Brandon had been horrified. “Mom, I can’t drive that car,” he’d complained. “It’s too girly.”
She’d silently chuckled since that had been part of her plan. She didn’t want her son driving a sporty convertible. Lisa was quite content to see him behind the wheel of his grandmother’s older, far more sedate sedan.
“Sweet Bug,” Joe said.
“Thanks.”
“Is it new? Well, old, but you know what I mean.”
“It was a work in progress through most of my college years,” she said, running a hand over the curved fender. Lisa loved her car. It made her feel young at heart. Almost carefree. Which was an illusion, of course, but she could pretend.
“Mom mentioned that your commencement is coming up. Congratulations. How come I didn’t get an announcement?”
“Thank you. I didn’t see the point. Considering how long it’s taken me.” Suddenly embarrassed, she motioned toward the bags still sitting on the curb. “Instead of crowding everything in the trunk, why don’t you put the rest in the back?”
Joe picked up his leather garment bag, which looked expensive enough to hold an Armani tux, and tossed it carelessly across the seat. The silver case he lifted as if it contained a donated heart awaiting transplant.
Lisa bit down on a smile.
“What?” he asked, apparently sensing her amusement.
“Remember when you used to zip your camera under your coat to protect it from the fog and rain? Patrick called you Mr. One Breast.”
“You know, I’d forgotten that detail. Quite happily, actually.”
Lisa was glad to see that Joe appeared to have done well for himself. If he was financially set, then he might not care how much his mother got for the bar. Lisa wanted to pay a fair price, but with a son going to college next year, her resources were limited.
She was nearly thirty-five. In just over a week, she’d have her bachelor of arts degree in education. And instead of applying for a teaching job, she’d decided to buy Joe’s Place. At first, Maureen had been delighted by the idea of “keeping it in the family,” but, now, she was dragging her feet pending Joe’s okay.
Before getting in, Lisa pointed toward her ball cap and said, “There’s an extra one under the seat, if the sun and wind are too much for you.”
“The reduced level of smog might send my lungs into shock, but I’m willing to give it a try.”
His wink took her straight back to junior high. A brand new seventh-grade student in a strange town. The principal had been showing Lisa and two other transfer students around. The first person they’d bumped into was Joe Kelly. Racing to class. Late. “Mr. Kelly,” the principal had barked. “Come here.”
Instead of giving Joe a lecture, the principal had introduced the new arrivals and ordered Joe to take over the tour.
The meandering expedition had been punctuated with wit and humor—Joe’s trademark, she’d learned. His appreciation of the absurd, his warm, inclusive smile and wavy hair had been enough to make a girl fall in love. Which Lisa had. A fact that had turned complicated the minute she’d met his twin brother.
Once they were both seated with seat belts fastened, she put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. The sun was warm on her shoulders and thighs, but not as hot as it would be in a few weeks when summer hit the valley. Then, she’d have the top up and the air conditioner running.
Maureen wanted an outdoor wedding. The last weekend in June. The idea had Lisa sweating.
“Are we headed straight home?” Joe asked.
Lisa shifted into neutral as they waited for the light to change at the intersection. “Uh-huh. Unless you need to stop somewhere. Your mother is preparing an Irish feast. Corned beef and cabbage, red potatoes, rye bread, the works.”
She happened to glance sideways and saw his pained expression. “What’s the matter? You don’t like corned beef?”
He shook his head. “No. I like it fine. Yum.”
She recognized the lie. Joe didn’t lie worth squat—unlike his brother. Patrick and Joe had been fraternal twins. They’d shared a number of personality traits, but honesty wasn’t one of them.
“Baloney. No pun intended,” she said, groaning softly.
He acknowledged her lame joke with a tip of his imaginary hat. “Actually, I’ve been on a pretty strict diet since the holidays. Doctor’s orders.”
“Why?”
“I was at a party on Christmas Eve, and I started having chest pains and shortness of breath. The hostess thought I was having a heart attack and called 9-1-1. Turned out be acid reflux from too much champagne and rich food. How embarrassing is that?”
Lisa frowned. Although he tried to make the experience sound funny, she sensed that he’d been unnerved by the episode—no doubt remembering the cause of his father’s death.
“Not my most pleasant holiday on record,” he added.
She started to reach out to touch his arm, but a horn alerted her to the green light. She quickly shifted and shot through the intersection. A convenience store was just ahead on the right so she pulled into the parking lot. A flowering tree provided enough shade for them to sit without sweating in the sun.
“I bet you were freaked out. Your dad was only fifty-eight when he died.”
Joe nodded. “My doctor says a genetic predisposition to high blood pressure is only part of my problem. Mostly, he blamed stress, my sedentary lifestyle and poor eating habits for what happened.” His full ruddy lips turned up in the corners, producing the infamous Kelly dimple in his left cheek. “He said I was lucky.”
“Luck being a relative thing. When your mother finds out that you didn’t tell her…”
He scrubbed a hand across his face, a gesture her son often used when he was frustrated. Lisa’s stomach produced a little extra acid of its own.
“I know,” he said, sinking down so his knees bumped against the dashboard. His fingers drummed an impatient tune on his thighs. “But when I saw her at my cousin Paige’s wedding in November she finally seemed at peace with things. I didn’t want her to worry.”
Lisa and Brandon had been at Joe’s cousin’s wedding in the Bay area, too. Lisa had thought Joe had looked tired and unhappy. Later, Maureen told her Joe had broken up with his girlfriend of several years a few weeks earlier.
He gave her a sheepish look and added, “Plus, I knew she’d say ‘I told you so.’ At the wedding, she’d given me a hard time about not getting enough exercise.”
Lisa understood completely. Since Maureen’s medical crisis, she’d become very proactive where everyone’s health—family and customers alike—was concerned.
“Since the first of the year, I’ve been walking to the beach from my studio every day at lunch. It’s a couple of miles, and I even jog a little.”
He kept talking, but Lisa’s imagination lingered over the image of Joe strolling among beautiful women in skimpy bikinis. Why that bothered her, she didn’t know.
“…if I sell my studio.”
Lisa’s heart missed a beat. “Did you say ‘sell your studio’? Why would you do that?”
“Money. Remember the movie Slippery Slope?”
She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”
“My point, exactly. It chronicled the rise and fall of Vanilla Ice. Not my idea. In fact, I tried to talk my investors out of doing it, but they insisted. And when it flopped, who’d they blame? The director, of course.”
Lisa’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “That doesn’t seem fair. But that’s only one movie. You’ve had more successes than failures. Right?”
He let out a long sigh. “The movie business has changed, Leese.” Nobody had called her that in years. “Or, maybe, I’ve changed. I don’t know. But one thing I do know, making commercial movies hasn’t been fun for a long time.”
Lisa knew squat about the industry, except that there seemed to be a lot of money to be made if you were good at what you did. For as long as Lisa could remember, Joe had dreamed of making movies. H
e’d left home to attend the prestigious Visual Arts Center in L.A., majoring in film.
His first important project, which had focused on the effect a drunk-driving death had on a family, had garnered all kinds of awards. When a national distributor had picked up Dead Drunk, Joe’s future had seemed set.
“Are you telling me your career is over?” she asked. Sympathy warred with panic.
He extracted a pair of sunglasses from the breast pocket of his shirt. “Don’t pull any punches on my account, Leese.”
“Sorry. Didn’t know I had to. You’re the one who once told me you were destined for greatness, which was why you couldn’t get out of Worthington fast enough.”
He pretended to take a jab to the chin. “Good lord, I was an egotist. How did you stand me?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead saying, “The truth is I feel I’m at a crossroads in my career. Epiphany by chest pains,” he said breezily. “One day I woke up and realized I wasn’t a kid with a camera anymore. I was this intense, mostly unlikable, businessman creating crap for anyone who was willing to pay.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the camera case sitting on the back seat. “So…you’re moving home?”
“Yeah. For a while. I’ve decided to make a movie about Joe’s Place.”
“What?” The question came out as a peep, but Joe didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t have the exact storyline together yet, but ideas have been percolating in my head ever since Mom called. Maybe something nostalgic using archival footage. Or with interviews of locals on the role the bar has played in the community. Or, it might take a more personal focus. I’ve been thinking about Dad and Patrick a lot lately.”
A movie? Interviews?
“The first thing I have to do is talk Mom into postponing the sale for a while.”
Lisa was speechless. Postpone the sale? But her loan was preapproved. And the interest rates were going up. If they waited too long, she wouldn’t be able to afford to buy the place.
He lowered the shades to the end of his nose and turned to look at her. “Something wrong?”
This wasn’t the first time a Kelly boy had ruined her plans. “Yes, actually.” She hesitated a second then blurted out, “I’m the buyer, Joe. Your mother told me she was thinking of selling because Gunny wanted to travel and didn’t want to be tied down. I had no idea you had any interest in the bar. I thought you hated Joe’s Place.”
He sat up sharply. “You’re buying it? Good lord, why?”
“To keep Brandon gainfully employed while he goes to college. It worked for me,” she added, unable to keep the pride from her tone. “I’ve saved enough money to pay for Brandon’s college, as long as he lives at home and earns his own spending money.
“I figured that over the four years he was in college, I’d slowly fix up the place. The real-estate market is going through the roof around here. When he’s done with school, I’ll sell the bar and reinvest the money wherever I want.”
Joe appeared shocked. “I can’t believe it. You, of all people, should be overjoyed to see the damn thing gone.”
Lisa knew what he meant. Joe felt the bar had contributed to Patrick’s drinking problem. After Pat’s funeral, Joe and his father had argued about the subject. The fight had driven a wedge between them.
“I know you think that what he saw at Joe’s Place influenced your brother, but I don’t agree. The bar is part of our community. Working there paid my way through college while giving me time to spend with my son.
“Brandon’s been helping your mother three days a week, sweeping the floor, restocking the cooler and handling exterior maintenance. The job keeps him out of trouble and gives him enough money to pay the insurance on your folks’ old car, which your mother gave him. Insurance is a big-ticket item for young drivers in California, let me tell you.”
“Grunt labor? Nothing behind the bar?”
Lisa found his tone slightly judgmental. “Of course not. He helps out in the kitchen once in a while, but he can’t tend bar until he turns twenty-one. And even that would depend on his grades.
“I want him to finish school the way normal people do—in four years, not ten.”
Lisa had scrimped and saved to be able to pay for her son’s tuition. She couldn’t afford Harvard, but she could handle California State University–Stanislaus in nearby Turlock, her soon-to-be alma mater—provided Brandon did his share.
Uncomfortable with Joe’s scrutiny, she tilted her wrist to look at her watch. “Oh, cripes, we’d better hurry. You know how freaked out your mother gets whenever someone is late.”
Or, maybe, he didn’t. He hadn’t lived around his mother for nearly eighteen years. Right after Patrick’s funeral, Joe had moved to L.A. Following the success of Dead Drunk, he’d bought a house in Topanga Canyon. He probably hadn’t returned home more than a dozen times in the past eighteen years.
Lisa, on the other hand, had chosen to remain in Worthington. She’d lived with her mother most of that time. Partly to save money and partly because her mother’s home shared a common fence with the Kellys, which meant two grandmothers and one grandfather in calling distance. Lisa couldn’t give her son a father, but she could make sure he had plenty of extended family. Even if that meant living in the shadow of Patrick Kelly’s ghost.
“ARE THEY HERE, YET?”
Brandon shifted his gaze from the television resting on an elevated stand in the far corner of the bar to his grandmother. She was transferring beer glasses from the drying rack to the lit cabinet bracketing the gold-framed mirror behind the bar. If he lived to be a hundred, Brandon knew he’d always remember her just like this. Forehead crinkled in concentration, but with lips pursed as she tunelessly whistled under her breath.
Before she got sick, Brandon would have called her short and round. Most of that extra weight was gone now. And she’d always made up for her lack of stature with a loud, commanding voice. Brandon’s mother claimed the reason Grams talked so loud was from raising twins and living with a husband who was hard of hearing.
Brandon missed his grandfather. A lot. Grampa Joe had been a cool guy who’d treated Brandon fairly and never jumped on his case over little things, like his mom did. Not that Gramps was a pushover, but Brandon could read him easier and back off before Gramps reached his breaking point. Brandon used to feel that way about his mother, too, but lately, nothing he did met with her approval.
“No yellow Bug, Grams,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Two large picture windows on either side of the double doors faced Main Street, but the thick clusters of red geraniums in the outside planter boxes and the neon beer signs hanging like curtains obscured the view a bit. Of course, nothing hid his mother’s car completely. “You can see that car coming five miles away.”
“A hippie time capsule,” his friend Rory had labeled it the other day. Just what Brandon needed—to be talked about because his mother was going through some kind of phase. He loved his mom, but just once he wished he had a normal family.
“Good,” Maureen said, her voice easily heard over the announcers of the NASCAR qualifying race Brandon had been watching. “Bright colors are safer. I told Gunny he should paint his motor home red. He said he’d think about it. Men always say that when they’re trying to humor their brides-to-be.”
Brandon couldn’t think about his grandmother getting married without shuddering. Old people making out. Like…why bother? They didn’t actually do the dirty, did they? That was too gross to even think about. His mom was a different story. She was probably still young enough to be interested in sex. After all, she was younger than Demi Moore, who had just hooked up with an actor half her age. Plus, Mom was pretty. His pals Rory and Winston both had the hots for her, which wasn’t surprising given the fact neither of them could find a girl their own age to date.
“Grams, are you sure you want to marry Gunny? He’s nice and all, but he isn’t as cool as Gramps.”
She walked to where he was sitting and rested her elbows on
the smooth surface of the bar. Today was Saturday. Cleanup day. Joe’s Place didn’t open until four-thirty on Saturdays. And it was closed on Sundays and Mondays, except during football season. Despite the cleaning Brandon just got done giving the place, the bar still smelled of stale beer and old smoke. Recent laws had made it illegal to smoke indoors, but that hadn’t always been the case.
“Turn that off, honey boy. We need to talk.”
Brandon reluctantly lifted the remote; the screen went black. He loved his grandmother and would miss her terribly when she got married and took off on her travels, but when it came to heart-to-heart talks, she wasn’t Gramps.
He rocked back on the vinyl bar stool. The seat top wobbled slightly. Crap, he thought. His mother had asked him to tighten the screws and he’d forgotten. Brandon would hear about it later. His mother never forgot anything.
“So, kiddo, you don’t think Gunny is good enough for me, huh?”
That wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but Brandon nodded just the same. “He’s okay, I guess.”
“Gunny’s a good man. He knows how hard this move is going to be for me. Saying goodbye to this place and the people I love won’t be easy. He’s doing his best to make this wedding as painless as possible.”
Brandon faked a smile. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, “Isn’t love supposed to make you happy, not sad?” But just then, the door to the bar opened and two people walked in. His mother carried a black leather bag over one shoulder and her purse in the other hand. Following a few steps behind was his uncle wheeling a suitcase and carrying a large silver case.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows. The gold and blue from a Corona beer sign cast a swath of color across the blouse his mother was wearing. And he noticed she had on a skirt.
Why was she all dressed up? Was he missing something? And what was with the serious looks on both of their faces?
His Real Father (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 2
