Asking for Trouble (19 page)

“There will be,” Theresa insisted.

“If there is,” Sheila continued after a heavy sigh, “then you'll live up to your end of this deal.”

“But . . .” Morgan felt the fight drain out of her. “This is ridiculous.” But she was withering under the Theresa's piercing gaze. Sometimes surrender was the best option. “Fine, but Theresa, do not say you weren't warned. And I want this on record.” She pointed a stern finger at Gage's mother even as her heart screamed at her to walk away. And not dare hope . . . “Not a word about last night or that I uttered the word
shower
. You don't mention marriage or grandchildren or weddings to anyone outside this room. One word, even to your husband, and the deal's off. I have witnesses.” She motioned to Angela, who looked as if she wanted nothing to do with this part of the agreement.

“We'll want some say in the event,” Sheila interceded before Morgan could change her mind.

“Of course.” Theresa nodded once as if they'd created an accord for world peace. “I want location and menu approval, and I get to do the guest list. You can choose the dress, the colors, and the theme.”

“We choose attendants and their gowns.” Sheila ignored Morgan's repressed squeal of panic.

“Flowers and cake are mine.”

“Chocolate?” Morgan looked at her sideways. Damn if the woman didn't already know her weaknesses.

“Of course. It brought you together, didn't it?”

“That's a mention.” Morgan pounced on the opportunity. “She mentioned last night, Angela, you heard her.”

But Angela shook her head, held up her hands. Sheila shrugged. “Sorry, Morgan, but I'm with her on this.”

“You should be married with a brood of your own,” Angela added. “Besides, I haven't been to a wedding since my own daughter got married.” She grinned over at Theresa. “Need an assistant?”

Morgan leaned her elbows on the counter and hid her face in her hands. What had she gotten herself into?

“Dammit. Hey, Morgan.”

At her brother's shout, Morgan looked up from scooping fruit salad onto her paper plate. “What?”

Nathan beat his cell phone against his palm. “Can I use your computer? I'm not getting Internet.”

“Go ahead.” She took a seat at the picnic table between Sheila and Liza. “Anyone seen Gage? I thought Gina proclaimed work officially finished fifteen minutes ago.” Not a moment too soon, as everyone looked as exhausted as Morgan felt. She wouldn't be surprised if people started passing out in their plates.

“He had one more thing to do.” Sheila knocked her shoulder into Morgan's as she waved a fried chicken leg in the air. “Said it was a surprise.”

“Yeah, haven't had enough of those lately.” Thinking of his last surprise brought a smile to her face.

The reward for a full day's work had been a fried chicken feast put together by Angela and Theresa, who chose to work in the kitchen while the rest of the house came together as if Hermione Granger had waved her magic wand.

“I can't believe you and the construction crew came,” Morgan said to Kent as he sat across from her. She'd never be able to express her gratitude. After all the work he'd already put in at the center, here he was on his day off, helping her. She'd made it a point to learn each of their names this afternoon.

“Ever try to say no to Gina?” Kent arched a brow. He plowed into the macaroni salad as if he hadn't eaten in a month. “Girl makes Martha Stewart look like a slacker.”

Liza's mouth twisted as she plucked apart her buttermilk biscuit.

“You were good with Lydia today,” Morgan told her as she stabbed an errant blueberry. “Made her feel special.”

Liza shrugged. “I just braided and curled her hair. Put on some blush. No big deal.”

“It is for a little girl who likes to feel pretty. Trust me, Liza. You made her very happy.”

“Agreed.” Sheila popped an olive into her mouth, specks of blue and red paint dotting her face and hair. “Hey, Kent, any chance I can come by the site next week and see the blueprints for the center? I'd like to see what the space allocation is.”

“There's some left to play with, including that lot behind the building,” Kent said. “I'm there by eight every morning.”

“Gah.” Sheila shuddered. “Make it noon and we'll talk.”

“What are you thinking?” Morgan asked her sister.

“Depends on whether you're open to some new ideas,” Sheila said. “I know you have things on a schedule and all mapped out on that cell phone of yours—”

Morgan didn't need another reminder of how difficult she'd made things for herself or how frustrating her self-sufficiency must be for her family. “I'm working on being flexible, Sheila, but it won't happen overnight. Out with it.”

“Well.” Sheila gave a pointed look at Liza. “I'm wondering if we might have the space for a mini-spa for girls. You know, get their nails done, pretty bows and makeup and stuff. Like you said, every little girl likes to feel pretty, especially when they're sick. Maybe a gaming room for the boys? Or a woodworking shop. We could bring in people like Kent to teach some classes.”

“Not sure how good I'd be at manicures,” Kent joked.

“We did plan on some playrooms, but maybe that's too typical.” Morgan tapped a finger against her lips as she smiled at Kent. “What about having a social center, you know, arcade, spa, art studio. Different little stores geared for kids, for teens, since we'll have all different ages. Like a mall for center patients.”

“Exactly.” Sheila snapped her fingers. “Activities that spark their interests, let them stop thinking about being sick.”

“I love it. Liza, what do you think?” Morgan asked.

Another shrug.

“You and Drew could start a club,” Morgan muttered. “Think she's up to helping, Sheila?”

“She could be if she stopped feeling sorry for herself.”

“I'm not feeling sorry for myself.” But the hurt look on Liza's face said otherwise. “It's just—”

“Hard to live up to your sister's overabundance of confidence and determination?” Sheila nudged Morgan to sit back. “Try it when she's five years younger than you are. Then you'll have something to bitch about.”

Morgan's mouth dropped open at Sheila's confession. “Hey.”

“When she was six she gave away all of the Barbie dolls, and by all I mean even
mine.
The Dream House, the pink convertible—hell, even Ken didn't survive the purge because this one heard about a fire at a local day care and they'd lost all their toys.”

“That was almost twenty years ago.” Morgan tried to laugh, but Sheila had hit on something. Liza's frown was easing.

“Or what about the time you went on a hunger strike until Nathan promised to take Ellie Munford to her high school prom?”

“She'd had a crush on Nathan for years,” Morgan protested. “And you agreed with me at the time. You even helped her pick out her dress.”

Sheila waved a hand in the air. “That's beside the point. Prisoners go on hunger strikes. Not Tremaynes.”

“Not like I couldn't afford to miss a few meals.” Morgan snorted. It had been one of the few diets she hadn't tried.

“My point is, Liza”—Sheila leaned over Morgan as if she wasn't there—“you have to find your own way in life, and wallowing in the fact you aren't someone else or that you don't do things the way they do isn't going to get you anywhere. Put the talents you do have to use. Like working for us.”

“Or working for her,” Morgan corrected automatically. Okay. Morgan's brow knitted. Where had that come from?

“Exactly.” Sheila nodded. “Wait. What?”

“Your idea. Your project.” And the more Morgan thought about it, the more sense it made. Given what might be coming down the road, given that there was every chance she couldn't fix the mistakes she'd made, she had to have a contingency plan for the foundation.

If she was wrong, then it was time Morgan shared the responsibilities of the family's foundation. “I think Liza should be your consultant on this project. She's not that much older than the kids we'll be treating, and you said I needed to ask for help more often. Let's consider this step one.” She stood up and picked up her plate, but she bent down and whispered, “Now you get both of them. Oh, and Liza? If at some point you could show me how you get your eyebrows perfectly plucked, I'd love a lesson.”

She tossed her plate in the garbage and made a quick round of thank-yous before stopping beside a super sleepy Brandon. “Hey, bud.” She bent down next to where he rested his head on his arms. His eyes drooped despite his determination to stay awake. “I think maybe you need to call it a night.”

“Want cake,” he mumbled, even as he reached for her. Morgan hefted him into her arms, patted his back as she smiled at her father and Gage's dad as they stopped their discussion on the downgrade in property values to say good night to Brandon.

“Cake,” Brandon said again.

“We'll save you a piece for breakfast. Come on.” She carried him inside, marveling at the finished and polished banister as she inhaled the vanilla-scented paint on the walls on her way upstairs.

Brandon's new room was everything she could have hoped for and more. The Wild West theme included a sheriff's office made out of a giant moving box. The dresser, desk, and bookcase had all been distressed to match the Old West feel. Cowboy-and-Indian fabric draped the windows on either side of the bed. She popped off his shoes and set them on the giant sheriff's badge throw rug. Drawing the bright red sheet up to his chin, she kissed him on the forehead before he rolled onto his side and dropped into exhausted sleep as only an exhausted nine-year-old can.

The room couldn't have been more perfect. Love was indeed in the details: in the desert landscape and ghost town buildings Sheila had painted on the far wall. The year her sister had spent studying art abroad had been worth the months Morgan spent missing her. To be able to create this perfect fantasyland for a little boy was a gift.

Closing the door, she headed downstairs and stepped onto the silent front porch, grateful for a few quiet moments to remember this moment—seeing Gage like this, hot, sweaty, still working to make her home safe for her kids, her family, knowing when he turned around that smile would be on those beautiful lips of his. She squeezed her eyes shut as if taking a mental picture, memorizing this sight, these feelings that wouldn't stop growing, for when she had to say good-bye.

“So what's the surprise?” she asked Gage as she hugged her arms around her waist and walked over to him. He stepped aside to reveal the tire swing knotted to one of the branches. “Oh.” Morgan's heart flipped like a dolphin in the summer sea. “Oh, Gage.”

“Might be too big for Kelley and Brandon, but they can grow into it. If you want, I can put up a smaller one on the other—”

Morgan threw her arms around his neck and hung on, squeezing him so hard she heard him laugh as his arms went around her. He lifted her in the air.

“You and tire swings are the oddest combination. But nice to know I know how to get to you.”

“It's perfect,” she whispered, not wanting this day to end. “This day has been perfect.”

“I'm thinking tonight might be, too.” He tucked his chin to his chest and grinned. “I snuck off to the drug store at lunch.”

Morgan laughed as he lowered her feet to the ground. She turned to look at the loving transformation of the house. Her grandmother, her mother, would have loved it. Morgan loved it. The pale blue siding, the eggshell white shutters and trim. There wasn't a nail to be hammered, a board to be sanded. Even the yard had been replanted with bunches of pansies and daisies and still-to-bloom camellias. It was the picture-perfect-postcard house she'd always known it could be.

“I'll remember this day for the rest of my life, Gage.”

Her heart had never been so full.

Or in such danger of breaking.

***

Morgan's perfect day screeched to a halt when Gage's cell phone vibrated.

“Boy, you two really are made for one another.” Sheila glared when Gage pulled out his phone. “Honest to God, one weekend without a cell phone wouldn't kill either of you.”

“Given my job, it could,” Gage said with a grin, then shot Morgan an apologetic smile. “I've put them off all day. I need to take this.”

“Sure, yeah. Of course.” Suddenly chilled, Morgan shivered. “I'm going to grab a sweater.”

“Wait, Morgan.” Sheila ran up the stairs behind her, caught her arm. “I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you letting me help more with the center.”

“Just mark it on your calendar as the day you were right.” Morgan smiled and tugged her arm free.

“And, um, that I won't let you down.”

Where was this coming from? “You can't. I know where you live. Speaking of which.” Now that Sheila reminded her. “What do you think about Dad wanting to sell the house?”

“You first.” Sheila leaned against the railing. “You seemed to be the one having the most issues with it.”

Morgan watched Gage pace while he talked on the phone. After one night she'd never look at her home the same way. Never not see him in her bed, never not remember him sitting at her desk drinking coffee, welcoming her with a warm sleepy smile. She couldn't imagine how her father had managed this long. “I think Dad should do what he needs to do. It's not the same without her.”

“You're okay with it, then? Because Nathan is, and it might help ease Dad's mind if we tell him sooner rather than later.”

“Agreed. Let me get that sweater and we can do it now.”

“Great,” Sheila said in a loud voice. “I'm going to get some cake.”

Morgan's brow furrowed. “I don't think you needed to announce it to the entire yard, but have at it.” As if a single calorie would dare adhere to Sheila's DNA let alone her hips. All Morgan had to do was think about cake and the scale ticked up five pounds. “Oh, Nathan. You're still in here?”

Her brother held up his hand, pointed to his phone as he spun on her desk chair to face her. “Yeah, I'll meet you at the gym at seven tomorrow morning. Sorry.” He clicked his phone off and turned off her screen. “Took longer than I thought. Did I hear Sheila say she was having cake?”

“Yes. We thought we'd tell Dad we're okay with him selling the house.”

Nathan flinched and looked away as he got to his feet. “Today was a good day. Mom would have loved it.”

“Yeah, she would have.” For the first time since last summer, the thought of her mother didn't arrive on a wave of pain. When Morgan headed into the dining room, she saw the jewelry box and its contents lying on the table.

“Feeling nostalgic about Granny?” Nathan asked as she scooped up the pieces and dropped them into the box, then closed the lid and headed into the bedroom.

“Something like that. I'll be back out in a second.” She heard the door close as she placed the box on her dresser. More and more people depended on her every day. She couldn't let them down. Whatever it cost her in the end would be worth it. She hoped.

“No, Monday is soon enough.” Gage's voice drifted up through the open window. Morgan angled the shutter open. “Take a day off, for Christ's sake, Bouncer. The list will wait. No.” Morgan frowned at the long pause. “No, we've been watching the papers and the media outlets. None of us has seen anything that looks like a Nemesis trigger. Maybe he's taking the weekend off. You do the same. That's an order. Yeah. You, too.”

Morgan was about to close the window when she saw her father approach Gage.

“You look like you could use this.” Jackson handed him a beer. “Work won't leave you alone?”

“My overattentiveness to the Nemesis case has rubbed off on my team. Doesn't help we're working against a clock.”