A Reason to Stay (7 page)

Wait—her phone.

She quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin, then turned to the video engineer she'd passed her phone to earlier. “Do you have my cell?”

“Oh yeah—sorry!” He set his champagne flute on the desk and headed for the control room. Seconds later, he returned with her phone in hand.

She was laughing at one of their technical coordinators mimicking their competitor station. Like the cantankerous junkyard dealer on the syndicated television show
Sanford and
Son
, he simulated a heart attack, accentuated by clutching his chest and crying out, “Oh, this is the big one, Elizabeth! Our ratings are plummeting and I'm coming to join you, honey!”

Still giggling, she took the cell phone from the video engineer and thanked him, then pressed the button on top to turn the unit back on.

Immediately, messages appeared, alerting she'd missed dozens of voice calls and texts. Her fingers scrolled briefly through the alerts. Suddenly, she stopped at a series of texts.

Hey, I'm
here.

Don't know what happened. Tried to call you.
I'll wait a little while longer. Call me.

Then finally . . .

Well, I'm heading home. Catch you later.

Oh no! She'd completely forgotten her date with Geary Marin.

Faith quickly made her way out of the newsroom and away from the big celebration. She could have at least texted her new friend that she'd been held up. Maybe not before the scene at the bridge. But certainly she should have made time after.

What he must think of her now!

Her thumb pressed the callback button.

At the same time, she mentally formulated an explanation she hoped Geary would understand.

F
aith nervously tapped her thumb against the steering wheel as she exited off I-10 and merged onto the North Freeway. As she entered the outskirts of the Woodlands, her mind sifted through a dozen things she needed to say to her new blue-eyed friend when she saw him. None she hadn't expressed at least once over the past forty-eight hours, either verbally or by text.

She needed Geary to understand how neglecting to call him when her plans had changed could happen, to forgive her thoughtless oversight. Caught up in the aftermath of the big scoop, she'd completely pushed everything else from her mind.

“Hey, don't worry about it, Faith. I totally get it,” he'd assured her on the phone. “Look, I'll let you make it up to me. My family is having their annual crawfish feed out at their place this weekend. Why don't you join us?”

The idea of a crawfish anything didn't really tickle her toes. And meeting his family felt—well, entirely too early. I mean, they hadn't even had a real date yet. But what could she do after leaving him hanging, wondering why she hadn't shown up? Turn him down?

For a quick second she considered talking him into a nice quiet dinner downtown instead—maybe at The Lake House on the south
shore of Kinder. In the end, she simply swallowed her reservations and accepted his invitation.

The road leading to the address Geary provided was off Highway 105, several miles west of the marina in Conroe where they became acquainted. He'd offered to meet her at Sam's Boat House and guide her out to his parents' house, but she'd quickly assured him that wasn't necessary. Her GPS would get her there.

Now she was having second thoughts about that decision.

She glanced at the screen on her phone. Lake Pine Road was just ahead. According to Geary's directions, the turnoff to his family's house would be on the right, four miles from the highway.

From Lake Pine Road, she wheeled onto an unmarked paved road lined by a white farmhouse-style fence, a lovely lane shaded by loblolly pines and red oaks that extended about a half mile before finally opening into a large area filled with vehicles.

She wedged her car into a space between a small red SUV and a Dodge pickup with massive wheel wells. Upon climbing out, she could hear music coming from the back of the house. A song by the Dixie Chicks, she thought.

This was no small party she'd agreed to attend.

She glanced down at her wedge sandals, a little splurge to go with her tangerine-colored tunic and white capris. She wasn't entirely sure she'd dressed appropriately for a crawfish feed, but she looked cute. That was what mattered.

The house was two stories, the lower made of brick and the upper of white clapboard with black shutters and dormers. The front wraparound porch was lined with neatly trimmed low hedges and sported several rocking chairs, the kind she'd often seen for sale at Cracker Barrel restaurants. On either side of a red door, pots filled with pretty pink vinca and multi-hued purslane gave the house a welcoming feeling.

More cars were pulling in now. She crossed to the winding sidewalk that led to the front porch, taking in the rural feel of the place.

Before she had a chance to knock, the red door swung open and Geary stepped out. “There you are,” he said over the commotion inside. Dressed in jeans and a blue polo that matched the shade of his eyes, he leaned in and gently brushed her cheek with a kiss, then guided her into a large yet unassuming foyer. “Glad you could come,” he said, smiling generously in her direction.

In the large open living area, sofas with crocheted afghans folded over the backs and upholstered recliners with terry washcloths placed to protect the arms were scattered across oak floors. Small pockets of people stood chatting around colonial-style coffee tables filled with bowls of cheese puffs, pretzels, and chips.

Her eyes were immediately drawn outside the windows, to an expansive lawn filled with pop-up awnings and more people in lawn chairs. “Wow, this is some party.”

He grinned. “Yeah, Mom knows how to throw a shindig. Everybody looks forward to her annual crawfish boil.”

Faith followed Geary to the door leading to the back deck. “Well,” she admitted, “this is my first.”

He stopped and turned to face her. “Ha, a crawdad newbie? Well, you're in for a treat.” His blue eyes twinkled. He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the deck.

“Hey, everybody,” he shouted across the crowd. “This is my friend Faith. Y'all might've seen her earlier in the week on the news. That big story about the kid on the bridge.”

A buxom woman with dark auburn hair and wearing red canvas shoes and jeans slid a glass pitcher of sweet tea onto a long table covered in brown paper. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and rushed over, arms extended.

“So, you're Faith.” The woman hugged her. “I'm Geary's mother. Welcome to our little party.” She waved over a man standing with a hose in his hand, running water into a huge white cooler. He passed off the hose to a guy standing next to him.

After wiping his hands on his camouflage printed apron, he
extended his palm for a handshake. “Welcome to the annual Marin Family Crawfish Feed. We're all so happy you agreed to join us.”

Geary's father eerily resembled the actor Craig T. Nelson. He even raised his eyebrows slightly when talking. “I'm Geary's dad.”

Faith took his hand. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Marin.”

“Nope. Not Mr. Marin—I go by Dad, Grandpa, honey, or Wendell. Take your pick.” He placed his arm around Geary's mother. “And this here is Veta, my pretty bride.”

Beaming, Geary's mother gave his shoulder a playful slap. “Oh, you! You'd best get over and get some more pots going.” She turned to Faith. “And he's right, no one calls us Mr. and Mrs. around here.”

Mrs. Marin—er, Veta—took Faith's arm and guided her across the lawn, with Geary following close behind. “Dilly!” She waved over a pretty young woman with long red hair. “Dilly, this is Geary's new friend. We watched Faith on television earlier this week, remember?”

The woman hoisted a toddler onto her hip. “You bet I remember. Hi—I'm Geary's sister.”

“Younger by twenty-four months,” his mom added. “And this one”—she chucked the little boy's chin—“this is Sam.”

The tiny brown-haired guy plugged his mouth with his thumb and nestled against his mother's chest, looking back at Faith with reservation. “He's shy,” Dilly explained, then pointed across the lawn to two slightly older children, a boy and a girl. One was chasing the other, holding what must be a crawdad. “Those are the twins, Gunner and Gabby—short for Gabrielle. They just turned five last week.”

A short guy stepped up next to Dilly. “Hey there. I'm Bobby Lee.” He shook Faith's hand. “I'm the ringleader of the Sitterle family circus.” His dark brown hair had that uncombed look and he sported some serious stubble. He wore an AmWest Drilling T-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops—one with the toe piece taped. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his warm smile overriding the impression his appearance made.

For the next half hour, Geary introduced her to guests. Often his mother would be within earshot and add, “She's the news reporter girl he's seeing. You know, the one I told you about.”

There were nods then, and murmurs of admiration for how she'd handled the bridge incident. “You saved that Hildebrand kid, you know,” one woman claimed. “We were all praying as we watched on television.”

The proud smile on Geary's face made her feel warm inside, especially after that initial reporting fiasco he'd seen on the boat. She
had
done a good job on the bridge piece. The public had noticed and her journalistic career would benefit.

Geary took her elbow. “C'mon. Let's go supervise Dad. He's about ready to add the crawfish to the pots.”

She'd never eaten a crawfish before, which would surprise some, given she'd been born and raised about an hour or so from the Louisiana border.

She remembered her father bringing a small sack of the crustaceans home once, but her mother squelched the idea. “We don't eat those nasty things,” she said, sliding the bag from the counter.

At the time, she'd thought her mother's attitude harsh. Especially given the deflated look on her father's face as he watched his wife toss the bag in the garbage. But now, looking down into a large white cooler teeming with a mass of hard-shelled bodies clicking against one another as they tried to escape by climbing the sides, she wasn't so sure her own attitude didn't line up with her mother's.

“What's the matter?” Geary teased.

She scrunched her nose and lowered her voice. “Uh . . . they're kind of creepy, don't you think?”

“Nonsense!” His dad gave her a hearty pat on the back. “Follow me,” he said, unaware he'd given her a start. He led her to where five massive stainless steel pots were steaming over open-flame cookers. He lifted the lid of the first pot and invited her to check
out the contents. Inside, corn, red potatoes, and onions simmered in a broth. “Now, that is good eating about to happen.”

“Wow.” She pasted on an enthusiastic smile she hoped looked authentic.

“Stand back, now.” Wendell picked up a bucket and scooped the live crawfish out from the cooler and slid them into the boiling mixture.

She couldn't help but squeeze her eyes shut.

Geary chuckled. “What's the matter? You a bit squeamish?”

“A little,” she admitted. She smiled back at his dad and tried to avert further critique. “Is that garlic I smell?”

“Sure is. And lemons too.” Wendell tossed in some cut-up sausages and whole mushrooms, then slid the lids on tight. “And there's a secret in there too.”

“Dad,” Geary scolded.

Veta marched up and playfully slapped her husband with a tea towel. “Oh, cut it out, Wendell.” She leaned over to Faith. “That man used to tell all the kids he spit in the pots for special flavor.”

Faith swallowed, hoping that whole thing was indeed a joke.

Suddenly, she was bumped from behind. A set of little arms wrapped around her legs. Just as quickly, they let go. “Hey, Papa! Did you spit in the pot?”

“Yeah,” a similar voice said. “Did you put in the secret ingredient?”

“Okay, you two.” Geary moved the twins back. But not before the little girl who had grabbed Faith's legs left a mark on her white capris—something red and sticky.

Geary's mom frowned. “Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. Let me get something for that.”

Later, when everyone gathered and the pots of food were poured out on the brown butcher paper covering the tables, Faith made sure she and Geary were not at the same table as his niece and nephew. Admittedly, she didn't know much about kids, and they
were cute and all, but those two were like noisy motorboats constantly idling on high.

Before eating, Wendell blessed the food. Shortly after, she learned Geary's dad was pastor of Lake Pine Community Church, a small congregation of people who met in a building located just miles away. She remembered passing the church property, a building that looked like a warehouse of sorts, with an inviting entry and a steeple and cross on top.

She wasn't sure what to think about all that. Sure, she believed in God and everything, but the whole religious thing wasn't exactly big in her family while she was growing up. When she most needed them, the miracles she'd read about never came, leaving her to wonder if God just wasn't that into her.

Regardless, the miracle she most needed at this particular moment was to not embarrass herself entirely while learning to eat these things.

She leaned over to Geary and whispered, “Where's the plates?”

He grinned. “No plates. Just scoop some from the pile in front of you and eat right off the paper.”

She slowly nodded. “Oh—okay.”

Geary scooped a crawfish from the pile. The little freshwater crustacean resembled a miniature lobster. “Here, like this.”

She watched, aware people all around were taking in the scene. As a crawfish newbie, no doubt she was the source of afternoon entertainment.

Geary's sister stood and leaned over the table. She picked through the mound of food and took one of the larger crawfish off the pile. “If you find one and the tail isn't curled, toss it. That means the crawfish was dead when cooked, and you won't want to eat that one.”

Faith nodded weakly and thanked her for the warning, then turned her full attention back to Geary.

“Grab between the thorax and the head, pinch and twist. Peel
the first layer of the shell back. See?” He proudly showed off a piece of white meat sticking out from the shell.

Wendell tucked a paper towel in his shirt like a bib. “Ignore that yellow stuff inside. Just stick the thing in your mouth and go for it.”

Faith felt her stomach go queasy. Wanting to make a good impression, she took the offered crawfish from Geary. She swallowed her nerves—and her reservations—and tentatively pinched and twisted as she was shown. Then she drew the tiny shelled piece to her mouth.

“Now squeeze the tail and suck,” Geary told her.

She followed his instruction and the dab of meat launched into her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed.

The flavor was unfamiliar at best, and a little bit sweet. She couldn't say she disliked the delicacy. She might even learn to love—well, like—the fare that was so embraced in the southern states. And by the people around this table.

She remembered her father, rest his soul, and how he'd been robbed of this eating adventure.

Here's to you, Dad
, she thought, and reached for another crawfish.