by Rachel Hauck
Mama eyed her as she left. “I hope it’s to accept Alfonse’s apology. Surely he’s been punished enough for whatever egregious thing he perpetrated.”
“Of course.” But her thoughts were far away from Alfonse. At the dining room door, she paused. “Mama, can you recall a package delivered to me over the summer? August, I believe. About this big?” Birdie set the paper on the table by the door and indicated the size of her manuscript. “It arrived by courier.”
“I was away last August. As were you. And Papa. Why do you ask? Percival handles all packages.”
“Yes, of course. The Grand Tour. Egypt. What about September?”
Mama narrowed her gaze at Birdie, using her mama-powers to investigate beyond the question.
“No, Birdie, and I don’t like your implication. Check the servants’ closet downstairs. Sometimes packages are stored there when we are away.”
“Papa, do you know of a package?” Birdie asked.
“Listen to your mama and check with the servants.”
Down the back stairs, she descended into the world of the other class, nearly crashing into one of the kitchen maids.
If Barclay didn’t have her manuscript, and Birdie didn’t have it, nor had Mama come across it and hidden it, then where was it and why was the description of Gordon Phipps Roth’s new book identical to the story she had written?
One of the maids approached. “Can I help you, Miss Birdie?”
“Where is your closet?”
She pointed, eyes wide, to the end of the hall. Jerking open the door, Birdie dropped to her knees, searching among the muddy boots, finding nothing but a dark hole.
“You’ll need this.” The maid passed a lamp over her shoulder.
“Thank you.” Birdie shoved aside coats and cloaks, mufflers and shawls. Nothing. Shoes lined the floor while hats and gloves lined the shelves.
Shutting the door, she passed the lamp back to the maid.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” the girl asked.
Tenley peered at her for a moment. “You’re new, are you not?”
She blushed. “Started New Year’s Day.”
“Then you wouldn’t have knowledge of a package delivered last summer.”
“No, miss, I’m sorry.”
Trailing up to the attic, Birdie sat at her desk, considering the news. What was she to do?
Confront Barclay again? With what proof? She should let it go, work on a new book for herself and anticipate the next masterpiece by a beloved author.
An idea formed.
Lighting the lamp, she shoved aside all second thoughts, quickly withdrew a sheet of stationery from her desk.
FOURTEEN
JONAS
He hadn’t thought this through. Bringing Tenley to the house would raise questions. Lots of questions.
He’d not brought a girl home since Cindy. And before that, it was Jenny, from his senior year of high school.
He’d lead with facts—I found her on the side of the road. That’d steer them away from notions of “Jonas brought a girl home.”
With a slight glance at his guest, he wondered if he should just head up to Courtenay Parkway and find a nice riverside restaurant.
Home was a crazy place. The Sullivans were a blue-collar people. Salt-of-the-earth types. Nothing fancy. Just large, loud, and loving. Accepting of everyone.
What type was Tenley? Raised by her father, a famous author. Down to earth? Privileged? The darn robe really gave him no clues.
At the next light, he turned toward his parents’ home, easing down the street lined with cars. Tenley’s opinion of his family was moot. She was leaving in a few months. End of story.
She leaned forward as he circled the cul-de-sac to double park next to Dad’s truck. Looked like everyone had come out for this one.
“All these cars aren’t for your family dinner, are they?” She counted softly. “. . . eight, nine, ten . . . thirteen . . .”
“No, of course not. The blue VW belongs to the neighbor.”
“Oh my gosh, all these cars brought people to your house?” She gripped his arm. “Give me the skinny. Are we talking the Munsters or the Middle?”
“Yes.”
She fanned her face. “I can do this. Easy, right? I have a master’s degree from NYU. I live in Manhattan for crying out loud.”
He liked her. The honest way she hid from life.
“Ready?” He opened his door. “We’ll just walk in, say hi, and act like you’ve been here before.”
“But I haven’t.”
“Thus the acting.” He hesitated before stepping out. “I should warn you, though, you’re a girl and I’m a boy—”
“Forgive me, Jonas, but I’ve been underestimating your keen discernment.”
“—and I don’t usually bring your kind around.”
“My kind? Crazy writers? Girls wearing a red-plaid man robe and slippers?”
“All of the above. Mostly, beautiful girls. So if the fam pesters you about us, and there is no us, just tell them to back off. Give it to them plain.”
“You think I’m beautiful?” She teased with her grin. “That’s so sweet. I could tell them we’ve been secretly in love since—”
“They won’t believe you.” He stepped out, walking around to meet her. Beautiful. The word just had to slip out. Well, she was beautiful.
“Why won’t they believe we’re secretly in love?”
“Because they know me.”
The house at the end of the walkway was built in the fifties. The sprawling live oaks were even older, their thick roots threading through the lawn.
The Sullivans were not lawn people. They were people people.
“You’ve never been in love? Never dated? How many girls have you kissed?” She skipped up the walk beside him, her slippers slapping the cracked concrete.
“Ha, that’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“A challenge. I accept. I can ask your sisters. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I don’t eat red meat.”
He paused at the door, the sounds from inside already vibrant and loud. “No steak or hamburgers? No pot roast or corned beef?”
“Or chicken.” He wouldn’t voice it, but she already seemed freer than she had been in the Publix parking lot.
“Not fried or roasted? Girl, do you know what you are missing?”
“Also, nothing starchy or yellow.”
“Fruit?”
“Yes, fruit, as long as it’s in its original form.”
“You’re killing me, New York. What do you eat? Lettuce? Beans? Grass? That’s about all that’s left.”
“Depends. What kind of grass?”
“Augustine.” He motioned to the healthy side of his parents’ front lawn.
“Um, no.”
“So it’s hot dogs and Twinkies?”
She grinned. “Not even when I was two.”
“I give up. How do you survive?”
“Diet Coke, coffee.”
He reached for the doorknob. “Oh, that’s healthy. Artificially colored caffeine flowing through your veins with artificial sweeteners.”
“I’m well preserved.”
Wearing that ratty robe and clown-size slippers, she was getting under his skin, awakening dormant longings.
“Let’s go see if Mom has some coffee brewing. Ready?”
“Yes, no, wait.” She leaned against him, took off her socks and slippers, wadded them up, and stuffed them into her pockets. Her gaze met his. “I didn’t want to look weird.”
With that, he opened the door, leading Tenley into a round of greetings.
“Joe’s here.”
“Mom, Jonas just came in.”
“Jonas, did you get my text?”
But Mom cut through them all. “My prodigal returns.” She crossed over with her arms open for an embrace, her smile white against her tan face.
“Prodigal? I missed one week.” He kissed her cheek, then shook Dad’s hand. The man was still youth
ful and lean, kept in shape by decades of hard work.
“Jonas.” Mom flicked her gaze to Tenley. “Who do we have here?”
“Tenley Roth. She’s Miss Blanche’s daughter. Tenley, this is my mom, Ailis, or Mom, as everyone calls her. And my dad, Fergus.”
“Well, welcome, welcome. Blanche has talked so much about you.” Mom wrapped Tenley in a hug and mouthed to Jonas, “She never said a word!”
“Really?” Tenley leaned limply against Mom. “We’re not that close. I’m surprised.”
“But what mama isn’t proud of her beautiful daughter?” Mom rocked Tenley back and forth. Easy there, Mom. Let go.
“Her father was Conrad Roth. The author.”
“Well, of course, we knew that. We loved your father’s books. So sorry about his untimely death.”
“Th-thank you. S-sorry to barge in on family night.” Tenley glanced down at her robe. “I was working . . . then riding a bike . . . Jonas kind of kidnap—”
From the Florida room, his sister Erin entered, her chatter dying when she spied Tenley.
“Jonas? Who is this?” Erin shoved past Mom. “You look exactly like my favorite author, Tenley Roth.”
“Because she is Tenley Roth.”
“No way!” And . . . the party went postal. “Elaine, Elaine, get in here. You are never going to believe what Jonas brought us as a graduation present. Tenley Roth!”
“No, no, Erin, she’s not your graduation . . . I found her on the side of the road. Really.”
But when Elaine came, in the E’s, as Mom called them, were practically hysterical.
“We love, love, loved your book.”
“We started a book club just so we could talk about it.”
“I have the hardback, the paperback, and the e-book.”
Standing there in her robe, that ridiculous robe, with the socks and slippers bulging from the pockets, Jonas saw a glint, the sparkle of a buried gem, in Tenley. He saw a woman worthy of love. Deserving of a man who would give her himself.
“I just can’t believe you’re here,” Erin said. “This is unbelievable.”
“Tell me, what did you like most about the book?” Tenley finally got a word in.
“Ezra.” The E’s made one bold, unified declaration.
Tenley nodded. “Of course, he’s everyone’s favorite. Probably the key to the book’s success. He’s a true hero.”
“Elaine updated her online dating profile to say, ‘Read this book for the kind of guy I want.’”
Elaine nudged Erin. “You wrote that because you were too chicken to put it on your own profile.”
Jonas stepped into the conversation. “Can we go back to where you two have an online dating profile? Does Dad know about this?”
“Jonas, Tenley, y’all want anything to drink?” Dad, the master of ceremonies for the Sullivan clan, approached wearing his apron and chef’s hat. “Soda, water, iced tea . . .”
“Diet Coke?” Tenley asked.
“Coming up. Jonas, take the girl out back, save her from the E’s. Let her see the deck and the river. It’s a lovely night. I’m about to put the meat on the fire. It’s been marinating all day.” Dad handed Tenley a bedewed Diet Coke can. “Are you allergic to anything, Tenley?”
She popped the top. “Life?”
Dad’s bursting laugh bounced through the kitchen. “Aren’t we all, darling? Aren’t we all?”
Grabbing a cold Coke, Jonas led her out back.
“Why’s your dad laughing? Does he think I’m kidding?” Tenley sipped her Diet Coke as Erin rammed a paperback into her gut.
“Can you sign this for me, please?”
Elaine followed with a hardcover. “I’ve read it three times. But I’m reading it again at night before I fall asleep.”
“Careful now, you’ll find all of my mistakes.”
“Never. Ezra gets better every time.”
At the picnic table, Jonas hovered nearby as Tenley talked to the E’s and signed their books.
She already fit in. Not because of the E’s crazy obsession but because she was . . . Tenley. Save for the introductions, it felt like she’d been here a hundred times.
An eclectic circle of lawn chairs surrounded the picnic tables, and from Dad’s mounted speakers, bossa nova music filled the air.
Jonas surveyed the yard, his brothers on the dock fishing, friends arriving with foil-covered dishes, the breeze dragging a cool evening and brilliant sky over them. This just might be a piece of heaven on earth.
He glanced at Tenley, liking that she was part of the scene. Only trouble was, he wasn’t fixed for a relationship. He had a lot of goals before “settling down.”
But Tenley wasn’t a permanent member of Cocoa Beach. She was merely a hitchhiker on her way to another part of the galaxy.
“When’s your next book out?” Erin said, cradling her copy of Tenley’s book. “I was just on your website but there’s no update.”
“The spring.” Tenley peeked up at Jonas. Don’t say anything.
“She’s writing the book over at Grove Manor,” he said.
The girls let out a small gasp and peppered her with more questions.
“What’s it about?”
“We’d be happy to read an early copy for you.”
“Enough.” Jonas shooed them away. “Leave her alone.”
“Fine, but I need a selfie. For Instagram.” Erin motioned to the upper deck Jonas had helped Dad build. “Let’s go to the top deck. The river view is so beautiful.”
Fifteen years ago when they moved in, the 1950s home on the river was a dump. The neglected terrazzo floors were cracked, and every last one of the appliances was the original.
But it was theirs, and after having lived in rental after rental and even in their car for a time, owning their own home made the Sullivans feel like royalty.
First chunk of free change he had, Jonas bought the lumber and built the deck.
“Lead the way.” Tenley smiled at Jonas, waving good-bye, her robe flapping and scraping over the top of the grass. “I’m off with my people.”
“I thought the desk and chair were your people.”
“Do you remember everything I say?”
Jonas returned to his seat on top of the picnic table. The youngest twins, Caleb and Josh, caught a fish. His brother Julius had just arrived, his tie askew and collar unbuttoned. Brother Cameron coached football at Astronaut High. He’d be late.
“Where’d you find her, son?” Dad sat next to him, grill tools in hand. “Couldn’t you have given her a chance to clean up?”
“She was riding a bike down A1A.” Jonas took a sip of his drink. “I’ve never seen her in anything else. She wanted to change but I told her we were casual.”
“What’s in her pockets?”
“Men’s slippers and socks.”
Dad whistled. “You know, Blanche has never mentioned a daughter to your mom.”
“I don’t think they are very close. Tenley calls her Blanche.”
“So does this mean you’re back in the dating game?”
“Nope. Just helping a friend, Dad.”
“A very pretty friend.” Dad tilted his head to one side, gazing up at the E’s taking selfies with their favorite author. “But I’m still trying to figure out the outfit.”
“She’s got writer’s block. I think she’s trying to find some sort of mojo. Wear the same thing every day. Wouldn’t let me take a desk Blanche sold to me. Said it inspired her to write.”
Dad hopped up when Caleb and Josh tried to throw their fish on his fire. Julius stood on the patio with a couple of buddies from high school.
Jonas gazed at Tenley talking with the E’s on the upper deck. Maybe, if he were interested in love again, she’d be the one to lure him in. But . . .
She was engaged. Ring or no ring, there was a man in her life with whom she’d made a commitment.
Steer clear, man.
From the porch, Mom rang the dinner bell. Dad blessed the food in his
big evangelist voice, then Mom held everyone back, inviting Tenley forward.
“Tonight, you’re our guest. But ever after you’re family and you’ll have to fight the horde like the rest of us.”
Mom shoved a plate at her along with a napkin roll and led her down the food line, exhorting her to eat everything she claimed she didn’t like.
“We buy our beef from a rancher. You can’t beat it. We’ve got potato salad here and, oh, my grandmother’s baked beans recipe. It’s better than kissing.”
Jonas followed, every step or two encouraging Mom to go easy on Tenley. He filled his plate, grabbed a couple of water bottles, and led Tenley to chairs at the edge of the river.
“You don’t have to eat all of that,” he said, balancing his plate on his lap. “Food is Mom’s love language.”
“It’s okay. It really does smell good.” Tenley stabbed at her potato salad then gazed toward the river. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“Can I ask why you call your mom Blanche?”
She swallowed, pointing to the potato salad. “This is good. Blanche? She left when I was nine. I didn’t see her very often, and when I was a teenager, I thought I’d show her by calling her Blanche. But she didn’t care. Thought it was hip.”
“You’re closer now? That’s why you came to help her?”
“We’re not closer but I came anyway. She said she didn’t have anyone else.”
“And your fiancé went to Paris?”
“Yep. And I came here. I’m a saint, right?” She sat back, eyes fixed on the ripple of the river, and wiped her fingers with her napkin.
“To Blanche, I’m sure.” He hesitated, then asked, “Why didn’t your fiancé come with you?”
“Well, Paris with Nicolette, writing scripts . . . Tough competition.”
“You said you don’t wear your ring because it’s ‘not me.’”
“Seriously, are you going to remember everything I say? If you are, I’m not sure we can be friends.”
“Just wondering why it’s not you.”
“I don’t know.” She scowled and shoved another forkful of potato salad into her mouth, then swiveled to face him. “Look, Jonas, I know we just met and we’re exchanging information—which by the way I have nothing personal on you yet—but I don’t owe you an explanation about my engagement or the accompanying ring.”
