The House Guests

by Emilie Richards

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of much that would impress her. She made an effort. “Changing schools was tough, but I’m making progress. She hoped Gen wouldn’t ask for specifics. “I’ve made a few friends.” She hoped Gen wouldn’t ask for photos. “I’m getting to know my teachers better, too.” She hoped Gen wouldn’t ask why.

  “Not a lot going on,” she finished. “Same old stuff.”

  “What’s your favorite class?”

  Savannah knew “none” wasn’t going to fly. “Probably History.” She realized it was true. Now that she was paying attention and speaking up once in a while, it wasn’t too bad.

  Gen told a long story about her own History class in boarding school. Savannah was always relieved when her mother took the conversational reins.

  The story finally ended. “I’ve kept you long enough,” Gen said, “but I just want to be sure I have the dates you’re coming to visit. When is your spring vacation now that you’re in Florida?”

  “Um, I think it starts the second Saturday of March.”

  “You have a week?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t think you’d be back. I didn’t, you know, think I’d be seeing you.”

  “I always intended to be together, even if I had to fly back from Africa just for that. Check and send me the exact dates, and we’ll work out details so I can buy your ticket. I thought we’d just stay around here, maybe do some day trips but nothing crazy. I have to get back in the swing again, but one of my partners has a granddaughter about your age. We’ll have to get you two together so you can hang out when I’m working.”

  Savannah rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to spend days with a girl who probably hated being paired up with a stranger. She, Helia and Minh had made all kinds of plans for that week. Right now she couldn’t recall them, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to swim in the pool, bike to the beach. And Will had volunteered to help her paint her room. She was thinking navy blue.

  Gen was her mother.

  She didn’t sigh, although she felt one building deep inside her. “I’ll work out the dates and text them to you.” She forced enthusiasm into her voice. “It will be great to talk to you, Gen.”

  “You, too, Vanna. I can hardly wait.”

  Savannah slipped the phone back in her pocket and stared into space. Flying coast-to-coast to perform the role of perfect daughter was exhausting. Still, she hoped everything she did or didn’t do in California would make Gen love her a little more.

  Her father was dead, her stepmother’s actions had killed him, and Gen was all she had left.

  28

  AMBER PRESENTED HER BACK to Cassie. “I just couldn’t ruin this beautiful fabric with a zipper. Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  Cassie began to button the back of Amber’s dress. “I always wanted a sister. You know, somebody I could talk to about boys. Somebody to zip or button a dress. I had friends, but I wanted somebody right there in my own house.”

  Amber held up her hair as Cassie got closer to her neck. “I’ve met more than a few women who are barely speaking to sisters because of things that were said or done when they were thirteen.”

  “Not always. I had a neighbor in New York. Every July she and her three sisters take a long vacation together. Somewhere amazing, too. I remember one year they spent months planning a trip to Tahiti, and I wanted to stow away. I could hear them in the hallway, laughing and teasing on their way to her condo to make plans. Actually, though, now that I think of it, there was a fifth sister, too. I never saw her.”

  “See, you could have been that sister. It could mess you up for life.”

  “Maybe, but I think I remember she lived out of town and just couldn’t attend the planning sessions.”

  “Kind of an optimist, aren’t you?”

  “I have a feeling you’re not. Did you grow up with friends you were close to instead?”

  “Some, but I don’t have a lot of practice making friends as an adult.” Amber found Cassie’s hand, and squeezed it. “The good news? Here we are, you and me. It’s nice, isn’t it? I always need somebody to button a dress.”

  Cassie squeezed back before she let go to finish the last two buttons. “This would have been a much harder time without you.”

  Amber cleared her throat. “I suggest we change the subject or I’ll be a weepy mess when Travis shows up.”

  Cassie finished and stepped back. “You’re all set. And for the record Travis will take you any way he can get you. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s got a thing for you.”

  “I bet you can tell me a lot about him.” Amber cocked her head in question. “A lot.”

  “There are no deep, dark secrets to uncover with Travis. So you can ask away, and I bet he’ll tell you.”

  “You’ve probably figured out that I don’t need a journalist in my life.”

  “Travis isn’t interested in you as a story. You do see that, right? He’ll take no for an answer until you’re ready to say yes.”

  “I will never be ready.”

  Cassie didn’t look so sure. “Then I guess at some point you’ll need to tell him and just see how he does with it. But tonight? Go have fun. You deserve it. The kids are gone for the weekend, the party will probably last until the wee hours and if you don’t come home? I won’t be keeping track.”

  Amber could feel her cheeks warming.

  “It is Valentine’s Day,” Cassie said, “and romance is in the air.”

  “Tell me one thing. How does he support himself? He has a nice car, and you told me his house is wonderful. I honestly can’t believe he makes a lot freelancing. From the little I’ve picked up, he does some of this and some of that, but I think that’s more because he likes variety.”

  “You will have so much to talk about.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “I’ve probably seen more of him since you moved in than in all the years before. I just know he’s a good guy. Everybody likes him, and Yiayia has tried to marry him off for years.”

  “I suppose that’s something of a recommendation.”

  “Just don’t tell her you went out with him tonight. She’ll convince you to join the church, and then she’ll start planning your wedding.” Cassie looked at the clock. “I think I heard the doorbell. You’d better finish up. Just stop worrying.”

  She left and Amber went to the mirror to fluff out her hair. She’d worn it many ways since leaving home, but the changes had begun before she fled into her new life. As a teenager she had hated everything about herself, so she’d dyed a short bob black and adopted spiky bangs to emphasize the layers of eye shadow and false lashes she applied every morning. Even though her grades were excellent, most people hadn’t looked beyond the surface, which was the way she’d wanted it.

  Billy hadn’t let fashion stop him.

  These days her hair was its natural color, although she’d been both a pale blonde and a brunette along the way. At the moment looking the way Mother Nature intended was as safe as looking like somebody else. If old classmates thought about that Parsons girl, who “ran away with her boyfriend,” most likely they remembered a sixteen-year-old with three-inch silver nails and red lipstick, a girl with one massive dragon earring and three diamonds glued over a heavily penciled eyebrow. Her teenage insecurities had been beneficial after all.

  Finished with her hair, she straightened her skirt, slipped a gold chain over her head and added gold hoops to her earlobes. She grabbed a small gold purse that looked good with sparkly pumps from the shoe table at Things From the Springs and a shawl she’d found there made of fine velvet. She was ready.

  Travis was in the great room talking to Cassie when she walked in. He got to his feet and smiled. “You look amazing. What a great dress.”

  Travis looked pretty amazing himself. His hair was a little shorter, his shirt was snow-white and h
e wore a British cut dark suit, obvious to the seamstress in her because of the structured shoulders, special cuffs and double pleated pants. With the suit he wore a wine-red tie, and a handkerchief the same color peeked from his pocket. She knew the invitation said Black Tie Optional, but as good as Travis looked, she was glad he’d opted not to wear a tux. Although he would have rocked that, too.

  “You two have a great evening,” Cassie said.

  Amber realized Cassie would be alone tonight. “What do you have planned?”

  “Paperwork. With you gone, nobody will have to watch me tear out my hair. But first a glass of wine and some of that moussaka you brought home last night.”

  Outside in the driveway Amber let Travis install her in the passenger seat of his Subaru sedan. “That’s a great suit,” she told him when he pulled into the street. “Beautifully cut.”

  “I was on vacation in London last year and pitched a story to a magazine about Savile Row today. I let myself be measured at one designer’s store to learn the difference between a bespoke suit and a made-to-measure. After the piece was published, the designer was so pleased by the space I devoted to him that months later this suit arrived.”

  “Couldn’t that be construed as a bribe?”

  “I didn’t accept it. But since I couldn’t bear knowing it might be trashed, I bought it. He sold it to me at his sale price, and that satisfied my editor.”

  She realized how much she liked talking to Travis, something she hadn’t experienced often with men. “Did anybody tell you about the cuffs?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “They’re called surgeon’s cuffs. They have real working buttonholes and buttons at the wrist, not just for decoration. That’s a sign of real quality.”

  Travis lifted his arm and looked. “Why are they different?”

  Four-H, where she’d learned everything from sewing and cooking to raising animals, had been the teenage Amber’s passion and salvation, as well as an occasional ticket away from her unhappy home. Betsy Garland, the advisor, had become her role model.

  “I studied menswear for a 4-H project in high school. Some people think real buttons and buttonholes made it easy for nineteenth-century physicians who were operating on battlefields to roll up their sleeves for surgery. Savile Row was home to many doctors’ offices, and as the tailors moved in, they probably made suits for them.”

  “You’ve got a great memory.”

  “Here’s the last little thing you should know about your suit. It’s fashionable to leave that last button unbuttoned. And in a climate like this one? It’s good ventilation.”

  “Remind me not to watch Jeopardy with you.”

  They chatted comfortably until he turned into a wide drive lined with moss-draped oaks and wound through a golf course with water glinting in the distance. A two-story building of rose-colored brick and long, narrow windows sat at the end of the drive. Travis stopped in front and gave his keys to a valet.

  Inside they were directed through the lobby to a spacious covered patio with tables set up on the grass beyond. Five musicians played golden oldies from one side of the patio, and long tables with silent auction items adorned the other.

  “They want to raise at least forty thousand tonight,” Travis said, guiding Amber toward the name tags. “They’ve done a first-rate social media blitz. They’ll easily get that and more.”

  She’d served at enough of these events to know that donors also came to be seen and admired, and fundraising was only a part of it. She watched people embrace and pretend-kiss old friends, and after she’d pinned her tag in place, she walked down the steps to the lawn to find a table.

  They chose one on the outskirts and set their programs and Amber’s purse on the far edge, so they could look out over the crowd. Travis left temporarily and returned with drinks and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres.

  “Bad news,” he said. “I just heard that dinner is scheduled for late. I think they want people to drink and bid, likely in that order and on an empty stomach.”

  Amber, who planned to drink the wine Travis had set in front of her and no more, wondered how they would spend their time until dinner was served. She certainly wasn’t going to hover over the silent auction, and she didn’t know a soul except Travis, although a couple of people looked familiar enough that she guessed she’d waited on them at one time or another. There were four extra seats at their table. She envisioned a long night of small talk with strangers she had little in common with.

  He nudged her, as if he had read her thoughts. “We’ll enjoy the beautiful weather, maybe dance a little?” He waited for a nod. “I’ll talk to everyone I have to, and then we’ll sneak out. I know a great little place for dinner, unless you’re holding out for roast beef.”

  The evening suddenly seemed brighter.

  They nibbled from the plate, and when Travis was half-finished with his drink, he invited her to meet some of the partygoers he wanted to interview.

  “Or not,” he added.

  “You’ll go quicker without me.”

  “Smart move. Good people, good cause, goodbye faster.”

  She watched him go. She loved the way he walked, long, determined stride. She wondered how many people got away from Travis when he wanted an interview.

  As she had a hundred times before, she asked herself why she’d let herself get involved—even at a casual level—with a journalist. Of course Travis wasn’t Woodward or Bernstein ferreting out a big national story, and her story was small, anyway, with only three characters on its pages. One was dead, one was still on the run after nearly two decades, and the other?

  She wished she knew for sure how to characterize Darryl Hawken’s role. Was he still the pursuer? Or, after all this time, had he decided he could turn his full attention to running for the West Virginia House of Delegates? Could she settle into life in Tarpon Springs, safe to make a real home for herself and her son? Was she safe to enjoy her time with Travis without apology?

  By the time he came back, all the chairs at the table were filled and she was already out of small talk. “Get everything you need?” she asked, after he introduced himself to the others.

  “Plenty for a couple of paragraphs. They have a professional photographer, and they’ll send photos to choose from. Now I’m going to claim one dance before we head out.”

  She smiled goodbye to the two couples who were happily chatting with each other.

  Up on the brick patio they joined other couples who were dancing in the area just in front of the band. Without a break the band finished one song and swung right into “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.” She tried to remember the last time she’d slow danced with a man.

  “I set this up ahead of time,” Travis said, pulling her close.

  She took one hand and rested the other on his shoulder, but not for long. Somehow, without conscious permission, her arms slipped around his neck and he pulled her even closer.

  “You feel as wonderful as you look tonight.”

  His hips were against hers, her breasts pressed into his chest. He didn’t grasp or pull. He was just there. Close. Sure. Delightful.

  Her body was thrumming in ways she recognized but hadn’t experienced in a long time. She hadn’t gotten emotionally involved with a man since leaving West Virginia, but she’d invited a few into her bed. This felt different. New, and special—which meant it felt wrong. Fools rush in, she thought. How appropriate.

  The song ended too soon or too late, she couldn’t decide. She stepped away from Travis and touched his cheek. Lightly. Briefly. “Did I hear something about dinner?”

  They drove without much conversation until twenty-five minutes later he pulled up in front of a ramshackle building near the water, more bait and tackle shop in appearance than restaurant. The windows looked new, but the rest of the building was weathered—an unfortunate mixture of con
crete block and in places, rough textured wood shingles.

  “Havana Seafood,” Travis said. “As beautiful as you look tonight, I should really take you somewhere fancier, so it’s your call. But this place hasn’t been discovered yet, so we can probably get in without a reservation.”

  “We already did fancy. I’m all in.”

  Inside they waited to be seated. “Mr. Slade, welcome back,” a middle-aged woman in a black dress said when she returned to the hostess stand. “We love to see our diners return.”

  Travis smiled and put his hand on Amber’s back to guide her to a table in the corner. The room wasn’t full, but most of the tables were occupied. Since Valentine’s night was often celebrated at restaurants, it should have been more crowded. But for a new one, it seemed to be doing okay.

  “Mr. Slade?” Amber said, once they were seated.

  He turned up his hands. “I don’t care what they call me as long as they feed me.”

  As he had before, Travis asked what she wanted from the short but innovative menu, then he suggested additions after she chose the blackened pompano.

  Amber wondered if he was purposely trying to send her home with leftovers. “You know, I’ve caught up with the worst of my bills, and I’m even saving a little money. We have a refrigerator filled with food, so I will have other meals.”

  He smiled as he continued his examination of the menu. “Cedar Key clams are delicious cooked in white wine and butter sauce. I’ve had them on Cedar Key, but I haven’t had them here yet. Let’s try them.”

  “Travis, we already have enough food for an army.”

  “You don’t want to miss a chance to try these. It’s exactly the right season. For the pink shrimp, too, and they grill those. I had them last time. They were perfect with the black beans and rice.”

  She could tell arguing wasn’t going to deter him. Maybe he was planning to take the leftovers home again.

  Their server, a pretty young brunette with a shy smile, took their order and suggested they might also want a salad of roasted beets, oranges and almonds. Travis complied.