“Him who? Who’s him?” Natalie laughed from the doorway. “Who are you talking about?”
“Chief Crawford. Brett Crawford.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s him.”
“Grace, you’re not making any sense.” Natalie went back into the kitchen and lifted Daisy onto a stool at the island. “Let me look at that little cut again. Oh, it looks fine, Daisy. It’s already closed itself up.”
“I can’t believe she’s out there talking to him so publicly.” Grace was scowling as she came through the doorway.
“So? What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that Brett Crawford, the police chief—you know who he is, right?”
“Sure. Daisy and I ran into him in the coffee shop yesterday. So what?”
“He’s Joe’s father, Nat,” Grace whispered.
Natalie wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Say again?”
Grace spoke slowly and deliberately, pronouncing every word distinctly. “Brett Crawford is Joe Miller’s father.”
“And you know this how?” Natalie got a juice box from the fridge for Daisy and the pitcher of ice tea for herself.
“Liddy. She slipped yesterday.”
“Really? Huh.” Natalie thought for a moment, then grinned. “Well, he is sort of hunky. I’ll bet he was really hot when they were in high school. Yeah, I could totally see Mom with him.”
“Is that all you can say? He’s a middle-aged hunk?”
“I didn’t say middle-aged. But yeah, he’s very good looking.” Natalie poured herself a glass of ice tea and offered some to Grace, who declined. “I wonder if Mom kept her high school yearbooks.”
“Really, Nat? You want to see if there are pictures of them together?”
“Why not? I bet they were really cute. I’ve seen pictures of Mom from back then, and she was a knockout. And now that I think about it, I could totally see him being an athlete. He’s still a big guy, shoulders still broad. And yeah, he still looks really good. So what’s your problem?”
“Doesn’t it bother you he was so awful to her about . . . you know.” Grace glanced at Daisy, who was paying attention. “About Joe? And then she sells our house in Bryn Mawr and moves here knowing he’s here?”
“Hey, neither of us knows how things went down between them back then. And the house was hers to sell or to keep. And furthermore . . .” Natalie had started to return the pitcher to the refrigerator when Maggie walked in, and she fell silent.
“Wow, it’s really heating up out there. I guess it’s really summer,” Maggie said.
“I need a Band-Aid, Nana,” Daisy told her. “An Olaf one.” She held up her foot for Maggie to inspect her cut.
“Nat, don’t put away the tea.” Maggie turned her full attention to Daisy. “I’m afraid I do not have any Olaf Band-Aids. But we can walk into town and see if the drugstore has any. Would you like to do that?”
Daisy nodded. “I would.”
“You drink your juice, and I’ll have a glass of ice tea, and then we can go.” Maggie reached for the glass Natalie had filled for her. “Thank you, Nat.”
“So Mom.” Natalie grinned. “You and Chief Crawford, huh?”
“Oh, we were just talking.” Maggie waved her off. “Oh, wait. You mean . . .”
Natalie nodded. “Grace spilled the beans.”
“And who spilled to Grace?” Maggie asked. “Wait, let me see if I can figure this out.” Maggie did her best Church Lady imitation. “Hmm. Who could it be? Could it be . . . Liddy?”
“She thought I knew, Mom,” Grace said in Liddy’s defense.
“And now you do.” Maggie sipped her tea. “Is there something you wanted to say about that?”
“Nope.” Grace pretended to zip her mouth closed.
“Natalie?” Maggie turned to her.
“Just that I could totally see you together, and he’s still a hunk. Oh, and you could have just told us.”
“Yes, because telling you the rest of it went over so well.” Maggie shook her head. “Anything else you want to know?”
“Yes. Did you move back here to be with him?” Grace asked.
“No. Did I know he lived here? Sure, I did. Did I plan on seeing him? Only when it couldn’t be avoided.”
“You could have avoided seeing him just now,” Grace pointed out.
“When I moved here, things were different than they are now,” Maggie told her.
“Because of Joe.”
“Of course because of Joe, Gracie. He’s my son. And yes, he’s Brett’s son. And I can’t wait till you meet him. I promise you’ll like him. He’s your brother.”
“Half brother,” Grace reminded her.
“I’d like to think this is a family where there are no ‘halves,’” Maggie said softly.
“So we just accept this guy and welcome him with open arms just because—”
“Yes,” Maggie interrupted. “Just because.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. I’m not going to pretend I can if I don’t know.”
“Fair enough. Wait until you meet him,” Maggie said. “Please. Just reserve judgment until then.”
“He’s dying to meet you, Grace,” Natalie piped up. “He’s so impressed that you’re a lawyer. He said his son wants to be a lawyer. He’s twelve and he—”
“Hold on. You’ve met him, too?” Grace asked.
“No, but I can’t wait to. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times. He’s smart and he’s funny and he sounds like just the guy you’d want to have as a big brother.” Natalie draped an arm over her sister’s shoulder. “Please keep an open mind until we all get together on the Fourth of July.”
Grace turned to her mother. “By all, does that include Chief Crawford, too?”
“You can call him Brett, and yes, that includes him,” Maggie said.
“Seriously? Will we set up a firepit in the backyard and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories around the fire?”
“Hmm. Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Maggie pretended to think it over. “Thanks for suggesting it, Grace.”
Natalie’s phone pinged to alert her to an incoming message. Grinning, she grabbed it from the counter, swiped the screen, then laughed.
Grace slanted her a look, then turned back to Maggie. “Come on, Mom. This is all moving a little too fast for me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, sweetheart. But it’s been a long time coming for me. Forty years, to be exact. Try to keep an open mind and an open heart. For my sake.”
Natalie typed something into her phone, smiling broadly.
Grace nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll try. I promise. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I need,” Maggie told her.
Another ping. Another burst of laughter.
“Natalie, what is so freaking funny?” Grace glared.
“FaceTiming.” Natalie held up her phone to show Grace the image.
“What am I looking at?” Grace leaned close, her eyes narrowed. “What—who is that?”
“It’s Mr. Potato Head,” Natalie whispered, pointing to Daisy, who was drawing a picture with an orange crayon.
“Mr. Potato Head?” Maggie grabbed the phone and stared.
Natalie nodded and held a finger in front of her lips.
“Are we supposed to guess who’s wearing it?” Grace whispered.
“Hold up.” Natalie giggled. “Daisy, someone wants to talk to you.”
Seconds later, a male voice came through the phone. “Is Daisy there? Miss Daisy Doodle Dandy?”
Daisy all but flew to the phone, jumping from her stool to her mother’s.
“I’m Daisy Flynn, not . . . who you said.” Daisy looked into the phone.
“Do you know who I am?” the man in the Mr. Potato Head suit asked.
“Uh-huh.” Daisy nodded. “You’re Chris.”
“No.” The man in the suit tried unsuccessfully to hide his laughter. “I’m Mr. Potato Head.”
Daisy pointed a finger a
t the screen. “No. You are Chris.”
The man removed the head portion of the costume.
“See.” Daisy looked up at her mother. “It’s Chris.”
Natalie suppressed a grin as her mother and sister both gaped.
“I guess I can’t fool you, Daisy,” he said. “I guess next time I’ll have to come up with a better costume if I want to trick you.”
Daisy nodded enthusiastically. “Next time be . . . a dragon.”
“A scary dragon?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. But no fire,” Daisy told him.
“Chris Dean in a Mr. Potato Head costume?” Grace shook her head. “Why?”
“Hi, Gracie!” Chris waved. “Hi, Mrs. Flynn.”
“Chris.” Maggie waved.
“Hi, Chris.” Grace turned to Maggie and said under her voice, “What is happening?”
Maggie shrugged. “No clue.”
Daisy, having lost interest, went back to drawing.
Natalie retreated to the back door and continued her conversation while still listening to her mother and sister. She wasn’t sure who was more amusing, Chris or Maggie and Grace.
“Daisy, how do you know Chris?” Natalie heard Grace ask.
“From when he was at our house. He’s Mommy’s friend. He brought me a book.” Daisy was focused on her drawing. “About a frog girl.”
Natalie whispered into the phone, “My sister is interrogating my daughter.”
Chris laughed. “Can you get close enough for me to hear?”
“I’ll try. Hold on . . .”
“When was that?” Grace asked.
“Can you hear?” Natalie whispered, and an amused Chris replied, “Yeah. Tell Grace I said she has a future with the CIA.”
“That time.” Any time in the past was that time to Daisy. “The first one.”
“The first one?” Grace was wide eyed. “How many times were there?”
“Nat,” Chris said, “you better go bail out the kid before your sister brings out the water board.”
“Talk to you later.” Natalie turned off her phone.
“Sometimes”—Daisy continued to draw—“he comes to have dinner with Mommy and me.”
Natalie placed the phone on the island and casually picked up her glass and took a sip. “That’s a beautiful pumpkin, sweetie.” She pointed to Daisy’s artwork.
“It’s not a pumpkin.” Daisy looked up at her. “It’s Nana’s car.”
Maggie leaned close. “Why, so it is. I always wanted an orange car.” She tapped Natalie on the shoulder. “Is there something you want to tell us? About you and Chris?”
“Is there something you want to tell us, about you and Chief Crawford?” Natalie smirked.
“Don’t change the subject,” Grace said. “Mom and the chief are old news—sorry, Mom—but since when has Chris been visiting you? And does he stay over?”
“My, aren’t we nosy?” Natalie finished her tea and rinsed out the glass.
“Natalie. Fess up,” Grace whispered. “Are you and Chris . . . ?”
“We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. You know that.”
“Well, I consider him a friend of mine, too, but he doesn’t visit me.” Grace turned to Maggie. “Mom, make her talk.”
“I’m sure if Natalie had something she wanted to share with us, she’d do it. Wouldn’t you, Nat?” Maggie said pointedly.
“You two are a riot.” Natalie laughed. “There’s not a lot to tell. Chris was on his way to New York about a month ago, and his plane landed in Philly for some reason. So he called and asked if we could have dinner. I was just getting ready to put Daisy to bed, but I told him he was welcome to come over if he felt like driving.” She shrugged. “He rented a car and drove to my place. I ordered takeout to be delivered, and we had dinner, and then he drove back to the airport and caught his plane.”
“His plane?” Grace raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah. He has a little jet. Why?”
“Did it occur to you maybe he had the plane stop in Philly on purpose?”
“I did wonder about that,” Natalie confessed.
“I think it was intentional,” Grace said.
“It’s not important.” Natalie lifted Daisy from her seat. “Come on, Daisy. Let’s find your sneakers. I’ll walk into town with you and Nana to look for special Band-Aids.”
“And I’m going to work on Liddy’s website before this day gets any weirder. You should have taken a screenshot of him in that costume. Any one of those gossipy entertainment rags or TV shows would have paid you handsomely.” Grace paused to plant a kiss on Daisy’s head as she left the room.
There were no Olaf Band-Aids to be found at the general store or the pharmacy, but a stop at the ice-cream shop served just as well to heal Daisy’s toe. After they returned to the house, Maggie headed out back to do some weeding in her garden. Daisy wanted to help, so the two of them went outside. Natalie grabbed a book from the stack she’d brought with her from home and went out to the front porch. She pulled one of the rocking chairs closer to the porch rail, sat, and rested her legs on the railing. Fifteen minutes later, she realized she was still staring at the first page.
She’d known Maggie would ask her about her relationship with Chris on that walk into town, so she’d prepared herself, but when her mother asked, “So how long have you been seeing Chris, and does Emma know?” Natalie forgot her rehearsed lines.
“We’ve been in touch since Grace and I went to his concert,” she’d responded honestly. “And no, Emma doesn’t know.”
“Is there a reason neither of you mentioned it to your mother?”
“Yes. So you wouldn’t be asking the questions you’re asking now. So you wouldn’t think we had some great romance going on. We don’t. We’re just friends.”
“How often has this ‘friend’ found his way to Philly on his private jet?”
“Several times.”
“Well, let’s see. Several is more than a couple, which would be two. So somewhere between three and whatever?”
“Yeah. Three and whatever.” Natalie laughed. “Four. He’s stopped in four times.”
“Four times in the past month?”
Natalie nodded.
“And . . . ?” Maggie gestured for her to continue.
“And . . . he calls. We FaceTime. We text.” Natalie could have added, At least once a day, every day. But best to play it down. “No big deal.”
“Okay. No big deal.” Maggie had turned her attention to Daisy, who’d stopped walking and was about to pick one of the neighbor’s prized peonies. “Those are not ours, Daisy. You can help me pick our own flowers when we get back to the house.”
And that had been the extent of the conversation about her relationship with Chris. It was more complex, more nuanced than she’d let on, but she was conflicted about her own feelings. She knew he cared about her—he’d said as much—but she also knew he’d been seeing some high-profile women. She’d have died before she’d admit it, but she’d become addicted to those gossipy TV shows. She’d yet to pass by any supermarket magazine that had Chris’s face on the cover without picking one up. Last week she’d actually found herself hiding in the paper goods aisle hunched over a tabloid story about how he’d rescued an ex-girlfriend from suicide after he’d dumped her via text—a story he’d sworn was absolute rubbish when she’d chided him about it.
“Seriously, Nat? You know me better than that. Dumping someone by text? And, by the way, she dated my manager, not me. I’ve never been alone with her, I’ve never sent her a text of any kind, and if she’d tried to commit suicide, this is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“Why would they make up a story like that?”
“To sell magazines, why do you think?” He’d shrugged. “They make up crazy crap all the time so people will pick up the magazine and talk about it. Crap sells.”
Their relationship was hard to define. Yes, they were friends. The things that had drawn them to each other years ago still at
tracted. They both laughed at the same things. They liked the same books and movies and disliked the same television shows. They both loved Game of Thrones and had seen every episode more than once, and had read each of the books. Classic rock? Yup. Butter pecan ice cream and taco salad? Yes indeed. Environmental awareness? Absolutely. Mad Men? The Office? Seinfeld? Bring on the reruns. They saw eye to eye on almost every political issue. They never ran out of things to talk about.
One thing they didn’t agree on was where their relationship was headed. Natalie was struggling to keep things in the friend zone. Chris wanted to move it toward something else. He’d made certain she understood that, by his words and by the way he kissed her. He never left her house without kissing her goodbye and making sure she understood he was game for more, but not unless and until she was.
Then there was his reputation of being a player. As much as Natalie cared about him—wanted to test those waters with him—she had yet to determine how much of his rep was hype and how much had roots in fact. If their relationship became romantic and didn’t work out—And why would it, she asked herself over and over, because he can have his pick of anyone—how awkward would that be? How could they maintain a friendship after a bungled romance? He was so affectionate with Daisy, and Natalie loved watching them interact, but how would her daughter feel if Chris disappeared from their lives? If things ended really badly, how might that affect their mothers, who were such close friends? Maybe best to avoid future regret, as they said in those late-night commercials, and forgo the love story.
But there was that little voice inside her that teased with thoughts of how it could be if it didn’t end badly. What if they really did fall in love? What if they could live happily ever after?
What if she could tell Chris he was right, the reward would be worth the risk?
“Would you ever move back to Wyndham Beach?” he’d asked her as he was leaving after his last visit.
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“I would if you would,” he’d told her. She’d searched his face for a sign he was teasing, but she’d found none.
“I don’t see you doing that,” she’d said.
“Not right now. Maybe not for a while,” he’d admitted, “but someday.”
An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Page 30
