Gage took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry if I said anything to make you nervous about tonight. My parents are going to love you.”
“I hope so.” My stomach churned, making me question why I’d demanded this meeting. I guess I was scared by how serious Gage and I had become. Maybe I’d been trying to push him away by demanding to meet his parents.
“Despite some of the negative things I’ve said about them, they’re good people,” Gage said. “I know they did their best to raise me. My dad used to take me fishing, and my mother used to bake snickerdoodles with me.”
“Your mother baked cookies with you?”
He nodded. “They were so good.”
When we finally reached the suburb and turned onto a long, tree-lined driveway, I sucked in a sharp breath. I knew Gage had grown up on two acres next to a large pond, but I hadn’t expected the property to be so extravagant.
“Here we are,” he said.
“This is your house?” I stared at the traditional, two-story brick home and its incredible grounds. “You didn’t tell me you grew up in a mansion.”
He gave an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s not a mansion. It just looks big from the outside.”
“Oh.” I didn’t believe him for one second. Maybe Gage’s family wasn’t as rich as some of the other families at St. John’s, but they definitely weren’t on food stamps.
Inside, Gage introduced me to his parents, Arthur and Miriam. Right away, I realized I’d worn the wrong thing. My outfit was too dressy. Too old-fashioned.
Yet, even if I could go back home and change, I’d never achieve the casual but elegant style expressed by Gage’s mother. No, Miriam had a level of sophistication I’d only seen in magazines.
Pretending I wasn’t rattled by my surroundings, I exchanged pleasantries with Gage’s parents. They asked about the traffic and the route we’d taken on the drive out here.
As Gage responded, I tried not to stare at the grand piano in the entryway. It was incredibly beautiful and most likely worth more than Uncle Leo’s entire life savings.
On top of the piano sat several framed photographs showing Gage at various stages of life. I walked forward and picked up a picture of him as a baby. “You were so cute. Look at those chubby cheeks.”
Gage glanced past the picture in my hand and scanned the other portraits as though looking for something. I followed his gaze and complimented him on his prom photo, taken with boys from the basketball team.
Gage’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled. “They were a great group of guys. A couple of them have come down to the center to help with various fundraisers.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said.
Gage’s mother cleared her throat. “How about a drink?”
“Yes,” said his father. “That’s a great idea.”
We went into the formal living room where Arthur walked over to a bar cart and poured his wife a glass of wine. “What can I get you, Natalie? I have a full bar, so I can make anything you’d like.”
I sat on the couch next to Gage. “Just a glass of water, please.”
Arthur laughed. “Oh, we can do better than that. How about a cosmopolitan or a glass of wine? If you prefer beer, I can grab one from the refrigerator in the garage.”
“Dad,” Gage said, “she just wants water.”
“Okay, okay.” Arthur put his hands up in surrender. “What about you, son? A scotch?”
Shaking his head, Gage stood and walked over to his father. “I’ll just have a Coke.”
“Coke and rum?”
“No, just a Coke.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes at Gage. “What’s going on with you? Why aren’t you drinking? Have you become a teetotaler or something?”
Gage filled a glass with ice and opened a can of Coke. “No, I’m just not in the mood for alcohol right now.”
Arthur glanced at me, his eyes squinting as they zeroed in on my belly. He didn’t think I was pregnant, did he?
I offered him a polite smile, which he returned. He then glanced at Miriam whose lips were pressed together in a look of disapproval.
I’m not pregnant, I wanted to shout. I also wanted to tell Gage he could have whatever he wanted. Just because I wasn’t drinking didn’t mean he couldn’t. Not wanting to make a scene, however, I remained silent as Gage poured himself a Coke.
“How about a lime with that?” Arthur offered. “Unless, of course, you’re abstaining from citrus fruits.”
“Dad.” Gage rolled his eyes and returned to me with our drinks. Sitting beside me, he handed me the glass of water.
“Thank you.” I took a sip, wishing I wasn’t afraid of alcohol. Agreeing to a glass of wine tonight might’ve made things easier with Gage’s parents.
“So, Gage tells us you’re a nurse,” Arthur said, sitting in the chair across from me.
“Yes. I work in the ER.”
“My mother was a nurse in World War II,” he proudly said.
Gage surprised me by placing a protective hand on my knee. “Grammy had an amazing life. I wish you could’ve met her.”
“Let me get her album.” Arthur set down his drink and left the living room.
Gage grinned at me. “You’re going to love seeing these pictures. I should’ve brought over the album for Leo to see.”
“He’d love that,” I said.
Miriam took a sip of her wine. “You’re still living with your uncle, Natalie?”
I nodded and tried not to feel judged by the tone in her voice. Did she think it was wrong for me to still live at home?
“Natalie’s uncle is in his eighties and has some health issues,” Gage explained. “Natalie helps him with cooking, driving, and some other things.”
“Of course,” Miriam said.
“Here we are.” Arthur came back into the living room with a leather-bound photo album. He set the book on the coffee table and opened it to a black-and-white photograph showing a young woman in a nurse’s uniform.
“This was my mother at twenty-two when she first joined the army,” he explained.
I leaned forward to examine the photo. “She was beautiful.”
“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “I get my good looks from her.”
I smiled. Despite his pushy attitude regarding our nonalcoholic drinks, I liked Gage’s father.
The next page showed Gage’s grandmother with several service women in their early twenties, sitting in front of a window with gorgeous city and ocean views. “Where’s this?” I asked.
“San Francisco,” Arthur said. “At the Top of the Mark. Have you ever been there?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never been out of Illinois.”
“Well, if you ever go to San Francisco, you have to go to the Top of the Mark. It’s a penthouse lounge on top of the Mark Hopkins Hotel, and the views are spectacular. In World War II, servicemen headed for the Pacific would go there and toast to the Golden Gate Bridge for luck. This picture was taken the day before my mother shipped out.”
I studied the photograph. “All the women look so glamorous and confident, don’t they?”
Gage agreed, and for the next several minutes, we turned the pages of the album, talking about all that Gage’s grandmother had done and witnessed. Arthur explained that after V-J Day in 1945, his mother served in Tokyo, caring for soldiers and POWs.
“It makes my life pale in comparison,” Gage said with a self-deprecating laugh.
I gave him a good-natured shoulder bump. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve watched you coach down at the center. You’ve made a huge difference in Rhodes’s life as well as the other kids.”
Gage grinned at me. “Thanks.”
I smiled back, relieved the evening was going well. Although his mother was a little offish, Gage’s father seemed to warm up to me. At least, he seemed to enjoy telling me about his mother. Maybe I just needed to find common ground with Miriam.
When the doorbell rang, Miriam jumped to her feet, an expression of pure relief on her
face. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
“Who is it?” Gage asked.
Avoiding Gage’s question, Arthur stood and poured himself another drink.
“Dad?”
“It’s the Murphy family,” Arthur said.
My stomach tightened. There were tons of Murphy families in Chicago, but I instinctively knew they were talking about Sheela’s family.
Gage balled his hand into a fist. “Seriously? You invited the Murphys to dinner tonight?”
“They just returned from Europe and asked if they could come over.” Arthur appeared annoyed but not apologetic. “It’s not like we could ignore them. They’re our best friends.”
“Unbelievable,” Gage said.
I steeled myself as my high school tormentor entered the living room, looking gorgeous as ever. Her smile dropped at the sight of me. “Natalie.”
“Hi, Sheela,” I said, pretending everything was just fine.
Chapter 8
Natalie – 2017
Terrified, I paced the sidewalk in front of Firehouse Fitness, willing Dash to hurry and come outside. What was taking him so long?
Had Gage seen me leave? Was he questioning Dash about everything?
“Come on, Dash,” I pleaded. “Just grab your things and come outside.”
The door opened, but instead of Dash, it was Molly from the front desk. Molly was accompanied by someone I instantly recognized. Rhodes!
Quickly, I turned away, not wanting them to see me. Holding my breath, I waited until Rhodes and Molly climbed into a ride-share car and drove off.
What was Rhodes doing in California? Had he moved here with Gage? Were he and Molly a couple? Seeing Rhodes all grown up reminded me of how much my life had changed since those early days with Gage.
After what felt like ages, Dash finally emerged from the gym by himself. “Mom? Tye’s mom said you got sick.”
“I’m not feeling well. Let’s just go home, okay?” Taking him by the arm, I led him up the hill back toward the rental.
Completely oblivious to my fear, Dash talked animatedly about practice. “Did you sign me up? Can I go again tomorrow? Coach said Tye and I could be on a team with Henry.”
“Coach?” I tried to keep the waver out of my voice.
“Yeah, Coach Merona. He’s so cool! Did you know he has a fake leg?”
“What did he say to you?” I asked.
Dash gave me a strange look. “I didn’t ask him about his leg, Mom. That would’ve been rude.”
“I’m not talking about his leg. What did you two talk about?”
Dash shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of things, I guess.”
“Like what?”
“Like don’t forget to pass the ball to your teammates and hold your elbow like this when you shoot.” Dash propped an imaginary basketball on his hand and shot into the air.
“Did he say anything else?”
“No.”
I pushed out a long, slow breath, which was a difficult thing to do as we climbed the steep hill. Obviously, Gage hadn’t made the connection between Dash and me. First thing tomorrow morning, I’d put myself out of my misery by calling Gage. Maybe I’d say something like, “Hey, you know that new kid? Dash? Well, guess what? He’s your son.”
I shuddered, imagining what Gage would say. Maybe Dash and I should turn around right now, march into the gym, and get it over with.
Just as I slowed my pace, a strong familiar voice called, “Hey, Dash. Wait up.”
Everything inside me froze as I turned to see Gage running toward us. I held my breath, knowing any minute he was going to recognize me.
“Hey, Coach,” Dash shouted. “What’s up?”
“You forgot this.” Gage held up Dash’s backpack. “You’ll probably need it tonight to do your homework.”
“Oh, thanks.” Dash took the backpack from Gage as my heart slammed into my rib cage.
In slow motion, Gage turned toward me and offered his hand. “Hi, you must be Dash’s mom. I’m Coach—”
For a brief moment, time stood still. Neither Gage nor I said anything. Then, the man I’d once known better than anyone else spoke in a voice that was raw and uncertain.
“Natalie?”
“Hi.” I tried to sound calm, as if seeing him again was no big deal.
His eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” He seemed more surprised than angry to see me, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Maybe years apart had soothed his disappointment toward me.
“We moved here,” Dash said.
Gage shifted his gaze to Dash. He studied our son carefully before looking back at me. “You’re Dash’s mom?”
I nodded, trying to figure out if Gage realized he was Dash’s father. It was so obvious. A simple math calculation would confirm the reason they looked so much alike.
“Hey,” Dash said, glancing at Gage. “How do you know my mom?”
“We . . .” Gage hesitated and stared at me as sorrow filled his eyes. What was he going to say? We used to be married? We used to be in love? We used to dream of a future where we had a son like you?
“We used to be friends,” I said.
Gage smiled at me the way he used to smile at me before all the bad stuff happened. “Yes, we used to be friends.”
Dash gave a little squeal. “Wow. That is so amazing. My mom and Coach used to be friends. I can’t believe it.”
I waited for Gage to ask about Dash’s father or what we were doing in San Francisco. When he said nothing, I filled the silence with nervous chatter. “Well, Dash and I need to get going. It’s been a long day, and I’m sure Dash is tired. Plus, he has homework and needs to get to bed on time. And we have to check on the dog, too.”
“Oh, okay.” Gage slowly nodded and took a step away from us. He smiled down at Dash. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Definitely,” Dash said. “Right, Mom?”
I nodded, unable to speak. Then, I placed a protective arm around my son and led him to the safety of our rental.
*
“Roxy!” Dash chased the dog through the living room as Roxy barked like crazy, ecstatic we were finally home.
“Dash,” I said, my head pounding. “Take the dog outside while I finish dinner, okay?”
“Okay. Come on, Roxy.” Dash dumped his backpack on the couch that flanked the front window and headed to the kitchen. At the back door, he paused and asked what we were having for dinner.
“Soup and cheese bread,” I said, turning on the kitchen light.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Dash gave me his I-know-something-is-bothering-you look. He’d always been good at detecting my emotions.
I hesitated, not even knowing where to begin. “We’ll talk at dinner, okay?”
“Talk about what?”
The dog began scratching at the back door. “Just go outside and I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”
Dash nodded and did as I said. Outside, in our postage-stamp-sized backyard, Roxy continued barking. At least the sound was muted, giving me a little bit of peace. Hopefully, our neighbors wouldn’t be bothered by the dog’s yapping.
Turning back to the kitchen, I ignored the overwhelming desire for a glass of wine or something else to ease my tension. I hadn’t had a drink in years, and I certainly wasn’t going to start tonight.
As was my habit, I turned on my classical music and began working. Uncle Leo had introduced me to classical music. As a child, I thought it was both boring and sophisticated. Now, Debussy, Bach, and Mozart were simply part of my life.
Because the minestrone soup was already in the crockpot, all I had to do was heat the cheese bread in the oven and throw together a quick salad. Thankfully, my stress decreased as I fell into the rhythm of preparing our evening meal.
By the time Dash and Roxy came back inside, everything was ready. While I carried our meal to the table, Dash fed the dog. Then, he sat beside me and we ate.
“This is really good,” Dash said, taking a spoon
ful of the soup.
“I’m glad you like it.” Until I started eating, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. I took another spoonful, grateful for the comfort of homemade food. The road trip from Chicago had cured me of any desire to eat out.
“Mom?” Dash reached for a piece of bread. “Why are you eating so fast?”
“Sorry.” I set down my spoon, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and took a deep breath.
“It’s not good to eat so fast,” Dash said, sounding like an authority on the subject. Sometimes he could be patronizing, an unfortunate trait he’d inherited from Gage’s mother, showing genetics could be stronger than environment when it came to some mannerisms.
I forced a smile. “Thanks for the reminder, Dash. I’ll try to eat more slowly.”
“You’re welcome.” He slurped his soup, oblivious to my sarcasm. “This is delicious. Even the green stuff doesn’t taste so bad.”
“Good.” I smiled, appreciative of Dash’s willingness to eat whatever I made for him. Some of his friends back in Chicago only ate chicken nuggets and apple slices. I couldn’t imagine cooking two meals every night in order to please a picky eater.
“So, you and Coach Merona used to be friends?” Dash asked.
I choked on my soup, then wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Yes. We went to school together.”
“That’s so cool. Was he the star of your basketball team?”
“I guess so. I never went to any of the games.”
“Why not?” Dash stared as if I were from a different planet.
I gave a little shrug. “I was too busy working and studying.”
“Did you know he was supposed to play in college, but then he went to war and got his leg shot off?”
I nodded. “I did know that.”
“Tye said, eventually, they’ll make a leg strong enough for professional basketball, but right now his prosthesis is pretty good.”
I smiled at the way Dash pushed through the difficulty of pronouncing the word prosthesis. It was a big word for a little kid.
“What else do you know about Coach Merona?” Dash asked.
More than you can imagine. I sighed, willing myself not to think about Gage. “Let’s just eat, okay?”
Dash shrugged. “Okay.”
Forgiving Natalie Page 5
