by Donna Fasano
Annoyed with herself for finding fault before she’d even had a chance to say a word to her mother, Tyne smiled and pulled away from the loving but clingy touch. “Hi, Mom. You look wonderful.”
“Oh, Tyne.” Her mother pressed her palm on her heart. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I just can’t. There aren’t words.”
“Mom, Dad,” she said, turning and motioning Zach forward, “I’d like for you to meet my son, Zachary. Zach, these are your grandparents.”
The teen shook his grandfather’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Now, what’s all this ‘sir’ stuff?” Richard Whitlock asked. “I’d be happy if you’d call me Granddad.” His brow furrowed. “If you want to, that is.”
Zach only nodded, his whole face transformed by the offer as he continued to shake the man’s hand.
Patricia gave her grandson a big hug, and when she lifted her hands toward his face, Tyne quickly attracted her attention by touching her shoulder. Zach looked relieved.
“Mom, Dad,” Tyne said, shifting her self a quarter turn, “I’m sure you remember Lucas.”
“Of course.” Her mother hugged Lucas as if all that nasty name-calling and animosity of the past had never happened. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Lucas caught Tyne’s eye over the woman’s shoulder, sending a silent message of disbelief. He murmured, “Hello, Mrs. Whitlock.” Before Patricia could get her hands on his face, he took a quick sidestep and thrust his hand out toward Tyne’s father. “Mr. Whitlock.”
The wave of relief that hit Tyne was strong enough to make her lightheaded. Lucas intended to be civil. No one would have blamed him for acting otherwise.
“Mom, the place looks beautiful.” She let her gaze wander over the yard. “Dad told me you were busy with your gardening, but this is just amazing.” She lifted her hands and let her gaze scan from one corner of the property to the other. “Zach said you could charge an entry fee.”
Patricia beamed at the teen, then looked at her daughter. “I couldn’t handle this yard on my own. I have Martin’s Landscaping come in. You remember Mr. Martin. You went to school with his son, Mark.”
Indeed, Tyne remembered. Poor guy had environmental allergies and was always sporting some sort of angry rash that had him scratching his skin raw. His condition wasn’t excuse enough to keep his father from pressing him into service on weekends, school holidays and summer breaks.
“Mark went to chiropractic school,” Patricia said. “He’s got an office in Lancaster.”
Tyne nodded, happy to hear he’d found a way to change his career path.
“Mr. Martin comes himself to supervise the crew and I appreciate that so much.” Patricia wrinkled her nose. “His workers are mostly Mexican, or Cuban, or Guatemalan. Puerto Rican?” She shook her head, lifting her shoulders dismissively. “Something like that.”
“Hispanic?” Tyne supplied.
“Yes.” Her mom nodded. “But they do a great job.”
But?
Tyne shook her head, wanting to press the issue; however, she thought it best to bite her tongue.
“I’ll take this inside,” Richard said, lifting the cake he held in his hands. “It looks delicious, Tyne. There’s fresh lemonade over by the gazebo.”
Lucas, Zach, Tyne, and Patricia headed toward the pool. Next to the ornate gazebo there was an outside kitchen complete with a sink, granite countertop, and a massive grill.
“Do you like lemonade, Zach?” Patricia wrapped her fingers around the handle of the large glass pitcher.
“Yes, ma’am.” The teen finger-combed his hair and then scrubbed his palms on the thighs of his shorts, eyeing the patio furniture, the kitchen, the pool.
His grandmother poured him a tall glass and set it on the bar. “You should come swimming while you’re here. You could bring some friends. It would be fun. I’d like to meet your friends.”
“His new friends live in Wikweko.” Tyne heard the warning in her tone.
Patricia looked clueless.
“Mom, Zach’s friends are Native American.”
Her mom clicked her tongue, her breath leaving her in a huff. “I realize that, Tyne. What are you trying to say? That I don’t want Zach’s friends in my pool?” She crossed her arms. “I’ll have you know I have a pool party for all of Mr. Martin’s Mexicans—” she stopped, then raced to correct herself “—Hispanics, and their families, at the end of every season. Just to thank them for all the work they do.”
Snatching up the ice bucket, Patricia rounded the granite bar. “Don’t be difficult, Tyne. I’d wanted this to be…I’d hoped—” Her fuchsia-tinted lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “I’m going to the house for more ice.” She glanced at Lucas and Zach. “I’m sorry. Excuse me for just a moment.”
Tyne watched her mother storm across the lawn. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered over her shoulder.
Her father came out of the house just as her mother entered. He paused to talk to his wife, but Patricia swept by him, disappearing inside.
“What happened?” he asked Tyne, just feet from the back door.
“I’ll fix this, Dad,” was all she said.
She followed her mother into the house.
The mudroom looked like something from the pages of Martha Stewart Magazine. Wainscoting covered the bottom half of the walls and was painted a pristine white. The small, square window Tyne remembered in her youth had been replaced with a larger, bay window that let in loads of light. The gleaming washer and dryer were surrounded by white cabinets sporting shiny, porcelain knobs. Even the flooring was different, wide oak planks having replaced the old linoleum she remembered.
In the next room, she could hear her mother rummaging in the freezer, several chunks of ice thumping into the bucket that hadn’t really needed filling.
Stepping over the threshold into the kitchen, Tyne said, “Mom, I’m sorry.”
Her mother’s anger was spent. Now her shoulders were rounded and the muscles in her face had gone slack.
Patricia closed the freezer door. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve dreamed about this day. About you coming home. About meeting my grandson.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip and inhaled deeply. “When your father came home and told me he’d seen you, and that you were coming to dinner, I thought I’d have a coronary. My heart was racing to beat the band. I wanted everything to be perfect. Just like I’d dreamed.”
She set the ice bucket on the counter. “But I realized…just now…that it could never be perfect. Because, well, because, although I’ve always seen you as perfect in every way, as being amazingly talented and so intelligent you were bound to succeed at whatever you chose to do—” she lifted her hand to her throat, her gaze drifting “—you’ve only seen me as…as…” She struggled for a moment, then shrugged. “Something ugly. Something stupid. And flawed.”
Tyne chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Mom, I’m far from perfect. And when I left here the last time, perfect wasn’t at all how you’d have described me, I’m sure.” But her mother didn’t react.
Patricia went to the cabinet over the dishwasher and opened the door. Then she shut it and turned around. “No matter what we did for you, it was never quite good enough.”
“Oh, now, Mom, that’s not true. I—”
“We were not quite good enough. We were an embarrassment to you.”
Tyne went quiet, unable to dispute her mother’s statement. Parents who shot off racist remarks like an unpredictable, misfiring automatic weapon mortified their teenaged children.
“Your father has a wonderful reputation in this town,” Patricia said. “He’s well respected. And I have more friends than I can count. The people in Oak Mills like us, Tyne.” She frowned. “Do you know how it hurts to know your own daughter doesn’t?”
“I love you, Mom.” Tyne took a step forward and then stopped. “I might have been angry for a while.”
“A long while,�
� her mother pointed out.
And she was forced to agree with a small nod. “But I do love you.”
“And we love you.” Patricia reached up and tugged at a short lock of her hair. “We love you so much. Everything we ever did, or said, or planned, was because we love you, Tyne.”
Without being told, Tyne knew her mother was trying to explain their actions of the past.
“You have a son,” Patricia continued, “a teenaged son. Surely, now that you’re a parent you can understand our feelings. Our motives. We only meant to do what was best for you. You might not have been able to appreciate that then, but you have to be able to now.”
There must have been a thousand things she’d done over the years that were in Zach’s best interest; early bed times, the teeth brushing routine, controlling what he watched on TV. The list was endless. And as he’d gotten older, the parental choices had gotten harder because her son had discovered his voice. Despite his complaining, his anger, his complete displeasure, Tyne continued to do what she thought was best for her son. Keeping him from going swimming with his friends last week was a prime example.
She found herself nodding slowly at her mother. “I do understand,” she admitted.
The frown creasing her mother’s forehead smoothed a bit. “Now if I can just get you to see that I didn’t mean anything bad before. When I mentioned Mr. Martin’s Mexicans.” She closed her eyes and frowned, her chin jutting forward. “Hispanics. Because I didn’t, you know.”
Tyne sighed. Keeping her words as gentle as possible, she said, “Mom, do you hear yourself? You talk as if Mr. Martin owns his employees.”
Patricia gasped. “I did no such thing.”
“Come on, Mom. ‘Mr. Martin’s Hispanics.’ Don’t you hear the inference?”
“No, I don’t,” Patricia countered. “They’re his crew.”
“Why is it necessary to mention their nationality at all?” she asked civilly.
Once again, her mother’s hands lifted in exasperation. “Because that’s what they are. Tyne, you don’t understand. I am sure that they are very proud of who and what they are. I’m sure they have no problem with me calling them Mr. Martin’s Hispanics. I complimented their work, didn’t I?”
She didn’t get it, Tyne realized suddenly. Her mother truly didn’t comprehend that some of the things she said, some of the names and phrases she chose to use in certain contexts, could come off sounding offensive to others. Had that been caused by her upbringing? Tyne’s grandparents had died when she was a young child, so she had no way of knowing what kind of parental influence her mother had had. It could have been that her mother’s parents were bigots too, and that her mother was so comfortable in the standards set for her that she wasn’t able to see that those standards could be raised. But if racism was a learned trait, why hadn’t Tyne picked it up?
Was it plain ignorance on her parents’ part? Ignorance had nothing to do with lack of brains or education. It was possible for people to be bright and ignorant at the same time. Was her mother’s an entire generation that society had to make allowances for? Tyne dismissed that idea immediately. This type of shallowness had nothing to do with age. She’d met plenty of older folks who were open-minded and accepting of others, people who had adopted a ‘live and let live’ attitude, not just when it came to race but religion, politics, sexual orientation, whatever. However, she’d also encountered people, of all ages really, who seemed bent on building walls rather than bridges.
Her mother had invited Zach and his friends swimming. And if she made a habit of throwing a party for the landscaping crew then maybe she had become a little more enlightened over the years.
Her mother sighed. “Tyne, I really wanted tonight to be special. I had hoped we could get through the evening without—”
“I agree, Mom.” She stepped forward, offering a warm smile and holding out her arms in invitation. Her mother eagerly stepped into her embrace. “Tonight should be special,” Tyne said. “Tonight is special.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucas stood near the deep end of the pool watching Zach bounce on the diving board. Tyne’s father had noticed Zach eyeing the pool and suggested he use one of the suits in the pool house and take a swim before dinner. The teen jumped at the chance. Zach launched himself into the air and made an awkward arch with his body, his hands pressed together above his head. The elaborate splash made Lucas grin surreptitiously; the kid obviously needed some practice.
“Looks like he’s enjoying himself.” Richard Whitlock joined Lucas, a bottle of beer in each hand.
Lucas accepted the beer with a nod. “He is. Thanks for inviting him to swim.”
Richard regarded his grandson for several long seconds. “I hope he comes to visit often.”
The man was probing, wanting to know if Lucas would be a help or a hindrance when it came to him developing a relationship with Zach. A mulish streak kept Lucas silent. He tipped up the bottle and drank. He didn’t feel obligated to alleviate the fears of the person who had forced him and Tyne apart sixteen years ago, who had so drastically changed their lives.
Because of Richard Whitlock, you have a law degree.
He scowled, strangling the life out of the voice in his head. Benevolence wasn’t high on his list when it came to Tyne’s father.
“Lucas,” Richard said, “I want you to know I feel bad about how things happened when you and Tyne were kids. I also want you to understand that I only did what I thought was best for my family, what was best for my daughter.”
Both men watched Zach climb out of the pool and traipse back toward the diving board, water dripping from the hem of his borrowed suit, the tips of his fingers, even his nose and locks of his dark hair.
“I’m going to try a jack knife,” the teen announced.
“We’re watching!” Richard reassured his grandson.
Lucas smiled, but he was sure it looked as forced as it felt.
He remained silent while Zach jogged the three steps to the end of the board. The instant his son hit the water, he turned to Richard. “It would have been nice to know she decided to keep Zach. That she was planning to raise our child on her own. I might have been able to help her. From what she tells me, they had a hell of a rough time of it.”
Richard’s gaze slid to the ground, his chin dipping a little closer to his chest. His sigh was heavy. “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight. And it only got worse when Tyne continued to be so damn stubborn. I was sure she would come around. Finally see that we were right. That our plans were for the best. But she never did.”
Lucas shook his head, whispering, “Thank heavens for that.”
Patricia Whitlock called out her husband’s name. “The grill’s hot. Time to put the steaks on.”
The man glanced at Zach who was once again hauling himself onto the ladder and then looked Lucas directly in the eyes. “You probably won’t believe me when I say this, but I agree with you. Whole-heartedly.”
Watching him walk away, Lucas felt his gut knot. He didn’t trust the man, didn’t know if he could ever or would ever trust him. Tyne’s father had proved himself to be selfish and egocentric; the kind of person who looked down on others, who only watched out for his own interests.
The magnanimous voice he’d choked off attempted to revive itself, and Lucas blanched as it reminded him of his own selfish behavior years ago. Did he dislike Richard Whitlock because of the man’s character and the things he’d done? Or was it because some of the man’s traits reminded him too much of his own?
“Hey, ah, hey. You okay?”
His son’s voice knocked him out of his stupor. He fixed a pleasant expression on his face. “I’m good. That was a great dive.”
Zach laughed. “You weren’t lookin’ ’cause if you had been, you would have said I sucked.” He pointed to his cherry-red belly.
“Ouch.” Lucas chuckled. Zach must have hit the water hard to make his skin turn that shade of pink. “You’re right, I missed it. I was
talking to your grandfather.”
“That’s okay.”
“Zach,” Lucas said softly, “I’ve noticed that you use a lot of ‘heys’ and ‘yous’ when you talk to me.”
His son went still.
“I don’t want you to feel self-conscious when we’re together.” Lucas could smell the sharp scent of chlorine. “I understand that you’ve grown up without a father around, Zach. I realize that calling me dad might be awkward for you. It’s okay for you to call me Lucas, if that’s what you want. If that’s what will make you feel comfortable.”
“Zach!” Tyne shouted. “You’d better dry off and get yourself dressed. Dinner will be ready soon.”
His son’s jaw muscle tensed and he blinked, completely ignoring his mother. “Is that what you want?” he asked.
The question startled Lucas. “What I want?” he repeated, buying himself some time. “Well, actually, no. I’d love for you to call me dad. But only if it’s something you want to do. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing it, though.”
“Zach!” Tyne yelled again.
The teen lifted a hand to let her know he’d heard, and when he looked back at Lucas, he was smiling. “I’ll work on it,” he said, then he snatched his towel from a nearby Adirondack chair and jogged off toward the pool house.
• • •
Tyne sat in the passenger seat of Lucas’s car certain she could have floated back to Wikweko without these four wheels and this gas-powered engine, the feeling fueled by the sheer joy of seeing her parents again. No doubt about it, the beginning of the evening had been rocky, and there had been a bump or two along the way, as well, but for the most part she was really happy about how the reunion with her parents had gone.
After dinner, they had enjoyed thick slabs of Black Forest cake, which her father had raved about, with freshly brewed coffee. While her mom had engaged Zach in lighting the citronella torches surrounding the patio, her father had a second piece of cake. He’d suggested Tyne think about buying an empty storefront on Oak Mills’ Main Street and opening a bakery. Tyne had laughed, but she’d also glowed from his compliment.
