Good Wood (19 page)

“Lord Almighty, Ma! Mason’s cholesterol is already high as it is!” I scooped a finger full of her homemade whipped topping into my mouth. Her gravy might suck, but sweets were her forte. I went back for a second helping and she batted away my offending finger. “Are you donating some of these to a shelter or something?”

“Two of them. But the rest are for us. Mason likes coconut, Mac likes French silk. You always pout if I don’t make pecan. And the kids all want cherry.” She licked the spoon in her hand and tossed it in the sink. I gave her a big smile. There was no doubt where I got my need to feed the world. “And I always make a couple extra cherry pies for Joe.”

“Joe?” I tried to hide my horror. “Is he coming?”

“No. I called to invite him, but he had plans. He is actually going out to his sister’s in Driftwood. It’s good to hear he is not alone during the holiday. I figured you could drop them off on your way home.” I was glad her back was to me, because I felt the color drain from my face.

Robin came through the back door with two casserole carriers just in time to hear me say “Gosh. What a sweet idea, Mom. But I have no idea where Joe lives.”

“He lives right by the Sweetish Hill Bakery on West Sixth.” Robin chimed in with a sly smile. “You know where that’s at, right?”

“Mmmhmmm.” I ground my teeth together and she wiggled her eyebrows up and down at me.

I chopped my stuffing ingredients a little more aggressively, figuring I’d find a way to weasel out of the doomed errand by the end of the day. The last thing I needed was to deal with Joe. Focused hard on my plan to expand my business, I’d finally saved up enough to purchase a second truck. With Stacy’s assistance, we’d sweet talked our way into a great lot on South Congress. I’d finally be able to stop working doubles, though I’d have to give up my favorite employee. In a few short weeks, Sanchez would be head chef of the second Wrapgasmic truck, and I was certain he’d do me proud. He’d be working nights in SoCo with a whole new crew and he and I were already training his replacement for the day shift. I was sad to lose him, but I couldn’t trust my second location to anyone else.

Stacy had been busy as well, rocking the webpage and the social media sites. Our weekend appearances on Sixth and SoCo had people talking. A lot of the guys from the hotel jobsite had also helped to spread the word about our little mobile restaurant, and some had even brought their families out to the food park to try it. We unveiled a ‘Turkey Dinner’ wrap and Austinites clamored for more. Just the week before, I’d been interviewed by The Austin Chronicle.

It’d been a little awkward, since such a large part of the company’s story was wrapped up in my recent past. Thus it was potentially embarrassing and I really wanted to keep my private life private. When Draven and I split, everyone in the restaurant got a front row seat to our personal lives. The humiliation surrounding his affair was one of the reasons I’d been so eager to sell and leave town. It wasn’t the primary reason, though. Deep down, I was afraid of him and just how far he might be willing to go to hurt me.

When The Chronicle first approached me, I turned them down flat. Stacy had an absolute fit. She argued that the interview was good for the business and told me it wasn’t just about my success anymore, but everyone’s at Wrapgasmic. Plus, she pointed out, if I told the story I could tell it exactly like I wanted it told.

Joe’s absence had definitely made focusing easier at such a hectic time. When Graham mentioned he’d told Joe to take some time off, I’d tried to plead his case. Graham stood firm, insisting Joe would be alright financially and that he needed to ‘get his head out of his ass’. He promised to bring him back for the finish work after Thanksgiving. There’d been no more late night appearances on my doorstep and I hadn’t seen Joe at all in the past month.

In less than thirty minutes, I unexpectedly turned the conversation back to him.

“Mom, the kitchen remodel was a brilliant idea. I love it! It’s so much more functional now.”

“Isn’t it? That Joe’s a sweetheart. To do all this for me, just for cooking him some casseroles…” She shook her head. “Poor baby. His parents must be the most heartless people alive, disowning him like that. I’ve never met a kinder-hearted boy.”

I’d been sipping my sweet tea and nearly choked on it.

“Joe did all this?” I took in the kitchen with new eyes.

“He sure did. It was a total surprise. The design is genius isn’t it? Mac and Mason let him in when I was visiting Aunt Joyce in Boca Raton right after Daddy passed.” Her brown eyes looked a little misty under her salt and pepper bangs. “They say he did
all
of it. They just helped move appliances and hang the cupboards. Can you imagine? I was only gone for a week and I came home to this.”

“He even did the floors?” I looked down at the tile that had replaced the hideous linoleum of my youth. Mac wandered in to pick at the relish tray.

“Yep. He’s a hell of a worker. I worry about him. A lot. I keep hoping he’ll meet someone nice. Settle down again.” She shook her head in a manner that made it evident she didn’t expect a miracle.

“Joe?” Mac looked at me for confirmation. I nodded and took another sip of my tea.

“He’s pissing away his real talent. Look at this place. Every single one of these cabinets, the molding, all of it, custom built and carved. He’s a master level woodworker and he’s sanding molding and framing doors. Now, I’m not saying that everyone is a studly framer like myself. And I’m not saying Joe can’t do it well. But Joe working in framing is like having Michelangelo whitewash your fence. It’s bullshit. I told him he needs to get back to it the other day when he showed up at the dart tournament. He mentioned that he started doing a little carving again. So I guess that’s something.” I nodded.

“He made me a spice box for my birthday. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“He what?” Mac whipped his head in my direction and nearly dropped his half eaten tray.

“Hold on, I’ll show you.” I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and found the pictures I took on my birthday. As he flipped through them, Mac’s expression was hard to read. The gravy was bubbling, and I moved to the stove to tend to it. When I turned back to him, he and my phone were gone.

“Mason, come here. Look at this!” I heard him call, and I assumed he’d gone off for show and tell. A couple of minutes later Mac returned with Mason. They were both eyeing me as they mowed down the relish tray.

I wiped my hands on the dish towel and glanced from Mac to Mason. “What?”

“Nothin’. Here.’” Mason shrugged, handing me back my phone.

The kids kept us entertained at the dinner table, knocking over glasses of juice and feeding food to the dog. Mac’s son was with his mother, who was on a rampage about Mac and Stacy. She was trying to take him back to court yet again to add a morality clause to the custody agreement. If it went through, Stacy couldn’t be at Mac’s from eight p.m. till six a.m. when Malcolm Jr. was over. I wondered if he’d counter-sue, since her bedroom may as well have had a drive-thru sign over the door.

As strange as Stacy’s presence at Thanksgiving dinner was, it took a lot of heat off of me. Granny Hildebrandt had a field day pointing out the near ten year age difference between Mac and Stacy. I felt sorry for them. Granny loved to pick on the underdog and I was feeling pretty done with it. I tried to be respectful, but ended up dropping a couple of snarky remarks in regards to Daddy’s birthdate in relation to her wedding day to Grandaddy. Granny muttered something garbled and wandered off to smoke. Mac roared with laughter and Stacy shot me a look of gratitude.

Over dessert, the twins prattled on about work. The hotel renovation was over halfway done, and Mac and Mason both were talking about taking a trip to Florida in January when it was all over. Mason and Robin wanted to take the kids and do Disney, but Mac and Stacy were pushing for Key West. When I boldly suggested Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum break up their lifelong bromance and take separate vacations, they both looked at me like I was insane. Then Robin suggested I come along.

“Lay on the beach. Meet some cabana boys. Use poor judgment.” She suggested as she sipped her wine and Stacy nodded in fervent agreement. With the cold and wet weather that had recently reared its ugly head, it was tempting. But I shook my head. I just had way too much to do and the idea of being a fifth wheel gave me the blues.

After we cleared the table and the dishwasher was loaded, Mom surprised us with a little slide show she’d thrown together. It seemed Robin had taught her about scanning photos when she’d bought her some scrapbooking software. Granny’s commentary about how pretty I used to be before the ‘defilement’ was annoying, but seeing all the old pictures touched me. When a photo of me at my wedding popped up, I sat back in surprise. It didn’t make me sad to see it, just a little embarrassed.

“Bootiful!” my little nephew exclaimed, and I gave him a big kiss on the cheek.”

“I wish we could have been there. Daddy would have loved to walk you down the aisle.” Mom murmured, and I felt crappy all over again for eloping.

Even the twins got a little choked up at some of the pictures, mostly the ones of Dad. Time had worked over my memories of him, and seeing his wide grin on the big screen TV seared through my protective walls. When we got to one of him at the restaurant pretending to arm-wrestle Bobby Flay, we all laughed and it definitely lightened the mood.

The next picture to pop up made my stomach hit the floor. It took me a second to understand exactly what I was seeing. Mason stood dressed in a tux raising a champagne flute. I saw Mac seated off to the left, a genuine grin on his face. Mason was turned away from Mac, toasting Joe and a beautiful fresh-faced blonde in a wedding gown. The happy couple smiled back at my brother. At first, I found it impossible to focus on anything but the bride. She was petite, with glowing skin and flawless features. Finally, I forced my eyes away from her to look at Joe. The joy emanating off of him was hard to witness. It hadn’t been my imagination after all; grief truly had transformed him into a different person. I immediately excused myself. Between Daddy and Joe, I needed some fresh air. It was dark out by then, so I started to pack up my knives.

When I had all of my things together, I tossed on my thick hoodie and put up my hood. I was halfway out the door when Mom appeared in the kitchen door.

“Don’t forget Joe’s pie!” She drawled, making her way to me. She handed me two of them. Mason turned up about that time.

“I don’t have his address, Ma.” I shook my head and tried to give her back the pies.

“Here, I’ll text it to you.” Mason had his phone out before I could open my mouth.

“Where are you going?” Mac wandered in and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“Joe’s. She’s taking him
pie!”
Mason snorted without looking up from his phone.

“Like hell she is!” Mac gave me a look of warning. Mason turned to Mac and they had one of their weird silent psychic twin conversations. Apparently Mac won their debate, because Mason shrugged and shook his head. Mac turned back to me and raised a questioning eyebrow. I pulled an annoyed face and wondered exactly what Stacy had said to him. I knew it couldn’t have been much or he would have already given me the third degree.

“You take them to him then.” I shot back, practically tossing them on the counter. “I just want to go home.”

The clatter of Granny’s walker on the tile announced her presence before we saw her.

“I’d take that boy some pie. Yes, indeed!”
Granny called and Mac looked mortified.

At that point I would have agreed to anything just to get away from Mac’s suspicious glances and Granny’s inappropriate comments. Reality hit a couple of minutes later when I realized I actually had to go to Joe’s. If I didn’t, my mother would find out and I was still trying to earn Brownie points with her. I knew the wedding dig was unintentional, but she had a PhD in Guilt Trips, and executed them effortlessly.

The slick downtown streets were practically deserted at eight thirty. I wasn’t surprised; rain in Texas was often treated like a full blown blizzard. I had to pull over to put the address in my GPS for Joe’s place. I could have done it before I left but I didn’t want to chance someone flagging me down. The GPS was still doing its search when it was interrupted by my phone ringing. I was ready to send it to voicemail until I saw the caller ID- Dan Franklin.

When I had to sell the restaurant and leave town, I had to leave all of my friends behind. The entire time I’d been back in Austin, not one of them had been in touch. Out of all of them, I’d been closest to Dan. He was the gay older brother I had always wanted. We’d bonded instantly, being that we were both southern transplants to the Pacific Northwest. Slipping my Bluetooth ear piece in, I clicked the button to answer the call.

“Dan?”

“Hey there, sugar! Happy Turkey Day! How you doin’?” His thick Louisiana accent was like a velour blanket on a chilly evening.

“Good. I just got done with the family extravaganza. It makes me glad that we only do this kind of thing a few times a year.”

“I hear ya. It’s a joy to get the whole family together, but I find myself needing a couple of bottles of wine during and a day or so of peace and quiet afterwards.” For the first time since leaving Seattle, I found myself nostalgic for the town. I missed the blue water of The Sound, the craziness of Pike’s Market, and Dan’s friendly face. The gentle lilt of his voice was like a balm on my jangled nerves.

“How have things been out there?”

“Good. I got a new job since I couldn’t stand being in the festering cesspool after you left. As a matter of fact, that is part of what I called you about. I have some good news and some distasteful news. Which would you like first?” Something about the way he said it filled me with dread.

“Go ahead and give me the bad news, Dan.” My GPS beeped letting me know that I could start my journey. Pulling out into the light traffic I headed towards Joe’s.

“Well, I think I’ll send you the bad news on an email, sweetie. It’s more of a visual that loses something in the translation. Besides, it’s a holiday. We should focus on the positive and honey, this is a big fat positive.” The grin I could hear in his voice lifted my heavy heart a bit.