She stayed in bed for another half hour, trying to give Gabe enough time to fall asleep. Once up, she puttered quietly about the house—reading the local newspaper, the Citizen, which Gabe had brought inside, washing the few dishes she had used the day before and feeding Frederica. The little fish sucked the flakes into her mouth before most had time to settle on the bright blue rocks lining the bottom of the bowl.
Raine was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a second cup of tea and leafing through a magazine, when Gabe stirred back to life and came into the room. He yawned as he claimed the chair opposite her.
“Good morning.” She smiled. “You look all ready to take on the world.”
His reply was something between a grunt and a groan, which quickly evolved into another yawn. “Yesterday felt like two days put together.”
“I heard you gave a fire-safety talk to a preschool class.”
“From Britt? Yeah. But talking to kids isn’t bad. Not when you know you might be saving a life. The little ones need to learn what a fire fighter in full gear looks like. Kids have died because they get scared when they see us at a fire and hide. They think we’re monsters or something. They need to see that underneath our suit and breathing equipment we’re a person just like Mommy or Daddy.” He smiled dryly. “They do ask a lot of questions, though.”
“You had some calls yesterday,” she informed him.
“I’ll bet.”
Raine shook her head. “No, I mean real calls. From people you’ll probably want to call back.”
He started to get up.
“You’re going to call them back now?” she asked, surprised.
“Something wrong with that?” His gaze was quizzical.
“No. Just...don’t you want some coffee or something to eat first?” Joel never called anyone back right away, not even when he had the time. They’ll call again if they’re serious, he used to tell her. And he especially didn’t like to be disturbed in the morning, by her or anyone else, until he’d absorbed at least two cups of coffee.
“Not now,” Gabe said easily. “It can wait.”
He disappeared into the living room, where she soon heard him dialing a number.
She finished her tea, then got up to make his coffee. He’d done so many nice things for her, trying to cheer her up. It was the least she could do to try to repay his thoughtfulness.
“Some of my regulars,” Gabe said when he came back a short time later. He sniffed the air and made a pleased sound. “Mmm, great! I’m ready for a cup now.”
“Sit down and I’ll pour,” she volunteered.
Gabe smiled up at her as she filled his cup—that sweet Gabe smile that meant so much to her. She’d been on the receiving end of it so often over the years.
“You’ll spoil me,” he said.
“Maybe you need a little spoiling. From what I’ve seen so far, you don’t get very much.”
“Be careful,” he teased. “You might make me think you care.”
Raine paused in the act of sitting down again, and Gabe, seeing her reaction, suddenly found something to do with his shoelace. It was one of those moments when someone said something that came a little too close to an unspoken truth. But of course she cared for him! she asserted to herself. He was her friend!
Raine cleared throat. “Of course I care,” she said firmly.
Double taps—the private signal—sounded on the kitchen door. Both of them looked up and into each other’s eyes. The discomfort that had momentarily flared between them might never have been.
The taps sounded again, followed by Marge calling, “Raine? Gabe? Are you there?”
Raine got up to let her mother inside.
Marge hugged them both before joining them at the table. She refused their offer of something to drink. Instead, she folded her hands in front of her and said seriously, “I think this is a very foolish thing you’ve done. It didn’t have to be this way. Not in this day and age. Unmarried women are having babies and raising them alone all the time...not that I think that’s the best way, from my own experience. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s done. You’re married. And the people of Tyler know about it. So the only thing we can do—George and I—is to support you all the way. If you want me to, I’ll pretend that I knew about it all the time. That I knew you planned to get married, but not when. That the whim struck you and you did it and I don’t mind in the least.” She turned to Gabe. “It won’t be a lie that I think of you as a son, Gabe, because I do. Have you told your father yet?”
Gabe shook his head. “Not yet. We thought we’d give him a little more time on his vacation. We didn’t really want to tell you...but you called and talked to Raine.”
Marge said, “One of the best things I ever did was to forget to leave that key behind. It really would have looked strange for George and me to stay in the dark. I know how the gossips think around here. Someone would have called and given me the news— several of my waitresses had the number—and I’m not as good an actress as you are, Raine. I wouldn’t have fooled anyone on the spur of the moment.” Marge stood up. “Well, that’s about it, I guess. This isn’t going to be easy, particularly when Raine’s pregnancy starts to show. The tongues will wag again. But words can’t hurt anybody. You just have to keep your head up and keep going.”
“I’m glad you’re not angry, Marge,” Gabe said quietly.
She smiled. “Shocked was more like it. But now that’s wearing off. It’ll wear off with the town, too...eventually.”
Gabe and Raine remained at the table after Marge left, each lost in thought. Then Raine stood up and reached for his cup. “Let me heat this,” she said. “It’s probably cold by now.”
“It’s fine,” Gabe replied, intercepting her.
Her fingers were beneath his, and she twisted her hand until they were entwined. “Have you come to regret what you did, Gabe?” she asked quietly. “Yesterday must have been a nightmare for you...and now this. Mom’s a strong person. She’s had to be. But sometimes she can come down a little hard.”
“Your mother is one of the finest people I know.”
Raine sighed and nodded in agreement, once again ridiculously near to tears. She hated the way her emotions were so close to the surface—another side effect of the pregnancy, she’d read. It wasn’t like her to cry or to be so easily upset. Yet even without her spiking hormones, the past few months had not been easy. More than once she’d found herself stinging from something Joel had said or done. He wasn’t an easy person to live with. He was spoiled, he was difficult...but because he was so brilliant, so arresting and creative, she’d let herself be swept along on the currents of his desires. What would her mother think of Joel? she wondered. And, equally, what would Joel have thought of her mother?
“Hey, Red,” Gabe said softly, breaking into her musings. “How’d you like to take a little walk? One of those calls earlier was from a lady in distress. Remember Mrs. Franklin from elementary school? The ceiling light is out in her kitchen and I told her I’d be over soon to change it. Want to come along?”
“Mrs. Franklin?” Raine echoed.
He nodded. “She’s ninety-two now, still lives at home, does almost everything for herself, but she can’t climb a ladder. Her grandchildren would like her to move into Worthington House, but she refuses. Not as long as she can still ‘percolate,’ as she puts it.”
“Mrs. Franklin! She was my teacher in second grade!”
“Mine, too. She’s still pretty much the same. Whenever I do anything for her, I have to do it right. ‘A job is not worth doing if it’s not done properly, Gabriel.’” He chuckled at his mimicry of Mrs. Franklin’s prim mannerisms.
“I’d love to see her,” Raine said.
“Then let’s do it.”
Gabe pulled her from her chair.
* * *
<
br /> IT FELT ODD to Raine to be out and about in Tyler. In the past, during her short return trips to the town of her birth, she’d stayed at her mother’s house and rarely left except for quick trips to the Diner or for a special meal at Timberlake Lodge. She’d never taken the time to explore the streets she’d known as a child and a teenager. Now it was with a sense of enjoyment that she recognized houses and noticed small changes.
“Oh, look! Old Mrs. Atkins’s place!” she exclaimed as they passed in front of a tall Victorian that once had belonged to Rose Atkins, one of Tyler’s more colorful characters. Before her death a few years earlier, the elderly woman had been regularly seen riding around on her three-wheel bike, running errands and transporting herself to her quilting-circle meetings. “Mom wrote about what Susannah and Joe were doing with the place. Granny Rose’s...what a wonderful name for a bed-and-breakfast! Mrs. Atkins would be pleased.”
The front door opened and a strikingly pretty young woman with dark hair flowing loosely over her shoulders came out on the porch to shake a small rug. She went back inside without noticing them.
“Who was that?” Raine asked.
“Gina Santori,” Gabe said.
Raine’s eyebrows lifted. “Joe’s daughter? The last time I saw her she was what—twelve? Now she’s—”
“Seven years makes a lot of difference. Particularly with young girls.”
Raine sent him a speculative look. “She certainly has grown up. You’ve, ah, noticed?”
Gabe’s lips twitched. “I’m a married man, remember?”
“Not for long.”
“Stop trying to matchmake.”
“I’m just pointing out that she’s a very pretty young woman.”
“I have eyes.”
“Oh, well, excuse me.” Raine grinned. “Next time I won’t say anything.”
“Good.” A moment passed. “What are you laughing at?” he demanded, looking at her sideways.
“Oh, nothing...male sensitivity, I guess. Does Mrs. Franklin live around here? I don’t remember ever being at her house before.”
“That’s her place over there.” Gabe pointed to the gracefully aging two-story Victorian up the street. It was the second house from the corner and faced the elementary school.
“I never realized she lived that close to the school,” Raine commented. “But then in second grade I never really gave much thought to the fact that my teacher ‘lived’ anywhere. If I’d been asked, I’d probably have said that she lived at the school!”
Gabe chuckled. “Which was probably the way she preferred it—keeping all the kids in the dark in order to preserve her sanity.”
He motioned for Raine to precede him onto the narrow porch, where without hesitation he knocked on one of the sturdy double doors. Both were inset with an oval of thick glass and covered on the inside by delicate lace sheers.
It took a few moments before a fragile hand pulled aside a portion of the lace, then released it to open one of the doors.
Mrs. Franklin looked much as Raine remembered her—small and delicately made, yet with an innate dignity that time had not dulled. She’d always seemed old to Raine, with her silver hair and parchmentlike skin. If she was ninety-two now, she had to have been in her mid-seventies when Raine was in second grade. She’d retired the next year.
“Gabriel!” The old woman greeted him warmly, her crackly voice the same one Raine had heard on the answering machine the day before.
“Hello, Beth,” he responded, a special warmth entering his tone. His use of their stern teacher’s first name widened Raine’s eyes. “I’ve brought along someone you might like to see again. Do you remember Lorraine Peterson?”
Raine felt the old woman’s eyes turn on her and narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?” Beth Franklin demanded.
“I’ve moved back, Mrs. Franklin. How are you?” Raine asked.
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She turned to Gabe as she saw them inside. “Gabriel, now I’ve had a second bulb burn out. Would you mind replacing it as well? One is in the kitchen and the other in the pantry.”
Stepping into Beth Franklin’s house was like entering another age. Raine’s eyes widened even more as she followed the others into the living room, which was decorated in the Victorian style with mounds of clutter. Every available surface was taken up with old and beautiful keepsakes and trinkets. Heavy, dark curtains on the high windows blotted out the sunlight, while tall floor lamps—some with shades edged in fringe, some without—pooled yellowish light on the period furniture and muted, jewel-pat-terned rugs.
“We’ll wait here for you to finish, Gabriel. Then, if you like, you may bring the lemonade from the refrigerator and the tray I’ve already prepared and have waiting on the counter.”
“Certainly,” Gabe replied, and after giving Raine a surreptitious wink, he disappeared through a doorway that led to the rear of the house.
“Sit down, Lorraine,” Beth Franklin said, before she slowly and carefully settled herself in a chair.
Raine sat, more than a trifle uncomfortably, in another chair. Mrs. Franklin had been a stern taskmaster, even to children of seven or eight. She’d taught by the old style—a child was to be heard only when given permission. Homework had to be done and handed in before class began, and frequent tests were the only way to measure just how much the student had learned. To say that Raine had learned a great deal more in second grade than she did in some of her later grades was wholly accurate. Mrs. Franklin had expected great effort from her pupils and accepted nothing less. Raine had never felt that she measured up, and now, even though she was grown, she still felt the same way.
“Tell me about yourself,” her old teacher instructed. “I’ve heard a little from time to time, but not enough. You sing and dance on the stage?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you good at it?”
“I think so.”
“And act? I’ve heard that, too.”
Raine smiled tightly. Mrs. Franklin would no doubt consider her choice of career a terrible waste.
But Beth Franklin leaned forward and, before Raine could answer, confided, “This is going to shock you. A long time ago I would have given everything I had to be able to do that.” The older woman enjoyed Raine’s start of surprise. “I would,” she repeated. “I even considered going to Chicago to work at a speakeasy. I had a fairly good voice and I thought someone might see me and help me get on the stage. But Father discovered my plans and that was the end of that. I ended up getting married and then teaching.”
“I never...”
“I know. You thought I was an old fuddy-duddy, as did everyone else.”
Raine truly didn’t know what to say.
Beth Franklin began singing a song from the twenties, one of the many silly, happy little songs that were a perfect reflection of the time. Obviously her voice wasn’t as good as it used to be, but there were enough flashes of sweetness and purity to show that she once did have talent.
“My husband didn’t think singing was seemly for someone in my position, so I didn’t sing anymore.”
“How sad,” Raine murmured.
“For him, yes. He wasn’t a very happy man. I couldn’t make him happy. I tried,” she said with a sigh, “but it didn’t work.”
Raine stretched her neck, hoping to catch sight of Gabe. She was starting to gain the impression that Mrs. Franklin’s mind was occasionally a little dreamy. She was saying things that the old Mrs. Franklin would never have said.
Gabe came back into the room at that moment, and Raine smiled at him in relief.
“Job’s all done, Beth,” he said as he settled the lemonade tray on the low table in front of the couch. “Both lightbulbs are replaced. Would you like me to serve us?”
“That would be wond
erful, Gabriel.”
Gabe carefully filled the glasses and handed them around. “Cookie?” he offered next.
Raine shook her head, but Mrs. Franklin took one.
“I always have loved lemonade,” the older woman reflected, looking at her glass as Gabe took a seat on the couch. “I think I like it because I remember it being such a treat when I was a child. I was born in Alabama, you know. Mobile. My family didn’t move to Wisconsin until I was nearly ten. I don’t sound like it, do I? My Southern accent is completely gone. My father said we had to fit in, so he used to slap our hands with a switch every time we slipped and said something the wrong way. The backs of my hands were red far more often than my sister’s, but I eventually learned.”
Raine took a sip of lemonade, then had to stifle a grimace. The mixture was very strong and very sour.
With her lips puckering, she looked desperately at Gabe and saw his amusement. He took a bite of cookie, but didn’t touch his drink. “Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind, Raine?” he asked, once again offering her the plate of cookies.
Raine took one and ate it in self-defense. The cookie, a store-bought macaroon, helped mitigate the sour taste.
“Thanks,” she murmured when she could.
Gabe turned to Mrs. Franklin. “Beth, has your grandson come over to take those old newspapers and magazines away yet?”
“I’ve asked him to, but he hasn’t...not yet.”
“I’ve told you I’d be glad to do it.”
The old woman shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t be fair. Bobby said he’ll come do it and he will.”
“Maybe he’s too busy right now.”
“Well, he is, but he told me he’d be around just as soon as he could find the time.”
“Would you like me to talk to him?” Gabe volunteered.
“No. I can manage.”
“It’s not a good idea to have that much old paper lying around. Especially on a back porch. It could catch fire.”
Beth’s laugh was girlish. “No, it won’t. You’re just saying that.”
“No, I’m not.” Gabe was firm but patient.
Daddy Next Door (Hometown Reunion) Page 8