Addie Gets Her Man (A Chair At The Hawkins Table Book 6)

by Angel Smits

  After Ryan left, Marcus had rattled around in the house until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wondered for the millionth time why he’d let his thirteen-year-old son talk him into buying the place.

  Still, it was starting to feel like his, and in reality, Marcus didn’t really care where he lived. Home was an abstract concept for him.

  He did like the fact that the coffee shop, as well as several other stores and services, were within walking distance. He’d gotten into the habit of walking to the shop a couple of nights a week, even a couple of mornings. It was a nice change.

  As he waited for the barista to make his drink, his phone rang. He thumbed the screen to see who was calling. Not Ryan, please. He wanted his son to be having fun, not checking in with his dad.

  His sister Anne’s number filled the display. “Hey, sis.” He was always cautious when his sister called. He loved her, but she wasn’t the type to call and chat. She always had news, was always on a mission.

  “Hey, yourself. Thought I’d check and see if you’ve heard from the folks,” she said.

  Yep, that was Anne, and there was the preplanned topic of discussion. “When you say, heard from them, what exactly do you mean?”

  “Did they tell you what they have in mind?” She was impatient, which was also normal. He was used to being treated like a younger, less competent brother.

  “No. Last I heard, Dad was still overseas, and Mom was heading to another fundraiser.” The story of his parents’ life.

  “Then consider yourself warned. They’re heading your way.”

  “What do you mean, my way?”

  “Dad’s home. Has been for a couple weeks. Last night at dinner, he announced that he was taking Mom to Texas to check on you two. They already bought airline tickets.”

  Marcus groaned. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Well, you’d better make time. At least I saved you from one of their surprise visits.”

  Marcus closed his eyes, trying to gather his patience. James Skylar did whatever he damned well pleased. He’d show up on some relative’s doorstep and announce he was there to visit for a few days. How many times had they done that when Marcus was a kid? And the big intimidating man that James was—he wasn’t someone people could ignore. They sure as heck didn’t close a door in his face. He’d probably break it down.

  Not that that had ever happened. Most of the relatives had actually seemed happy to see him.

  Marcus wasn’t like his relatives. “When are they getting here?” he asked, resignation in his voice.

  “Not sure. Soon, I’d guess. You know Dad. He found the cheapest, most inconvenient-for-you flight.” She laughed.

  “Thanks for the heads-up.” There was a long silence. “How’s life with you?”

  Anne was silent, as well. Marcus knew better than to read anything into it. Anne wasn’t a big talker, and she thought out what she was going to say. “Good. Busy, just like you. I’m actually looking forward to their being gone for a bit, sorry.”

  Marcus smiled. “You’re not sorry.”

  “No, you’re right. Since Dad’s been home, he’s—”

  “Difficult?”

  “That about covers it. He’s talking retirement. Seriously. Mom might shove him out of the plane somewhere over Kansas if he isn’t careful.”

  “How did their marriage ever survive this long?” Marcus recalled the angry words that were frequent in his childhood.

  “Dad being gone so much is probably the only thing that saved them. All bets are off now.”

  “Yeah.” He looked around, realizing the barista had set his drink on the counter. He grabbed it and headed to find an empty table. “Will you survive? What about Lance?” His brother-in-law usually did fairly well with their parents. Mom loved him.

  Anne sighed on the other end of the line. “Even his patience is thin.”

  That wasn’t good. Lance was the most laid-back, tolerant person Marcus had ever met.

  “And you sent them to me?”

  Anne laughed. “Hey, I didn’t send them. This was all Dad’s idea. I didn’t do much to dissuade them.” She went silent again. “Mom’s worried about you, you know.”

  Not like he hadn’t given her cause in the past. “I know. I’m doing fine. Really.”

  “Would you even tell us if you weren’t okay?” Anne whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s okay. Ryan’ll tell me.”

  “Smug doesn’t become you.” He liked it, though. This persona he recognized. “Anne?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t go all big sister, okay? I love you anyway.”

  Emotion wasn’t something his family had ever been comfortable with, and he felt that discomfort come through the phone now. He didn’t care. He’d learned its value.

  “Gotta go. Keep me posted. Love you, too.” The last came out in a hasty whisper as she disconnected the call.

  Marcus pocketed his phone. Pleased with himself for setting his sister on edge in a good way, he set his backpack on a small table in the corner. The knot of pressure between his shoulder blades intensified. If his parents were coming to visit, he couldn’t waste any time tonight.

  Turning to sit, he noticed a woman seated near the window. She looked vaguely familiar. He frowned, watching her as he absently opened his backpack. She was reading a hardcover book that was most definitely fiction. Her long golden hair kept tumbling down, and every so often, she’d fling it back over her shoulder.

  Was that—? Just as he sat, she looked up. Their eyes met. Recognition dawned in her eyes. She smiled.

  “Marcus, right?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah. You’re—”

  “Addie Hawkins. Ryan’s principal.”

  “I thought I recognized you.” It was nice to satisfy that nagging itch of not being able to identify someone.

  “That’s okay if you didn’t.” She laughed. “I’m out of my natural habitat. Even the students who see me every day do a double take in public.”

  He didn’t think the double take was from recognition. She really was lovely. He halted that train of thought. “Sorry to interrupt your reading.” He nodded toward her book, and she turned the page to continue.

  The fact that there was no ring on her left hand didn’t escape his notice. The fact that he noticed shocked him. He hadn’t noticed that on anyone else in ages. He shook his head. That wasn’t why he was here.

  He set his own book on the table. Not fiction, though. This book was also part of the reason he’d come here. He didn’t want to read it at home. Alone. In a big lonely house. This was an old book, the spine thin, worn. Not from many hands touching it in a library or bookstore. No, this was a hand-created work, done as a labor of love—a memoir by a man who’d served in Vietnam at the same time his father had. There was a big difference, though.

  This man had been a foot soldier, a private on the ground. His father had been high above, watching from the cockpit of a surveillance plane.

  Marcus stared at the book’s cover. Odd that Anne had called tonight. Knowing his father would be here soon, Marcus questioned if he really wanted to read it now. Did he truly want to know what was inside? There was no turning back once he started to read.

  How would it affect his interaction with his father? Would it confirm his suspicions that his father was hiding something he’d been involved in back then? Or would it alleviate Marcus’s long-held suspicions? What would his next meeting with his father be like?

  Marcus had gotten this book from the author’s son. Sam Tilton had died last year from cancer that was most likely the result of Agent Orange. No one could prove it, though, and Sam hadn’t cared.

  Marcus had met him once, early in his diagnosis when he’d been sure he’d beat the monster. Marcus had meant to see him again, but Carolyn’s illness—th
e rest of life—had gotten in the way. This was the first time since he and Ryan had moved that he’d pulled the book out.

  Now he second-guessed his decision.

  “I tell my students that osmosis doesn’t really work.” Addie’s voice gave him an excuse to break out of his troubled thoughts. He tried to laugh, but he wasn’t very good at it anymore.

  She moved—a smooth motion, standing, then walking to his side. “It’s a beautiful book.” She stood close. Warmth from her arm touched his as she caressed the hand-tooled leather cover. “Almost too pretty to open,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. What’s inside isn’t nearly as pretty.”

  “Have you read it before?”

  Marcus shook his head. “No. I know the author. I know what it’s about.”

  She moved to tug on the chair across from him. “May I?” At his nod, she pulled the chair out and sat. “I don’t mean to interrupt...but can I help? You look troubled.”

  Addie was obviously a caring person. He’d known a few—very few—people like that in his life. Carolyn had been like that. He swallowed the pain in his throat.

  He tapped the book cover, breaking the hold of his memories. “This is a memoir. One of the men who was with my father in Vietnam wrote it.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. He regretted surprising her like that. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s going to be a tough read. But I need to read it.”

  “Why?” Her shock faded, curiosity replacing it in her eyes.

  Marcus shrugged. “To find answers. I—”

  She waited. Not filling in the blanks, but waiting for him, listening.

  “My father doesn’t talk about his experiences. He keeps it all locked up inside.” Letting loose only when he couldn’t hold back anymore—usually with a well-aimed fist or a mouthful of filthy language. “He’s got issues.”

  “He’s still around, then?”

  “Yeah. We don’t see each other often.” Though apparently, that was going to change soon. “Never did. He didn’t take his family on any of his assignments.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her gaze grew distant. “My father died when I was—” She swallowed, then frowned. “About Ryan’s age actually.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  The silence grew between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, he found it oddly comforting that she was here, willing to listen as he waded into the murky waters of his father’s past.

  “My dad was a great guy.” She seemed to shake herself out of the memories. “There were six of us kids. Mom had her hands full. So, when he died, we picked ourselves up and got the job done.”

  “Wow. Sounds rough.”

  “Not really. Everyone’s grown now. All out in the world, with families and kids. We...we lost Mom last year.” She stumbled over her words for a second, then once again recovered. “She was ready to join him,” she whispered.

  He envied her. His mother wouldn’t be interested in joining his dad—anywhere, here or in the afterlife. She’d stayed married to him, just like she’d stayed behind when he’d deployed. She’d earned the military pension just like he had. She’d said it so many times, he could hear her saying it now.

  Addie looked at him, then slowly rose. He had to tilt his chin up only slightly to meet her gaze. She couldn’t be much over five feet.

  “I’m sorry.” She moved to her table and gathered her things. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening. This got a little maudlin.”

  “No. I interrupted you,” he said. She turned to leave, and he reached out to stop her. “Wait.” She looked back at him. “How about we start over? I’m Marcus.” He stood and put his hand out in greeting.

  Their eyes met. She smiled and took his hand. “I’m Addie. Nice to meet you.”

  He liked this friendly woman. “Can I get you something?” He gestured to the bakery case and the counter.

  “No, thanks. I already have a cup of tea that’s probably half-cold by now.” She took another step, then paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. “But if you’d like some conversation—”

  “I would.” He pulled the chair out that she’d been sitting on. Not sure if it was because of how she moved, or the closeness of where he stood to her, but a soft whisper of perfume pleasantly startled him. The long hair that had tumbled over Addie’s shoulder while she read brushed his arm.

  So soft. He shivered.

  For the first time since he’d moved here, since Carolyn’s death, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

  * * *

  ADDIE USED TO come to the coffee shop when the hours of taking care of Mom had been too long. Now she used it as a transition. The full day of kids and constant activity at school was too drastically different from her quiet home. She came here and read—then she could face the silence.

  Growing up in a houseful of kids hadn’t prepared her for being alone very well.

  “You live near here, right?” she asked Marcus as she moved her book bag and purse to his table. The table was small, and while he wasn’t as tall or as muscular as her brothers, he managed to take up more than enough space in the room.

  “A few blocks. You?”

  “Yeah, it’s just a short walk over that way. Do you come here often?”

  He smiled, and she realized he’d caught her unintended use of a pickup line. Her cheeks warmed, and she ducked her head, hoping he didn’t notice.

  He must have taken pity on her. “Sometimes. It’s a nice break.”

  “From?”

  “A thirteen-year-old boy.” He took a sip of his coffee before saying anymore. “I often wonder if I was like him at that age.”

  “You could ask your mother.” She took a sip of her now-cooled drink. Lovely.

  “Uh, no.” His smile dimmed. “Mom’s not exactly the reminiscing kind.”

  Addie tilted her head just a bit, wondering about him. “She’s not?”

  “No. She’ll gladly tell you how much money they raised for diabetes research in 1989, but she couldn’t tell you what I did for my birthday that year.”

  “Sounds like a woman who believes in helping people.”

  He frowned. “I’d say she’s more interested in the disease of the week and who’s the keynote speaker at the fundraiser.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. That didn’t sound very charitable. She found her way to cope with being alone so much.”

  She couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by all that. She wanted to ask, but if she’d learned anything being a teacher, it was patience.

  “Every family has its issues.”

  “Issues. That’s a nice way to put it.”

  “Hey, I’m not pointing any fingers. I have five siblings and there’re plenty of stories, believe me.”

  “Five. That’s...incredible. Your parents must have been saints or crazy. Ryan is enough challenge for me.”

  She laughed. “A bit of both, I think.” She stared into her tea. Her voice broke. “I keep thinking I should be over the grief by now.”

  The silence stretched. “I don’t know if it ever goes away.”

  The pain in his eyes reminded her of his wife. What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? She needed to shake this funk. “I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his. “I didn’t mean to remind you—”

  “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  “You get used to it, really?” His skin was warm under her palm. It felt good to touch him, too good. She pulled her hand away and he let her, though he watched her movements.

  Their gazes met. His eyes were a bright, rich blue, a contrast to his dark hair. What was he thinking? About his wife? About his son? About the book that he’d yet to open? About her?

  “I really should get home.” She stood and hastily gathered her things. “Tomorrow’s an early day.”

  “Yeah. I should get going
, too. Early class, as well.”

  “Class?”

  He shoved the still-unopened book into the backpack. “I teach at the university.”

  “I didn’t realize I was with a fellow educator.” She liked knowing she had that connection with him. “What subject?”

  “History. Military history, specifically.”

  “Really?” Why did that surprise her? Then she remembered the book he’d been reading. “So, the book—” she tilted her head toward the backpack “—that’s for class?”

  He shouldered the pack. “I don’t know yet. Maybe later. Right now, it’s...personal.”

  They headed toward the door, and she expected him to turn in the opposite direction. Instead, he fell into step beside her. “Do you live this way?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He stopped and, with a self-deprecating smile, gestured for her to precede him down the walk. “I guess we’re headed the same way. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No. I—” What were the odds? It was a small community, one of the carefully planned midcentury communities. Both from small towns, her parents had specifically chosen to live and raise their family here for that reason.

  “What made you decide to move here?” she asked before she had time to think and stop herself.

  “Actually, it was Ryan’s idea.” He walked on the outside of the sidewalk and didn’t speak again until they’d reached the corner. “After Carolyn’s death, both of us needed a change. We wanted out of Chicago.”

  “Is that where you were raised?”

  “Yeah.” This time he tilted his head and looked at her, smiling. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Occupational hazard. Sorry.” She felt her cheeks warm again. “You don’t have to answer.”

  “No, it’s no problem. Yeah, I grew up in Chicago. We lived in an apartment on Lake Shore Drive.”

  “Not in a house?” Why did that seem so strange to her? She thought of the big house where she’d lived with her family, and the big ranch where Wyatt now lived that had belonged to her grandparents. An apartment would have been so strange.

  “Dad was gone most of the time.” He said that through clenched teeth. “So, Mom was a single parent in reality. It was just me and my sister. An apartment made more sense.” He shrugged again, and his eyes grew distant.