The Game of Denial

by Brenda Adcock

  The Game of Denial

  Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Adcock

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  More Brenda Adcock Titles

  Other Yellow Rose Books

  Visit Us On Line

  B O O K S B Y Brenda Adcock

  ====================

  Pipeline

  Reiko's Garden

  Redress of Grievances

  The Sea Hawk

  Tunnel Vision

  Soiled Dove

  The Other Mrs. Champion

  The Chameleon

  Picking Up the Pieces

  The Game of Denial

  by

  Brenda Adcock

  Yellow Rose Books

  by Regal Crest

  Texas

  Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Adcock

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-61929-131-7 (eBook)

  eBook Conversion January 2014

  First Printing 2014

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Original cover design by Donna Pawlowski

  Final cover design by Acorn Graphics

  Published by:

  Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

  229 Sheridan Loop

  Belton, TX 76513

  Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

  Published in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  I am one of those people who actually reads the acknowledgements in any book I read and am always amazed at the vast chorus of people each author thanks. I wish I had a million people to thank for assisting me, but I don't make friends easily and am too shy to let a bunch of other people read what I've written. That probably sounds stupid because I hope many will read what I write because I enjoy storytelling. So if you're one of those who also reads the pages before the beginning of a story, thank you.

  Having said that, I wish to thank my publisher, Cathy Bryerose for continuing to have faith in me, Cindy Bryerose for simply being my friend. I have to thank Patty Schramm for her patience while editing my work and never fails to let me know when I've made yet another POV error and usually makes me laugh in the process. I'm sure there are others I should thank, but the old brain fails to connect. As always, however, my deepest thanks to my partner, Cheryl. She is, after all, the one who encouraged me to submit my first manuscript. Now ten manuscripts later I'm still thanking her and always will.

  Dedication

  To Cheryl --

  Who finishes my sentences before I do, and always has.

  I love you just doesn't say well enough what I feel.

  Chapter One

  EVELYN CHASE CURLED her fingers into a tight fist and slammed it into the bowl of rising bread dough on the counter in front of her. She folded the dough in half as she shifted her mouth to blow wavy blonde hair away from her eyes.

  "Remind me never to piss you off, Evey," a woman's voice laughed behind her.

  Evelyn glanced over her shoulder at the attractive young blonde who would be her daughter-in-law in less than two weeks. "You'd be amazed how liberating making homemade bread can be, Fran."

  "Is that how you kept Brad in line when he was a kid?" Francesca Carmichael laughed.

  "It's how I still keep him in line. Psychological warfare."

  Fran was preparing a large basket of snap beans for canning. "I can't wait for my family to taste these beans tonight."

  "They've never had green beans before?"

  "Not fresh and certainly none that taste like yours. If I can spend enough time around you I might become a decent cook one day."

  "You'll be like every other new wife and learn to do things the way that's best for you. Never let your husband convince you to cook like his mother. It's a whole new life and you'll both make a lot of adjustments."

  Evelyn punched the dough down once more and folded it in half before covering it with a hand towel and washing her hands. "Have you and Brad found a place you like yet?" She pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and took a handful of beans from the basket.

  "We've looked at a couple of places, but each one lacked something. I'm sure we'll rent for a while. We don't want to rush into something and then decide we hate it."

  "As long as there's room for you to grow as a family when you're ready, you can do pretty much what you want with the rest of it. This place wasn't always like this. We added a little at a time over the years once the kids started coming along." Evey took another handful of beans, along with a deep breath. "Tell me about your mother, Fran. Honestly, I'm a little apprehensive about meeting the rest of your family. I'm sure I'll look like a bumpkin next to them."

  Fran laughed. "You're not a bumpkin, Evey. You're probably saner than they are. I'm not sure what I can tell you to make you less nervous. Just be yourself. The chances are you'll never see any of them again."

  "Your mother is in advertising, isn't she?"

  "Mother owns an advertising agency in New York. Top drawer, that's how she describes it. My sister Charmaine and my brother Tucker both work with her directly or indirectly. Tuck's the agency's attorney and Charmaine is an ad exec for her."

  "Sounds like a close family."

  "Only in proximity most of the time. Tuck and Charmaine are as different as night and day. I'm sure you'll like my brother, but Charmaine is an acquired taste. She drives Mother crazy most of the time." Fran paused before continuing. "She has a number of close male friends Mother doesn't approve of."

  "Will your biological father be here for the wedding?"

  "Uncle Ron has promised to come, but I don't consider him my father. He agreed to relinquish any paternal claims before Charmaine and I were born. The same is true for Tuck and Meg's biological father."

  "Will he be here as well?"

  "Uncle Gerard sent a note saying he planned to be here, but none of us have seen him since Mama died."

  Evelyn sat back in her chair. "I'm sorry, Fran, but your family is very confusing to me. I can't even imagine relationships such as yours."

  Fran laughed. "I know it's confusing, but it was the only way my parents could have the children they wanted and still remain in the same gene pool. They thought it was safer and if any of us developed health issues, they at least wouldn't be tracking down a total stranger. This way we were a perfect blend of both our mothers' families. If you want to know what my Mama, Martine, looked like, just look at Charmaine. I think the only reason Mother tolerates some of what she does is because Charmaine and Mama could be twins, at least in the looks department. But Mama's personality was nothing like Charmaine's. In that area, she's more like Uncl
e Ron. Sort of a wild child, but basically harmless."

  For a few moments, the two women silently worked on the beans. Fran dropped the last handful into a large bowl of cold water and took a deep breath. "Does it bother you that my parents are lesbians?" she asked quietly.

  Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but shut it quickly. She wasn't sure what to say to the young woman who would soon be a part of her family. "I don't know," she finally said. "It's not a lifestyle I've had much contact with."

  "I can assure you it's not hereditary," Fran said. She looked at Evelyn warmly. "Mother can be a little intimidating at times, but basically she has a good heart. Of all the members of my family, Meme, my grandmother, is the only one anyone fears. Even Mother, I think. She's not your typical Midwestern grandmother, that's for sure. For a woman who grew up in a working class family, she's a little class conscious. She is extremely outspoken and that occasionally leads to a conflict with Mother. Meme has accepted all of her grandchildren, but never the relationship that created us."

  Chapter Two

  "WOULD YOU FEEL better if I captured a few exhaust fumes in a baggie to remind you of home?" Charmaine Carmichael snickered as she watched her mother anguishing over packing the correct clothing.

  "Don't be a smart-ass, Charmaine. It's not an attractive quality," Joan Carmichael answered sharply then brushed light sandy blonde hair across her forehead. Her soft, intelligent, brown eyes slowly scanned the accessories that lay in neat rows next to her suitcase.

  Charmaine pushed away from the doorframe of her mother's luxurious bedroom and wandered across the room. She plopped down in the maroon velvet upholstered rocker that had been her Mama's favorite chair. "I can't believe you're allowing Fran to have her nuptials in Hooterville."

  "It's her wedding." Joan shrugged. "When you get tired of bed-hopping and decide to settle down you can have yours wherever you wish."

  "But ten days? I haven't been away from room service and valet parking that many days in my entire life."

  "Just think of it as a long overdue vacation from the lap of luxury."

  "Then I should be allowed to bring Giancarlo with me as a distraction from all the fresh air and down-home charm."

  Joan straightened and scratched the side of her head. "Why do the terms "˜American family farm' and "˜Italian gigolo' not go well together in my mind?"

  "He's not a gigolo, Mother. Besides, I know you think he's fun to have around."

  "He's very handsome," Joan said. "And as shallow as a koi pond. No Giancarlo, Charmaine."

  "Are you almost finished packing those shucky-darn, howdy y'all clothes so you'll look like one of the natives? The car will be here in less than half an hour."

  "Check with the airport and make sure the plane will be ready to take off as soon as we arrive," Joan said as she closed her suitcase. "Otherwise I might chicken out myself. No pun intended."

  "WHERE THE HELL is your sister?" Joan fumed while her chauffeurcarried luggage to their limousine.

  "Probably attempting to load ten days' worth of music onto a five day iPod," Charmaine said.

  Joan walked back into her townhouse and up the staircase to the second floor. "Meg! Let's go!" We should have had more boys, she thought. I never had these problems with Tucker.

  The door to one of the rooms popped open allowing earsplitting music to escape into the hallway. Joan blinked hard, gaping at her youngest child. Once Megan hit her magical eighteenth birthday, she discovered tattoos, body piercing, and apparently Goodwill, if her attire was any indication. Joan sighed. Only a month or two before Megan had looked so...normal. The final blow came when the girl discovered heavy metal music. At that point, a set of black earbuds became a permanent appendage to her body, forcing Joan to develop a form of sign language to communicate with her. After a few quick signals Meg nodded and disappeared into her room, emerging a minute later with a camouflage backpack and a large rolling suitcase. Although Joan had spent a small fortune, equaling the national debt of a medium-sized African nation, on clothing for the teen, she wasn't shocked to see the now familiar torn, faded jeans and oversized neon yellow t-shirt announcing in bright red print "I was born this way...what's your excuse?" The only parts of her wardrobe that matched were her lime green flip-flops and a lime green baseball cap. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and stuck out the hole in the back of the cap. Even with that less than stellar attire, the ubiquitous earbuds remained firmly ensconced beneath the cap. Joan sighed as Meg bumped her suitcase down the hardwood staircase and hoped their maid would be able to fill the dents left in the wood before they returned.

  WHEN MEG TROTTED down the front steps, Charmaine howled with laughter. She reached out and pulled out one of the earbuds. "Wonderful fashion statement, Meg," she hollered.

  "Thanks." Meg beamed at her oldest sister. She turned the volume down slightly and looked back at Joan. "Has Mom got a board meeting or something before we zip off to the airport? She seems awfully tense."

  Charmaine glanced at her impeccably dressed mother and shook her head. Joan was wearing her usual chic business ensemble. A light gray, pin-striped Armani power suit over a light pink Perry Ellis shirt, accented by the ever-present double strands of small pearls. Charmaine smiled to herself. Even ten years after her wife passed away, Joan still wore the reminder of her almost every day. Sensible black pumps completed her no-nonsense outfit. Charmaine had to admit the color looked good on the fifty-fiveyear-old businesswoman with her short blonde hair combed across her forehead in her usual mannish-style. Charmaine couldn't remember a time when her mother's hair had been styled differently. Despite her clothing and hairstyle, Joan Carmichael was unmistakably feminine, in a butchie sort of way.

  "Take a good look around," Charmaine sighed as they climbed in the limousine. "It's our last view of civilization for nearly two freakin' weeks."

  AS WAS HER habit, Joan was the last to board the company jet. Their flight time from New York to the closest airport to their destination in rural southern Virginia was less than three hours. She draped her suit jacket on the seat back, settled into her seat along one side of the cabin, which looked like a smaller version of her living room, and secured the seatbelt around her waist. She looked across the cabin at her son, Tucker, and his wife and children. They were a handsome family. She was proud of her only son. As the corporate attorney for her company he had kept them on track and out of trouble with copyright questions. A few of her junior executives had managed to come up with memorable advertising slogans which were now legally protected from being used by other agencies without forking over a sizeable fee. Life was good, she thought as she glanced around the cabin. She enjoyed a successful and profitable career, was the mother of four beautiful children. She paused as her eyes fell on Meg. Make that three and a half beautiful children. But one day hopefully even Meg would grow up and blossom into another successful member of the Carmichael clan. What more could a mother ask for? Perhaps not having to spend ten days in the boonies, but every venture had its downs as well as its ups.

  When the jet leveled off at cruising altitude, everyone relaxed and unfastened their seatbelts. Joan's grandchildren, Mitchell and Morgana, settled on the cabin floor with a super-sized pail of LEGOs, while the adults were served alcoholic beverages. She smiled when Meg accepted a glass of white wine, her Mama's favorite brand, from the hostess. She was only eighteen, but her Mama had been European and they were accustomed to providing wine to even the smallest child. Martine was gone, dead by the time Meg was eight, but Joan tried to keep as much of her influence alive as possible.

  The thought of her wife filled her with warm memories and the coldest despair she had ever known. All of their children were minor reflections of the woman Joan had loved with every fiber of her being. Martine would have been proud to see them all now grown, having become beautiful, mature individuals. She took another glance at Meg whose head was now bouncing along to the beat of whatever she was listening to. Some more mature than others, of cours
e. She swiveled her chair and looked out the window at the ground passing quickly beneath them. She wished Martine could be there to see their daughter get married. She would have been so happy, so proud, so...alive. Joan closed her eyes and rubbed them with the tips of her thumb and index finger.

  "You okay, Mom?" Tucker asked.

  "Just dandy," she said.

  "You've been working too hard. You can use some time away from the agency. It's in good hands with Cleo."

  "I know, sweetie. But I'm not sure what I'll do for ten days."

  "Fran said there's a lot she wants your help with as far as setting everything up is concerned. There's something important she wanted to ask you, but she wouldn't tell me what it was. Guess she wants it to be a surprise."

  "Goody," Joan mumbled as she took a swallow of her drink and resumed gazing out the window. "Another surprise."

  "When are Uncle Ron and Meme arriving?"

  "Waaay too soon," Charmaine said before chugging the remainder of her drink.

  Joan shot her the look of reprimand all mothers developed over time. "Meme will arrive two or three days before the ceremony. You will all have to find your own ways to endure it. You know how she is."

  "She's the battle axe from hell," Charmaine said as she waited for her glass to be refilled. "At least Uncle Ron is usually good for a few laughs."

  "Is Uncle Gerard coming?" Tucker asked.

  "As far as I know, but I haven't received his travel plans. Fran may know." Joan shrugged. She hadn't seen Martine's twin brother since her funeral ten years earlier and wondered how much he had changed.