Sharilyn smiled back. “Thank you.” She looked around anxiously.
“No está aquí,” Dolores murmured gently.
Sharilyn frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Mr. Bravo. Your son. He is not here right now.”
“Yes,” Sharilyn replied in a mild voice. “I can see that.”
Around one o’clock, the other guests began arriving. They would share an hour or two of cocktails, appetizers and good talk, then sit down for the huge meal.
After an initial nervous reserve, Sharilyn seemed to fit right in. And she and Peg knew each other.
“Sharilyn’s the best damn waitress on Sunset Boulevard,” Peg announced with great respect.
It turned out that Sharilyn worked as head waitress on the morning shift at a place called Dave’s Café. Often, after a late night, Peg would drop in for breakfast before heading home. “Sharilyn takes care of her people,” Peg said.
Sharilyn muttered a dry, “Thanks,” and then swiftly changed the subject to the beauty of the table setting.
Meggie served appetizers, declined champagne with some regret and made sure everyone was comfortable. The talk ranged from football to Community Watch to the Christmas season and how it seemed to start earlier every year. Hector, who had most of his bandages off now, but still looked pretty gruesome at first glance, took an instant liking to Sharilyn. And she seemed friendly enough toward him. Meggie smiled at the two of them, sitting side by side on one of Nate’s blue sofas, speaking in low, careful voices of the weather and their mutual love of musical theater. As she moved among her guests, Meggie tried not to let her mind stray to thoughts of Nate. She tried not to keep hoping that maybe, just maybe, he might still make it home before the end of the party....
After a miserable flight home, Nate picked up his car in the long-term parking lot at LAX. It was a quarter of two.
He had to have holes in his head. Nobody tried to get a last-minute flight out of O’Hare on Thanksgiving. It couldn’t be done.
But Nate had done it—because he couldn’t stop thinking about Meggie, and how hurt she’d sounded the last time he talked to her.
He felt like a jerk for copping out on her party—even if, once the party was over, he planned to get down to hard reality with her. He’d started thinking that if he could just make it in time for Thanksgiving dinner, then at least he could tell himself he hadn’t stood her up for the big event.
His reasoning was stupid. Irrational. Nonsense. But he’d waited half the night anyway, for a chance at a flight. And then he’d lurched and bumped over the Rockies, listening to his flight mates toss their cookies as, from the cockpit, the pilot issued constant reassurances that this “minor turbulence” would pass.
Nate paid the excessive long-term parking fee and headed home. Once he got clear of the airport, the streets were relatively empty; most people would be in their houses, watching football and getting ready to pound down a little turkey and dressing.
He pulled into his carport space at two-thirty, got his bag from the trunk and headed for his front door. He was sticking his key in the lock, when the door swung back.
And there she was, her eyes shining, her dark hair with its gold and red lights curling softly around her flushed, happy face.
The warm air from inside came out and wrapped around him, scented of ham and roast bird, of cinnamon and cloves. He could hear laughter and voices from the other room.
“You made it,” she said.
Something rose up inside him, something that ached and longed and scared the hell out of him. He dropped his bag inside the door and reached for her. She came into his arms, warm and soft, smelling of roses and Thanksgiving.
“Nate...” She breathed his name against his mouth.
He kissed her hard and long. Only a burst of laughter from the other room stopped him from swinging her up in his arms and carrying her down the hall to his bedroom.
She stepped back, her face pink, a tender smile on her lips. “Come on. We’re just sitting down.”
“Let me get rid of my bag.”
“Sure.”
She was still standing in the same place when he came back down the hall after dropping the duffel in the bedroom. And she looked a little flustered. “Nate, I...wanted to tell you...”
“What?”
“Well, we have an extra guest.”
He had no idea what she was babbling about. “That’s okay by me.”
“Well. Good.” Still, she looked undecided. And maybe a little bit guilty.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Nate,” said a familiar voice.
Nate looked over to see his mother standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
He was careful to treat the woman civilly. Meggie seated him next to her, a move he didn’t appreciate at all. He passed the woman the gravy when she asked for it and tried not to look into her deep, sad eyes.
At the end of the meal, he turned to her. “I think you and I could use a few minutes. Alone.”
Her eyes looked sadder than ever and her stiff shoulders seemed to droop. “All right.”
As most of the others gravitated back toward the living room, Nate led Sharilyn down the hall and into his office.
“Have a seat.” He gestured at the chair opposite his desk.
Sharilyn looked at the chair warily, then shook her head. “I think I might as well stand.”
“Suit yourself.” He shoved the door closed and moved into the room, leaving her standing uncomfortably by the door. When he got beyond his desk, he turned and looked at her, letting a beat or two elapse before he asked, “All right. What’s going on?”
She put her hand against her heart. “I called. To wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. Meggie answered. She invited me to come over for dinner.”
“And you came.”
She lifted her chin and said nothing.
He demanded flatly, “Why?”
Her brows drew together in a pained expression. “Nate, I just want—”
“What? You want what?”
“Some kind of... understanding, between us.”
“We understand each other. Perfectly.”
“Oh, Nate, that’s not true. You know it’s not.”
“Do you need money?”
“No. It’s not money. You know that.”
“Do I?”
“Please, Nate...”
He let out a long, bored breath of air. “You shouldn’t have come here. And I think you know that.”
“I only wanted—”
He waved a hand to cut off her pointless explanations. “If you’re short of cash, I’ll help you out. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing to say to you.” With that, he turned away from her, toward the window. As usual, the green blind was halfway up. He looked across the next-door neighbors’ driveway at the hibiscus bush—a little scraggly this time of year—that grew against the building there. The shadows were lengthening. It would be dark soon.
“Nate...” Sharilyn said, trying again.
He refused to turn or to say a word.
She murmured sadly, “All right, then.”
He resolutely continued staring out the window, ignoring her. After a moment, he heard the sound of the door opening and her footsteps on the hardwood floor, moving out into the hall. He waited another few seconds, to be sure she had really gone. Then he turned and followed after her.
In the living room, Sharilyn headed straight for Meggie. Nate stood in the hall entry, watching her make her goodbyes.
“Thank you so much for a great meal. But I’m afraid I’ve got to get going now.”
Meggie frowned. “But, Sharilyn, there’s still dessert.”
“No. I really have to go.”
Meggie tried teasing. “Sharilyn. These are incredible pies. My grandma Kane’s secret recipes. People have fought their way through blizzards for pies like these.”
“Thanks. Really.” Sharilyn was backing toward the door. “Nice to meet you all.” She glan
ced around, a wooden smile stretching her mouth.
Meggie looked up then and right at Nate. Her eyes accused him. He stared back at her, meeting her glare with one of his own. When Sharilyn reached him and went on past, he followed her to the door, watched her go out and closed it behind her.
Then he joined the party, where everyone seemed to be having a great time. He poured himself a glass of champagne. And then, refusing to let himself be snared by Meggie’s reproachful glances, he went and sat by the old guy from next door, Leverson, who still looked like a refugee from a horror movie, but claimed he was feeling better every day.
“Call me ‘Hector,’ why don’t you?” Leverson suggested. Then he added rather dreamily, “Your mother is a lovely, charming woman. It’s a shame she had to leave so soon.”
Nate made a low noise in his throat that Hector could interpret any way he chose, and then got up to pour himself more champagne. He figured he was going to need a river of the stuff before the evening finally came to an end.
Three hours later, most of the guests had said goodbye, all smiling and laughing and swearing they’d had a terrific time.
Mrs. Tyrell suggested, “We’ll have to do it again next year.”
Meggie smiled and made a noncommittal noise in response. Next year, she wouldn’t be here. But now was hardly the time to mention that fact. She glanced over to find Nate watching her. She looked away. She had a few things to say to him—later, when they were alone.
The Garnicas lingered to help clean up. Dolores and Yolie worked with Meggie washing dishes, while Benny and Nate lugged the tables, chairs and linens down to the Gamicas’ van so they’d be ready to go back to the rental shop the next morning.
As soon as all of the Tyrells’ treasured china sparkled like new, they toted it across the landing, where Mrs. Tyrell put it away. Then Meggie and Dolores packed up two-thirds of the leftovers for the Garnicas to enjoy.
Finally, at a little after nine o’clock, the Garnicas departed. Meggie stood at the top of the landing and watched them bustle down the stairs, laden with their booty of pies, candied yams and turkey—and a generous portion of spiral-cut ham.
When she turned back to the apartment, Nate was leaning in the doorway, watching her.
They shared a long, telling look. And then Meggie tried to move past him.
He shifted in the doorway to block her path.
She made a low noise. “Come on, Nate.”
He shook his head, the action slow and insolent. He’d been drinking champagne steadily since he’d thrown his mother out. It hadn’t seemed to affect him during the party, but now the signs of one too many were starting to show. His eyes were heavy lidded and his full mouth looked just a little bit mean.
Meggie understood his desire to dull the pain that his own actions must have caused him. But she didn’t approve—either of the way he’d treated Sharilyn, or of drinking too much as a solution to anything. She’d thought they would talk over what he’d done. But now that she realized his condition, she only wanted to get away from him until he’d had time to sober up.
“Nate. Move.”
“Meggie May.” He said her name with great solemnity.
“Just move. Please.”
His bloodshot eyes bored through her. But then, with a lazy shrug of his big shoulders, he let her pass.
She went straight down the hall to the bathroom, where she intended to take a long, soothing bath. Unfortunately, Nate followed after her and slid in front of the door when she tried to swing it shut.
“Get out of the way, Nate.”
He didn’t move, only crossed his arms insolently over his broad chest and leaned his head back against the door. “What is your problem?” he asked the ceiling, in a tone of infinite weariness.
“You. You keep blocking my way. Move.”
He lowered his head and looked at her. “No.”
With some regret, she gave up the idea of that nice, tension-relieving bath. “Fine.” She turned on her heel and started back down the hall.
She got about three steps before he grabbed her arm.
Meggie froze in midstride. “Let go of me.”
“We have to talk.”
She turned on him then, her lip curling in a sneer. “I don’t want to talk to you now. You’re drunk.”
He wiggled a finger at her. “No. Incorrect. I am not drunk. I am...slightly numb.”
“Right.”
“But not numb enough.” He pronounced each word with great care, as if he feared his own tongue might trip him up.
“Just let go of me, Nate.”
“Meggie—”
“Let go.”
He closed his eyes. “Meggie...” The word held utter exhaustion.
Her heart turned over then and her anger at him melted away. He looked so tired, and so bewildered. Gently, she laid her hand over his and peeled the fingers away from her arm.
“Come on.” She eased around him and started pulling him toward the bedroom. “Sleep it off. We can talk in the morning.” Surprisingly, he followed after her, obedient as a child.
In the bedroom, she sat him down on the bed. Then, kneeling, she pulled off his boots. He stuck out one foot and then the other for her, murmuring “Meggie, Meggie, Meggie,” making a weary litany of her name.
When she had the boots off, she rose and took his shoulders, guiding him onto his back. He stretched out with sigh, his eyes already closed. She took the spare quilt from the top shelf of the closet and settled it over him.
“Meggie...” he whispered, already asleep.
She kissed him on the forehead and then tiptoed to the door. She would have that long bath after all, and then she’d slide under the quilt beside him and get some rest herself.
Tomorrow, she’d let him sleep late. And then, after she poured a few cups of coffee down him, she’d tell him just what she thought of the way he’d behaved with Sharilyn.
But it didn’t work out quite as Meggie planned.
She woke around three to a feeling of loneliness. She sat up in bed. “Nate?” No answer came. His side of the bed was empty.
Worried, and telling herself not to be, Meggie pushed back the blanket, pulled on the robe she’d borrowed from Nate and padded out to the hall.
Past the front door, a wedge of light spilled from the kitchen onto the hardwood floor. The smell of freshly brewed coffee scented the air. Meggie pulled Nate’s robe closer around her and moved toward the light.
She found Nate sitting at the kitchen table, staring into a coffee mug. “Nate. Are you all right?”
He looked up. His eyes were still red, but piercingly alert. He picked up the mug and drained the contents. “I’m fine.” He stood and carried the mug to the counter, where he refilled it. Then he held the pot toward her. “Coffee?”
She shook her head.
He lifted an eyebrow at her, smirking a little. “How surprising.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He waved a hand, dismissing both her question and his own remark. Then he shoved the pot back on the warmer and returned to the table, where he dropped into his chair again and gestured at the seat across from him.
“Come on,” he said. “Sit down. Time to talk.”
She did want to discuss the way he’d behaved with Sharilyn. But there had to be a better time to do it. “Nate, it’s three in the morning. I really think we might as well let this wait until—”
He leveled a hard stare at her. “Look. I’m stone sober now. And it’s time we hashed this out.”
Reluctantly, she murmured, “Fine.”
“Sit down, then.”
She marched to the table and plunked herself into the chair across from him.
For a moment, once she was seated, he stared at her—a totally unreadable kind of look. Then he brought the full mug to his lips and took a careful sip.
She assumed he must be waiting for her to begin. So she plunged right in. “You were really rotten to your mother.”
He winced at her accusation and must have burned his mouth. He swore and set the mug down, hard enough that coffee slopped over the rim. “I wouldn’t have been rotten to her,” he said silkily, “if she hadn’t been here. But somebody invited her here. Who was that, do you think?”
“You know who.”
“Say it.”
“Me.”
He faked a surprised look, one that scraped her nerves raw. “Oh, really? You? What a revelation.”
She kept her head high. “And I’m glad that I did it.”
“I can see that.”
Meggie breathed deeply, trying to keep her anger leashed. She felt that he was totally in the wrong about this—and making it worse by taunting her. “Nate. She called on your business line. Your business line. She doesn’t even have your private number, does she?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Meggie’s disbelief wouldn’t be contained. “She lives right here. In L.A. I didn’t even know that. You never said a word.”
He made a harsh sound. “So?”
“So, we could have had her over. We could have spent a little time with her. We could have—”
He raised himself halfway out of his chair, put both hands on the table and leaned across at her. “You refuse to get the picture here,” he said in a furious whisper. “I don’t want her over. I don’t want anything to do with her.”
Meggie met his attack with quiet dignity. “That’s cruel.”
He snorted. “Life’s cruel.”
“If you would only—”
He dropped back into his chair and slapped a hand on the table. “Stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t get this situation at all. So let it be.”
“No, Nate. It isn’t right. She’s your mother. And I think she really loves you. All she wants is a chance to—”
“Listen to me, Meggie. I want you to leave this alone.”
“No. It’s not right. You won’t even give her a chance. I know you feel she abandoned you, after your dad died. But everything worked out all right, didn’t it? You had a much better life with your grandfather and your cousins than you ever would have had with Sharilyn.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about the life I would have had with her if my grandfather hadn’t butted in.”
Marriage By Necessity Page 12
