Marry Me

by Cheryl Holt

  Their quarrel over Bryce had been ugly, and since then, they hadn't interacted. If another mother/son chat was pending, why do it sober?

  He had his own drink—a whiskey over ice—and he downed the contents then set the glass on the mantle.

  Why had he come to Denver? He detested the entire farce: their playing at cordiality, the company, the mansion, the negligible ties that bound them to the city. He couldn't bear to have strangers fawning over them—as if any of it still mattered.

  "I have an announcement," he said.

  "Don't be dramatic," his mother sniffed. "It's late, and I'm not in the mood for theatrics."

  He ignored her. "I'm beginning negotiations with the Historical Society to sell them the mansion."

  "What?" Brittney gasped. "You can't do that. It belongs to all of us. I'd never agree to give it away."

  "It doesn't belong to all of us," Lucas reminded them. "It belongs to me, and I don't care to continue paying for the upkeep. It's silly—when none of us even lives here. None of us wants to live here. The place just sits empty, year after year. It's filled with antiques; it should be a museum."

  "Mother," Brittney whined, "you won't let him, will you?"

  "No, I won't. He'll sell it over my dead body."

  "I'm not ten, Jackie," Lucas chided. "If I decide to turn this monstrosity into a museum, I will and you can't stop me."

  "You will not speak to me in that tone of voice."

  Dustin cut in, trying to avert a fight. "We don't need to be hasty. We should think about it."

  "Why?"

  "We all have a stake."

  "We don't," Lucas said. "We didn't grow up here, and we've always hated it."

  "This mansion," Jackie huffed, "was built by your ancestors."

  "You don't get to lecture me about family, Jackie. You don't know the meaning of the word."

  "I suppose you're still smarting over that…child in Boulder."

  Lucas stared, realizing how little emotion he felt for her.

  "Say his name, Jackie. You know what it is."

  "I won't dignify him with an identity. He's nothing to us."

  "Jackie," Dustin scolded, "that was unnecessary."

  "Don't start in on me, Dustin," she sniped. "I won't have you defending your brother. Not on this topic. It's absurd."

  "Speaking of the boy—" Dustin chimed in.

  "What boy?" Brittney asked, but no one bothered to explain.

  "His name is Bryce," Lucas tightly said.

  "Fine," Dustin replied, "speaking of Bryce, where are we with Faith Benjamin?"

  "I'm not pursuing her. I told you I wouldn't."

  Dustin threw up his hands. "I gave you all the evidence you need to hang her."

  "You certainly did."

  "What about the tape?" Dustin complained.

  "What about it?" Lucas responded. "Did you pay her to make it? Or did you simply seduce her and pretend you'd date her if she betrayed Faith? How low were you willing to go?"

  "I screwed her brains out," Dustin crudely retorted, "and afterward, she begged to help me."

  "I'll just bet she did."

  "Hey," Dustin mocked, "whatever works, right? I'm my father's son. I did what I had to do."

  "If you want to exhibit his worst traits," Lucas warned, "I wouldn't brag about it to me."

  "Your father," Jackie felt the need to inform Lucas, "was ten times the man you are, and I won't have you denigrating him."

  "Stay out of this, Jackie."

  "He would have dealt with Ms. Benjamin in a heartbeat. She wouldn't have lingered on the fringes of our lives, making fools of us each and every day."

  "Like my wife, Katie, made fools of us?"

  "Lucky for you, your father had the fortitude to handle your mess. Just imagine where you'd be now, a decade later, if you were trapped in that marriage."

  "What are you talking about?" Brittney demanded. "What marriage? Who is the boy you're discussing? Am I some stranger on the street who can't be allowed to know your secrets?"

  "If I thought you should be apprised," Jackie snidely said, "I'd tell you. Be silent."

  Lucas sighed and poured himself another whiskey. As he sipped it, he studied his tiny family. It was a sorry statement on the condition of his life that they were the only people in the world to whom he was connected.

  He was disgusted and eager to escape, and he wondered if he'd ever see any of them again. He didn't suppose he would.

  "Goodbye." He started for the door.

  "Where are you going?" Brittney inquired, actually sounding concerned.

  He hadn't been sure, but his next location fell on him like a ton of bricks.

  "Boulder."

  "Why Boulder?"

  "To see Faith. To see Bryce and Peanut."

  "Who is Bryce? Who is Peanut?" Brittney was frowning, perplexed.

  Lucas didn't answer her. Let Jackie do it. Let Dustin. Lucas had no desire to hash it out.

  He glared at his mother. "Don't summon me for anymore of your gatherings. I won't come."

  "You will if I say you will."

  "No. Never again. There's no point. I'll notify you when I've resolved the issues with this house."

  "Lucas!" Brittney pleaded. "Don't do it."

  He ignored her again. "In the meantime, if you have to contact me, I'd appreciate it if you'd send any messages through my lawyer in New York. You all have his number."

  He strolled out, and behind him, he heard Dustin mutter, "Bastard."

  "What boy?" Brittney said. "What marriage? Someone tell me what's going on. Why is he so upset?"

  Lucas went to his car, got in, and drove away. As the old mansion receded in his rearview mirror, he felt free for the first time ever.

  * * *

  Angela knocked on Faith's front door.

  In better days, she'd have simply walked in. There would have been no need to knock, but she'd relinquished her spot as a member of the family. If Faith told her to go away, she didn't know what she'd do.

  Since her stupid, futile encounter with Dustin Merriweather, she'd suffered one catastrophe after the next. She'd lost her apartment, her unemployment had run out. She'd been sleeping on an acquaintance's couch—a male acquaintance—and he'd begun to suggest that she should pay for the privilege. From his lewd glances, he'd been very clear as to what sort of compensation he expected.

  Gracie and Faith had always been the safe harbor to which she returned. After heartache or disaster, they welcomed her with open arms.

  No matter what Angela did, no matter how she acted, they forgave and accepted her for who and what she was. But she'd squandered that affection. Would they give her a chance to win it back?

  She knocked again, and Peanut answered.

  "Hi Angela."

  She stared up at Angela with those big Merriweather blue eyes. She was so pretty, like a little curly-headed doll. Previously, Angela had never cared much about her; she'd been too focused on herself. Now she could barely keep from falling to her knees and pulling her into a tight hug.

  "Hey Peanut."

  "I haven't seen you in a long time," Peanut said. "Where have you been?"

  "Here and there. Is Faith home?"

  "She's at the store."

  "How about Gracie?"

  "She's in the kitchen."

  Peanut appeared blissfully unaware of the adult conflict that had roiled the house a few months earlier. It would never occur to her that Angela shouldn't come in, that Faith might not want her to.

  She yanked the door wide, and Angela took a deep breath for courage and stepped over the threshold.

  Peanut skittered off, leaving Angela alone in the living room. It was quiet, and it smelled of flowers and sunshine. There was a roast in the oven, the aroma hinting at supper where they'd all sit at the dining table together and eat like the family they were.

  Tears flooded her eyes. She yearned to be at the table so fiercely that she would do anything to make it happen.

  "Peanu
t," Gracie called from the kitchen, "who was at the door?"

  Angela went over and peeked in. Gracie was hovered over a bottle of polish, painting her nails bright red.

  Gracie had first taken in Angela when Angela was a kid. And she'd let Angela stay, despite how badly she had behaved. Gracie didn't hold a grudge, and she was never bitter.

  She knew life was hard for a woman, but then, whenever Angela had stolen money or run away, she'd done it to Gracie. Never to Faith. Gracie loved Faith and she wouldn't tolerate anyone hurting Faith as Angela had.

  Of the two, Gracie would be the most difficult to persuade. If Angela had wounded Faith too deeply, Gracie would toss her out.

  "It's me Gracie," Angela said.

  Gracie's brush halted in mid-stroke, then slowly, she raised her gaze to Angela's.

  "You finally slithered home," Gracie replied. "What do you want?"

  "I came to say I'm sorry."

  "You're always sorry. It doesn't change anything."

  "I didn't mean to hurt anybody."

  "You never do, but you hurt them just the same."

  Angela felt ten years old again, young and abandoned, with sensible, wise Grace Green the only person in the world who would put up with her. Had she pushed Gracie too far?

  Gracie studied her, pondering her fate, then she gestured to the chair across, indicating that Angela should sit. Angela stumbled over and plopped down.

  She endured a tormented silence, with Gracie finishing her nails while Angela watched. Angela couldn't remember how many times she'd done just that and she gained such comfort from the ordinary, normal routine.

  "I'm supposing you're here"—Gracie blew on her nails to speed their drying—"because you've hit bottom and you don't have anywhere to go."

  "You're right. I don't have anywhere to go."

  "You want to move in with us."

  "If it's okay with you."

  "It's not up to me. This was Harold's house, and now it's Faith's. You have to ask her."

  "I know." Angela glanced down at her lap, terrified over her prospects with Faith. "What do you think she'll say?"

  "I couldn't guess Angela. You've screwed up in the past but this was different. There are some things you can't step away from."

  "I love Faith," she vehemently said.

  "Then you'll have to convince her. Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're glad to be on your own—until you're out of options."

  "I'm sober," Angela blurted out.

  Gracie scoffed. "For how many hours? Or has it been minutes?"

  "I'm changing; I'm growing up. Really."

  "Don't tell me. Tell Faith."

  A car pulled into the driveway and Angela braced, her dread extreme, as the car door slammed, as Faith came in. Her arms were loaded down with grocery bags.

  "Hey Bryce," she called, "I have more groceries in the car. Would you—"

  Her voice trailed off as she saw Angela.

  "Look what the cat drug in," Gracie said. Not in a bad way. Not in a snide way. Merely stating the facts.

  Faith stared at Angela for an eternity, for so long that Angela was afraid she might turn around and leave. Ultimately, she murmured, "Hello Angela."

  She put the groceries on the counter. Then, her expression neutral, she jammed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans as if she had to keep them there so she wouldn't march over and wrap them around Angela's throat.

  "What are you doing here?" Faith asked.

  "I had to see you."

  "What for?"

  "To apologize."

  "Are you sorry?"

  "Oh Faith, I'm so, so sorry."

  Angela began to cry, tears dripping down her cheeks, but she didn't try to swipe them away. She was too sad, too relieved to be home.

  Please, please, please, she prayed, let me stay.

  "You won't be surprised to hear," Gracie advised Faith, "that she wants to live with us again."

  "If you'll have me," Angela mumbled on a hiccupping sob of air.

  Faith just stood there, watching Angela, while Angela's future hung in the balance. Faith was the kindest, best person she'd ever met. If Faith couldn't forgive her, there was probably no forgiveness to be had anywhere.

  "Tell me why you did it," Faith eventually said.

  "I don't know why."

  "Yes you do." Gracie snorted with disgust. "Admit your sins and get it over with. Don't pretend."

  Angela nodded. Penance had to start somewhere. "Remember last summer when I had that new boyfriend?"

  "Yes," Faith replied. "He was the greatest guy ever."

  "I…I slept with him, and I liked him so much. I wanted to help him."

  Faith paled. "You slept with Lucas Merriweather?"

  "No, no, with his brother. With Dustin."

  "And he had you trick me and tape me?"

  "It was my own idea. I thought I could impress him, that he might…" She stumbled to a halt. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

  "It wasn't Lucas," Faith murmured, shaking with relief.

  "No," Angela confirmed. "It was me. Me and his brother."

  "Lucas told me it wasn't him," Faith said, "but I didn't believe him."

  "He accused her of abusing Harold," Gracie furiously explained. "Did you know that Angela? He was terrible to Faith." There was a deadly pause, and Gracie added, "Because of you Angela. She sent him away because of you."

  "I didn't mean for it to happen like that Faith. I really didn't."

  Gracie asked, "Where is your Dustin Merriweather now Angela?"

  "He went back to Los Angeles. That's where he lives."

  "You never saw him again after you gave him the tape?"

  "No."

  "So I guess," Gracie mused, "he wasn't all that impressed with your type of assistance. Then again, what sort of man would want a woman who would betray her own sister?"

  "I didn't realize how much damage I would cause," Angela insisted.

  Gracie rolled her eyes. "You never think Angela, which is your main problem."

  "That's enough Gracie," Faith gently chided. "She's home. Let's figure out what to do with her."

  "I've quit drinking," Angela said. "It's been a whole month."

  "Why do I suspect," Faith responded, "that you're sober because you haven't had any money to spend on alcohol?"

  "I'm joining AA," Angela declared. When Gracie looked as if she'd call her a liar, Angela vowed, "I'm serious. I'll attend meetings. I'll do anything you ask Faith. Just let me stay."

  Angela held her breath, the only sound the clock ticking over the stove. Faith stewed and considered, then finally, she grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. She handed it to Angela.

  "Dry your eyes," she scolded. "Your mascara's running."

  The air rushing from her lungs, Angela seized it and dabbed at her face. She felt dizzy and off balance.

  "Forgive me Faith. Please!"

  "Of course I forgive you," Faith grumbled. "I'm an idiot, remember? I never do what I should."

  "I'll be better," Angela promised. "I'll try harder. I swear it."

  "Let's not swear. It's too easy to mess up. Let's just start over."

  Angela's body went limp. She nearly slid from the chair and onto the floor in an exhausted heap.

  "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

  She pushed herself to her feet and threw her arms around Faith, hugging her as tightly as she could. Faith allowed the embrace for a minute, then she pried Angela away and stepped back.

  "We don't need all this weeping and begging," Faith told her. "Go up and unpack. Your bed's waiting for you."

  "You won't regret this." Angela spun and hurried out before she broke down and blubbered like a baby.

  Behind her, Gracie said to Faith, "Sucker."

  "I know," Faith answered. "I should have a capital S stamped on my forehead."

  Angela smiled a watery smile and climbed the stairs to her old room, the one she shared with Peanut.

  CHAPTE
R ELEVEN

  Faith turned onto her street and drove toward her house.

  It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, with a hint of autumn coolness in the air. She could smell leaves burning, as if someone had lit a bonfire.

  As she approached, Gracie, Angela, and Peanut were sitting on the front steps, while her dog, King, lounged on the grass. They were watching Bryce play catch on the lawn with…Lucas Merriweather?

  The sight was so shocking and so unexpected that she missed her driveway and almost crashed into the neighbor's hedge. Shaking with concern, she pulled to the curb and stopped.

  Lucas was in her yard, playing catch?

  She adjusted her rearview mirror and studied the strange scene. The females in her life were mesmerized, expressions of hero worship shining from their faces. Bryce was captivated too, appearing intense and focused and eager to please. Even King was agog.

  The whole thing was so domestic, as if they belonged together.

  When had he arrived? What did he want?

  She wouldn't have him in her home, charming her family, inserting himself into Bryce's and Peanut's lives. They'd grow attached, but he'd never hang around to continue any relationship he started.

  He'd hurt her and treated her badly. She was still angry that he'd believed her capable of treachery toward an aged, infirm, dying man. If he'd paid even the slightest bit of attention, he'd have understood the kind of person Faith was. He'd have known she couldn't harm anyone.

  Struggling for calm, she took a deep breath, then another and another. Slowly, she eased herself out of her seat, pasted on a smile, and walked over to them.

  "Look who's here Faith!" Bryce gushed as he snagged a grounder.

  "I see who it is," she neutrally responded.

  "He bought me a new glove! We're breaking it in."

  "That's great kiddo."

  "Hey Faith," Lucas murmured.

  "Hello Lucas."

  His gaze was warm and seductive, drawing her in, fueling a little spurt of gladness that she instantly tamped down.

  She glared over at Gracie, silently asking: What's he doing here?

  "He was in the neighborhood," Gracie smoothly lied, "and decided to stop by. I invited him for supper."