Find My Way Home (Harmony Homecomings)

by Michele Summers

  “No. Breathing room is good.” Keith graced Maddie with his generous smile as he dug for his wallet in his back pocket. “You almost done, Poo? I need to get you home to Aunt Francesca’s. She’s waiting.” He threw some bills on the table.

  “Uh, your meal is comped, remember?” A burst of laughter erupted from the corner of the booth. Liza. Bertie had forgotten she still sat there.

  “You mean Keith’s the one you crashed into tonight?” Liza said between hoots. Bertie’s fist balled at her side. Even Liza, who no longer lived here, knew about Bertie’s terrible skating reputation.

  “She landed on top of my dad and then she sat in his lap,” Maddie the informer added around a mouthful of ice cream. “It was so funny.” She giggled.

  “I bet it was.” Liza slipped from the booth. “It was nice meeting you, kid,” Liza said to Maddie. Liza’s lip curled as she glanced at Bertie. “I’ll see if Cal needs any help at the bar.”

  “You don’t work here anymore, remember?”

  Liza pointed at the black pumps on Bertie’s feet. “Looks like you don’t either.”

  Anger and irritation warred inside Bertie as she glared at Liza’s retreating back. Maddie stopped shoveling ice cream, and Keith’s smile disappeared. Both were riveted to the tension she’d created with Liza. She guessed Keith didn’t appreciate her running off Liza—most guys didn’t. Bertie heaved a sigh.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare her off,” she mumbled.

  “We need to get moving.” Keith pushed Maddie’s empty ice cream bowl away and handed her a napkin to wipe her mouth and hands. “Let’s go before Aunt Francesca starts worrying. You should be in bed by now.” He gave Maddie a slight push from the booth.

  “Great singing with you, Maddie,” Bertie said, patting her on the back. “I’ll be by on Monday to get started on your room, okay?”

  Maddie’s look of worry dissolved at the mention of her room. “Okay. Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” Bertie gave Maddie a genuine smile, which faltered at Keith’s tone.

  “Maddie, go wait for me by the door, but stay inside,” he said in a clipped voice. “I need to speak with Bertie for a moment.” Maddie shoved her hands in her pockets and crossed the room toward the front entrance. Once Keith saw that she stood in the foyer, he turned his attention back to Bertie.

  “We have to meet before you do any work on Maddie’s room. I need to go over some ground rules first. Okay?” he said in a low, rough voice.

  Ground rules? Huh? “No, I don’t understand. What ground rules? This isn’t a competition. I’m trying to get her room done along with the rest of your house.” Frustration laced her voice.

  “Listen, there are things I don’t want influencing my daughter.”

  “Things? Or people?” Bertie cocked her head and gave him a long, hard stare. “Do you think I’m a bad influence?” She was stunned she even had to ask the question. No one had ever considered her a bad influence…ever.

  Keith jammed his fists in his jean pockets. “We’ll discuss it later. Monday morning. My house. Eight a.m. sharp,” he rumbled close to her face.

  “Oh, for Pete—”

  “Bertie! I knew I’d find you here.” Bertie never finished telling Mr. Uptight how unreasonable he sounded, because she found herself wrapped in a bear hug by Scott Douglas. “Man, I’ve missed you,” Scott said, rocking Bertie back and forth.

  “Uh, hey there,” she said muffled against his cotton button-down shirt. “What brings you to town?”

  Bertie pushed back and Scott laughed, holding her by the shoulders. “As if you don’t know,” he said. “Let’s dance.” He grabbed Bertie’s hand and dragged her on the dance floor. Over her shoulder, Bertie glimpsed Keith leaving with Maddie, and he didn’t look pleased. In fact, he looked downright furious.

  ***

  “Dad, what’s that noise?” Maddie twisted in the front seat to face him.

  It was Keith’s back molars as he ground them down to nubs. “What noise?”

  “Nothing. It stopped. Anyway, thanks for dinner and the sundae. The Dog is really cool, don’t you think?” Maddie didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you eat there, like every day? Did you really love our song? I thought Bertie and I were the best, didn’t you? Bertie can really sing and dance. She taught me all those steps real fast. Didn’t you love that dress she wore? I did. All that fringe and—”

  Hell no. “I’m glad you liked it, honey. And yes, you were the most fantastic out of everyone…including Bertie.” Keith kept his eyes on the road and his mind off Bertie shimmying in that short, fringed dress.

  “Why do you look so mad?”

  He erased the scowl but his features were still tight.

  “What did you say to Bertie? Are you mad at Bertie because she made all those silly women leave our table? She was only trying to help and—”

  “No. That was a good thing. I’m not mad. I needed to talk to Bertie about the house, that’s all,” he said in a neutral voice, when he really wanted to roar and pound something with his fists—preferably that doofus in the wrinkled khaki pants and penny loafers who dragged Bertie onto the dance floor. He glanced at Maddie’s solemn expression as she twisted the sleeves on her purple hoodie. “Aunt Francesca is really looking forward to your stay this week, Maddie-Poo. Anything special you want to do?” he asked, trying to remove the shroud of worry that had draped over his daughter.

  “Can we go to the mall? And maybe play some tennis?” she asked in a small voice. Keith had never been one of those parents who pushed his kid into sports, especially tennis. He didn’t expect Maddie to live up to what he had accomplished in life.

  “Okay. Or maybe we could hit a few golf balls,” he suggested, in case she really didn’t want to do the tennis thing.

  Maddie fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie. “And can we eat at the Dog again?” She watched him as if weighing his reaction.

  The draw of the Dog…what kid wouldn’t want to eat there? At least they’d graduated from Chuck E. Cheese, which was pure hell for any parent. “Sure. Whatever you want to do.” He pulled his Cayenne into Francesca’s driveway and killed the engine.

  Maddie bolted from the car. “I can’t wait to tell Aunt Francesca all about tonight,” she yelled as she rushed up the walk toward the front door.

  Keith banged the back of his head against the headrest and groaned. He needed to accelerate the speed on his courtship because he needed help raising his daughter. He needed to think about sweet, practical Gail and not hot, frustrating Bertie. His mind wanted Gail, but his body screamed for Bertie. His body could use a cold shower and maybe a horsewhip.

  Keith entered the kitchen where Francesca and Maddie sat on barstools at the large island. Francesca sipped a mug of tea, and Maddie held a glass of water.

  “…and we both sang and danced to a Taylor Swift song. I wish you could’ve seen us.” Maddie jiggled in her seat as she told Francesca about her night. “Bertie is really good. But she can’t skate at all. You should’ve seen her. Her arms were swinging in the air”—Maddie demonstrated the windmill—“and she came flying toward us and landed in—”

  “Um, time to hit the sack, Maddie-Poo,” Keith interrupted as he kissed Maddie on the head. “I thought we’d take a ride down to the beach tomorrow. What do you say?”

  “Go on up to your room, honey, and I’ll be in to check on you in a few minutes,” Francesca said.

  Maddie jumped up and hugged Francesca around the neck and then Keith around the waist. “Yay! The beach! Thanks, Dad.” She raced from the room.

  Francesca sat in quiet calm and continued to sip her tea. Restless, Keith moved about the kitchen. He picked up a green apple from the ceramic bowl on the countertop and tossed it into the air. “Maddie looked real cute up there tonight,” he said, catching the apple.

  “I’m sure she did. But it’
s good you brought her home.” Francesca checked her watch. “It can get wild at the Dogwood once the dancing starts. Not a place for a ten-year-old girl to be hanging out.”

  Wild? Keith wouldn’t go that far. A “wild night in Harmony” didn’t have the same ring as a “wild night on South Beach.”

  “That was sweet of Bertie to sing with Maddie. I hope Bertie isn’t working too hard. She needs to relax and have a little fun.” Francesca put her dirty mug in the dishwasher. “And Lord knows that girl can’t skate a lick.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Keith muttered under his breath. A picture of Bertie slow dancing with Goofy Guy popped into his head. “She seemed okay. When I left, she was dancing with some big guy named Scott.” Keith studied Aunt Francesca to gauge her reaction.

  A pleasant expression came over her face as she rearranged her wooden spoons propped in a ceramic jug next to the range. “Yes, that’s Shirley Douglas’s boy. He lives in Charlotte and sells insurance. He’s been sweet on Bertie since grade school. I’m glad he’s back in town. They make such a cute couple. Shirley is dying for them to get married. I can’t blame her.” Aunt Francesca handed him bottled water from her beverage refrigerator. “Here. Drink this. You look a little hot around the collar.” She blew out her clove-scented kitchen candle. She didn’t see Keith wrenching the cap off the bottle with extra force. “Cake, dear? Maria made it fresh yesterday.”

  Keith grunted, “No.” He chugged his water, trying to cool his unwanted jealousy over Bertie and her childhood boyfriend. Christ. He’d forgotten that people dated as infants around here and ended up married to their first puppy loves.

  “Are you sure it was Scott? Because Joseph Phillips is a big guy too, and he and Bertie have dated on and off for years,” Francesca said.

  Keith unlocked his back molars. “She said Scott, but what the hell do I know?”

  “Well, I’m going to tuck Maddie in and then turn in myself. What time would you like to pick Maddie up for the beach?”

  Keith shrugged. “Ten?”

  “Fine. There’s an eight o’clock service at the Episcopal Church. You should join us, dear.” Aunt Francesca fixed him with her imperial stare, designed to make him quake in his boots and capitulate to whatever she demanded.

  “Because my dark soul could use some saving?”

  “That and you should be there with your daughter.”

  Keith leaned down to kiss her powdery soft cheek. “You’re shameless, always playing the daughter card. One of these times it’s not going to work.”

  Francesca laughed. “Don’t underestimate me, my fine Prince. I have lots of tricks up my sleeve.”

  “Good night, Auntie.” Keith gave a brief wave as he reached the front door.

  “Keith?”

  He stopped with his hand on the brass doorknob.

  “You need to call your mother. Maddie should speak with her grandmother,” Francesca said at the bottom of the spiral stairs.

  Keith groaned and dropped his forehead on the wood door. “Of course. The prodigal son reaching out to the prodigal mother.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  “Where’s she living this month? Florence? Paris?” he asked.

  “Outside Florence, where’s she’s been for the last two years. You’d know that if you called her more often.” Francesca’s curt tone told Keith she didn’t approve of his relationship with his mother. What relationship? He hadn’t lived in the same state, much less the same house as his mother since he’d turned thirteen.

  “The phone works both ways, Aunt Francesca.” He unleashed a heavy, painful breath. “Maddie and I will call her on the road tomorrow.” She nodded, and he closed the door behind him.

  ***

  Keith found himself back in the crowded lot at the Dog, cruising for a parking space while debating whether he should go in. One more drink and then he’d head home—to his vacant house and empty bed. He drove around the lot when he spied some couple up against a car parked near the rear entrance. The guy appeared to be doing “the lean,” as he came within inches of his date, going for a kiss.

  Keith chuckled. “Go for it, dude. At least somebody’s getting some.” He almost drove past when he noticed the girl wore purple and black-striped stockings. The same stockings Bertie had been wearing earlier with her roller derby costume. Keith hit the brake and lowered his window.

  “Come on, just a little sugar,” the guy whined in a deep Southern drawl.

  Keith listened. Did he say sugar?

  “Absolutely not. We’re just friends, and you’ve had too much to drink.”

  Keith recognized that bossy voice. “Bertie?” he called out his window.

  Bertie’s head popped out from around the guy’s side. “Keith? Oh my.” Bertie scrambled away as she pushed the guy aside and rushed toward Keith. The guy wobbled on unsteady legs. “Of course, I almost forgot…you wanted to talk to me…I shouldn’t have kept you waiting.” She tugged her tight T-shirt down—it looked as if this asshole had pushed it up. Not any asshole, but Scott, the grade-school flame from earlier that evening. Scott stumbled back, shaking his head.

  “Hey, Bertie…where you goin’?” Scott said with a slur, appearing bemused as he looked down at his empty outstretched hands. Keith could relate, knowing how it felt to have Bertie’s juicy curves teasing his palms.

  “Sorry, Scott. I have a meeting with my client—”

  “Now? At…ten thirty?” Scott blinked at his watch.

  “Yes. He’s very anal. Thinks he owns me…you know the type…like the world only revolves around him.” Bertie trotted around the hood of Keith’s car. She yanked the passenger door open and practically dove inside. “Scott? Go inside and find Liza,” she said. The tantalizing scent of gardenias filled Keith’s car. Bertie leaned over the console toward the open window. “Liza said she really misses you.”

  Scott stumbled forward. “Don’t drive,” Bertie ordered. “Cal will find you a ride or call Coco’s Cab.” Scott appeared confused and bereft without Bertie. Keith almost felt sorry for the big lug until he glimpsed Bertie’s grim expression.

  “Aw, Bertie…you know, I only…you mean Liza Palmer?” he asked, his befuddlement clearing up.

  “Yep. The one and only. Get back inside, okay?” Bertie sat back digging for something in her orange bag. “Drive away slowly…please,” she said to Keith as she pulled her cell phone out and punched a number.

  Keith tore his gaze away from Bertie and eased his foot off the brake. He checked Scott through the rearview mirror, standing in the middle of the parking lot.

  “Cal? Listen, Scott’s drunk and shouldn’t drive home. Make sure someone has his back. Yeah…no, I don’t think he’ll show up later…uh, Keith’s driving me home… Uh-huh. Thanks. Bye.” Bertie punched her phone off.

  Keith stopped before pulling onto the side street. “You okay? Did he hurt you? Do I need to kick his sorry ass?”

  Bertie glanced over her shoulder before settling back in her seat. “No. I’m fine. His intentions are good, but I still don’t like being mauled.” She scrubbed her hand around her neck as if she had germs. “Phew, am I happy to see you. I didn’t think he’d ever leave. He wouldn’t stop following me around and I couldn’t get rid of him. Turn left.” Bertie pointed with her finger.

  “That’s because he wants to see you naked.” Keith accelerated onto the empty street. “Can’t say that I blame him,” he muttered under his breath.

  Disapproval pinched her features. “No way. I’ve known Scott since I was six—”

  “Which only means he’s been dreaming about getting you naked since he was thirteen or fourteen.”

  “Huh?” Bertie’s jaw dropped and she gawked at Keith as if he spoke in tongues.

  “Unless he already has…and now he can’t get enough. Are you guys sleeping together?” For some reason, the answer to that question was v
ery important to him.

  Bertie’s spectacular chest heaved under her T-shirt. “No. Scott’s a childhood friend, not a boyfriend.” A frown settled around her full lips.

  Keith chuckled—from relief or release, he didn’t know which one, but they were both good. “Something tells me Liza was not missing that big goofball,” he said.

  Bertie shrugged. “Liza can handle it. He won’t get very far with his roving hands.” She glanced at him. “Thanks for your assistance. I had everything under control, but it would’ve taken a lot longer to get rid of him.”

  Keith shifted in his seat. “Why didn’t you tell him to fuck off? He deserved it.”

  Bertie’s eyes widened. “I could nev—he’s a friend…we grew up together and his mother was my first-grade teacher.” Bertie bit her plump lower lip. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s harmless.”

  Keith gave a bark of laughter. “Harmless? Hardly. Bertie, that guy outweighs you by at least a hundred pounds. Copping a feel indicated he wanted more than sugar.” Keith drew out the word sugar, mimicking a Southern accent.

  A scowl marred her face. “He’d had too much to drink and got a little frisky. The end. I don’t want to talk about Scott Douglas anymore.”

  Frisky my ass. Keith kept silent while Bertie only spoke to give directions. The houses appeared smaller and farther apart as Keith bumped over some old, broken-down railroad tracks. After another mile down the country road, Bertie told him to turn left. Keith followed a winding, gravel driveway until he stopped his SUV next to a bungalow-style home with a gable roof and arched front door.

  “You live here?” he asked.

  “Yep.” Bertie checked her watch. “Cal and I grew up here. Cal got the restaurant, and I got the house after my dad died.”

  “Looks nice. Well cared for.” Potted plants lined the front steps and a light glowed from inside. Keith noticed Bertie fidgeting in her seat and felt like laughing. Maybe not comfortable bringing men home, this Bertie. Good.

  “Uh, Cal asked if you wouldn’t mind staying for a few minutes. He’s being overly protective, but he doesn’t want Scott showing up at my door.”