The telephone rings. “Hold that thought,” he says, sliding out of my arms and reaching for the phone on the bedside table. “Hello?”
Over the edge of my tea mug, I notice Philip struggling for words. He knits his eyebrows together. His downturned mouth makes him look dour. “Yeah…All right…uh huh…okay. Be there shortly. Right. Bye.”
Slamming the receiver back into its cradle, Philip runs a hand through his greying hair. “Goddamn it!”
“Philip?” I place a hand on the sinewy cords of muscle along his back. “What’s wrong?”
“Drugs.”
“What?”
“My men uncovered another meth lab in town. The evidence was found locked in somebody’s tool shed outside of town. I have to go to work for a few hours.”
“What about your parents?”
He looks at his watch. “They’ll be driving into Milestone County around nine-thirty this evening. I’ll be home before they arrive.”
“I can’t believe they’re driving all the way from Miami.”
“My mother hates flying.”
An idea seizes me. “We have a problem.”
“What is it?” he asks over his shoulder.
“I told my parents that I’d pick them up at the airport around nine o’ clock. My father doesn’t drive anymore because of a back injury a few years ago. And my mother doesn’t see well enough to get behind the wheel of a car.”
“I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“Will you be back in time?” I ask.
“I’ll make the time.”
“If it’s no trouble, I appreciate it.”
“None at all.”
He climbs out of bed and dresses into his seductive sheriff’s uniform.
He is a dashing, caring man—I am lucky. “I’ll miss you,” I say poking my head over the top of the sheets.
“I’ll see you soon.” He blows me a kiss. And he is gone, his footsteps fading down the hall. The front door slams shut behind him. I hear the engine of his car rumble to life. He drives off.
Chapter 13
By quarter to seven that evening, Philip is back home. In the drive, I hear the faint grate of snow and gravel catching in his back tires.
I sit at the dining room table set for two, waiting for him. The wafting scent of prime rib—his favorite—and red-skinned potatoes saturated in garlic butter sauce fills our home.
He fills the archway separating the kitchen and dining room as he peels off his wet winter coat. “From the looks of it, you’ve been busy.”
“I made your favorite foods,” I say, working my way through my second glass of Pinot Noir.
“I’m impressed.” He takes off his Stetson hat and tosses it on the back of his chair. “And hungry!”
He sits across from me and I lose myself in his chiseled features, a handsome man I’d like to devour for dessert. Cover him in a warm creamy chocolate fondue—
I shake off my erotic thoughts and spear a chunk of buttery potato into my mouth.
Over the set of flickering candles between us, he winks at me, digging into his meat. He closes his eyes, groaning. “This is delicious.”
“What happened down at the station?” I ask.
He reaches for his wine glass. “I can’t talk about my cases—”
“I’m your partner.”
He nods, chews, and swallows. He sets his fork down by his plate and looks up at me. His hands folded in front of him, as if he was going to pray. “We’ve uncovered a methamphetamine lab at an apartment building along the interstate. The goods were padlocked in a shed behind the building.”
Between bites, I ask, “Any suspects?”
“Plenty. It’s going to be a long week.”
“You have to work during the holidays?”
“It’s my job.”
“What about our families?”
Philip stabs a morsel of meat with his fork and pops it into his mouth.
Darth Vader lies by Philip’s feet, begging, whining for a piece of beef. Philip ignores the dog. “I’ll be here and there for the first few hours of the case. Don’t worry. I’ll be here for Christmas.”
I stare across the table at him. The light from the burning candle emphasizes his striking features.
His face looks tired.
Maybe work is wearing him too thin.
“I’m sorry, Philip.”
He looks up at me. “What for?”
I resolve to try to make the best of my feelings, but my thoughts are jumbled.
“Chris? Are you all right?” He waits for me to respond and leans his head to the side.
“Russ came to see me while I was in Burlington.”
He slices a piece of beef. “How’s he doing?”
I move the small potatoes around on my plate. “Fine. Busy, I guess.”
“Does he live in Vermont?”
“No.”
“He traveled from Ohio. He said he couldn’t make it to any of my other signings.”
Silverware clinked. Darth whined at our feet.
Philip sipped his wine. “What did he have to say?”
“That he’s happy for us, and he’s moved on with his life.”
“Good for him.”
I gulp the rest of my wine and empty the glass. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
His fork clanks against the side of his dish and he reaches across the table for my hand.
I set my glass down next to my plate and take his hand in mine.
“My life is richer because of you,” he says. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be right now. You make me happy. And I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about anything. Even Russ.” His smile is genuine.
My eyes spring with tears and my voice catches in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ve been through a lot these last few years. It’s going to take some time to deal with it.” He pauses and grips my hand tenderly, brushing his fingers over mine. “I am here to listen and support you.” He leans back in his chair and smiles. “God knows I’m going to need your full support as we move forward in our relationship, what with my work, and my own personal flaws.”
I ease in. “Thank you for understanding. I need you too.”
Philip raises his glass. “To us.”
I clink my glass to his. “To many more wonderful, happy years.”
After he finishes his drink, he nods casually. “What do you say we take advantage of the next half hour before our parents arrive and head back to the bedroom?”
I lift my eyebrows, surprised. “Now? What about dessert? I made an apple tart. Your favorite.”
He wipes his face with a napkin, stands, sidestepping Darth, and reaches down for my hand.
Dessert or sex?
“Dessert can wait,” he says. “Come on.” He tugs on my arm lightly.
He gathers my face in his hands and envelops me in a deep, passionate kiss.
Maybe I seem too eager, but I nod hastily, mumbling beneath his closed mouth, “The apple tart will taste better reheated.”
Chapter 14
Ten minutes later, while toweling off and stepping out of the shower, Philip’s cellphone rings. “Hello?”
He turns to me in the doorway and mouths, “Parents.” In the phone, he says, “Yes, Mom. What time are you rolling in?” Pause. “An hour? Sure. Okay. We’ll be here.” Ending the call, he looks at me dejectedly. “Mom and Dad will be pulling into town in about an hour.” He looks down at his watch. “They’re en route on the ferry as we speak.” He poses in the doorway, beads of water dotting his broad hairy chest. “My mother wanted to pick up a few last minute Christmas gifts in Burlington.”
He saunters across the room, crawls across the bed, and leans over to kiss me. “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
I fall back on the pillows, Philip on top of me. In the crook of my neck, he mumbles, “I’m nervous.”
A pause and stare up
at him. “Me too. This should be interesting.”
* * * *
We kennel Darth in the kitchen and head out to the airport to pick up my parents who should be arriving soon.
The road visibility is zero and it makes driving slow. The wind slams against the car like a battering ram, as piles of thick snow pummel the ground around us.
Philip slips in Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” and begins singing to me, faintly off key.
“Really?” I say, grinning.
His hands grasp the steering wheel as he serenades me, making my mouth twitch into a tight grin. I reach between us and place my hand on his thigh.
Shifting in his seat, Philip leans forward, squinting as he tries to glimpse the street in front of us through the snow-swept night. “I’ll get us there alive. I promise. I’ll just drive slowly, like my mother.”
* * * *
Twenty minutes later, Philip pulls up to the entrance doors of Milestone County Airport.
Hunkered against the thrashing rain and snow, I run around to the front of the car and through the electronic doors to the small airport terminal.
Inside, I navigate through a lively mob of busy holiday travelers. I find my father Henry sitting alone near the restrooms surrounded with five bags of luggage.
“How long do you plan to stay?” I ask him, smiling.
He looks up at me through his oversized glasses. He looks pale.
“Who’s influencing you these days, Pop? Lady Gaga?”
“Who in the effing hell is Lady Gaga?” he grunts, pulling himself up off the seat and wrapping me in an old mothball smell.
“Dad, are you feeling all right? You look tired.”
He releases a low grunt and grips his cane. “What do you expect? I’m old. It’s been a long flight.”
“Did you forget to take those moth balls out of your coat pocket again?”
He suffocates me with his pipe smoke breath. “Our house is infested with Goddamn mice. Most ugly looking things you’ve ever seen. They’ve got whiskers the length of my eyebrows.”
“Dad, you really should trim those eyebrows. They look like fuzzy caterpillars.”
He pats his pockets. “I’m trying to keep the little effing shits from chewing me alive in my sleep.”
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, scanning the heavily trafficked flow of pedestrians walking around us.
“She’s in the ladies’ room.” He waves a liver spotted hand at me and raises his wooden cane over his head. “Woman. She’s been complaining all the way here.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Jesus, son. You’ve lived with her most of your life. She complains about every Goddamn thing! The woman is impossible.”
“What’d you do now, Pop?”
His face turns sour. “Huh?” He pokes himself in the chest with his large finger. “You think I did something?”
“I know that look on your face. It means you’re in trouble. What did you do?”
Before my father can answer, my mother, Lori, shuffles out of the restroom, scouring the area as if she’s stolen something inside. When she sees Dad and me standing behind a group of teenagers a few feet from her, she waves excitedly.
I don’t know if she’s having a heart attack or she’s happy to see me.
“Christopher, dear son, you are a sight for sore eyes.” My eighty-two-year-old mother would surprise anyone with her sprightly gait. The woman is the AARP poster child for vitality. She has the energy of someone fifty years younger. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” she says. “But it takes me about ten minutes just to get my pantyhose down to my ankles.”
I smile. “You look like a Solid Gold Dancer in that sequined sweater, Mom.”
She leans back and throws her arms in the air. “I wear it proudly, son.”
I laugh and pull my parents into a family embrace. “I’m happy you’re both here.”
But as I reach down to grab my parents’ luggage, I notice the expression on my mother’s face suddenly change from content to concerned.
“Mom, what’s wrong? You look upset.”
She hands me one of her carry-on bags. Light from the fluorescents bounce off a silver cross dangling on my mother’s necklace. “Your father is impossible!”
As we walk, I turn to my father, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’d you do, Pop?”
He has a hard time trying to keep up with us. “What?” he asks, out of breath.
“You know damn well…what.” My mother pokes me with her small arthritic fingers, grabbing my attention and winking.
“I don’t know what in the devil you’re talking about, woman,” Dad says, wheezing.
“Mom. Dad. Let’s keep moving before we draw the attention of those security guards.”
Dad grunts. “Baloney. Your mother is just trying to scold me because it’s the effing holidays.”
I roll my eyes. “Dad. Language. Please. Try to be civil.”
“Son, are you taking your mother’s side? You haven’t even heard my side of the story, for Christ’s sakes.”
“I thought nothing happened,” I chide.
He groans and looks away from us, complaining and breathing hard.
“What happened, Dad?” I ask.
My mother is too quick on the draw. “Your father’s cataracts have been glued to a big-breasted blonde stewardess wearing an above-the-thigh mini skirt.
“Living with that woman, I’ve gotta keep my wits about me,” Dad says.
My mother glares daggers at my father. “Other women are off limits.”
My father exhales. “Christ All Mighty, Lori. Does this rundown caboose look like it can tail a young hot babe?” He adds, wheezing, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Instead of eyeing those blonde bosomy bimbos, maybe you should pay attention to me sometimes,” my mother says.
“Well, woman, maybe if you treat me half way decent I wouldn’t have to go sightseeing.”
“It’s more like the walking blind with those eyes,” she retorts.
I look at my mother and she’s almost in stitches. “What has gotten into the two of you?” I ask.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” my mother says, smirking.
Heat creeps into my neck and face. I turn around, embarrassed but amused, and head toward the front of the terminal’s automated doors. “We’re getting out of here right now.”
Mother says, “Goodness gracious, Chris. Are your father and I embarrassing you?” She pinches my cheeks as if I were a child again.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
My mother grabs my father’s coat sleeve. “Oh dear!”
“What now?” I ask, staring around to see if anyone is watching us.
I feel like we might be arrested tonight. I shrink into myself, turning away from my frazzled, over-expressive parents, praying for the power of Harry Potter’s invisible cloak.
My mother says, “We forgot Paula.”
“Paula?” I say, puzzled. “My sister Paula?”
My mother’s head is bobbing up and down like one of those wind-up toys.
“Paula’s here?” I ask, incredulous. I have not seen my sister in almost eight years. “You brought Paula with you and forgot to mention her? Where is she?” I stare around the busy terminal, through a throng of people coming and going from all angles.
My father crooks a finger over his shoulder as he grins. He shoves the tops of his dentures back into place and taps the cane on the floor. “At the effing bar.”
Chapter 15
In the backseat, wedged between my father and sister, I hear my mother say, “How long have you been sheriff, Phil? And do you like potato au gratin? How about a chocolate and peanut butter trifle? I’m baking my specialties for Christmas dinner while I’m here. You’re going to thank me later, sweetie.”
I interrupt my mother because she can go on like a chugging choo-choo train. “Mom, let’s not get gung-ho about desserts right away. Save some of your surprises for
later.”
She calls me by my childhood nickname as she asks, “Do you get cable, Chrissie? I don’t want to miss my stories.”
I look to where Philip sits hunched over in the driver’s seat, staring out the foggy windshield into a blizzard of snow whipping around in every direction. I lay my head back, and exhale. “Mom, how could you forget to tell me about Paula?”
She blows out a stream of air. “Damn it, Chris. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
I almost laugh. “But we were going to leave her in the airport bar tonight.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” my father mumbles. “We’d come back to get her eventually.” To Paula, “No big deal. Eh, Moose?”
I hear Paula groan at the call of her childhood nickname.
Philip says, “Moose?”
I shake my head and smile as Philip stares back at me in the rearview mirror. I give him a ‘just drive’ look as he cranks up Bing Crosby crooning “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and pulls out of the terminal’s busy parking lot and drives towards home.
* * * *
We arrive back at the house and Philip’s parents are waiting in their dark Mercedes SUV, the slick machine idling beneath a sycamore tree in the front yard.
“You’ve got company,” my mother says.
“Those are my parents, Lori,” Philip says. “I want you and Henry to meet them.”
“I have a feeling this is going to be a fabulous Christmas,” my mother says.
“You hear that, son.” My father opens the back door and steps out into an icy night. “Your mother even has the gay lingo down to a tee. Fabulous.” He smirks and almost loses the grip on his dentures.
Philip tosses me a smile in the rearview mirror. “I have a feeling your mother is right.”
There is hesitation in my voice. “I hope so.”
“Trust me. This is going to be a Christmas you will never forget.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I say.
He smiles. “Let’s go. I want you to meet my parents.”
I get out of the back seat and hear my sister behind me say mostly to herself, “I need a stiff drink.”
I envelop her in an overdue hug. “That makes two of us, sis,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s been too long.”
The Light Between Us Box Set Page 9
