by Lee Winter
Lauren’s gaze darted between them. With sudden haste, she flung open the front passenger door and gestured for Catherine to get in. “Guest privileges mean you get the front seat. More leg room. I’ll brave the back with my brothers.”
Catherine’s head snapped around. “You’re not riding in the truck bed, are you? Is that safe?”
Snickering at her, Lucas cut in, “Best way to ride. Well, if you’re not afraid to break a nail. Although Matthew won’t go around corners on two wheels, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m riding in the back, inside,” Lauren said. She flicked a glance at John and Lucas. “But don’t let me stop you two from bouncing around the rear bed.”
Matthew started the engine, presumably as a hurry up. The radio came on.
Catherine climbed into the front seat, which required some mountain goat skills, and stabbed the button to roll the window down. As it lowered, she heard Lauren hiss at Lucas, “Stop being an ass! That’s my fiancée you’re poking a stick at.”
Lucas’s voice was muffled but Catherine made it out nonetheless. “Hey, I’m just getting to know her, Sis. Seeing what she’s made of.”
Catherine couldn’t hear Lauren’s low, irritated retort.
“Come on, man,” another brother called out. “Give the shit-stirring a rest. I want lunch.” She guessed it was John, given the voice came from near Lucas.
So, not mute after all.
There was a powerful thud that shook the truck as Lucas, presumably, jumped into the bed. “Food first,” he agreed, a smile evident in his voice. “DC Queen autopsy second.”
Catherine sighed. Why would anything ever be easy? Still, she could do this. She would endure the gauntlet of misplaced brotherly affection and a whole side of Meemaw’s deep-fried pork if that was what would make Lauren happy.
The back door groaned open, and Lauren climbed in beside Mark. Lauren caught Catherine’s eye in the mirror. “Everything okay up there?” she asked.
“Peachy.”
“Great.” Her wide smile was far too bright to be real.
The truck rumbled off, and Matthew turned up the radio. They pulled out of the Eastern Iowa Airport and turned north.
Lauren had told her the King home was fifteen minutes away. That was endurable. She settled back and took stock. Actually, the vehicle was extremely comfortable. It had a great deal of leg room, which made sense since the passengers all had a great deal of legs.
They roared along and, after a few miles, the radio station, which had been talking about sports results and something about the upcoming Iowa State Fair, suddenly switched to a country song with a thudding bass beat.
The lyrics kicked in. The singer sounded awfully proud of his large, black, jacked-up truck.
There was a low moan, and Catherine glanced at the rear mirror in alarm. Lauren’s head was in her hands.
Her brothers began belting out the song, loudly, with varying degrees of competence. Well. This was different.
The next verse was about the joys of corn rows, floating boats down the Flint River, and catching catfish for dinner.
Catfish dinner? Catherine paused.
And for the lyrical pièce de résistance, was a verse about being a winner for laying his lady down and loving her right.
The man was a poet.
The song eventually ended, and the full-throated, chesty yowlings of the King boys finally abated. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased.
“Sorry,” Lauren called to her. “That’s their song. Luke Bryan’s That’s My Kind of Night.”
“Ah.” She had never heard of this Bryan man, with his black jacked-up truck and exotic catfish dinners. Her ears were still ringing from the throaty macho accompaniment.
“We all got tickets,” Matthew announced, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “He’s touring here soon. Shame you’re here so early and all. Damn. You’ll miss out.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Catherine drawled. “Next time.”
It was going to be a long ten days.
The truck continued to bounce along the road, and Catherine closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. A strange aroma greeted her, and she frowned. She darted a look at the driver, but Matthew did not react. She looked back at Lauren, whose expression was wistful.
“What is that smell?”
“Pretty sure it’s Captain Crunch day.” Lauren smiled. “A whole bunch of food manufacturers have their factories in Cedar Rapids. It’s the cereal capital of the world for a reason. And today…” She paused and sniffed. “Yep, fairly sure they’re running Captain Crunch on the factory line.”
“I see.”
“Hey, be glad it’s not the dog food day,” Matthew chimed in. “That stuff’s potent.” He slapped his steering wheel with a laugh.
Yes, Catherine was extremely glad.
The houses began thinning out as properties grew larger. The landscape, occasionally dotted with corn and soybean fields, was flat and green as far as the eye could see. They turned off onto a narrow road signposted as Old River Rd SW. Their vehicle hurtled along at speed.
“Almost there,” Matthew told her. He licked his lips. “Can taste lunch already.”
Catherine tried to look interested.
Their truck passed an RV park on the left and moments later turned right into a long driveway. A sign at the front said King and Sons Car Repair—drive on thru to the back.
Catherine winced at the deliberate mangling of through.
In front of her was a gray, two-story, wooden Colorado-style ranch house. Its peaked roof was a matching color, and a giant stone chimney ran up the front of the house. Five cars were parked around the house; two looked like they hadn’t moved in months. The noses of more still, around the back, were just visible, reflecting in the sun.
They pulled under a carport. Just behind it squatted an enormous green steel shed.
What could possibly be in something so huge? A plane? A flotilla?
“Home sweet home,” Matthew said. He followed her gaze. “You’re looking at the garage. Dad’s workshop. Wait’ll you see it.”
She climbed out of the truck—well, freefell might be a better word. Beyond the carport, flat, open grassed land greeted her. It seemed to go on for some distance. A sound of barking came from inside the house.
Lauren hadn’t said there would be dogs. She hoped they were not the leaping, horse-sized varieties. But given everything else in this family of giants, they’d probably be excitable, hairy T-Rexes.
Lauren’s arm slid around her waist. “Boomer and Daisy, our Lab retrievers,” she said, nodding toward the house. “They’re harmless. Big, furry, friendly lugs. Plus, there’s our haughty cat, Miss Chesterfield. She’s less harmless or friendly.”
“You have a cat named Miss Chesterfield?” What an odd name.
“No, my grandmother does. So, no dissing the cat or the name in Meemaw’s earshot, or it will end badly. Meemaw protects her own.”
“Noted.” Catherine paused. “Can I ask why she’s called Meemaw? I thought that was a Southern thing.”
“Well, there’s a story. After I was born, she and Grandpa were in their favorite diner, showing off my baby pictures, when their waitress, who was from Georgia, said, ‘Oh, bless your heart, you’re a meemaw now!’ Apparently Grandpa thought that was hilarious and used it every chance he could. It stuck after that.”
“Ah.” Catherine nodded.
Lauren’s arm swept over the view in front of them. “Right, sightseeing time. It’s a couple of acres. Come on, I’ll give you the tour while the boys take our bags inside.”
“You know, I could have stayed in a hotel nearby,” Catherine said quietly. “Would be more room for you, and your brothers could catch up with you without me underfoot.”
“And have everyone mad and feeling snubbed? Nop
e. Besides, I promise it’s only chaos if you stop and look at it. Rest of the time it’s just fun. Now, come on, let’s stretch our legs.”
They strolled around the back of the house. The backyard was a field dotted with trees, including one enormous weeping willow in the distance.
Markings on the ground in front of Catherine indicated a long-forgotten softball diamond. Lauren’s fond expression would have answered who loved to play on it even if Catherine didn’t know her future wife had been a college softball star.
A rustic graying wooden shack was nearby, open on two sides. An old picnic table sat inside, and assorted weather-worn sport and beer memorabilia was tacked up on the wall.
“Our tiki bar,” Lauren said. “The boys threw it together in high school. They’ve had some great parties out here. They’d get the grill out and have all this space to themselves.”
“There is a lot of it.” Catherine glanced around. “I’m still getting used to how quiet it is.”
“Wait till night, and then you’re in for a treat. You’ll see. Stars that go on forever. It’s beautiful.”
They’d walked on for a bit when Catherine felt the vibration of her phone. She pulled it out and had a quick read.
“Anything important?”
“Depends. Does a high-ranking senator with a weed stash found in his gym locker count?”
Lauren made a strangled half groan, half laugh. “Phone away. You can survive ten days without work.”
“I may quote you on that. I saw you checking your work emails at the airport.”
“Okay, yeah, but technically we hadn’t left DC yet.”
Catherine tucked her phone into her pocket and suddenly let out a short burst of laughter as she worked out what had been niggling her all day. “Your brothers… They’re Matthew, Mark, Lucas, and John, in that order?”
“And Tommy.”
“The four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? And, if I recall, Thomas was an Apostle.”
Lauren gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Meemaw laughs every time Dad calls them out in order. But then, she did help Mom name the boys.”
“So, your grandmother is religious?”
“Oh yeah. Big time. Proud Methodist. Church every Sunday. She also loves a good joke. Like those names? She thinks she’s hilarious.”
“No doubt. So, is your whole family religious?”
“Nah, we’re not that Biblically observant. Dad’s rule was, ‘Follow the Commandments and don’t argue back when Meemaw’s quoting scripture.’ But how did you notice my brothers’ names? You’re not religious.” She squinted at her.
“My mother ensured that Phoebe and I had a good grounding in religion, etiquette, home skills, and anything else she thought would raise our social standing. It’s the reason I can play piano, perform an excellent dressage serpentine, and bake a bracing flan.”
“A bracing flan?” Lauren laughed. “What is that?”
“A flan that can withstand even my mother’s staunch criticism.”
“Ah. So, she’s a bit harsh, then? It’s funny how you never talk about them.”
“I prefer not to dwell on things best left buried.” Catherine inhaled. “Everything was about appearances for my mother. The worst sin I could commit was to embarrass her.”
“Was it the same for your sister?”
“Yes, although Phoebe found it harder. She did everything she could to please our mother.” Catherine set her mouth to a grim line. “She even married Dad’s business associate to please our parents, and never a blander male ever shuffled across this earth than Miles Sutherland. It was never enough to earn Mom’s approval, though. I was fortunate to have an insight quite young that satisfying her wasn’t actually achievable. That whenever you got close, the goal posts moved. Best not to work yourself into knots trying for the impossible.”
“What about your dad? Was he the same?”
“I never saw that much of him. He was so involved in the family business. He tried to lure me into the company at various times from about age eighteen, but I didn’t want to be a secretary.”
“What a waste of talent that’d have been. All those scoops unscooped.”
“True.” Catherine smirked. “And I doubt anyone would be mourning my loss to the secretarial pool.”
“Then they’re idiots. You’d rule that pool by now.”
“I suppose so.” Catherine couldn’t quite picture it. “Well, I know what my father thought of my scandalous career move into journalism. What about yours?”
“Dad was behind me all the way in anything I chose.”
“Anything?” Her lips quirked up. “So, he’ll approve of me, then?”
“Once he gets to know you, he’ll really like you. Oh, and, um, with my brothers, don’t be alarmed if they want to haul you off to a tractor pull or something. They’ll just be doing it for a reaction. New sister to haze and all.”
“A tractor what?”
Lauren laughed. “Oh boy, are you in for a treat.”
“You and tractors. Why am I not shocked it runs in the family?”
“I thought you liked my tractor cap.”
“Possibly I’m just partial to who wears it.”
“That sounds about right. By the way, my brothers are decent guys.”
Catherine noted the slight hint of desperation in Lauren’s voice. “Mm,” she said noncommittally.
“They’ll just want to see if you’re cool before you inherit us as a family,” Lauren continued. “But once they accept someone, they are loyal and fierce as hell in protecting their own.”
What a disconcerting thought. She was at a loss over the idea of any family wanting to protect her.
They continued in silence before they came to the huge willow tree. The branches facing the house side wept so low they dragged across the ground like a grand dame’s enormous hoop skirt. On the other side, facing the back of the property, the branches were a little higher, allowing them to stoop, then walk under it.
Lauren gazed up at the wide canopy—a brilliant fusion of green and yellow leaves—with a rapt expression on her face. “It’s a golden weeping willow. Lucas and I measured it three years ago. It’s almost thirty feet now. It was Mom’s favorite. She called it her dreaming tree.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I inherited it from her. When I was a girl and wanted to escape brother craziness or all that engine revving, I’d come down here and daydream. Or I’d read. I’d think about my dreams and whether I had the courage to follow them. Because I have to say, girls from Iowa wanting to become reporters in DC aren’t that common.”
“And yet you did it.”
“Yeah.” Lauren’s smile became soft. She glanced at Catherine. “Okay, enough reminiscing. Time to meet Dad. He’ll be wondering where we are. And Meemaw will be climbing the walls with curiosity, dying to check you out.”
Catherine offered a serene look even as her stomach tightened in apprehension.
Lauren’s hand settled on the wide chrome handle of the sliding door to the workshop. “Dad’s fixing up some politician’s car this week. The mayor’s, I think. He’s proud as punch over it.”
“Oh, I can imagine,” Catherine murmured.
Lauren slapped her arm. “Enough of that. The guy may be small potatoes to you, but Dad’s excited.”
“I’m glad for him. However, I’m curious as to how this mayor found your father’s mechanic business all the way out here. How does anyone?”
“Oh, Dad used to be based in the center of town before he decided to run things from home. He took all his clients with him, and the new ones now come by word of mouth. That’s how good he is. And he’s done the mayor’s cars for decades.” She started sliding the door. “I can’t wait to see Dad. It’s been almost a year.”
Catherine nodded, but it was y
et another unsettling concept. She’d never had much family to miss, and vice versa. Only her nephew ever said he missed her. Although he probably had to say that since he was living rent-free in her LA home.
“So…” Lauren sucked in a big breath of air. “Please remember, Dad takes a little while to warm up. So, don’t be put off if he’s a little quiet.”
“A quiet King? I like him already.”
“Ha-ha.” She gestured to Catherine, who stepped inside.
The sharp smell of grease, oil, rubber, and cleaning products assailed her. The room looked like a giant, well-organized car burial ground, with mechanical parts sitting on shelves around all the walls. In the middle of the room sat four cars, the most luxurious of which was on a low hoist. A pair of scuffed black boots was sticking out from under it.
“Dad?”
A wrench dropped. The boots rolled forward out from under the car. A man in dark blue, dirty overalls sat up on the low trolley. He had a lined, tanned face which creased into a warm smile.
It was so filled with love that Catherine was speechless. She couldn’t help but stare. Never in her life had her father ever looked at her like that. She glanced at Lauren, who wore a matching expression.
“Honey!” He scrambled to his feet. The man was tall, over six feet, his short, curly, light-brown hair graying above his ears. “I lost track of time. I thought I had another half hour.”
Lauren shrugged. “It’s okay.”
He wiped his hands on a rag he plucked from his back pocket, which seemed to do little, and opened his arms wide to her.
The source of the family tradition for bear hugs immediately became clear when Lauren flung herself into his arms. They hugged, cheek to cheek, eyes bright, voices excited.
Catherine shuffled backwards, feeling like an intruder.
Lauren caught her eye and waved her over. “Catherine! C’mere. Meet Dad…um, Owen. Dad, this is Catherine.”
“Nice to put a face to the voice at last,” he said, wiping his hands harder on his cloth again. His smile was cautious but genuine.
“Wait, have you guys talked before?” Lauren asked, head snapping back and forth between them. “When did that happen?”