you say the same about men?
DYLAN’S MOTHER WRAPPED her arms around him and gave him a hug. “It’s so good to see you! Welcome home.” She pushed him back a little and said, “How’s your shoulder. I didn’t hurt it grabbing you like that, did I?”
“No, it’s fine. I—” he stammered, at a loss for words. Her dance costume was unlike anything she’d ever worn. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother’s midriff before. Even when she’d gone swimming she’d worn a one-piece. Nor had she ever been a blonde or had her fingernails painted bright red. She looked nothing at all like the mother he remembered.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he finally said.
“I don’t need them anymore. I had laser surgery.” She stepped aside and said, “Hey everybody, if you haven’t figured it out, this is my son Dylan.” Then she pointed to each of the women in the room in turn. “This is Krystal. She lives upstairs so you’ll be seeing more of her, and this is Valerie, a friend of Krystal’s, Jennifer you already know since she’s married to your brother, and you remember my friend Jan, don’t you?”
Dylan acknowledged the introductions with a nod and a few polite words.
“And this is Maddie Lamont, our instructor,” his mother said when she’d reached the last of the belly dancers. “I know you remember her. She stayed with us one summer and practically became part of the family.”
Dylan’s eyes met those of Madeline Lamont and he had his second shock of the night. She was nothing like the scrawny kid who’d looked as if she’d wanted to bolt every time he tried to talk to her.
Quite the contrary. She was boldly looking him over with eyes full of the same surprise that was in his. He didn’t remember them being such a bright blue, but then they’d always been hidden by glasses. When she smiled, he saw perfectly straight teeth instead of a mouth full of metal. Her long dark hair fell in soft, shiny waves down to her shoulders instead of being pulled back in a clip. And she’d gained weight. In all the right places.