Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Mom comes to the door then, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good evening, Brock.”
“Hello, Mrs. Pike. These are for you.” He hands her the vase of flowers.
“They’re lovely,” Mom gushes. “How did you know I love roses? And yellow ones too.”
“Just a good guess.”
Not really a guess at all. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman who doesn’t love roses.
Mom hands them to me. “Rory, would you put these on the table? They’ll make a beautiful centerpiece for dinner.”
“They’ll be too tall, Mom. We won’t be able to see each other.”
“Nonsense. They’ll be lovely.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“And Brock,” Mom says, “let me show you to the family room. Frank will get you settled with a cocktail.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am? He just called my mother ma’am?
I set the vase on the table and then join the others in the family room after checking to make sure Mom doesn’t need any help.
My dad has the blender whirring with margaritas. When the sound stops, he shakes the container a bit, and then pours two margaritas for Donny and Callie.
“Good to see you, Brock,” he says. “What do you want to drink?”
“A beer would be great, Mr. Pike.”
“Frank, please. A beer it is. I’ve got Guinness and Coors extra gold.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Guinness,” Brock says. “That sounds great.”
“Rory?”
“I think I’ll start with water, Dad.” I steal a glance at my abdomen. You never know…
“Good enough.”
Dad pulls a bottle of Guinness out of his mini fridge, and then he pours me a glass of water from the tap.
“Go ahead and sit down. Maureen put together some cheese and crackers to tide us over while we wait for her dinner.”
Callie and Donny make themselves comfortable on the couch. That leaves a couple of chairs and the love seat.
I grab the love seat and pat the seat next to me. Brock takes the hint and joins me.
Dad of course takes his recliner. He’s drinking water, same as me.
My dad just doesn’t like liquor. He’s not an alcoholic, and he will have a glass of champagne on special occasions. Other than that, though, except for the occasional beer, he just doesn’t drink.
My mom on the other hand…
She comes down, her apron no longer covering her.
“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Dad begins to rise, but she stops him with a gesture.
“Don’t bother, Frank. If there are any of those margaritas left, I’m going to try one.”
“Yep,” Dad says. “In the blender.”
Mom pours herself a margarita and takes a chair that just happens to be closest to Brock.
“We are thrilled to have you here,” she says to him.
Donny and Callie snicker at each other on the couch.
And the Ping-Pong player inside my stomach hits another out of bounds.
“I’m happy to be here, Mrs. Pike.”
“Maureen, please.”
“Of course. Maureen.”
“So, Rory tells us you had a wonderful time in London.”
“Yes, ma’am. I wish we could’ve stayed longer, but you know.”
“Oh, of course, all the work to be done around here. You Steels are never idle.”
“That’s no lie.” This from Donny from the couch.
Mom means well, but I wish she’d shut up. She has no idea what Callie and I are going through, let alone what the Steels are going through.
It’s not really something I can tell her. Oh, Mom, by the way, when I was in high school, I got drugged, and someone took photos of me in very compromising positions.
Yeah. Not happening.
Small talk.
It’s going to be twenty minutes of small talk before dinner.
Then more small talk at dinner.
Why did I agree to this?
Brock is a trouper though. He engages my mother, asking her questions and answering all of hers. He’s so good at conversation that I don’t have to say a word.
So I don’t, until someone says the word—
“…fire.”
Who said that? Who brought up the damned fire?
I glance at each person’s face, and I zero in on the regretful expression in my father’s eyes. It was him, but why? I’ve been so taken with Brock and his ease with my mother that I wasn’t listening to anything else.
“You know,” Donny says, “anything you need. Just ask.”
“Your father and uncles have already told us that,” Dad says. “We’re doing just fine. But thank you so much for offering. We appreciate it.”
My dad is rigid, tense. It flows off him in waves. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, his shoulders slumped downward. He’s the one who mentioned the fire, so he brought this on himself. He knows that.
My father will never take a nickel from the Steels. He’s too proud.
And again, I want to pummel Pat Lamone for ever calling us gold diggers.
We are not gold diggers. If we were, my dad would take the Steels up on their offer.
Mom stands. “I think dinner’s ready. Frank, get everyone settled at the table, and I’ll bring it in.”