Unexpected

by Karen Tuft

  Jackie slid back into her chair after returning the pitcher of lemonade to the fridge. She leaned in on her propped-up elbows.

  “We want the refreshments to feel homemade and taste yummy, but we have too many people invited to do too much of it ourselves, really,” Dorothy explained. “So we’re including some catered items out of necessity.”

  The list included miniature ham sandwiches, chicken puffs, iced shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, cheesecake, petit fours, tartlets with a variety of fillings . . . Natalie’s brain automatically heard the cha-ching of a cash register. She thought of the sugar cookies she and the girls had made—on a budget—just last week.

  “What about a nice soup, dear?” Dorothy continued. “The evenings are getting that crisp autumn bite. Soup might be nice. Chili, maybe?” She looked expectantly at Jackie, who shook her head.

  “Mom, remember how many invitations Susan sent? If we include soup, that means bowls and spoons in addition to plates and forks.”

  “Not to mention the potential for spills,” Natalie murmured. She looked up from the menu. “Is this a party for adults, or are you expecting children too? Because brownies—”

  “Oh, Jackie!” Dorothy’s eyes widened in horror. “Children!” Turning back to Natalie, she added, “Of course there will be children. My grandchildren will all be there, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two people showed up with their kids in tow.”

  “And who knows how Suzie addressed the invitations.” Jackie plopped her head onto her arms. “Mom, we need to come up with some sort of plan to keep the kids happy—and us sane!”

  “What about having games, maybe some crafts set up somewhere?” Natalie suggested. “Apples on a string, face painting, that sort of thing—”

  “Great idea!” Jackie exclaimed. “There might be a fairly big age range—maybe we can hire a couple of teenage girls to keep things generally in control, with one of us checking in occasionally to make sure things are okay.”

  “I have a couple of teenage daughters who are pretty dependable,” Natalie offered. “Unless there are girls you already know who you’d prefer.”

  “Perfect!” Dorothy beamed. “And since we are expecting you to be here anyway, you can just bring them along. Do they have any friends who can help?”

  “I’m sure they do. And my younger daughter especially loves kids. She’ll be thrilled at the idea of helping.” She paused. “You said you’re expecting me here?”

  “It would be so lovely if you could help us with the party, make sure the buffet stays filled, that sort of thing. Only if you’re free that evening, of course, and willing.”

  Natalie could feel Jackie suddenly studying her. “You really have two teenage daughters, Natalie?” she asked.

  “Guilty as charged—and a son on a mission as well. I’d be happy to help next Saturday night in any way I can.” Natalie stood and took her glass over to rinse and load into the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a dish towel and turned determinedly to Dorothy. “What would you like me to do for you now?”

  Dorothy shot Jackie a pleased look and then sent Natalie outside to wash windows. The temperature was a bit chilly outside, but Natalie didn’t mind. The brisk air felt good, and her exertions kept her warm.

  The view of the Salt Lake Valley from Dorothy’s home was lovely. Natalie had worked hard all day, but the work had been enjoyable as she’d watched Mrs. McConnell—Dorothy—interact with her daughter. Ross had a nice family, she thought, her heart aching. She hoped he realized how blessed he was.

  She missed her mom like crazy just thinking about it.

  After she finished the windows, she planned to hurry home and hug her daughters and then e-mail Ryan. And tomorrow she’d call her dad and have a nice, long conversation with him. He’d like that.

  And so would she.

  Chapter 11

  Ross pulled out of his driveway and headed to his mother’s house, the place where he’d grown up. The party was scheduled to begin in a little more than an hour, and he’d promised to arrive early to make sure all of the final details were in order. Suzie had hired a live combo, his sisters had purchased enough food to feed an army, and they’d arranged for his new housekeeper to help out. Despite his best attempts at rationalization and his generous pocket book, however, he felt guilty that he hadn’t played a more active role in the planning of the festivities. He had talked to his mother briefly earlier in the week, and she’d seemed relaxed and even excited about her birthday party, so he’d figured things were well in hand. When he walked through the kitchen door, he would know for sure.

  Living in New York, he’d been able to compartmentalize his memories of family and home—and his father. When he’d returned to New York after the funeral, he’d dug into his work to separate himself from his feelings and his grief.

  He stopped at a red light, checked the time on the dashboard clock, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Moving back to Salt Lake City had been hectic, between juggling time at both law firms and trying to be there as much as he could for his mother. All of it had been rough, but walking into his parents’ house every time he visited her was the hardest thing he had to do.

  His father should be there. But he wasn’t.

  Ross had other misgivings about tonight as well. The party needed to be about his mother. He sincerely hoped it would be about Mom. Maybe even about Mom and Dad, and that was okay too. People would come and go; there would be dancing; there would be conversation. There would be a lot of catching up with family and friends he hadn’t seen in years. And that led to the source of those remaining misgivings.

  He was afraid too much of the evening would be focused on him, and he dreaded it. Ross didn’t consider himself to be vain or egocentric. He knew those invited would be, by and large, interested in wishing his mother well on her birthday. But he also knew human nature, and he was afraid that as the perceived “prodigal son” who had left his roots behind and did not fall into the local stereotypes (i.e., married), he would draw undue attention. He thought it pathetic and irritating that his whole life and character could seem to be reduced to a single word. And that word was, in fact, single.

  He was sure Susan had invited every person the family had ever known from the beginning of time. That meant he was going to be hit with a barrage of questions—the same questions he’d answered ad nauseam for years. Curious family and friends would be expecting the inside scoop on the life and times of Ross McConnell. “How’s work? You’re a lawyer, right?” That was always followed by the questioner’s favorite lawyer joke. Then they would progress through the usual, “What’s New York like? How are the Nicks (Jets, Giants, Yankees, pick a team and fill in the blank) looking this year? Seen any games?” Next would come, “Lots of single women, I bet—” which inevitably led to the rhetorical, “Not married yet? Confirmed bachelor, huh?” followed by the ever popular, “Any prospects? Holding out for Miss Right, are you?” These were invariably accompanied by grinning, punches in the arm, offers of lineups, and/or raised eyebrows. Not to mention his personal favorite—the quote that he remembered hearing, not for the first time but for the first time directed at him—at his graduation from law school: “You know what Brigham Young said about single men being a menace to society . . .” Yeah, he knew. He was a college-educated, successful, wealthy, religious, law-abiding, hard-working menace to society.

  He was also nearly certain, knowing Susan and her undying quest to see him hitched, that she had invited every available female within a radius of fifty miles to their little soiree. Probably with ages ranging from sixteen to sixty. So in addition to the arm pokes and the lawyer jokes, he could look forward to twitters, flirtations, and enough heavy perfume to develop allergies.

  He pulled into his mother’s driveway and parked his Mercedes. Gripping the steering wheel, he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pre-party chaos he expected to precede what was bound to otherwise be an evening of social torture, and forced himself out of his car. Too
soon, he was up the steps leading to the back porch, and there was nothing left to do but open the kitchen door.

  Immediately, he was flooded with warm light, delicious smells, and the happy murmur of voices. Taken aback, he paused and closed his eyes briefly. He inhaled the spicy aromas, drank in the warmth, and tried to fill the nagging void inside him before shutting the kitchen door. He could see Jackie giving last-minute instructions to a couple of teenage girls who were tying a long string to the cupboard doorknobs, clothesline style, so it hung across his mother’s kitchen. When she was done, Jackie rushed over and threw her arms around him in a tight squeeze.

  “Mac! Good. You’re finally here.” Ross gave her a bear hug in return, lifting her off her feet in the process. She chuckled. “We were just going over the activities for the kids. I’m sure you know Natalie’s girls.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the teens, who were gaping at him with familiar glazed stares.

  “Natalie? Oh, Mrs. Forrester. No, I haven’t actually met the girls formally yet.”

  Jackie let go of Ross and put her hand gently on the shoulder of a slender blonde girl who looked to be about sixteen. “This lovely young lady is Emma Forrester, and this”—she put her other arm around the waist of a petite adolescent with delicate features and large green eyes he’d already come to recognize—“is her younger sister, Callie.” Callie flushed bright pink and looked at her feet. She reminded Ross of a forest pixie. “And this young lady,” Jackie continued, taking her hand off Emma’s shoulder and placing it on the shoulder of a tall girl with long dark hair, “is Emma’s friend Tess.”

  Ross smiled and nodded politely. “Ladies.”

  Jackie slipped her arm around Ross’s and walked him into the hallway. “Those girls’ job is to keep the pygmy-sized natives from becoming restless.”

  “Ah.”

  “And you are going to pay them handsomely after they do. I may even suggest bribes to the natives themselves so things stay sane.”

  “My wallet is yours to command, as always.”

  “Come see Mother’s cake. You paid for it too.”

  “And for the band and for the refreshments, not to mention my little housekeeper.”

  Jackie looked at him funny.

  “What?”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied his face.

  “What?” he demanded again.

  She looked like she was puzzling something out in her mind, but then she smiled at Ross. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something Mom said last week. It’s nothing.” They heard the front doorbell ring, and Jackie said, “I’ll go see who that is. The cake is in the dining room. Go check it out.”

  The large table in the dining room had been converted into a buffet, the chairs normally around it having been removed to the family room, where they and folding chairs from the church had been placed conversationally for guests to use. His mother’s best lace tablecloth covered the dining room table, and in the center was a lovely three-tiered cake with creamy frosting and sugar flowers that looked so real Ross was tempted to inhale their fragrance. Roses in deep autumn colors, golden calla lilies, deep violet pansies, and lily of the valley gracefully wound their way down the cake. Matching sheet cakes on either side assured every guest a piece. There were no candles anywhere. It looked more like a wedding cake than a birthday cake, and Ross was grimly reminded once again of the dual nature of the evening’s party.

  In addition to the cakes, the buffet table held large, deep platters of iced shrimp, silver trays of miniature puff pastries with a chicken filling, cubes of imported cheeses, small spears of fruit, and open-faced finger sandwiches of various types.

  Jackie walked back in and unconsciously straightened a stack of napkins. “Suzie and Scott and the gang should be here by now. I’m going to call her and see what’s holding them up. She and I are going to take turns mingling with guests and helping Natalie keep the buffet stocked. Scott and Rick are assigned to take pictures all evening. Your job is to not eat all the food at the buffet, mingle, dance with every female who walks in the door, and look important. In other words, you get to play host.”

  Well, that pretty much ensured a fate worse than death, although he supposed he’d half expected it and deserved it for being AWOL all week. He would rather stick closer to the food than the females who would invariably cross his path tonight though.

  “Fair enough,” he said as Jackie scooted out the door again. He was turning to go find his mother to wish her a happy birthday when Natalie walked into the room carrying a large silver tray in each hand. She glanced his way and, startled, nearly upended a tray of berry tarts. Reacting quickly, Ross grabbed the edge of the tray and helped her stabilize it, then took it entirely from her. He set it in an open spot on the table as she placed the other tray next to it.

  “Tragedy narrowly averted,” he said, smiling at her.

  She smiled back, and he noticed she had a small dimple in one cheek. “Thank you. Your timing was perfect. I hate to imagine the mess if you hadn’t been there to rescue these tarts.”

  He picked up a tart and popped it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he swallowed and nodded. “Mmm. Yes, it was definitely a good thing I was here to rescue these tarts. But I think my perfect timing has more to do with catching you off guard than saving dessert. I seem to do that each time we meet. Maybe that makes it less than perfect timing.”

  She flushed slightly, but there was a twinkle in her eye that bespoke a sense of humor. “I suppose it depends on your goal. If your goal has been to help me win the big prize on America’s Funniest Videos, your timing has been pretty good so far.”

  “Darn! Forgot to turn on my video recorder.”

  “There goes my ten grand.”

  “Did you make any of these delicacies?” He asked, gesturing toward the spread on the table. “Those cookies of yours tasted pretty good, and apparently, they make good prostheses too.” He smiled as she stifled a chuckle.

  “Thanks—I think. I did bring a batch of brownies for the kids, just in case they weren’t too keen on stuffed mushrooms.”

  “Brownies, huh? Fudge brownies with lots and lots of frosting?”

  “Of course,” she answered seriously.

  “With walnuts?”

  “One batch has walnuts; the other doesn’t, in case some kids don’t like them.”

  “I think it’s only fair that you save one big brownie with walnuts for your boss, don’t you?” He smiled, his eyebrows lifting inquisitively.

  She smiled back, but he saw her eyes cool slightly. “One big brownie with walnuts for the boss.” Gesturing her head slightly toward the kitchen, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to the kitchen.”

  Ross watched her leave, puzzled slightly by her change of mood, and then headed to the living room to give the guest of honor a kiss. It was time to greet his mother and brace himself for the deluge of guests.

  In the living room, the curtains had been drawn wide open to show the expanse of windows that faced south and west, overlooking the valley. It was a glorious autumn night, the sky deepening to violet, the first stars peeping out one by one in contrast to the bank of twinkling city lights.

  Ross found his mom watching the band set up. Seated comfortably on the sofa, she looked radiant, her hair shiny and curled softly around her face. Ross remembered what she was like when he was a child looking up into her bright brown eyes and dark hair. It hadn’t taken many years before he’d been looking down into those eyes and that hair had been threaded with silver. He wondered if she had shrunk a couple of inches over the past year; she was thinner, he could tell, but her eyes still sparkled like they always had when she saw him walking toward her.

  She gave him her cheek when he leaned over to kiss her. Nodding in the direction of the band, she said, “I was afraid those boys were only going to play rock-and-roll music, and how can a person carry a conversation with that kind of noise blasting around them? But I think we came to an understa
nding.” She looked over at the drummer, who adjusted his stool and winked at her. Ross grinned at him. His mother continued. “I asked that boy there if they take requests. I want to hear ‘September Song.’”

  Ross tensed, but he asked lightly, “‘September Song’ in October?”

  It was the song his parents had danced to at their wedding. It was their song.

  She absently reached for Ross’s hand and squeezed it. “Del would have liked it.” Abruptly, she shifted topics. “That little girl of yours is quite the find! She had this place spic and span in the blink of an eye.”

  Pulled back from thoughts of his father, Ross said, “Little girl of mine? Oh, you mean Mrs. Forrester. I’m glad she worked out. The place looks great.”

  Dorothy patted the seat next to her, and he sat and threw his arm casually across the back of the sofa behind her slender shoulders. “Sixty-five years. Can you imagine, Ross? It seems like only yesterday I was hauling you home by the ear when you got into that fight in fifth grade with—what was his name? Johnny? Tommy?

  “Tommy Johnson.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Bud and Elaine’s boy. You and he were never very good friends in grade school, I remember. Your dad was fit to be tied when he came home that night and learned you’d blackened that boy’s eye. You were grounded for a month.”

  “Tommy couldn’t get it into his head that I didn’t want to share my lunch money with him. Some people require more explanation than others.”

  “And then there was the time Del went looking for you when you were late for curfew on prom night.”

  Ross’s lips curved up slightly. He and Kendra Bennett had been doing quite a bit of very memorable kissing, which was the real reason he’d been late for curfew. Then, after seeing her safely inside, he’d discovered his car battery was dead. He’d quickly returned to Kendra’s front door and quietly knocked, and luckily he and Kendra had been wielding the jumper cables when his dad had driven up, his normally mild countenance stern and patriarchal. When he’d seen the cables, he’d visibly relaxed. Ross had been out way past curfew but had dodged a huge bullet, thanks to that battery. He was drawn out of his reverie when he heard his mother chuckle.