by Emily Childs
“Sweetie,” she tries to whisper and fails wonderfully. “I see a new light in your face. I think having Ollie has been a good thing. You’re happy, right?”
I hold my breath waiting for his response. Rafe does a better job at whispering, but I’m straining now, and pick up the gist. “I love her, Mama.”
I think I might turn into a puddle right there on the couch.
Millie smiles. “I would hope so since you’re going to marry the girl.”
I feel a pang of guilt at that. But not as much as before. No mistake, I plan to marry this guy someday.
“Ollie’s always been in my life, and we’re still friends, but she makes my head spin in a good way, you know?”
Millie nods. Heat floods my cheeks when she flicks her eyes toward me and winks. That woman is a deviant. She knows exactly who’s listening and what she’s doing. “I reckon you’ve had the same effect on Olive for a long time now. I hope you won’t let any noise come between you two.”
“The only thing that would get me to walk away is if Olive asked me to,” he assures.
I could kiss Millie. I told her what worried me when I made my solo visit, and she’s protecting my heart as much as she protects her boys. Rafe isn’t going to listen. He already proved that with Beau, but hearing him say it springs hot tears to my eyes.
“That’s good,” Millie goes on. “If you’re fortunate, you’ll have a few loves in your life—if you’re blessed, you’ll find the love of your life. I’d like to think both my boys have been blessed to find that.”
Rafe leaves the bathroom and I go back to my non-eavesdropping reading before he catches me. “We better get going or we’ll be late.”
“Go on, then,” Millie teases.
I stand, smiling at him as though I didn’t just hear all those beautiful things. Maybe he knows and doesn’t care. I kiss him anyway.
He takes in my dress once more, smiling. “I’ve told you that you’re beautiful, right?”
“Three times.”
“And I’ve already said we should skip this party and make our own fun, right?”
“Several times. Each time getting more vulgar.”
“Good.” Rafe grabs his keys from the kitchen counter, then sighs. “Mama—”
“Son, I’ll be fine,” Millie interrupts. “I love how much you care, but I’ll be fine. Have a great time.”
He taps the largest key against his palm. “Alright. You know where the TV remote is and all that?”
“And I can use the toilet paper, and I even know how to get in my pajamas too.”
I snicker. “Millie, you’d be doing the same thing if it were one of us.”
“True, but it’s not. So you two ninnies get out of here.”
Rafe points his keys at his mother. “You, woman, should never wonder where we get our sarcasm.”
Millie blows us a kiss and waves as Rafe leads me out the side door.
Tonight isn’t really for us, but Dot’s parents bought a brand new urgent care clinic in town for low-income, or uninsured folks. Dot has supported us, so we’re supporting her family. A little riskier since there’s a chance people might recognize Rafe as a Whitfield, probably not, but there is a chance.
We’re together though, and I hardly care.
Crystal chandeliers line the domed ceiling at the restaurant, and original wood flooring brings a woodsy scent. Vintage, colonial windows and shutters add to the atmosphere. The table is filled with people I don’t know beyond Dot’s folks—by the way, she’s missing—my folks, my aunt and uncle, and Beau. I glare at my cousin when he takes a look down our table. To make Beau squirm, I lean into Rafe, and slip my hand over his on top of the table.
Beau scowls.
Rafe notices and glances his warning at me.
I lean to whisper close to his ear. “I think if I keep this up, or if your hand happened to rest on my leg, Beau might flip his lid.”
“Do you want him to flip? Beau might not be the enemy we want.”
I shrug and kiss his cheek. Yes, my mother sees, and no, I don’t stop. I lean my head on his shoulder. “It’s no one’s problem but his.”
Rafe takes a long drink before his hand eventually drops to my thigh, his thumb caresses my leg until my skin tingles. Beau must notice my reaction and curls his hand into a fist, clearly about to implode.
Maybe I’m playing with fire. Beau is family, but he’s also a prejudiced snake. I don’t know what he’ll do to hurt Rafe, or me. I remind myself there is Millie to think of too.
“Have you seen, Dot?” I ask.
“I haven’t seen her all night. Looks like she’s supposed to be here, though. There’s an empty place next to Mrs. Gardener.”
Rafe’s right. The seat meant for Dot is untouched, but neither Mr. nor Mrs. Gardener bring any sort of attention to the absence of their daughter.
After a few moments, Mr. Gardener clinks his spoon against the side of his glass, bringing the table to a rumbling quiet. Mr. Gardener is a plump man, with peppery hair and a stern smile tucked beneath a bushy mustache. He’s kind enough, but seems more business oriented than affectionate, especially toward Dot. One time, I overheard him tell Dot to take her emotional female needs to her mother when she started crying at school. Turned out Dot had appendicitis. Dot insisted her father apologized later on, but I don’t know for sure.
Mr. Gardener makes a short speech about the new clinic, the jobs it’ll provide, and the help to the community. Honestly, I think the project is great, and Dot is a big part of it. Making her absence even stranger. I’m too focused on my missing friend to care that Mr. Gardener offers congratulations to me and Rafe. He uses the name Whitney, and I feel Rafe shift in his seat.
When he finally sits, I turn into Rafe. “I’m going to run to the restroom and see if I can find her.”
“Why would she be there?”
I shrug. “If she is, it’s not a good thing.”
He releases my hand, but offers a significant look, letting me know I better not abandon him for too long with these people.
“Say a thank you, then use the excuse that I wasn’t feeling well to get out,” I whisper.
I think he breathes a sigh of relief at my way out, but I can’t be sure, I’m cutting across the room to the restrooms.
Inside, I’m met with sniffling.
“Dottie?” I try.
Sniff. “Ollie? That you?”
The far stall door squeaks open and Dot emerges, face splotchy, black streaks of makeup carve into her cheeks.
I’m across the room before the stall door closes. “Mercy, Dot. What’s happened?”
Dot shudders and gasps for air. “Oh, Ollie. How can I . . .e-even f-f-function?”
“Dottie, tell me what happened.” I lead her to the randomly placed vanity. As if a bathroom is the best place to be doing your face. I hand her some paper towels to wipe her face. Her eyes are nearly swollen shut from crying.
“He-he’s been a little distant. Busy, you know. With his hostile takeover. But t-this morning” – she hiccups – “I . . . Sawyer called me and s-s-said he wasn’t coming back.”
My heart is in my throat. “Oh, sweetie. Why in the world not?” I saw how Sawyer looked at Dot like she’d been delivered from the pearly gates just for him. How did it fall apart? I rub Dot’s arm.
“He apparently,” she snarls with a burst of fury. “Thinks we aren’t” – Dot meets my eyes – “He ended it with me, Ollie.”
Dot crumbles over her lap again, sobs burst in and out.
“Oh, Dot.” I stroke her hair. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could say something to make you feel better. I know it hurts.”
“It’s killing me, Ollie,” Dot shrieks. “I feel my heart turning into broken, jagged, stupid pieces of glass. Mama said I need to stay put until I can compose myself. Well, looks like I’ll be here forever because how in the blazes am I supposed to compose myself? He told me he wanted to marry me, that he loved me! He lied!” Dot sniffs loudly, blowing her n
ose in a paper towel before staring at the ceiling. “Am I so awful, Ollie?”
I hug her against me. “No, Dot. You’re not awful at all. He’s a dog for not seeing how amazing you are. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re playful and beautiful.” Dot scoffs and wipes her nose again, but I squeeze her a little harder. “I mean it, Dottie. You’re all those things and one brilliant businesswoman. I heard your daddy bragging out there about all you’ve done for the clinic already. You’re amazing, and if Sawyer can’t see it, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“You’re just saying all that to make me feel better.”
“It’s all true, but is it working and making you feel better?”
Dot give me a watery smile. “A little.”
“Dot, come stay with me tonight. We’ll drink wine, eat way too many carbs, and then do it all again.”
“What about Rafe?”
“I’m not glued to the man. Well, not entirely, but Millie just got back. He needs to be with her a bit without me,” I say. “Come on, it will be fun.”
Dot wipes her eyes. “I’d really like that, Ollie. Thank you.”
“Now, what would our mother’s say?”
That draws out a laugh. “Wipe those tears, no more blubbering. Straighten those shoulders.”
“If you lie with a dog, you’ll catch fleas,” I say in my best Bernadette impression.
Dot really laughs now and links her arm with mine. Rafe is waiting outside the bathroom.
“Everyone is leaving,” he says, but stops when he notices Dot’s face. “Oh, hey Dot. Everything okay?”
“No, men are the spawns of the devil,” she grumbles.
I laugh. “All men but you, Rafe. Dot is going to come stay with me tonight.”
He seems a little disappointed, but Rafe is intelligent and he’s not about to argue this point.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll take you both home.”
I keep an arm around Dot’s waist, my other hand in Rafe’s, but I stop short of the door. “Rafe. Do you know her?”
Rafe follows my gaze toward a young woman. She’s donned in pearls, but doesn’t seem as stiffly dressed as the ones we ate with tonight. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat, curly ponytail and she’s coming right at us.
“Excuse me,” she says. “I couldn’t help overhearing your celebration over there. Did you say your last name was Whitney?”
Rafe’s face pales, and I squeeze his hand, ready to shove this girl out of our way if she has ties to the Whitney family.
“I don’t use that name,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “Sometimes others do, that’s why you heard it tonight. Sorry if we disturbed you, but I much prefer Whitfield. Excuse us.”
The woman dares grab his arm, her brows furrow, but she’s wearing a soft smile. I’m ready to smack her away, but stop cold when she goes on. “Do you know Jed Whitney?”
Rafe’s politeness is over, but I step between them. “He doesn’t,” I say. “Nor do we care to. Now, excuse us.”
The girl gasps. “Wait, please. What’s your name?”
Rafe wheels on the pushy newcomer. “Miss, I don’t know Jed Whitney, and as my girl just said, we don’t care to know him.”
“My name is Jace,” she insists without skipping a beat. “Jace Whitney.”
Now she has all our attention. Even Dot’s.
Jace grins, kindly, not maliciously. In fact, I think there are tears in her eyes “My daddy is James Whitney,” she says. “You don’t . . . you don’t have a twin brother, do you?”
Rafe glances at me, a flush to his face.
“How do you know them?” I ask darkly.
Jace covers her mouth. “My grandma talked about you both. I was never sure if I believed her that y’all existed. She always felt rotten about what happened. Please, tell me if I’m mistaken. If I’m not, though, I’d dare guess . . . we’re first cousins, Mr. Whitfield.”
Chapter 22
Rafe
I don’t blink, don’t say a word. How am I supposed to answer to that?
“Perhaps we could go and talk. I’d like to get to know you,” Jace says after a moment.
“Ollie, on second thought, maybe we should stick with Rafe,” Dot says with a grin. “Watching his family drama unfold is surprisingly distracting.”
I might laugh at Dot’s sincerity, if not for being stunned silent.
“Rafe,” Olive whispers, her touch anchors me to reality, putting me at ease in a breath. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t mean to cause you any discomfort, but I couldn’t stay quiet,” Jace says.
“Are you close with him?” I manage to choke out.
“I hardly know my uncle,” she admits with a touch of bitterness. “He and my daddy had a falling out years ago. Unfortunately, he’s had many falling outs with the family. There are pictures, though. Maybe I shouldn’t say, but you sort of—”
“Look like him,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I know.”
Jace glances at the ground. “I apologize, I can see this is difficult for you, and rightly so. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She turns to go, and on one hand, I’d like to see her leave, but on another, I don’t. Olive’s thumb traces my knuckles. She doesn’t say anything, but she won’t. She’s always respected my resentment, my hurt regarding the Whitney family.
But that’s not Jace’s fault. I close my eyes. “Wait, Jace.”
She stops, looking hopeful.
“We can talk.”
“Really?” She grins. “Great, let me go and tell my friends I’m leaving. I’ll be right back.”
Olive hugs my waist when Jace leaves. “You okay?’
I shake my head. “I always knew there were family members, but no one ever reached out to us. Ever. What am I supposed to say?”
My shoulders ease from clenching when Olive presses a sweet kiss to my lips. “You say whatever you want. She seems genuine, though, like she wants to get to know you.”
“I want to be nosy, but I can leave, Rafe,” Dot says.
I scoff. “As weak as it might sound, I’d rather not do this alone.”
Dot seems rather pleased and gives me a salute. There are still tears in her eyes, but I think this is helping her too. Olive slips her fingers in mine and whispers against my shoulder. “You know you never have to do this alone.”
Jace finds her way back to us, still smiling. “Okay, where do you want to go?”
“I need to be getting back to my place. My mom is sick, and we’ve been gone for a long time.”
Jace blanches. “Would she, uh, want me coming around?”
Olive chuckles. “Millie might tell you what she thinks of your uncle, but she’d never hold it against you.”
“It will be fine. If you’d like to come,” I tell her.
“Alright. I’ll follow you.” Outside Jace points to a black Civic. “That’s me.”
I’m surprised and imagined her driving a sports car that cost more than my house. I wait for her until she sees my truck, and starts to follow. Olive leans against the window, fingers still in mine, like a chain that can’t break.
Dot is practically bouncing in the backseat. “I’ve never seen your place, Rafe. This is all sort of exciting. Sounds like your extended family feels about the same as you on your rotten daddy. Are you nervous? Don’t be if you are. He’s shameful. Jace seems nice enough, though. Maybe your uncle is a decent sort too.”
“Easy, Dot,” Olive says. “You’re starting to ramble.”
Dot gestures a zipper over her mouth and watches the houses pass by. I look at Olive. Typically, I’d be ashamed being roped into the Whitney family, but it is a little exciting meeting a cousin.
“The thing that bothers me the most is I’ve got cousins, what if I have . . .”
Olive smiles sadly when I pause. “More siblings?”
“I never asked about it for a reason. As much as I don’t want to know my dad, it would be hard for
August and me to know we had a brother or sister.”
“Are you going to ask?”
I hesitate. “I don’t want to know, but I think I’ll drive myself insane wondering if I don’t.”
Olive kisses my knuckles and presses the back of my hand to her soft cheek. “I want you to say whatever you feel comfortable with, Rafe. You don’t have to ask anything about Jed. Get to know Jace if that helps.”
“You’ll stay, right?”
“Always.”
“You can stay too, Dot,” I add. “We just stocked up on wine and Mama insisted on chocolate being in the house, so there’s that.”
“You won’t even know I’m there,” she insists. “I’ll just get tipsy and gain ten pounds out in the yard while you dig into childhood wounds.”
“And I thought this dinner was going to be boring.”
Olive snorts. “Life is never boring with you, Rafe.”
The house still has a few lights on, and part of me hopes Mama is in bed. Then again, maybe she needs this too.
Jace pulls right behind me in the driveway. She fiddles with the ends of her ponytail. “I’m a little nervous.” She looks to Olive. “Sorry, we never introduced ourselves.”
Olive takes her hand. “Olive Cutler. Good to meet you.”
“You as well. When are y’all getting married?”
Dot rolls her eyes. “That’s a long story, girl.”
Jace doesn’t press. A good thing since I don’t know how to explain it myself. Inside, soft mumbled voices are on the TV and a laughing studio audience. I drop my keys onto the counter and flip on the light in the kitchen.
“You home already?” my mom calls.
“We’re home.”
“My, you’ve got a crowd with you,” she says, shutting off the TV when we crowd into the front room. “Oh, I recognize you, Miss Gardener.”
“Hi, Ms. Whitfield,” Dot chirps. “So glad to see you on the mend. If you’ll excuse me, Rafe, point me in the direction of my sorrow-filled needs.”
I laugh and point at the kitchen. “Help yourself.”
Dot squeezes Olive’s shoulder before slipping out of the room. Olive meets my eyes before settling next to my mom.