Dinner was well on its way when Jane and Maggie made it back to the kitchen. Four chickens and vegetables were roasting in their sauce in the ovens of the big Viking range, two blueberry pies were in a wall oven, and the kitchen was nearly cleaned and presentable. Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine appeared in the family room behind Tris and Maggie.
Kemble was still putting dishes in the dishwasher. “Go make drinks in the front room, Devin, and fill our esteemed elders in on the general status. Lanyon, background music.”
“Right.” Devin tossed his sponge on the counter and dashed out, Lanyon right after him.
Mrs. Tremaine did look pale. Her husband was hovering anxiously, obviously concerned. “Brian, I’m fine,” she said firmly. “Don’t you have some merger to complete or something?”
“Finished yesterday,” Mr. Tremaine returned. “Only agenda item is to take care of you.”
“Lucky me.” Mrs. Tremaine pretended to be bitter. But she looked up at him with such love in her eyes that Maggie was actually startled. That! That right there was what created the possibility of a family like this. These people knew love.
“Why don’t you all adjourn to the front room and see that Devin doesn’t poison the elders?” Drew said. “Jane and I will finish up here.”
From the front of the house, soothing strains of classical music floated out from the unseen piano. Everyone trailed out. Maggie leaned into Tris. Dangerous, but she had to know. “Your mother isn’t seriously ill, is she?”
Tris looked like he’d just killed the canary, his expression was so guilty. “She’ll be all right. She , uh, overdid it and... and fainted.”
“It was really warm here today,” Kee said. “Maybe it was heat stroke.”
Kee’s innocent expression was feigned. Strange.
When they got to the big living room with the grand piano near the windows, Devin was whispering to the two Tremaine parents. Maggie couldn’t hear what he was saying but she saw Mr. Tremaine glance over to her.
Uh-oh. Devin was probably telling them the cowgirl had designs on their son, after the stupid display she’d put on when Tris showed up on the deck. She’d have to be very careful tonight. Not even a glance to Tris. Kee, Kemble, and Tris gathered around Lanyon’s piano. Maggie lined up on the other side of Kemble, as far away from Tris as possible. Tammy skipped up and wormed her way in under Tris’s arm. He gave her a hug.
“Play something we can sing,” Kee ordered.
“In honor of Tris’s return?” Lanyon asked, a wicked look in his eyes. The piano segued effortlessly into a rousing rendition of “Bad to the Bone.” Kemble smirked.
Kee gave Lanyon a withering look. “Something we can sing.”
Lanyon tried “Born to Run,” but went on to some New Age mood piece at Kee’s frown. “Maybe we should let our guest choose,” he suggested.
“Me?” Maggie tried not to squeak with dismay and failed. “I ... I mainly know country music. You wouldn’t know any songs like that....”
“Oh, yes he does,” Kee promised. “Lanyon knows pretty much every song there is.”
“What kind of country do you listen to?” Lanyon asked. He’d shifted into something that sounded a little bluegrass. “Classic? The new stuff?”
“A ... little of everything....” Maggie stuttered.
“Quick, who’s your favorite new artist?” Lanyon asked sharply.
“Chris ... Chris Young?” Why had she admitted that? The kid had surprised her.
Lanyon broke into “Rainy Night in Georgia.” “Young has the best version of that song ever. Even Tony Joe White said so, and he wrote it. The one on the album is the guy’s first and only take. The band was just playing around and asked him to try it.”
Maggie blinked. “You ... you do know everything.”
“Only about music,” Kemble said. “About most things he’s remarkably ignorant.”
“So there,” Tammy laughed, leaning her weight on the piano and scuffing her feet.
“Do you, or do you not, all know the words to ‘Rainy Night in Georgia’?” Lanyon challenged.
Tris surprised Maggie by starting in with the first verse just as Lanyon riffed to the beginning.
Talk about your baritones.... The man had a voice that sounded like sin and aged whiskey. There had to be a lot of testosterone in there to get a voice like that. Maggie’s knees sagged. Her elbows on the piano barely held her up.
“Come on, girls, give him a hand,” Lanyon urged.
Kee grinned and joined in. Maggie managed to get in on the middle of the next line.
Lanyon arched a brow at Kemble, who laughed and turned to walk over to the bar, saying, “Not my style, little brother.”
So the five of them sang the whole thing, and everybody pretty much did know all the words with some prompting for Tammy. Brina was clapping from the couch as they finished. “That was beautiful,” she said, beaming. “Sing some more.”
Kemble handed his mother a glass of chilled white wine from a bottle he got from somewhere under a bar in the corner. She accepted gracefully. Maggie could see where Drew got her natural elegance. Mrs. Tremaine was everything Maggie wasn’t.
“Taylor Swift,” Tammy urged, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I love Taylor Swift.”
Tris shrugged. “Got to count me out there.”
“Me too,” Kee agreed.
“I’ll duet with you,” Maggie offered. “I know some Taylor.”
Lanyon, of course, knew a lot of Taylor. Tammy’s voice was sweet and soprano, so Maggie did a little lower harmony. As they came to the end, everyone clapped and Tris whistled.
Lanyon cocked his head at her. “I knew you’d sing alto. But you’ve got a good ear too.”
Maggie blushed.
Devin saved her from having to say anything by coming up to stand beside Kee. “Let’s get back to some real country. ‘Folsom Prison Blues.’ ”
“Johnny,” Lanyon shouted, and they were all off.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maggie hadn’t looked at him once all night, in spite of the fact that Drew had organized the seating at the dinner table so they were directly across from one another. Tris could hardly see anyone else. And whatever Maggie had done to him while he was ailing was nothing compared to how he reacted now. He was back to his sorry state in the diner. He’d have to use a dinner napkin to cover his problem, or appall his mother and frighten Tammy.
The good news was that his mother was recovering from her effort to heal him. But he could feel her eyes on him. That wasn’t good. Everybody seemed to like Maggie, in spite of the jeans and the boots. How could they not? She was sweet to Tammy, and whenever anyone tried to make her the focus of the conversation, she asked them questions about themselves to deflect attention. She was doing it now.
“You said you completed a merger, Mr. Tremaine. What exactly did you merge?”
“Not technically a merger. We bought a company that makes wind turbines.”
“Oh.”
Kemble bailed in to help her. “Tremaine Enterprises specializes in green technology.”
“Daddy calls it ‘being kind to the earth.’ ” Tammy said around a mouthful of pie. Her teeth were a little blue. She gave her father an adoring look.
“One division does disaster recovery management,” his mother added.
“Like the Red Cross—that sort of thing?”
“We cover logistical support for lots of NGOs, including the Red Cross,” his father said. “Sometimes we provide equipment, too. Depends on the kind of disaster.”
“And since that division doesn’t make money,” Kemble said dryly, “it’s a good thing everything else does. Especially right now. We’ve got more earthquakes, hurricanes, and tornados than we know what to do with.” He sighed. “We really miss Victor.”
Tris glanced to Tammy, and saw her eyes fill. Victor had always doted on her. “Money isn’t everything,” his mother reminded, changing the subject. “It’s how you put it to work.”
“Father
is very good at that, among other things,” Drew took the cue, and didn’t mention Victor. Tris glared at her. He didn’t want hints about their father’s magic in front of Maggie.
Soon the conversation strayed to Kee’s desire to study art in France and the paintings she was working on. Maggie drew her out. “What kind of paintings do you do?”
“What doesn’t she do?” Drew asked.
“I’m finding my style,” Kee said, as though talking to incredibly ignorant children. That tone was a specialty of seventeen-year-olds.
“At least she’s off Hieronymus Bosch.” Drew gave a shudder.
Maggie looked down. She must not know who that was.
“Very graphic images of people being tortured in Hell,” his mother murmured. “A somewhat concerning subject for a fifteen-year-old girl.”
“Yeah!” Lanyon said, pumping his fist. “Those were way better than those big boring flower things she’s doing now.”
“Georgia O’Keeffe was a pioneer,” Kee protested.
“Bor-ing.”
At this rate they’d be quarreling all night. Tris didn’t want Maggie to think that was what his family was about. “Hey, what’s going on with you, Devin?” he asked.
“He’s thinking about what to major in in college,” his father said, nudging Devin who sat on his right.
“I’m surfing every day,” Devin corrected. Then he looked abashed. “Too bad you can’t major in surfing.”
“Major in something practical, Devin,” his father continued, as though Devin hadn’t said anything. “You know you have a place in Tremaine Enterprises when you finish school. You’ll want to have something to contribute.”
“You didn’t seem to care that I majored in history.” Tris could feel Drew’s tension. “Not exactly practical. And you can’t say Kee majoring in art is going to do the company any good.”
“Well....” His father had the grace to realize he was trapped.
“Or, doesn’t it matter what Kee and I major in?” Drew asked, too innocently.
“Well, it’s just that you two....”
“Are girls,” Drew finished, both triumphant and bitter.
“Have you ever considered studying oceanography?” Maggie asked Devin, deftly averting Armageddon. “It’s not exactly surfing, but....”
“Yeah,” Lanyon said. “That’s a great idea, Dev.”
“That is a good idea, Maggie,” his mother seconded.
Devin looked relieved to have found a temporary way to stave off his adoptive father’s demands. “I’ll look into that,” he mumbled. Tris could relate.
Jane and Drew cleared the table and ran another load of dishes, while Tammy pressured Kemble into finding her a dressage teacher.
“Kemble is busy,” his father said. Was he was stomping on Tammy’s enthusiasm? “Leave it to me. Hilda will know someone. She won the Pan American Games, or some such.” Tris realized his assumption about his father was wrong.
Tammy surged out of her chair. “Oh, thank you, Daddy. Thank you so, so much.” She flung her arms around his father’s neck. Tris had to admit the man had the patience of a saint. He listened as though he cared while Tammy recounted how wonderful Maggie was with Cally. “It was almost like they were the same creature, like a ... like a centaur or something.”
“It’s good to have an affinity for something,” his mother said as she shot Maggie that speculating look. Tris had to stop that look immediately. That look almost always immediately preceded an effort at matchmaking. He grabbed his napkin and rose, letting it hang strategically over his problem. Swear to God there was something wrong with him.
“I’m a little bushed, what with the long ride and all.”
Maggie smiled at the table, carefully avoiding Tris’s gaze. “Yeah. I better turn in, too. I’ll be up early to take the horses out to Anaheim Hills and head home. I won’t wake you all.” She turned to his mother. “I’d like to thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.” She nodded to his father. “Sir. I’m sorry I didn’t even have a hostess gift or anything. But I sure do appreciate it.”
“You brought my son home.” His mother’s look was soft. “What more could a mother want? And you were kind to Tammy.”
“Tris is a hostess gift!” Lanyon crowed. “That’s a good one.”
“Enough!” Tris said in his gruffest voice.
Maggie rose, smiling, but pointedly ignoring both Lanyon and Tris. “Anybody would have done that.” She nodded to the table. “Good night, and again, thank you all.” She hesitated. “It’s been real nice to see a ... a big family in action.” She ducked out before anyone could say anything. Tris saw the surprise on everyone’s faces. As soon as she’d disappeared, they all turned to him with pointed, if unspoken, questions.
He waited until he heard her boots on the stairs. “Her home life isn’t great.”
His mother frowned. “How so?”
“That’s hers to tell, not mine.” He stared after her. “Looks like she won’t get the time to do that, though.” She was leaving. And that prospect was so bleak he turned on his heel and headed to the bedroom that was once his before anyone could see his expression.
Kemble stared after Tris, along with the rest of his family. He glanced to his father, who was frowning, and over to his mother, who just looked puzzled.
“Wow,” Tammy said. “Is there something going on here?”
“Yes there is. You are going to bed,” Kemble’s mother said firmly, over Tammy’s groans. “You too, Lanyon.”
“It’s only ten o’clock!” Lanyon said. “That’s barbaric.”
“You can read or play your flute, but you are doing it in your bedroom.” She clapped her hands. “Hup, hup.”
The two youngest members of the family dragged themselves off. Drew and Jane came out from the kitchen. Jane took one look around, raised her brows, and deliberately yawned. “So exciting,” she murmured. “But I’m exhausted. Think I’ll turn in.” Jane was always considerate.
That left Kemble’s parents, Drew, and the Kee/Devin consortium. The seventeen-year-old puppies were trying to look very grown-up so they wouldn’t be hied off to bed too.
“So, what was that all about?” his father asked the room.
“What was what all about?” Drew asked, with all the nonchalance she could muster. She had always been Tris’s ally underneath her apparent disdain for both older brothers.
“The ‘he has eyes only for her and she won’t look at him’ thing,” Kemble said dryly. His gaze slid to his mother. She was the expert on such matters. However, her expression was unreadable. She appeared to be staring at the big candles that made up the table centerpiece.
“He’s clearly in love with her,” Kee announced.
“He doesn’t believe in love,” Drew said softly, as though confessing Tris’s mortal sin.
Kemble snorted. “And double on Sundays. He has a new ‘girlfriend’ every week.” He didn’t mention that his brother had been trying to hide one very big hard-on through most of dinner. Tris had to carry the napkin out of the room with him. His father noticed, he was sure.
“Had,” Kee pointed out. “We haven’t seen him in a year. We don’t know what he’s like.”
“Don’t think he’s changed,” Kemble muttered.
“How do you know?” Drew asked. “He came home.”
“Because he needed healing,” Kemble snapped. “He tried very hard for a year not to be found. No credit cards, no money wired from his business.”
“But you did track him,” Drew said with certainty. She must have been talking to his mother. “He’d know you could do that. He hadn’t cut his ties completely.”
“He went so far as to buy a new identity. That sounds like someone who doesn’t want to be found. I had a devil of a time figuring that one out. And he’s been doing it hard. Look at the scars on his face. He did drugs and drank too much even before he left. He’s on the road to oblivion, surely.” Kemble had begun to suspect that running into a semi was Tris’s way o
f taking a shortcut to oblivion, consciously or unconsciously.
“You’re right, Kemble,” his mother sighed. She looked up and around the group. “I knew he was having a hard time. The cards said he was growing distant, even from himself these last few months. He cared for nothing. He was on his way to oblivion.”
“I never understood why he left.” His father stared at his wine. “His place was here.”
Drew set her mouth. Kemble sighed. Here it comes. “Maybe he left because everybody just assumed he almost beat that photographer to death. You and Kemble bought the guy off.”
His mother gasped. “You didn’t! Brian....”
“If I hadn’t, we’d all be visiting him in jail,” his father snapped.
“Did you ever ask him whether he did it?” Drew challenged. “Maybe he needed a lawyer to prove his innocence instead of evidence that even his family thought he was guilty.”
“I’ve bailed him out of jail before, unbeknownst to you all.” His father looked uncomfortable though. “I just assumed....” Then he actually flushed, realizing what he’d said.
Nobody said anything except his mother, who stared at the candles and murmured, “I never dreamed ... poor boy.”
His father shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Give me some credit. I was trying to do what was best for Tris.” At his wife’s reproachful look, he was stung into admitting, “I never seem to know how to handle Tristram, Brina. He has no boundaries....” He trailed off unhappily. Yeah. Tris was pretty much the opposite of Tremaine Senior. Unlike Kemble himself, who was a pale shadow of his father. Which was better? Sometimes Kemble envied Tris.
His mother smiled, a small, sad little smile. “I know, Brian. I know he’s difficult.”
“Well, he seemed okay tonight,” Devin ventured, a little hesitant. Devin often felt he didn’t have the right to contribute to Tremaine family councils. “He laughed. He told the ferret story. He actually sang songs.”
“Maybe ... something ... made him engage again,” Kee ventured.
The female half of the table was definitely starting to imagine things. It was Kemble’s job to bring them back to reality. “She isn’t magic.”
01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin Page 17