Close to Home

by Raney, Deborah;

  Aaron had grilled steaks for her at his place Saturday night and they’d had a good time. He seemed to be over his little temper tantrum after running into Drew at Culver’s. They’d both been so busy at work this week that they’d had little time to talk. She sort of hoped tomorrow would be equally busy so he wouldn’t think to ask about Drew.

  She didn’t like having to walk on eggshells around Aaron. But when she searched her memories, she realized that Tim had been that way about certain topics. She’d recalled fights she and Tim had in the early weeks of their marriage—things she hadn’t thought about since his death. Maybe it was good to get her husband down off the pedestal she’d placed him on. Timothy was a good, good man. But he hadn’t been perfect.

  And it wasn’t fair for her to expect Aaron to be perfect either.

  How had she gotten on this tangent? CeeCee had been pouting beside her for several minutes, no doubt expecting a reply.

  She took her hand off the steering wheel and reached to touch CeeCee’s frail arm, half afraid the older woman would turn away. But she didn’t—though her gaze remained trained out the window on the tangle of summer vines and vegetation that grew along the lane. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t an easy decision. And we shouldn’t have pushed you if you’re not ready to move yet. But you have to tell Grant and Audrey. It’s not fair for them to be working so hard to get this cottage finished when you aren’t even willing to live there.”

  “Don’t you worry about them. They’ve wanted to build this cottage for themselves for years now. I just let them get it done—on my dime, mind you—a little ahead of schedule.”

  “Well, that’s . . . thoughtful of you. But I still think you need to tell them. They might make some different decisions about the cottage if they know it’s not for you.”

  “They haven’t asked my opinion yet.”

  Bree doubted that was true. But she tucked away the accusation for when she got the courage to speak to Tim’s parents.

  CeeCee seemed distracted and twisted in her seat to look over the backseat.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I did bring that picnic basket, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. It’s right behind your seat. What do you have hiding in that picnic basket for tonight’s dessert?” She made her voice bright, hoping to change the mood in the car before they arrived at the inn.

  CeeCee apparently had the same idea. She reached over to pat Bree’s knee beneath the steering wheel. “Well now, you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

  Bree laughed with relief and slowed the car as the turn for Chicory Lane came into view.

  * * *

  With the kids settled on the back deck with popsicles, Audrey unpacked CeeCee’s picnic basket and got down dessert plates.

  “Can I help?” Bree rose and went to the island where two golden-crusted peach pies sat, waiting to be cut. She was grateful for an excuse to leave the table.

  Drew Brooks was indeed here again tonight, and despite her efforts not to, she knew she was flirting with him. Or rather flirting back. He was the instigator, but she seemed powerless to respond any way that didn’t seem flirtatious.

  In her defense, her sisters-in-law responded to Drew the same—giggling at his corny puns and laughing as he regaled them with his comical mishaps on the construction site. He had certainly come out of his shell since the last time he’d been out to the inn with Dallas and Danae.

  Another burst of laughter came from the dining table around the corner. This time it was Grant holding court, tattling on something Drew did. “I didn’t have the heart to tell the poor guy I’d already wired the whole thing.”

  Bree had missed the beginning of the story, but apparently whatever Drew had done, undid several hours of Grant’s hard efforts.

  Knife in hand, Audrey grinned. “I’m glad Grant is able to see the humor. Drew must have won him over to get him to joke about four hours of lost work!”

  “I know.” Bree chose a knife from the cutting block and cut the second pie in half. She glanced over at the pie Audrey was working on. “How many slices are you doing?”

  “Eight, but if you want to do yours in six, we can let the guys have bigger pieces.”

  “Got it.” She was glad for the diversion. And more grateful that Aaron wasn’t here. She hoped her cheeks didn’t look as pink as they felt. She was acting like a teenager with her first crush.

  “Drew is a really sweet guy,” Audrey said.

  Bree didn’t dare look up, but the inflection in Audrey’s voice seemed to beg agreement.

  “Yes. He reminds me a lot of Dallas,” she hedged. “Even though I know Dallas is adopted they have such similar mannerisms.”

  “Grant says he doesn’t currently have a girlfriend.”

  There was something in Audrey’s voice that made Bree look up. An enigmatic smile. But Bree was pretty sure it was the smile of a “matchmaker.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t heard him say.” She slipped a slice of pie onto a plate and changed the subject. “Do you want ice cream on these?”

  “Oh! Yes, I almost forgot. It’s in the pantry fridge.”

  “I’ll go get it.” Bree hurried to the pantry off the back porch before Audrey could protest.

  She managed to compose herself before she returned with a gallon tub of vanilla ice cream. She quickly scooped ice cream, and Audrey carried the plates to the table two at a time.

  Bree put the ice cream away and when she returned to the table with her own plate of pie and ice cream, Link had the floor, telling a story on his sisters. She slipped into her chair directly across from Drew. “This looks delicious, Mrs. Whitman,” he told CeeCee.

  She beamed and everyone dug in.

  Bree put a large bite in her mouth. It took a minute to register, but the sharp bite of salt pickled her tongue and made her eyes water. She looked across the table at Drew and saw he was surreptitiously spitting a mouthful of pie into his napkin. Their eyes met and she held her breath.

  “Oh, dear.” Audrey spoke over a mouthful of pie. Jesse and Link both had their napkins up to their mouths and Landyn coughed like she’d swallowed a bite.

  The others apparently hadn’t tasted theirs yet, but someone needed to warn them.

  “Um . . . Everyone?” Audrey held up a hand. “Wait just a moment before you eat your pie.” She turned to CeeCee. “Cecelia, is it possible you filled your sugar canister with salt?”

  “What are you talking about?” CeeCee looked confused but—against Landyn’s hurried protests—put a bite in her mouth. She spit it out as if it were tobacco chaw and her plate a spittoon.

  The table erupted in hilarity.

  “What’d you do, CeeCee?” Link teased. “Try to poison us?”

  “Maybe we need to label your canisters a little better,” Audrey said.

  “Or did you just think we were already sweet enough?” Landyn added.

  CeeCee looked like she was trying to come up with a zinger, which she was usually pretty good at. But to everyone’s dismay, she burst into tears, putting her head in her hands and sobbing.

  Grant jumped from his chair and went to kneel by her side. “Mother . . . Mother, it’s okay. We’re just teasing you. It was a mistake anyone could have made.” He looked to Audrey with desperation on his face.

  Bree felt near tears herself. It was so unlike CeeCee to take offense. Usually she was the one zinging them.

  “It wasn’t that bad, Mrs. Whitman,” Drew said. “With the ice cream on there, you kind of had that sweet and salty thing going.”

  Bree could have kissed him. The thought made her face heat again. Because she really could have.

  But CeeCee didn’t look up. She wept as if her heart was broken, slumping over her plate. Audrey quickly removed it from the table. Tim’s sisters got up and quietly cleared the table. Two at a time, they moved into the kitchen, leaving Grant and Audrey alone with CeeCee.

  The rest of them made small talk in low tones around the kitch
en bar, but they didn’t even try to pretend that they didn’t each have an ear trained on the dining room, where Grant was talking quietly, giving his mother sweet affirmation.

  “Mother, in six decades of cooking, this is the first disaster I can remember. I think you’ve earned the right to have one failure.”

  “But I could have killed someone!” CeeCee wailed.

  “I think that’s a little extreme.” Audrey echoed Grant’s tone.

  “What if it had been one of the children?”

  “They would have spit it out—just like we did.” Grant’s affected laughter wasn’t very convincing, and Bree could hear the deep concern in his voice. “It all turned out fine, Mother. No harm done.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  “Are you sure? Why don’t you stay a little longer. We can put in a movie or something.”

  “No. Take me home. Please.” Her voice trembled.

  Bree exchanged looks with Landyn, who looked near tears herself. This wasn’t like their CeeCee.

  And Bree feared the writing was on the wall: CeeCee was going to get moved into that cottage whether she liked it or not.

  The sooner, the better.

  17

  Drew, I’m so sorry you had to get in on all the drama.” Grant’s oldest daughter stood by the front door of her parents’ inn playing hostess in Audrey’s absence. Grant and Audrey had taken Mrs. Whitman home after finally getting her calmed down a little, and the evening had come to a rather sudden halt.

  Drew had to admit it had been a little awkward to be privy to the whole scene—he could still taste the horribly salty peach pie on his tongue. And yet, there’d been something about the situation that he’d found incredibly touching. This family’s love for each other drew him, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And made him miss his parents more deeply than he had in quite a while.

  “Don’t think anything of it,” he told Corinne. “I just hope she’s okay.”

  She frowned. “I think CeeCee will be all right.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  Bree appeared at the doorway just then. “Jesse has the kids packed up,” she told Corinne. “Do you want me to carry your dishes out for you?”

  “Thanks, sis, but I think we can get it. You go on home. You have to work tomorrow. And it’s been a long night.”

  “It has.” Bree sighed and came down the steps.

  Huckleberry bounded around the corner of the wraparound porch and ran figure-eights around her and Drew.

  “Huck!” Bree spoke to the chocolate Lab in a stern voice. “Settle down, boy!”

  “Here, Huck!” Link let out one of his ear-piercing whistles. “Come, boy! Come get a treat.”

  The dog streaked up the stairs and sat in front of Link, looking up at him with sad eyes.

  Drew and Bree laughed together.

  “You headed for your car?” he asked her. “I’m parked right beside you. I’ll walk you.”

  “Thanks.” Bree turned and waved goodnight to the stragglers still on the porch. “Hey guys, is somebody locking up in case your parents don’t get back for a while?”

  “I’m on it,” Link said. “You go on.”

  “Okay. See you all soon.” She turned back to Drew. “I’m so sorry you had to witness that little drama.”

  He laughed, then stopped himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at the . . . situation. It’s just that Corinne said the same thing almost word for word.”

  “About the drama? Really?”

  He nodded, grateful to see she was smiling. “And like I told her, I just hope your grandmother is okay.” He realized after the words were out that CeeCee wasn’t actually Bree’s grandmother. But she didn’t correct him. Or maybe one’s late husband’s grandmother was still considered a relative. He wasn’t sure how that stuff worked.

  “I’m really worried about her.” Bree’s smile faded. “I don’t remember the last time I heard CeeCee cry.” A strange look came to her face.

  Drew could read her expression as if she’d spoken the words: the last time Bree had seen the elderly woman cry had been at Tim’s funeral.

  A knowing passed between them, but Bree never spoke the words. Instead, she said, “CeeCee just sounded so . . . pathetic.”

  “Grant said she might have Alzheimer’s?” Too late, it struck him that Grant might have told him that in confidence. The two of them had done a lot of talking while they worked on the cottage. He’d grown to really admire his brother’s father-in-law. And understood why Dallas thought so much of the man.

  “I don’t think CeeCee has let them do any tests yet, but yes, there’s probably some kind of dementia going on. I didn’t see it at first, but there’ve been several . . . incidents recently that make me think it might be Alzheimer’s, or at least something like it. But after all she is . . . eighty-five, I think. Or eighty-six. I forget exactly.”

  “She’s a pretty cool old lady.”

  Bree laughed. “That she is.”

  “It’ll be nice when the cottage is finished, and she can live closer to her son . . . have someone to keep an eye on her.”

  “Yeah . . .” Bree chewed at the corner of her lip. “I hope that works out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t say anything to Grant, but CeeCee told me—twice now, actually—that she has no intention of moving.”

  “Oh, wow.” He looked at the ground. “Well, that’s information I wish I didn’t have.”

  She grimaced. “Sorry. But I had to tell somebody. I just can’t betray CeeCee’s confidence, but I don’t know how I’ll face Grant and Audrey if they find out I knew about it all along and didn’t say anything.”

  “It’s not like they can unbuild the cottage or anything. Man! That’s a tough one. So what do you think will happen?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I’m really worried about how it’s all going to play out. CeeCee can be pretty stubborn when she sets her mind to it.”

  “Well, you can’t blame her. It would be hard to move out of your home. Grant said she’s lived there for fifty-some years.”

  “Yes. I don’t know exactly but a long time. As long as I’ve known her. But the cottage looks awesome. It sure wouldn’t take much to get me to move there.”

  He laughed. “It’s shaping up, isn’t it.” He turned to look down toward the meadow, but it was too dark to see more than a dim silhouette against the trees that crowded the creek. “And I can tell you that it’s being built by a perfectionist.”

  “So you’re a perfectionist, huh?”

  “Not me!” He held his palms up in protest. “Far from it! I’m actually a little surprised I haven’t been fired yet.”

  “What?”

  “I’m kidding,” he said quickly. “But Grant . . . that man is a perfectionist. If it’s gonna be done, it’s gonna be done right.”

  She nodded. “I can see that.”

  They’d reached their cars in the small guest parking area across from the inn. He slowed, casually keeping himself between Bree and her car, not wanting their conversation to end. She didn’t seem eager to leave either. It was still light out, the evening having ended rather abruptly.

  Drew was scrambling to think of a topic that would keep their conversation going, when Huckleberry trotted up and stood beside him, panting. “Is he supposed to be out?”

  “It’s okay. He pretty much has the run of the place.” She bent at the waist and clucked her tongue at the dog. “C’mere boy. You’re a good doggie, aren’t you.” She baby talked and scratched behind the dog’s ears.

  Drew found himself a little jealous of the mutt. “He’s a Lab?”

  “Yes, a chocolate Lab. They’ve had him for as long as I can remember. He’s probably getting pretty old by now.”

  “Do you have a dog? I don’t know much about them, actually. Dallas and I grew up with cats. Our mom always had at least one around.”

  “I don’t have any pets. I think about getting one sometimes, but I�
�d just hate to leave it home alone all day while I’m at work.”

  He reached to stroke Huck’s head. “I know what you mean. But sometimes it’d be nice to have someone welcome you home.” He was starting to sound maudlin, so he grasped for levity. “Bring your slippers to you, have dinner ready, you know?”

  She laughed. It was her laugh that had first attracted him. Like music. Only better.

  “If only,” she said. “Somehow I don’t think that’s how it works. At least not without a little quid pro quo.”

  He nodded. “It’s nice you’re so close to the family still. After everything . . .” He was going out on a limb, but he had nothing to lose. “Grant sure thinks a lot of you.”

  She looked surprised. “He said something?”

  Drew shrugged. “Mostly just the way he talks about you. Like you’re one of his daughters or something.”

  “That’s nice to know. I mean . . . Not that I didn’t think he liked me or anything. But I guess we just take that kind of stuff for granted.”

  “How long has it been? Since . . . your husband.” He was all in now.

  She looked at the ground. He prayed she wouldn’t start crying or anything.

  But when she looked up, her eyes were clear. “Almost five years. In some ways it seems like twenty. And sometimes it seems like yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry. That had to be tough.”

  “Yes. It was. But I had a lot of support. I lived with Tim’s family. Here”—she motioned toward the house—“but before they opened the inn. It doesn’t look anything like it did then. Anyway, that helped a lot. To have Tim’s family to help me get through.”

  “What about your parents? They’re still living?”

  She looked at the floor. “Yes. They live in Boonville. Near Columbia?”

  “Sure, I know where that is.”

  “I don’t see them too often. Just . . . holidays and stuff.” She shrugged.

  “You don’t get along?”

  She eyed him like she thought she might have misunderstood. Or like she couldn’t believe he’d asked that.