The Champagne Sisterhood

by Chris Keniston

  “Could be dangerous.” She didn’t look up at him. She kept her eyes on Marcia, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitching from withheld laughter.

  “My sister tells me there’s talk of Portermans out of Chicago opening a store here in San Francisco. I checked with a real estate friend. Porterman’s has picked up their option on the old Mercantile building on Union Square.” He handed Anna another block to offer Marcia, only Marcia found knocking the mini tower over decidedly more amusing and stood with delight clapping her hands over the toppled creation.

  “Yay.” Anna clapped with her.

  Brushing away the fallen debris, Marcia began once again raising the foam structure.

  Still holding the soft block, Mark cleared his throat. “I’m sure they’re looking for the right people. Maybe even a vice president. Anna.”

  This time she turned and let her gaze settle on his. Her soft whiskey-colored eyes shimmered in the sunlight. His throat went dry and all his well-planned words slipped from memory. “I love you,” he whispered instead.

  “Mark, I--“

  “Don’t.” He raised a hand to silence her then let it fall on her cheek, brushing away a strand of hair blowing in her face. “I know I’ve said it before that Barb was a good mother, a great wife, the last of a dying breed.”

  Unable to stop touching her, he brushed a trail down the side of her face with the back of his hand. “What I didn’t say is I was wrong. There’s more to being a great mother than baking cookies and volunteering for the PTA.”

  “Mark--“

  “Let me finish, please.” The same hand that caressed her cheek dropped to take hold of her hand. “I’ve had an illusion of the perfect mother and the perfect wife and no matter what, I couldn’t find her. The perfect woman for me isn’t my illusion. She’s you.”

  Tears filled her eyes and his stomach tightened in a nervous clench. He pulled her closer to wipe away the falling droplets and plead his case. “Give me a chance to show you we can work.”

  “What are you saying?” she murmured, blinking back tears.

  “Stay. Marry me?”

  “One of you two had better sneak out there and bring Marcia inside.” Sofia washed the empty cake pan, while Erin and Kat shoveled forkfuls of double chocolate layer cake into their mouths.

  “Huh?” Kat looked up from the dish, unable to see the backyard from where she sat.

  “I don’t think I want my granddaughter learning about the birds and the bees just yet.”

  Kat and Erin shot out of their seats with the speed of a cannonball. “Holy...” Kat trailed off.

  “Yup.” Erin nodded. “That about says it. I’ll flip you for who goes.”

  Sofia stared out the window at her daughter tangled in Mark’s arms. “’Bout time she smartened up.” She glanced at Kat and Erin, literally flipping a quarter. “Think I can talk her father into moving out west? I have a feeling she’s going to keep me a lot busier with grandbabies than Angie and Tony.”

  Looking back out the window she could see Mark had rolled Anna over. Their lips still locked, his hands fisted in her hair, both were oblivious to little Marcia wobbling toward them ready to pounce on her new mom and dad and join the fun. “Much busier.” She smiled.

  EPILOGUE

  “Damn it.”

  “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Suck it in.”

  “I am. It’s not going to work. There’s no getting a size twelve tummy into a size eight zipper.”

  “There’s no such thing as a size eight zipper.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.”

  “Ladies.” Mark walked into Anna’s home office, two-year-old Marcia toddled in beside him.

  “You’re early.” Anna beamed, then sobered. “Damn dress doesn’t fit anymore.”

  “It fit last week when you tried it on.” Liz blew out a frustrated sigh.

  “That was last week. This week I look like an inflatable raft.”

  Mark rolled his eyes at Liz and turned to smile at his wife. “You’re beautiful.” His hand slid down to her tummy. “Both of you.”

  “Liar.” Anna laughed loudly. “But don’t stop.”

  “I’ll get on the phone with Aggie.” Liz straightened. “Have her pull whichever of your designs we have in the next size up.”

  “Great. Grand opening of Portermans’ and Lady Porter’s newest designer is going to look like a whale.”

  “A stylish whale.” Liz laughed. “Sorry.” She stifled another laugh. “You’re gonna look great. Everyone already loves the new line. Who knows, maybe they’ll ask you to design some maternity clothes.”

  “I bet she’s right.” Mark grinned at his wife. “Smartest assistant you ever had. I keep trying to steal her, but she’s loyal to a fault.”

  “I knew that the day she tried to schmooze two Dobermans with chopped liver to save my job.”

  Liz reached for the phone and pushed the memorized number on the keypad. “If I’d have known you were going to quit anyway to marry this galoot, I could have saved myself several hours locked in a hall closet.”

  “Mama pritty.” Marcia reached for Anna’s skirt.

  “Thank you, baby.” She whirled the little girl up into her arms. “I bet you and Daddy are hungry aren’t you.”

  “You said it.” Kat strolled into the room, leaned over and gave Anna an old bear hug. “Ready for the big day?”

  “If I can find something to wear.”

  “I heard.”

  Anna put Marcia down on the floor. “How was the flight?”

  “Wonderful, there are perks to dating a pilot. Got upgraded to first. Great food.”

  “And you’re hungry again already?”

  Kat shrugged. “What can I tell you?”

  Thirty minutes after dinner, Mark’s brother Kevin pulled up in the drive.

  “Erin’s here.” Kat watched Kevin hold the car door for her friend then turned to Mark. “You know, if he were just a little older.” She grinned.

  Mark laughed with his wife’s best friend. There could certainly be worse things in life than having her for a sister-in-law.

  Just then Erin pushed through the front door. “What a flight. Who'd have thought the day would come I'd wish for the return of the cheap bag of peanuts.” First thing, she bent down and opened her arms to the racing toddler zooming straight at her. “My Pooh bear,” Erin said with a broad grin, stopping to slobber noisy kisses all over her niece’s face.

  “You didn’t have to come.” Anna pulled Erin into a long hug.

  “But I’m awfully glad you did.”

  With Anna starting her new design business from home and Erin signing a twelve month contract with the school, getting together seemed a lot harder than it had when Barb was still alive, but together again they were.

  “I say tomorrow’s grand opening calls for a toast today.” Kat headed for the bar. It was one of the many pieces of furniture Anna and Mark chose to keep from Tom and Barb’s house.

  “No champagne for my wife.”

  “No problem.” Erin smiled bringing in two cans of ginger ale. “One for Mrs. Lambert and one for Miss Lambert.”

  Mark, Kevin and Liz stepped to the side, watching the standard ritual. As usual, Liz stood by with a digital camera in hand.

  Holding Marcia on her hip, Anna raised a flute glass of green ginger ale. “One for all.”

  As they’d done for the first time over seventeen years ago in Napa, like swords to the wind, Kat and Erin raised their glasses of green champagne alongside Anna and a living memory of Babs. Together again, the voices chorused loudly, “And all for one.”

  Read on for an excerpt of THE HOMECOMING!

  PROLOGUE

  Stephanie Cortez scribbled Women's Shelter across another sealed box of clothes. "Life's a bitch, then you die. Get over it." Somehow, this had become her new mantra.

  "Look what I found." Carrying an antiquated metal file box the size of a lawyer's briefcase, her friend Kate stepped out of
the half-empty closet and stopped short at the sight of Stephanie mumbling to herself over a box. "Maybe we should take a break. We've got a lot done."

  "I can't keep putting this off." Swiping at her moist cheek, Stephanie silently cursed her eyes for not cooperating.

  Surely she should have run out of tears by now. Ever since that night in the ER when the doctor so solemnly informed her that her mother hadn't survived, tears came and went with a free will all their own. Damn inconvenient, too. Nothing like standing at the grocery store, transferring a box of your mother's favorite cereal from the cart to the checkout counter, only to be struck by the reality of still having a nearly full box at home. Then the waterworks would start, and the people around her would awkwardly pretend not to notice a young woman crying over a box of Corn Flakes. "It's been six months, and this isn't any easier now than it was the first time I tried to clean out Mom's closet."

  "Steph, cut yourself some slack. She's your mom."

  "It's just that nothing feels right anymore." Stephanie wiped at her eyes and offered a halfhearted shrug before noticing the metal box in her friend's hand. "What's that?"

  "How should I know?" Kate handed the file box over. "It was buried behind the old suitcases in the corner."

  Accepting the box, Stephanie flopped cross-legged on her mom's bed and played with the latch. "I think it's stuck."

  Kate reached for the box. "Let me try."

  "No, I think...I...got it!" She smiled triumphantly, her fingers quickly flipping through file folders, manila envelopes, and assorted papers. Pulling out a file marked tax return, she glanced at the upper right-hand corner. Setting it back in place, she scanned another stray page for a date, and then another. "Most of these papers are from fifteen or sixteen years ago."

  "I wonder why she kept them in the closet."

  "Me, too. I've already been through the file cabinet by her desk. Nothing in there was older than seven years." She scanned another sheet. "Except for the tax return, most of these are in Spanish."

  Inching across the bed on her knees, Kate peered over Stephanie's shoulder. "Can you read them?"

  "Maybe." She continued to flip through pages. "Here's something in English."

  Stack of papers in hand, Stephanie skimmed over the words.

  "Well?" Kate asked impatiently.

  "Looks like this has something to do with the divorce and the newspaper. It's from Mom's lawyer. At least I think it's her lawyer."

  Kate rested her chin on Stephanie's shoulder. "I forgot your dad owned a newspaper."

  "Mm." Passing each sheet of paper from one hand to the next as she read, Stephanie's heart kicked a beat faster with every mention of her father, the newspaper, and the world her mother had left behind.

  "Too bad you can't get a job with him." Kate flopped back on the bed with a handful of discarded pages. "You wanting to be the next Katharine Graham. It would have made great sense."

  Scanning the last sheet, Stephanie's mind absorbed the words at the bottom of the page, For any further communication, contact Fernando Restrepo, Esquire.

  Like a sprinter at the olympics, her heartbeat took off at top speed. Air filled her lungs and then stopped. For any further communication. The breath she'd been holding blew out in a sudden rush as she sprang from the bed waving the sheet of paper at her friend. Sporting a huge grin, Stephanie practically shouted at Kate. "Do you know what this means?"

  Eyes rounded, Kate turned her palms out and hitched her shoulders. "Do I know what what means?"

  "This." She waved the page again. "I know how to make things right!"

  Still looking like a confused owl, Kate studied her friend a quick moment before smiling back. "What do you mean right?"

  "I mean, I'm going to find my father!"

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was a hell of a long way to travel. Over two thousand miles and back sixteen years.

  With every turn of the MD-80, Stephanie's stomach flipped and rolled. Just a little turbulence. It will be over soon, she repeated silently. Nibbling on her lower lip, she watched through the tiny window as the mechanical bird made its final approach into Ernesto Cortizo airport. The closer the aircraft flew to the ground, the more the patchwork quilt of the South American countryside's lush greenery came to life. The swaying palms and blooming vines seemed to reach out to greet her. The only problem was she felt more like an insect about to descend into the colorful allure of a Venus flytrap. What had she been thinking?

  She’d been six years old when her mother packed her up in the dark of night and quietly returned to New York. It had been her first plane ride. She’d been thrilled, exhilarated by the new experience. At the time she’d thought it a grand adventure. Now on the verge of stepping into a whole new world, instead of feeling the excitement of a six-year-old child, facing the unknown filled her with the dread an old nag might sense if it understood it was about to be auctioned to the glue factory.

  The tires bounced twice off the runway, snapping her head back against the seat. A little voice in the back of her mind shouted this wouldn’t be her only rough landing.

  Adjusting the hem of her jacket, Stephanie straightened her shoulders. Her hand rose to her midsection, willing the knots twisting tightly like wet rope in her stomach to untie. She was being silly. This was the gangway of a modern jet. No one was making her walk the plank. So what if she was about to come face to face with the father she hadn’t seen or heard from in sixteen years?

  Forcing her legs to take the first step off the airplane, she noticed a slender, well-dressed woman in her late twenties with long raven-black hair standing to the left of the aircraft’s doorway.

  “Miss Cortez?”

  Surprised to hear her name, she wondered if perhaps there was more than one Cortez aboard. After all, it couldn’t be that uncommon a name.

  “Miss Stephanie Cortez?” the young woman repeated at her lingering silence.

  “Excuse me, yes.”

  “I’m Lydia Martinez. I work for your father at El Diario." Lydia offered her hand. "He apologizes he couldn’t be here himself. This is Señor Lopez from DAS.”

  She could see Lydia scanning her expression, waiting to see if she knew what DAS stood for, but she didn’t care. All she could think was her father didn’t come.

  When she remained silent, Lydia continued without skipping a beat. “Think of Señor Lopez as the Colombian version of the FBI. He’ll be helping you with immigration and customs. Do you have your passport and customs declaration?”

  For weeks various scenarios had played in Stephanie’s head like a classic old movie. Her favorite had her father whisking her into his arms. In another he shyly reached for the daughter whose youth he regretted not being a part of. Or maybe too overcome with joy, frozen in place, tears would trickle down his face at finally having his only daughter home again. In an instant they all faded to black. The anticipation, the expectations, the hopes fizzled like a wet firecracker. He hadn't come.

  “Señorita?”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Your passport?”

  “Oh, of course.” Stunned and suddenly aware they were holding up the line of disembarking passengers, she squelched the bitter sting of rejection and fumbled through her purse to hand Lydia the requested papers. “Here you go.”

  Silently, she followed as Lydia and Mr. Lopez rambled on in Spanish, Lopez occasionally snapping orders at airport personnel as they passed. At six her vocabulary hadn't been as extensive as that of her current escorts. Concentrating on every word spoken, she was pleased to discover she understood more than she’d expected. If all she had remembered was “milk please” and “I don't want to go to bed yet,” conversation could have been a bit sticky.

  Without making her wait in line, Mr. Lopez returned her stamped passport and then led the way to customs. She watched like a disoriented child as her luggage was retrieved and waved by without inspection. Exiting the glass-enclosed seclusion of the international arrivals area, her heart almost st
opped when two large men silently flanked her on either side. Struggling to swallow the panic threatening to erupt with the force of Mount Vesuvius, she stopped and looked to Lydia.

  “This is José." Lydia gestured to her right. "He’ll be your driver during your stay. Ramon is just along for the ride.”

  Reining in her emotions, she almost laughed at Lydia's casual description of the bodyguard. In a country most recently known as the kidnap capital of the world, “along for the ride” would definitely qualify as an understatement.

  She drew in a deep, calming breath and slowly exhaled. Her life had been just fine for the last sixteen years without her father. What the hell had possessed her to think it needed to change now? Sighing inwardly, she knew the answer. She missed her mother.

  Once outside, her first hot breath of tropical air gave a new meaning to the word stifling. Asphyxiation would be more appropriate. For an instant she felt as though she’d tried to breathe through an oversized feather pillow. She knew she was inhaling, but there simply wasn’t any air.

  “It’s a little warmer than I remembered.” She smiled weakly to cover her reaction, hoping her eyes hadn’t revealed her surprise at being momentarily unable to breathe.

  “We’re having a heat wave. It’s thirty-nine degrees today. That’s one hundred and two Fahrenheit.” Lydia climbed into the waiting car and slid across the back seat. “Although I can’t honestly say that we’ve ever really had a true cold spell. I wouldn’t let it bother you. You’ll adapt quickly, and don’t be surprised when you develop an almost-obsessive love of natural fabrics.”

  Lydia’s smile had been polite and welcoming, but now her throaty laugh gave Stephanie her first truly relaxed moment since the pilot had announced they were beginning the descent into Barranquilla.

  “Are we far from my father’s?”

  “We’re about twenty minutes away from the newspaper. Your father is waiting for you at the office. There was a meeting of the board of directors. He couldn’t miss it.”