by Karen Tuft
“You always thought you pulled one over on your dad that night. But the first thing he noticed was the fogged windows of your car.”
“He never said anything to me.”
“He figured you’d learned your lesson. You knew he’d hunt you down if you ever missed curfew again, and the looks on your faces told him you were both guilty of something but, fortunately, not too guilty.”
Dorothy began to stand up, and Ross rose to lend her his arm. “Ah! Here they are, finally!” she exclaimed as her grandchildren hurried over to give her hugs.
Ross slapped Brett, Jackie’s eldest son, on the back and then grabbed the curly-topped cherub who was squeezing both of his legs and tossed her high in the air.
“Uncle Mac! Higher!” she squealed, and he tossed her again, exactly the way she had requested.
“I can’t watch when you do that,” Dorothy muttered.
With his niece now firmly planted on his left hip, Ross reached out and shook his brother-in-law Rick’s hand.
Rick kissed Ross’s mom on her cheek and said, “Suzie and Scott are parking their car, so they should be inside any minute.” He glanced at his watch when the doorbell rang. “And let the games begin!”
Soon conversation was humming in the living room, where Ross’s mother spent most of the evening greeting people. Guests then wandered through to the family room for more conversation, if that suited, and dancing, with music provided by the band. Old standards and classic rock wafted pleasantly through the house. The volume level was low and discreet, and people were enjoying themselves, whether dancing or conversing. Guests also helped themselves to refreshments in the dining room. Conversation areas in nearly all of the rooms throughout the main floor were full of guests. Jackie and Suzie and their husbands took turns visiting with friends and neighbors and refilling shrimp bowls and sandwich trays. Smiling and relaxed, Jackie was the quintessential cool hostess, while Suzie, fueled on adrenaline, flitted from person to person and traded jokes, compliments, and gossip.
Ross, relegated to the job of host, attempted to keep a smile on his face and his real thoughts to himself.
A half century of his parents’ friends and neighbors banged him on the shoulder, pumped his arm vigorously, made him guess their names—knowing full well who he was while he had no clue who they were—and told him every embarrassing anecdote from his childhood. Distant elderly relatives he may have met only once in his life hugged him and pasted lipstick kisses on his cheeks. This would have been more than enough to tolerate with equanimity, but Suzie had really outdone herself on the invitation list. She had somehow conjured up the name of every childhood friend, every high-school sweetheart and pal, and it seemed, every female to whom he’d ever been introduced. The muscles in his cheeks ached from continuous smiling. He wondered to himself if all of his grade-school teachers would be walking through the door at some point during the evening.
Amazingly, the teachers didn’t show up. Most of his local law firm did though, and at that point, he politely excused himself from them, grabbed Suzie by the arm, and dragged her to the back of the house.
“What were you thinking, inviting all of my law colleagues to this? I’ve only been at that firm for a few months. This evening is supposed to be about Mom. There is no reason for any of them to be here.”
“First of all, you were supposed to call and help make plans. When you didn’t call, I had to decide by myself whom to invite. And you’re wrong, Ross. There is every reason for me to invite them. We’ve never met any of your coworkers, here or in New York, so I called your secretaries and got them to send me names. This was an opportunity for all of us to see who the people are who you prefer to spend your time with.”
“Did you say secretaries—plural? And what do you mean; prefer to spend my time? It’s work! Did you invite Scott’s and Rick’s coworkers too?”
Suzie had the decency to flush. “No. But they haven’t been missing from the family for nearly twenty years either.”
The arrow hit home. That, in a nutshell, was it. The sisters had families; the families had each other. They were a unit. He, on the other hand, was only an appendage to it, one that had been missing for a long time. Even his mother had his father. Dad was gone, but he still enveloped Mom’s heart and the life she led. Suzie had Scott; Jackie had Rick. Ross really had only himself. But now his sister was behaving like a jealous girlfriend, insisting that all his acquaintances be paraded in front of her so she could determine what he saw in them that she was lacking. That, on top of his having to pretend he was some sort of family patriarch while he played host in his mother’s home, was the final irony: that they, having each other for all these years, were somehow betrayed by Ross, who had no one. No one! He, forced to play magnanimous host in his mother’s home, didn’t have a real home of his own anymore.
Ross shook his head, turned, and walked down the hall, back to the guests he needed to entertain.
But he didn’t manage to leave quickly enough to miss Suzie’s parting shot. “You better be on your best behavior when Ashley arrives to meet you in a few minutes.”
By the time Ross reached the living room, more guests had arrived. He had just shaken hands with his mother’s new bishop and his old scout leader when he heard a squeal. He turned and found himself crushed in the arms of a woman who seemed vaguely familiar. He pulled back and studied her face.
“Kendra Bennett!” He smiled at her upturned face, still pretty after all these years. “What a coincidence! My mother and I were just talking about a certain prom night that occurred several lifetimes ago.” Suzie really had done a thorough job with the invitation list.
“Ross! Look at you! You always were devastatingly handsome, and you still are.” She released him from the embrace. “It’s Kendra Dickson now. This is my husband, Dave. Dave, Ross McConnell. Ah, prom. It was the only time my date ever told me his car wouldn’t work—after I had already gone in the house.”
“I used the old dead-battery excuse instead of saying I was out of gas, right?”
The men laughed and shook hands. Ross politely listened while Kendra, his high-school kissing partner, told him about her husband, his company, Dickson Realty, and their three children. She had been a very appealing girl; she was now a lovely woman.
Kendra’s husband, Dave, was asking him how the Jets would fare against the Patriots that week when Suzie grabbed his arm. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but there is someone I would like Ross to meet.”
Kendra’s eyebrows arched in surprise at the interruption.
Ross smiled apologetically. “Help yourself to the refreshments, and I’ll catch up with you later. Pleasure to meet you, Dave. You’re a lucky man.” He let Suzie lead him away as Kendra and her husband walked toward the dining room.
“Ross, I’d like you to meet Ashley Howard. Ashley, this is my brother, Ross. Megan, you remember Ross, don’t you?”
Ross looked at Megan, who did look much nicer now that her horse teeth were fixed, and then at Ashley. He extended his hand. “A pleasure.” Suzie could have done worse, he conceded. Ashley was tall and slender, with a nice, animated face and short, dark hair.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ross,” Ashley said. “I understand you’re an attorney.”
He nodded. He waited for the lawyer joke to come next, but it didn’t materialize. That scored her a couple of additional points, he thought. “Boring work, really. What is it that you do, Ashley?”
Ten minutes later, with Suzie and Megan hovering the entire time, Ashley walked out the door having given Ross her phone number. He had promised to call her sometime soon. Ashley was articulate and nice to look at and was the branch manager of a bank. Suzie had done a lot worse in the past. Ross hadn’t exactly heard bells and trumpets, but he could abide by his agreement with his sister on this particular introduction.
He decided he’d earned a refreshment break. He loaded a plate with some of everything and headed toward Kendra and Dave, who were sitting by th
emselves near the designer birthday cake. He overheard Kendra say to her husband, “I know, Dave, but it’s still such a shock! Imagine, he makes as much money as he does, and she is forced to do this.”
Ross stiffened. Were they judging him and his money? Were they talking about his mother?
He was on the verge of interrupting when Dave said, “I sign his commission checks. I know how much he makes, Kendra. He’s always trying to guilt me into a pay increase, always complaining about her constant demands and how much he’s forced to give her. Are you sure she really said she was working here tonight?”
“Yes. I asked her if she was a friend of the family. She looked so embarrassed when she recognized us, I felt just awful. She said, no, that she was working in the kitchen, and then she vanished—Oh! Hello, Ross! Care to join us?”
Ross settled into a chair next to Dave. There was only one person who would classify as kitchen help tonight, and that was Mrs. Forrester. Interesting. “How’s the food?”
By the time the conversation ended, Ross had a fairly accurate read on Dave Dickson and his very lucrative real estate agency, as well as some probing questions about his housekeeper’s ex-husband. He glanced at his watch. It was only seven forty-five. If this crowd was any indication, this party was not going to end on time, despite the fact that the invitations read seven to nine. They might be lucky to be out of here by midnight. He’d seen Mrs. Forrester a few times, quietly and efficiently restocking the buffet, straightening things up as guests left, generally making herself useful. The words came back to him, He makes as much money as he does, and she is forced to do this.
“Ross, darling!”
Ross knew that voice and found himself mentally forming a word that would make his sisters blush. And right about then, he wanted to do more to one of his sisters than simply make her blush. Like something painful. “Gina, Monty. What brings you to our humble city?”
Gina Rogers gave him a quick air kiss on the cheek. “Why you, darling, of course. We met your mother—lovely woman. Just lovely.” She looked around with the jaded eye of a connoisseur. “And such a charming home.”
LaMonte Rogers offered his hand. “We had business in San Francisco, if you’ll recall. When your little invitation came to the firm, Gina suggested joining me and stopping by on the way. Killing two birds with one stone, as it were.” He wasted no time loading a plate.
“Yes,” Gina purred. “You’ve meant so much to us over the years.” She ran her hand down his arm. “How could we ever say no to you?”
Mrs. Forrester came into the dining room at that moment with a fresh supply of stuffed mushrooms. She stopped dead in her tracks. Ross suddenly felt awkward, like he owed her an explanation. What would make him react that way? He caught Gina’s eyes, which had narrowed slightly. The old pro had sensed something—what, Ross wasn’t completely sure, but instinctively he knew it meant trouble.
“The goodies certainly look irresistible,” Gina said, walking around the table toward Mrs. Forrester.
When Ross realized Gina was looking at his housekeeper and not the food, he clenched his teeth, afraid he’d say something he’d regret.
“Tell me, do you happen to have a bar at this cute little soiree?” Gina asked, then answered her own question before Ross could reply. “Of course you don’t, not at the home of Saint Ross. Oh well.” She helped herself to some shrimp. “Is there anything to drink around here besides that awful punch? Bottled water perhaps? Milk maybe?” She smirked. “Find me something suitable, will you, miss?”
Ross felt strangely protective of his little blonde housekeeper. Mrs. Forrester didn’t deserve to become Gina’s newest target simply because she had walked into the room. He needed to do something. “Monty, why don’t I take you and Gina across the hall? We’ve got a fairly decent band in there. I understand they’re taking requests.”
“Only if you’ll promise to dance with me, darling,” Gina cooed. “That’s my request.”
Ross gestured to the door and glanced at Mrs. Forrester as she headed back to the kitchen. She was pale, but there was an oddly purposeful look on her face.
The band was playing a slow ballad. Gina led Ross to the floor and curled into him with all the skill of a predatory feline. He subtly eased back from her and looked her in the eye. She was strikingly beautiful, he admitted, but at the moment, he felt he was tangling with Medusa. “Cut the act, Gina. Why are you and Monty here? And don’t try to sell the whole sentimental line.”
“Darling! How could we resist? That invitation was like receiving an audience with the Pope. I was too curious. I merely told Daddy that as long as he was crossing the country anyway, we owed it to our esteemed colleague to pay a visit. We’re staying at a quaint little place somewhere in the mountains for the night if you want to join us later.” Gina smiled mirthlessly and ran a finger slowly down his lapel. “This has been so enlightening, let me tell you. Oh—it’s about time! I’m parched.” She took the offered glass of ice water from Mrs. Forrester, who had a professional and disinterested look on her face. “It has gotten so very warm around here all of a sudden.” She sipped, and Ross watched Mrs. Forrester slip quietly back to the kitchen.
Why was Gina so insistent on baiting his housekeeper? There was no reason for it, and it bothered him.
Monty was happily absorbed in his food and a conversation with a partner in Ross’s Salt Lake firm, he could see. Since Ross didn’t care to play into Gina’s games, he decided it was time to make a polite getaway. “Excuse me, Gina. I must see to the other guests.”
She sent him a slit-eyed look, then sauntered over and seated herself by her father with a fluid motion that had every man in the room staring.
I must see to the other guests—as soon as I’ve had a few minutes to myself, Ross thought.
He walked determinedly to the back of the house and made his way out the door. The October night air was bracing. He breathed in deeply. The air was pungent with the scent of damp leaves and raw earth. He shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled through the backyard. His mother’s prized roses were nearly bare now, with only a few stubborn leaves refusing to succumb to the inevitable. He plucked one and rolled it between his fingers. The brittle edges of the leaf broke away. He felt like the leaf, barely pliable, dead around the edges. The thought disgusted him.
Tossing the abused leaf to the ground, he wandered to the side of the house, where his car was parked. The din of conversation and music seemed far away, like an unconscious thought. He knew he should return to the party; it was barely eight o’clock, and Suzie would send out search and rescue if she lost sight of him for more than five minutes, but he leaned against the hood of his Mercedes and crossed his arms against the cold. Five minutes was all he asked.
He wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d been standing there, lost in his thoughts, when he heard the kitchen door open and the sound of footsteps crunching in the gravel nearby. He looked up. The light from the shaded kitchen window briefly caught the highlights of a blonde head walking toward him. It was Mrs. Forrester carrying a bag to the garbage can, he guessed. His eyes were adjusted to the dark; hers apparently were not because he didn’t think she had noticed him yet. He moved away from the car and straightened.
She jolted and looked up warily at the sound. Ross knew the minute she recognized who was out there in the dark with her because her eyes flared. The thought nagged at him again—where had he seen her before? He was certain he had.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She slipped past him in the dark. He heard the bag land in the garbage can and the crunch of the gravel beneath her steps as she returned. She headed toward the kitchen door.
“Wait, Mrs. Forrester.” Why did he say that? He’d come out here to be alone for a few minutes.
She paused on the first step and silently turned to look at him.
“I wanted to thank you for your help tonight. I’m sure my sisters and mother appreciate all you’ve done.”
�
�No thanks are necessary.”
“Oh, I think they are. You’ve done more than merely keep the food going. You’ve given my mother and sisters peace of mind. And that, Mrs. Forrester, deserves my undying gratitude.”
He could sense more than see her smile in the darkness. “Well then, you’re very welcome.” She turned back to the stairs.
“Mrs. Forrester—”
She stopped with her hand on the kitchen doorknob and turned back again.
“Have we—I keep getting the impression that we’ve met before. It seems unlikely, I know, but I’ve been wrestling with it for a—” And then he knew. His simple reference to wrestling brought Mr. WWF into full focus. And her green eyes. “Little America.”
She audibly gasped. “The dark knight,” she whispered.
Ross cocked his head. “No, it wasn’t dark that night. It was early September, as I recall. And early evening. You were with pretty interesting company, I remember.” He waited a beat. “Boyfriend?”
“Doug. What? No.”
“Maybe I’m putting my foot in it here, but he didn’t exactly seem the type to go for tap-dancing wannabes.”
Mrs. Forrester smiled slightly. “Not many men do, I suspect. No, it was a blind date.”
“Ah.” Why did he feel relieved? Probably because he was finding out she was a nice, helpful person, and he’d been genuinely concerned for her that evening. That had to be it. “I’ve been on a few unusual blind dates of my own over the years; although I confess none of them sported Maori body art. At least not that I could see.”
“I imagine not.”
“Well, I’ll confess to having been concerned at the situation that evening. It was apparently misplaced.” He raised an eyebrow in question, though he doubted she could see it in the dark.
“I’ve learned that sometimes first impressions are deceiving, Mr. McConnell.”