Part 22 (1/2)
”Come on. You can talk to me while I finish dinner.”
Following him through the family room, she saw that the kitchen table had been set for five. The silverware and dishes looked like everyday, but a brightly colored cloth covered the table and a vase of fresh picked flowers sat squarely in the middle. Carefully labeled place cards had been written and ill.u.s.trated for each of them.
”The table looks lovely,” Brooke said.
”Marissa was in charge of decorations. And she helped me bake the dessert,” he replied.
”Homemade dessert?” Brooke said. ”I am impressed.” And pleased and thrilled. ”What is it?”
”Sorry,” he said. ”It's a surprise. I had to do a pinky swear that I wouldn't say anything in advance.”
”Ah, well,” Brooke said as she slid onto the bar stool and settled in at the kitchen counter. ”I know just how binding a pinky swear is. So I won't even ask if it's animal, vegetable, or mineral . . .” She raised an eyebrow as if waiting for him to fill in the blank.
”Sorry.” He mimed zipping his lips.
”Fine.” She pretended annoyance but was incredibly moved by the idea of a man who would understand the importance of a promise made to a child. ”I guess I'll just have to live with the antic.i.p.ation.”
”That can be a good thing,” he said. ”White or red?” He held up a bottle of each and she opted for the red. A wheel of warmed Brie surrounded by crackers and apple slices had been arranged on a gla.s.s platter. Brightly colored enamel bowls filled with mixed nuts, Goldfish, and other nibbles dotted the counter. He poured them both a gla.s.s of red wine. After setting hers in front of her he raised his in salute. ”Welcome. I'm very glad you all could join us tonight.”
”We're honored to be here,” she said in return. There was something about the sincerity of his smile and the appreciative glint in his eyes that made her feel not only welcomed but attractive. She sniffed appreciatively. The scent was warm and tomatoey with a hint of meat. ”Is the main course hush-hush too? Because I think I might be able to guess this one.”
”Marissa requested my world-famous spaghetti and meatb.a.l.l.s.” He turned to her. ”It's not particularly fancy or gourmet. I hope that's all right with you?”
”It's perfect. My girls will love it. We all will.”
The talk between them was easy and punctuated with appearances from the girls.
”Look, Daddy! I picked all purple things. Do you like these pillows?”
Marissa carried the poster over and put it up on the counter. Natalie and Ava were right behind her. ”Do you think I could have purple walls, too?” Marissa asked.
”Well, I personally have always been a big fan of purple. It's the color of royalty, after all,” Brooke said.
”Oh, Mommy, we should bring Missa our copy of Princess Prunella and the Purple Peanut to read,” Ava said. ”I know she'd like it.”
When dinner was ready the girls washed their hands without protest and took their seats eagerly. Marissa and her father served and cleared away.
”No,” Bruce insisted when they tried to help. ”You're guests. The only thing you have to do is enjoy the meal.”
Brooke felt a goofy smile take over her face. She couldn't remember a time when Zachary had been remotely tempted to wait on her. ”Gosh, I feel like a queen tonight,” she said. ”Maybe I should have worn purple.”
”You deserve to be waited on,” Bruce said.
She nodded regally. ”Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said trying to keep things light. What did that say about her that such simple kindness made her eyes tear up? ”I hereby name you the royal chef. You may feed me and my princesses anytime.”
”Done.” He gave Ava and Natalie a wink then he and Marissa huddled together at the back counter obscuring Brooke, Natalie, and Ava's view. A few whispered, giggling moments later father and daughter turned. Marissa held a plate aloft. Bruce held two.
”Your majesties,” he said as they placed the desserts in front of their guests. ”Bon appet.i.t.”
Each plate held a still-warm slice of apple pie topped with a heaping scoop of French vanilla ice cream. ”Oh, my gosh.” Brooke closed her eyes as she took the first bites. ”This is delicious. Did you two really make this pie?”
Marissa nodded happily. ”I got to peel some of the apples and help make the crust. It was my mommy's favorite dessert. Daddy always made it for her birthday and special 'kashuns.”
Natalie and Ava pretty much Hoovered up every morsel of the pie. Brooke saw Ava grasp her plate with both chubby hands and reached out just in time to keep her from tilting it up so that she could lick the last bits of ice creamasoaked crust.
Holding back a smile, but without saying a word, Bruce cut and served everyone another smaller sliver. Natalie p.r.o.nounced it the best dessert ever. Ava sent Bruce a look of abject adoration.
By the time Brooke and the girls had been handed into the car and invited to come back soon, Brooke had experienced more than a few adoring thoughts herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.
THE INVITATION TO BELLEWOOD FOR SUNDAY brunch was actually more of a summons than an invitation. Samantha had canceled her regular Wednesday lunch with her mother-in-law pleading a headache, which wasn't a stretch at all and had known that at some point she'd have to see and speak with Cynthia. But after more than a week with nothing more than the curtest of informational texts from Jonathan, the last thing Samantha wanted to do was spend time with his mother. Nonetheless she dressed and drove to Buckhead, checking both text and email in hopes of a message-a real message-from Jonathan as she drove.
Jonathan had traveled extensively on business over the years, but his absence had never felt this intentional. Nor had he ever communicated so . . . spa.r.s.ely. For more than half of her life he'd been there, steady and sure. A st.u.r.dy rock to lean on. A port fit to weather any storm. The emptiness inside her had grown so cavernous that she'd begun to imagine she could hear an echo.
She was relieved when she saw Meredith's and Hunter's cars in the drive a.s.suming that with all three of them there, her misery would be easier to hide.
”h.e.l.lo, Miz Davis,” Zora said as Samantha stepped into the foyer. ”They're all in the living room. Brunch will be ready in just a few minutes.”
Samantha caught the scent of biscuits just out of the oven, which Doris, the Davises' longtime cook, would serve with a choice of honey or sawmill gravy. Samantha knew the sideboard would groan under the weight of chafing dishes filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, ham and sausage, fried potatoes, and cheese grits, all of which would be washed down with copious amounts of chicory-flavored coffee.
The thought of so much food made her feel physically ill.
”My, you look done in,” Cynthia said in greeting. ”Aren't you feeling well?”
”I'm fine,” she said though it had taken double the usual amount of concealer to try to disguise the dark puffy circles under her eyes. ”I'm sure it's just allergies. You know how I react to ragweed.” This was a safe thing to ascribe any illness to in fall in Atlanta; which was second in swollen nasal pa.s.sages only to the golden shroud of pollen that covered Atlanta every spring.
Samantha accepted hugs from Meredith and Hunter but was too weary to search their faces for warning signs of unhappiness, irritation, and unknown agendas.
”Where's Jonathan?” Meredith asked idly.
”He's out of town on business,” Samantha said lightly.
Cynthia looked at her sharply. ”And when do you expect him back, dear?”
”I'm not sure,” Samantha said.
Samantha sensed her mother-in-law's antennae quivering. Hunter, too, was tuned in while pretending not to be.
They helped themselves from silver chafing dishes on the sideboard and settled into their usual seats. Samantha's eyes strayed to Jonathan's empty place at the head of the table. The house she'd grown so used to felt colder and less welcoming without him in it.
When they'd all been seated, Cynthia lifted her fork in signal that they could begin. ”How are things at the Preservation Board?” Cynthia asked.
”Good,” Meredith replied. ”It's just that compared to New York, Atlanta's practically provincial. And the preservation laws don't have the same kind of teeth that Charleston and Savannah's do.”