The Refrain
Page 21
Natalie kicks open the bedroom door and says, “We’re going to be late.”
“I can be quick.” Chris smirks.
“Believe it or not, I like that response.” Natalie tugs at Chris’ boxers, pulling him toward the bed. She falls back onto the mattress and quickly removes her bra and panties.
Chris smiles at his beautiful wife while lowering his briefs and watching her scoot to the middle of the bed. He hovers over her, moving a stray curl from her face to look into her eyes.
“Hey,” Chris drawls.
“Hey,” Natalie replies.
“Darlin’, let’s make a baby.”
IT’S ANOTHER SWELTERING Fourth of July in Brooklyn, New York, as guests begin to arrive at the Ford home. Eileen and Martin LeGrange arrived yesterday – intending to stay for another two weeks while Adam and Chloe visit Paris.
Dan and the Wandering Willows are setting up in the backyard, while Pete and Marta prepare cocktails and appetizers in the kitchen. Will helps Adam hang the red, white and blue decorations, stopping occasionally to steal a brownie from the kitchen. Anthony introduces his fiancée to a very scattered and late Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, while Chloe mixes the last batch of Sangria.
Adam approaches Chloe from behind and presses his mouth against her ear. “Hey. Meet me in the bedroom.”
Chloe laughs as she turns to face him. “Wait, is it my birthday or yours?”
“Just get upstairs.” Adam kisses her forehead and heads to the front of the house, stopping briefly to tickle Sophie.
Natalie bursts into the kitchen, glowing with excitement. “Chloe! I love you.” She puts her arms around Chloe’s waist and squeezes, causing Chloe to lose her balance.
“What’s that about?” Chloe studies her cousin’s sobriety before serving her a glass of Sangria.
“We did it, C. We’re both happy. My greatest romance is with my cousin – who’d thunk it?”
Chloe grabs Natalie’s cheeks and grins. “I’ve always known – you’re my soul mate.”
“Hootie and the Blowfish.” Natalie says through squished cheeks.
“Oh shit, that seems like forever ago.”
Family is meant to foster a loving and supportive environment, but these two have spent a lifetime perfecting friendship.
Chloe kisses Natalie’s forehead and says, “I have to run upstairs. Go mingle – do what you do best and make this party fun.”
Following orders, Natalie salutes Chloe and chants, “I will make it my duty to have everyone drunk and horny by midnight, sir.” But her face cringes at the sight of Martin and Eileen playing checkers with Sophie. “Scratch that idea.”
Chloe leaves the kitchen laughing and waving to her dad. Martin goofily waves back as Sophie whacks him with a light saber. Chloe pats Chris’ back before climbing the two flights of stairs to her bedroom. The door’s closed, so she waits, listening with her ear against the door. It’s quiet – just like the man waiting inside.
Chloe knocks once, just for kicks. “Adam?”
Adam opens the door and smirks. Imitating a teenager, Adam says, “I was waiting for like for-ever.” He grabs Chloe’s waist and pulls her inside. “Get in here.” Adam shuts the door and presses Chloe against the wall.
Chloe’s hands move to his shoulders, her hands digging into his neck. “What are we doing up here?”
“This.” Adam kisses her, first on the cheek, then on the nose, then the forehead, the nose again, the other cheek . . .
“Holy shit, just kiss me.” Chloe grips the back of his head and forces their mouths together, solidifying the kiss.
Eventually, they move to the bed, spooning each other fully clothed and talking about all the things that matter. Adam plays with her hair and nuzzles into her neck. He cherishes his commitment to protect her – and she loves having a protector.
“I actually have a present for you.” Chloe opens the drawer to her nightstand as Adam unzips his shorts.
“Now you’re talking,” he says, stroking his crotch.
She laughs as she pulls out a gold notebook littered with Post-it notes. “Later, promise. Here.”
Adam sits up on the bed and takes the notebook from Chloe. “What’s this?” Adam has never seen this notebook . . . and he always looks in drawers.
Chloe crosses her legs and faces him. “Turn to the last page.” She flips it to the back, his large hands covering hers. “I wrote a song. Ten years in the making, but I think you’ll be proud.”
Adam skims the song and then looks at Chloe. “The Ballad of what?”
“Just The Ballad. Nothing flashy – just a story.” Chloe shrugs her shoulders and bites her lip. She watches as Adam’s expressions change while reading the lyrics, covering a whole array of emotions she’s never noticed. His face remains intense, but now it’s also soft . . . layered with history.
Adam jumps up from the bed, zips his fly and smiles at Chloe. “Meet me on the stoop in ten minutes.” He hurries out of the room with the notebook in his hand.
Exactly ten minutes later, Chloe checks her reflection in the bedroom mirror, dabs on some perfume, and then runs down the two flights of stairs. The living room is empty and quiet . . . too late for a cheesy surprise party. She peeks into the dining room . . . no one there either.
Go outside, Chloe.
Chloe opens the front door to a barrage of whistles and applause. All her guests are standing along the sidewalk and the neighbors are spilling onto the street. They’re all waiting anxiously for something magical to happen . . . and it will.
Adam helps her into her Les Paul acoustic with the personalized strap, whispering private sentiments into her ear. With his hand on the small of her back, he turns to address the crowd forming on the street. “Ladies and gentleman, Chloe LeGrange Ford is about to play a song for us. The Ballad.” Adam winks at Chloe and then finds his spot front and center against the large maple tree.
Chloe strums a chord and then stops. “This is incredibly awkward.” She glances at the neck of her guitar and pulls out her favorite pick, the platinum one from all those years ago. She focuses on Adam’s smiling face and strums the intro.
And then she sings.
“Bathtub,
Two babes,
Hold the olives,
Always.
Tall trees,
F trains,
It’s fate,
Always.
Paris in July,
Your love I can’t deny.
I’m your femme,
And you’re my lo-ver,
I love you,
Always.
Brooklyn Bridge,
Guitar picks,
Roses suck,
Always.
Coffee bars,
Rock star,
Paisley scars,
Always.
You’re my Rainbow Connection,
And your lips are my selection.
I’m your femme,
And you’re my lo-ver.
I love you,
Always.”
Chloe finishes, but then decides to play the refrain again – prompting her guests to sing along to the chorus. Applause erupts and encores are requested, but Chloe puts down her guitar and smiles at Adam.
He pushes off the tree and walks toward the stoop, smirking at the fireworks overhead – finally, he gets his fireworks. Every great love story has a beginning, whether it’s a planned meeting, a random encounter, or an impulsive jump into the unknown. But it’s the middle of the story that really counts . . . expanding the verse and building the chorus.
“Skynard.” Natalie shouts from the street.
“Pearl Jam.” Pete requests.
Chris cups his hands around his mouth and adds, “Old ’97s.”
All ballads have a verse and a chorus – but the ending? That’s just the beginning.
CHLOE STANDS IN the doorway of their bedroom as Adam sings along to a familiar song. “I was thinking I would take a shower before bed.”
Chloe moves insid
e the bedroom to lean against the bedpost, listening to the lyrics of Green Eyes and a Heart of Gold. Adam walks toward her, singing the poetic verse about the F train and teasing her with his lips. He grabs Chloe’s ponytail and yanks her head back, licking her neck and dispersing tiny kisses along her hairline. Adam moves his arm tightly around her waist, pressing her into the wall and biting her exposed skin. Chloe shudders with anticipation, but Adam continues to hum the chorus against her ear.
Adam moves his hand to Chloe’s neck while kissing her cheek. “Tell me,” he whispers.
“I love my life. I had a wonderful day. I love my family. My story is complete.” Chloe kisses Adam, sucking on his bottom lip and pushing him toward the bed – they’ve never been fans of prolonged foreplay.
“What else?” Adam demands into her chest.
Amazed that her emotions still drive him crazy, Chloe replies, “I’m happy my parents are here. I hate turning thirty-five. I’m pissed that my white jeans are ruined. I want to fuck my husband.”
Adam grabs Chloe’s hand and looks into her eyes. He’s daring her to look away, to be impulsive and make a move, but this part is her favorite . . . the moment when patience is rewarded with his approval. A private smile, just between them.
“I love you.” Adam declares.
“As much as tacos?” Chloe teases.
“I love tacos . . . I love you, always.”
They curl into each other’s arms – Adam running his hand over Chloe’s back, and Chloe tracing the outline of Adam’s paisley scar. Conversation turns into sentence fragments, then thoughts . . . and then dreams.
At five a.m., the phone rings.
Adam’s hand slaps against the side table, fumbling for the phone. He knocks over an empty bottle of Gatorade while bringing the cordless to his ear. “Hello?”
“Hey Adam, it’s Chris – Natalie’s in labor.”
Adam sits up and nudges Chloe awake. “More sex?” she asks dreamily.
Shaking his head, Adam asks, “Chris, where are you?” Panicked by the question, Chloe jumps up, fully awake, and grabs Adam’s arm.
“The Hamptons – there was no way we could make it back to the city. Nat’s asking for Chloe.”
Adam passes Chloe the phone and hops out of bed to dress. Chloe takes a deep breath and then places the receiver close to her mouth. “Chris, it’s Chloe. What the hell is going on?”
“Are you ready to be an aunt?”
“Are you serious? Yes, yes – what hospital?” Chloe watches Adam as he places clothes on the bed for her. He moves quickly to the bathroom, packing up a few toiletries and brushing his teeth.
“We’re at Southampton General. Nat’s last check was eight centimeters – she’s getting an epidural right now.”
“Oh shit, we’ll never make it in time.” Chloe jumps out of the bed, pulling on her shorts with one hand.
“Chloe, she’s fine. Everything is fine. Just get here as soon as you can. I have to get off the phone or I’ll be banned from the floor. I’ll text you.”
“Wait! Can you give her a message from me?”
“Sure.”
“Tell Natalie I love her. Also, hashtag your beaver is huge.”
Laughing, Chris agrees. “All right – see you soon.”
AFTER A TWO-HOUR train ride from Penn Station to South Hampton, Chloe and Adam arrive at the hospital thirty minutes too late. Chris meets them in the lobby, grinning from ear to ear and shaking everyone’s hand – even strangers waiting for their families.
“Congratulations, Chris – boy or girl?” Adam asks.
They walk past the nursery, admiring all the new babies in their little plastic cubbies. “Nah uh, Nat will kill me if she doesn’t get to announce the news. Come on, her room’s over here.”
Chris opens the door to a private room adorned with pink balloons and pink flowers. Natalie is resting in the bed, glowing as she holds her newborn baby girl.
“Chloe – it took ya long enough.” Natalie shouts through a whisper.
Adam and Chloe approach the bed, thrilled to meet their new niece. Chris sits on the side of the bed and kisses Nat’s forehead. She looks up at him, a love so pure – they’ve waited a long time for this moment . . . happiness.
Chris takes the pink bundle from Natalie and cradles her in his arms. Natalie watches as her husband falls in love all over again . . . and then she cries – happy tears as she clutches the gold star around her neck.
“Adam and Chloe, we would like you to meet our beautiful daughter, Claire.”
THE PRELUDE
Cobble Hill, Brooklyn
“REBECCA, YOU HAVE a gentleman caller. He’s waiting for you in the parlor.” Rebecca’s mother announces as she enters her bedroom.
Earlier today while shopping on Montague Street, Rebecca invited Thomas Parsons to stop by for lemonade – assuming he would never accept such a bold request.
Rebecca sits at her vanity, studying her happy reflection and watching her mother fluff the pillows on her bed. “Thank you, Mother. I promise to keep the meeting brief.”
“He’s quite handsome – but courting is not permitted until your eighteenth birthday, rules are rules.”
“Yes, I know, Mother . . . but all my friends have boyfriends, even cousin Millie!” Rebecca pinches her cheeks in effort to give her face some contrasting color against her pale skin.
Smiling, Rebecca’s mother says, “We can discuss it later with your father – come on, don’t keep the boy waiting.”
Rebecca powders her neck with perfumed talc as her mother leaves her room. She wonders what Thomas is really like – does he like perfume?
Thomas isn’t like the other boys – he’s a thinker. Often found under a large tree in the park reading a book. Thomas also takes care of the family’s horses every afternoon, and on warm summer nights, he sits on his stoop to gaze at the stars. Never immature or impolite, but his quiet disposition can be intimidating.
But not for Rebecca . . . she’s intrigued.
Rebecca fastens another pin in her long curls and then quickly descends the stairs. She patters down the steps, stopping at the landing to calm her nerves. She opens the French doors, takes a deep breath, smoothes her hair, and enters the sitting room with a giddy smile.
Thomas is waiting in the parlor, quietly pecking at the ivory keys of the upright Baldwin piano. He looks dashing in his tailored jacket and knickers, tall and confident. Rebecca watches him as his fingers slide across the keys – the same keys her fingers travel over every afternoon when she perfects her minuets.
“Good afternoon, Thomas,” Rebecca says cheerfully.
“Hello, Rebecca,” he responds. “Lovely piano.”
Rebecca smiles – her stomach tightening in anticipation. “Thank you, Thomas. Would you like some lemonade? We have ice!”
“That would be fine, thank you.”
Rebecca looks to her mother, pretending to knit in the sitting room, and clears her throat. Taking the subtle hint, her mother announces, “I will bring some lemonade and cookies. Enjoy each other’s company.”
Rebecca sits on the velvet sofa, motioning for Thomas to join her. “The weather is nice today,” she says.
Thomas sits, inches from her warm body. “It’s a beautiful day, especially near the water.”
“Oh? Were you by the waterfront?” Rebecca loves the salty smell of the water.
Thomas smiles proudly and nods. “Yes, organizing games for the Patriot’s Bazaar. It should be a fine celebration.”
Rebecca’s eyes gleam with delight. “I love the Fourth of July. Will there be fireworks?”
“Straight from China – the containers were brought in this morning.”
“Really? Fascinating!”
Thomas shifts slightly on the settee and lowers his voice. “Perhaps I could escort you to the bazaar.”
Excited by the idea, a smile expands across her face . . . but then it fades. “I would love to go to the bazaar with you, but I’m not allowed to date.”
Thomas frowns and sighs. “That’s too bad. Will you go with your family?”
“I have an idea! I could go with Millie and . . .”
Rebecca’s mother carries in a silver platter adorned with small cookies and tall glasses of lemonade. “Rebecca, dear, dinner will be an hour. Will your guest be staying?”
Thomas smiles politely as he takes a glass of lemonade. “Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Foster. I will be leaving shortly.”
“Very well.” Rebecca’s mother exits the parlor, adjusts a vase of daisies in the sitting room, and then makes her way to the kitchen.
Rebecca watches as Thomas’ lips hug the rim of the glass. “The lemonade is very good,” he says, licking his lips.
Rebecca, flustered by his handsome face, brings the glass of lemonade quickly to her mouth. She takes a large gulp, coughing from the sweetness. “Ah, refreshing. I love citrus.” She chokes.
They place their glasses on the small table, their pinkies brushing against one another in the process. Thomas leans into Rebecca, his mouth inches from her ear. He discreetly inhales her neck, then whispers, “Meet me by the ring toss at eight o’clock.”
Breathless, she agrees. “I will.”
Rebecca closes her eyes as Thomas’ hand grazes her bare arm. Her body tingles under his touch – the tension, the anticipation . . . the surmounting desire.
“I should go,” Thomas says abruptly.
They stand at the same time, carelessly bumping their shoulders. Rebecca laughs as she smoothes her dress. Aware that her mother is eavesdropping from the kitchen, Rebecca raises her volume for emphasis. “Thank you for calling on me . . . it was a delightful afternoon.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Rebecca.” Thomas smiles.
Rebecca grins and leans in to whisper, “Eight o’clock.”
MILLICENT AND REBECCA run along Henry Street, holding hands and giggling. Jack Porter, Millicent’s boyfriend, follows behind him them with a boyish grin. They have just enough time to play a few games and enjoy some homemade desserts before the fireworks explode above the harbor.
When they reach the bazaar, Jack pulls Millicent aside, planting a big kiss on her cheek. “Are you my girl, Millie?”