by C. J. Lake
Still, he felt confident. The intimate look they shared before the taxi peeled away from the curb was like a shot of adrenaline. No, it wasn't as good as going home with her, but Mick knew they'd made progress, at last.
Chapter Twenty-five
After she settled against the torn vinyl backseat of the cab, which was swerving and speeding its way down Comm. Ave., Cady managed to connect with her mother. Luckily, nothing was wrong (except for poor cell phone reception, of course). The reason Hortense was calling? To announce her unexpected arrival. She had landed in Boston tonight—it was an unplanned layover on her flight to California, where she was scheduled to attend a two-day conference, before returning to Athens.
“Oh, my gosh!” Cady yelped in surprise, drawing the cab driver's attention. Flicking an inquisitive glance at her through the rear view mirror, he lost interest quickly, then focused back on the road (and the landscape of yellow lights he planned to ignore). Meanwhile, Cady was still processing that her mother was in Boston at the moment. “I can't believe—you're here?”
“We just landed,” Hortense said. Her tone was serene, almost breezy, indicating that she'd had a cocktail or two on the plane.
“How long will you be in Boston?”
“Just until tomorrow afternoon.”
With a breath, Cady relaxed her body, feeling tension flow from her muscles. She hadn't even realized she'd been tensing up. “Do you need me to pick you up from the airport?” she asked suddenly.
“No, no. It's late,” Hortense insisted. “I'm just going to take a cab to my co-op. But I did want to see you before the flight out tomorrow.”
Cady started to agree, when Hortense interrupted:
“Let's all meet for breakfast tomorrow at the house.” The house—where Rex and Cady had grown up—was actually Brandall's house now. Surprisingly, Hortense hadn't even tried to get it in the divorce. Maybe it was because she was planning to go away, or maybe she'd felt guilty about the divorce, but whatever the reason, when she split with Brandall, she'd seemed perfectly content to get her own place in Cambridge. “I've already told Rex about tomorrow,” she continued now. “He'll be there, along with your father.”
“You talked to Dad?”
“I texted him and he agreed.”
Cady processed that for a moment—the increasingly remote image of the four of them together in that house. “So we're all going to have breakfast? Together?” she said skeptically.
“Yes. A family meal,” Hortense stated.
Dysfunctional family, Cady thought, but kept the bratty comment to herself.
If breakfast was at her dad's house, Cady had to assume that he'd plop a box of Chex in the middle of the table and let them all deduce the rest. Still, the idea that they would all be together again made her sort of happy.
Of course, it also made her nervous.
When she got home, after having the cab driver drop her off at her apartment building, she texted Torie to tell her she was too tired to meet at the Cactus Club. After showering and climbing into bed, she thought she'd fall asleep right away, but instead her mind booted up again.
She lay there, unable to sleep, her disparate thoughts bouncing around her mind in ricocheting chaos. She thought about her parents, about divorce, about her childhood, about Rex and Preeti, about love. Several times, she reached for her phone, almost texting Mick—maybe something flirty, or maybe warm and friendly?—but she always stopped herself. As much as she craved him, in retrospect she knew that parting ways with him tonight was the safest, most mature thing she could have done.
She'd love to think they could just kiss and cuddle, or make out without it going too far. But who was buying that for one second? She was so overwhelmingly attracted to Mick—the pull she felt was strong and magnetic in a way she'd never experienced with any other guy. The mere thought of him naked stole her breath. Considering that he poured heat through her body without even trying, she knew if they started kissing again, she wouldn't be able to stop this time. The thought of losing control like that terrified her.
She'd never been the casual-sex type of girl. Undoubtedly she'd regret it as soon as it was over—wouldn't she? And she'd be hurt if Mick didn't want more. Yes, in her heart, Cady knew that would crush her. Surely Torie would tell her she was over-thinking this, but telling Cady not to over-think was like telling Torie not to be fun.
Eventually after her mind exhausted itself, Cady fell asleep and then the morning came quickly.
Instead of a perfunctory offering of Chex, Cady found an array of scones on her father's dining room table. Apparently Rex had scurried dutifully to a nearby bakery to procure the breakfast pastries, per Hortense's specifications.
Once everyone was seated, they preoccupied themselves with the food. Cady tipped her paper cup back, draining the last of her coffee, which she'd picked up on the way over, unsure if Brandall would brew any (he didn't, nor was there any in his pantry). She knew she wasn't slurping, but in the strained quiet that stretched over the room, every sound seemed to be amplified. In fact, awkward tension would have been a welcome diversion from the uncomfortable silence.
Finally Rex piped up, “Great idea, having breakfast, Mom. Good choice with the food, too.”
His obsequiousness was rewarded instantly with Hortense's smile of approval, leaving Cady to wonder why she hadn't thought of saying that.
“So, Cady...” Hortense began, cutting her cinnamon scone into precise thirds. “How are your courses going?”
“Good,” Cady replied. “I have two papers due this week. The one for my French Cinema class is mostly done. I'm still figuring out what I'm going to write for the other one, about Citizen Kane.”
“Citizen Kane? But that's an American movie.”
“Right—I'm also taking a class about Hollywood in the 1940s,” Cady reminded her.
“Two film courses?” Hortense said, arching a dark brow.
“Yes. I told you that before.”
“Hmm, I must have forgotten. Of course I realize that students take a lighter load their senior year, but...well, what serious courses are you taking this semester?”
“My film classes get pretty intellectual, Mom,” Cady pushed back. “They're not blow-off electives, believe me.” She didn't bother trying to turn her mom into a Film Studies enthusiast. But she hardly wanted her to envision a classroom full of students with their feet up and buckets of popcorn in their laps, either.
“And have you made any progress on your plans for next year?” Hortense's inquiry persisted.
“Um, yeah, I'm going to start applying to grad schools—right after mid-terms,” Cady fibbed. “Schools in or near the Boston area,” she added, figuring she'd round out the lie with some detail.
Fortunately, Brandall was grumbling something, which took the focus off Cady. He was leaning to the side, obviously trying to look past the living room to the front door. “Gee, I can't imagine what's taking Linda so long,” he mumbled.
From that, Cady had to assume Linda had a key to the house now—why else would Brandall expect her to appear in the entry foyer?
“Linda?” Hortense challenged, almost making the name itself a question.
“Yes, I invited her,” Brandall replied.
Hortense's disapproval could not have been more evident as she set her fork down with a clank. The glare she shot Brandall cut through her glasses like a laser. Sucking in a breath, Cady sank a little lower in her chair—and she noticed that Rex did the same. “This was supposed to be a family meal,” Hortense said scoldingly.
“Linda is family.”
Well in fairness, Hortense had set herself up for that obvious reply.
“No, Brandall, she's not. She's a woman you've known for a frighteningly short time. Frankly, I have known my periodontist longer than you've known this woman.”
“Hortense, please,” Brandall began, briefly rubbing his eyes, “this isn't something to discuss in front of the kids—”
“Cadence and Rex are no
t kids. They are grown adults now who are just as concerned about you as I am,” Hortense continued haughtily, “which is why we called this meeting.”
Cady's eyes shot up. Wha...? Of course they were concerned, but Hortense was making this whole breakfast seem like a plot hatched in order to gang up on him.
“Meeting?” Brandall echoed, befuddled. “I thought it was simply a pleasant breakfast.”
Actually it was an intervention, Cady realized, a bit annoyed that Hortense hadn't better prepared her and Rex. Still, Cady did her best to improvise. “Dad, we're just worried about how fast you're going with this whole thing.”
“Yes,” Rex agreed. “How can you honestly consider Linda Croft family at this point?”
Not one for interventions apparently, Brandall stiffened his shoulders a bit and deflected. “Look, I appreciate all of your concern. I suppose I even understand it, but believe me...I know what I'm doing.”
Rubbing his forehead with pained apprehension, Rex burst, “But, Dad, Linda—”
“Is going to be my wife,” Brandall supplied before Rex could finish whatever rant he'd been suppressing these last few weeks. Then Brandall focused squarely on his ex-wife. “Now, my dear,” he said, using a subtle form of condescension that Cady knew her mom hated, “you've always been a believer in the facts. And the fact is that once I marry Linda—very soon—she will be family.”
Then, for some horrible reason, he gushed on: “The truth is, when I first saw Linda Croft's photograph on that dating website, I fell hard for her—right then and there. And when I spoke to her on the phone—ah, that sweet voice, so vivacious...how can I even explain it? I just knew on a vibrational molecular level that I wanted her to be mine.”
Oh, brother. What now?
Tactfully, Cady tried again. “Dad, be reasonable,” she said, struggling to practice what she preached; she needed to sound level-headed herself, not act emotional or openly judgmental. “It takes time to get to know someone.”
“I agree, but it's not like we just met yesterday,” was Brandall's defense.
“It's barely been two months!” Cady replied with exasperation. So much for expunging the judgmental emotion. “Do you even know her favorite color?”
She hadn't meant the question literally, it was more to make a point, but still Brandall replied matter-of-factly, “Of course I do. It's green.”
“What about her favorite number?” Rex questioned.
“She doesn't have one.”
His brows knitting together, Rex appeared deeply suspicious. “Who doesn't have a favorite number?” he asked rhetorically, letting the others draw their own conclusion about the character of such a person.
Impatiently, Cady sighed. “What about her favorite flower?”
“Tulips.”
“Favorite dessert?”
“Chocolate cake.”
“Natural hair color?” Hortense jumped in, obviously deciding to just be catty now.
“Oh, I know!” Rex exclaimed. “Dad, what's her favorite phase of the moon?”
As Cady furtively rolled her eyes, Brandall answered, “She seems to enjoy a full moon, same as me.”
Hortense's eyes nearly bugged out as she balled her fist and snapped: “You don't even know my favorite phase of the moon!”
“Oh...I, er...” Obviously caught, Brandall offered, “Fine, so tell me then.”
“We're divorced now,” she fumed, “it no longer matters!”
“Mom, please calm down,” Rex implored, giving their mom a consoling glance. “Dad, we're only looking out for you. The frenetic nature of this courtship has us perplexed, at best.” (Yes, Rex was only twenty-seven and yet talked like that.)
“I do appreciate that, but...” Brandall shrugged haplessly, and even had the presence of mind to chuckle. “Truly, I know what I'm doing.” He didn't sound the least bit defensive. In fact, he sounded more self-assured than he had since the whole divorce happened. His inflection was almost perky.
This newfound ebullience wasn't lost on Hortense, who studied him for a long moment before asking, “Brandall, are you taking some sort of hallucinogenic drug?”
“What—!” he burst, so startled by the question, he clumsily knocked his fork off the table. “Of course not! What on earth—?”
“Then why in the world are you smiling like that?” Hortense demanded. “What good reason do you have for behaving in this manner?”
“I think that should be obvious,” Brandall said, then shifted to that passive-aggressive condescension again. “It's called happiness, my dear.”
Chapter Twenty-six
There wasn't much to be said after that—and Cady managed to use her poetry class as an excuse to leave, making her escape before Linda showed up. Since that was Cady's only class on Fridays, she was able to drive her mom to the airport that afternoon.
The ride to Logan Airport was quiet except for small talk, mostly about the conference Hortense was attending in California. The other stray remarks that followed were just as superficial. Secretly, Cady was sort of relieved when her mom refused her offer to hang around until her plane boarded. By the looks of the long, barely-moving lines of travelers, that could take a couple of hours.
Still, Cady hated to leave everything unsaid. She'd been taking the cue from her mother, waiting for her to bring up Cady's dad, but since she wasn't...
“Well, have a safe trip, Mom,” Cady said, managing a smile. “I'll miss you.”
“I'll miss you, too,” Hortense agreed, giving her daughter a quick, firm hug. Gestures of affection from Hortense had always been like that—sure but brisk.
“Listen, Mom, I wish things had gone differently while you were here. I wish Dad had changed his mind and called off this wedding. I know we tried, but Dad's just determined.”
Starchily, Hortense stretched the strap of her carry-on bag across her shoulder and said, “If he wants to engage his romantic delusions without a scrap of caution, there's nothing more I can do to protect him.”
“Do you at least feel better about Linda? You know, now that you've met her?” Cady asked.
A bit smugly, Hortense remarked, “Well, I see that she's definitely not smart enough to be after your father's research. So at least we don't have to worry about that motive anymore.”
She said “we” as if Cady had also been concerned about that ludicrous theory.
Just then her mom's cell buzzed, and, in Cady's estimation, she seemed over-eager to retrieve it. Haphazardly, she slapped every front and side pocket of her bag until she found it.
As soon as Hortense read the screen, the corners of her lips turned up. Then she accidentally fumbled and dropped the phone, which skated past Cady. As she bent to get it, she saw the words: Message from Rodrigo. The lines that followed made Cady gasp.
I can't wait till you get back. I'm barely concentrating w/o you here. Must be b/c I “dig” you, LOL.
Confused, she paused at first, as anger slowly began to swell like a balloon in her chest.
“I'll take that,” Hortense said crisply, extending her hand.
Forgetting pretense or diplomacy, Cady flat-out confronted her. “Who the heck is Rodrigo?”
Hortense halted, clearly put off by Cady's hostility. “A friend,” was her somewhat dismissive answer.
Rolling her eyes, Cady said, “C'mon, Mom, don't treat me like an idiot.”
With her palm still outstretched, Hortense waited. Obviously she wasn't going to talk until she got her way, so Cady set the phone in her mom's hand. “Well?”
Calmly, if a bit evasively, Hortense slipped her cell into a side pocket of her carry-on. “Rodrigo is a graduate student, who happens to be working at the dig. And yes, to your implicit question, he and I are...involved.”
“Oh, my God!” Cady burst. “Mom, you're involved with a student? I can't believe this!” If her disapproval was blatant maybe it was because Hortense had always been a stickler for ethics. It was a subject she'd always been pretty smug about, even.
“Still—” Cady rebutted.
“And I said he was a student,” Hortense went on, “not my student.”
Rolling her eyes, Cady huffed, “He's almost twenty years younger than you!”
“Thank you for informing me of that, Cadence,” her mom replied tartly. “Are you also aware that men date younger women all the time?”
“Fine, fine,” Cady hurried to say, before her mom could try to intimidate her with name-calling (“sexist,” “ageist,” “narrow-minded,” or whatever else she might throw at her). Yes, of course this sort of thing could happen—but to other people. This was Cady's mom! How could she have a secret life? How could she have kept it so well-hidden? All those weekly Skype chats and no mention of this guy? And worst of all: how long had this been going on?
She stumbled a little, trying to get the answer. “Were you involved with this guy before—I mean...well, did you meet him on the dig, or—”
“Cadence, I don't have to answer these questions.”
The unfeeling tone in her mother's voice set her off, as Cady felt tears rise behind her eyes. “That's great, Mom, thanks,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm and hurt.
Which made Hortense relent. Dropping her eyes, Cady waited. Over the years, the two had occasionally had moments like these—times when Hortense abruptly seemed to realize that she was being too frosty, too insensitive. That her aloofness—presumably intended as a controlled repose, a show of strength—was actually hurting her daughter. And in these moments, she would soften. As she did now.
“Cadence,” she began, her posture less defensive, her tone less rigid. “I was not unfaithful to your father, if that's what you're asking. All right? I was not.”