Here With Me (24 page)

Once inside the store, she let the
over-attentive salesman take charge and in less than fifteen
minutes, they were back in the car with a new pair of charcoal-gray
dress pants and a blue dress shirt.

“I want to pay for my own clothes,” George
said.

She’d seen the set of his jaw when she’d
handed over her credit card to pay for his clothes and figured that
it galled him to be so dependent upon her. “I owe you money,
anyway. Just think of it as an advance against your salary.”

“Fine. Don’t forget about what you bought the
other day at the Target store.”

It was clear. He didn’t intend to be indebted
to her. That was fine with her. After all, this was business.

It’s not that I don’t want you.

She gripped the steering wheel. It had
stopped being business a long time ago. Now, it was very, very
personal. She started the car and pulled out of the lot. She needed
to get home and get away from him. Before she did something really
stupid—like start begging.

She reached over and turned on the radio.
George sat forward in his seat and stared at the dashboard. “I hope
you like talk radio,” she said. Because if he didn’t, it was too
damn bad. She was done talking.

He nodded and from the look in his eye, he
was intrigued with the discussion about home rule and the impact
that recent noise legislation might have on the fall harvest.
Fifteen minutes later, she parked her car in her grandmother’s
driveway and turned it off, once again blasting them into silence.
She frowned at George when he ran his hand across the dash. What
was he doing?

“Look, I think people will begin to arrive by
five or so,” she said. Oh Lord, how was she going to pull this
off?

“I’ll be ready,” he promised. He touched her
hand. Gently. “It’ll be fine, Melody. We can do this.”

No. She didn’t think so. He wanted her. But
it didn’t matter because for some crazy reason, that wasn’t enough.
“You better get that pulley down to the shed,” she said briskly,
hoping to change the subject. “I imagine Arturo’s back by now and
chomping at the bit to get it installed.”

“I’ll take it to him now,” he said.

Great. That meant he’d be out of the room.
She pushed the trunk-release button with a renewed sense of
confidence. Maybe it would be okay. She’d get herself under control
and he’d never know that with seven simple words, he’d rocked her
world.

It’s not that I don’t want you.

She reached into the backseat for the sacks.
“I’ll take these in for you.” She opened her door at exactly the
same moment the front door opened and Tilly came out of the house.
She was wearing a low-cut, tight, yellow sweater, even tighter
white pants, and when she walked toward the car, on ridiculously
high-heeled white sandals, she wobbled as if she might have gotten
into the wine early.

Melody expected George to grab the pulley and
run but he calmly got out and stood by her side. “Hello, Tilly,”
she said.

Her aunt eyed the packages. “I thought you
had a doctor’s appointment.”

“I did. We did a little shopping
afterwards.”

Tilly swayed toward George. “I love to shop,”
she declared, then she giggled.

Oh, brother. As she had suspected, the woman
was drunk or close to it. “Where’s Grandmother?” Melody asked.

Tilly rolled her eyes. “Killing the fatted
calf in your honor.”

So she and George weren’t the only ones not
crazy about the idea of a dinner party to celebrate their marriage.
“I should probably check on her,” Melody said to George.

“I’ll be happy to keep your husband company,”
Tilly announced.

George’s face never even changed expressions.
“I’ve got to get this pulley to the shed.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Tilly said.

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” he said in a
tone that made it clear that he didn’t think much respect was due,
“you don’t look all that steady in those shoes. I think you better
go on inside.”

He’d said he could handle Tilly and gosh
darn, he could. It was sweetly satisfying to see her aunt’s face
turn red.

“I’ve got better things to do anyway,” Tilly
said, tossing her hair. “Maybe I won’t even come to this damn
party.” Then she hiccuped, ruining the effect of outrage. “For
once,” Tilly added, “Genevieve seems to have beaten me to the
punch.”

“What?” Melody asked.

“Your great-aunt has disappeared into her
room again.”

Melody knew Tilly wasn’t lying. Dionysos and
Hermes hadn’t bounded out of the house when they’d pulled in. If
she’d have been thinking, she’d have realized how odd that was. It
could only mean that they’d taken their positions outside the door
of Aunt Genevieve’s room.

Melody wanted to tell Tilly not to bother to
come, that it wouldn’t be any skin off her back, but she held her
tongue. No doubt her grandmother would be upset with Genevieve’s
behavior but she’d be even more devastated if Tilly and Louis
weren’t there for the party. There’d be too many questions from the
neighbors, too many explanations to have to make.

“I’ve got to go check on Grandmother,” Melody
said.

George nodded, grabbed the box out of the
trunk, and took off for the shed.

When Melody got to the house, she turned
around to look. Tilly still stood next to the car, looking angrier
than Melody had ever seen her.

When George walked down the stairs, he
realized that guests had already started to arrive. Melody,
standing near the front door, talked with a man and woman who
looked to be in their early sixties. George ignored them and
focused on his wife.

She was lovely. She’d put her long hair up on
top of her head and she had on a black dress that hugged her belly
and ended at her ankles. She’d taken off the shoes that showed her
pink toenails and put on some flat-heeled, shiny black shoes with
ribbons on them.

She was the most delicately made woman. And
he desperately wanted to bed her.

She looked up and caught him staring at her.
Her eyes widened and he knew that he had been too slow, that he
hadn’t been able to wipe the longing off his face.

Christ, now what? Nothing had changed from
this afternoon. He couldn’t take her and then leave. He just needed
to somehow, someway, get through this night.

She motioned for him to join her. When he got
close, she said, “George, this is Margaret and Donald Trippert.
They own the next property north of here.” She turned to the older
couple. “This is my husband, George Johnson.”

“It’s a pleasure,” George said, shaking their
hands.

“Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Margaret said.
“Melody has practically been like a daughter to us. In fact,” she
added, smiling, “we always hoped she and our son Mark would pair
up. You know, they dated all through high school. He’ll be
disappointed to know that he’s out of the race.”

“Mark is such a great guy,” Melody said.

What the hell did she mean by that? Was she
just being nice?

Mrs. Trippert beamed. “You know he’s coming
home in September for the class reunion. Maybe the two of you can
get together, catch up on old times.”

“I’d love that,” Melody said.

George kept a smile on his face even though
he suddenly wanted to kill the faceless Mark. Maybe it was Mark who
Melody had been thinking of when she’d asked the doctor if she
could have sex?

Would it be Mark who raised Melody’s child?
Would Baby Girl Jingle call this man Father?

He tugged on Melody’s hand. “I think your
grandmother wants us in there,” he said, nodding toward the dining
room.

Melody motioned for the Tripperts to proceed
them. “Oh, god,” she murmured.

His heart stopped. “The baby?”

“No. Rebecca Fields is here. I bet she’s
Bernard’s date.”

He searched the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find
Rebecca. She wore a bright red dress that ended more than six
inches above her knee and she had on gold shoes that had at least a
three-inch heel.

“She really is beautiful,” Melody said, her
tone almost wistful.

She was, he supposed, but all he could think
about was that Rebecca’s bare knees did nothing for him while
Melody’s made him want to pant like a rabid dog. It wasn’t
fair.

Maybe Mark Trippert liked Melody’s knees,
too. “So, how come you haven’t mentioned this Mark Trippert?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because
I haven’t thought about him in years.”

“It sounds like you were close. Maybe he’d
have liked the opportunity to play husband?” he whispered, feeling
the need to vent a little of his frustration.

She laughed and leaned closer to his ear. Her
breath was warm and sweet and her skin smelled like summer flowers.
“Mark Trippert is an incredibly sweet, handsome man who, last I
heard, was living with his boyfriend in San Francisco. I’m not sure
if his parents don’t know or simply pretend to not know.”

In his time, there’d been men who preferred
men, too. He’d never understood it but never judged either. Now it
just made him incredibly happy.

They’d reached the arched doorway leading to
the piano room. The double doors were open to the balcony outside
and he could see a woman in a long dress in the far corner playing
a harp. There were candles everywhere, flowers poured from vases,
and there were platters and platters of food scattered around the
room.

It made him think about Tilly and her comment
that Pearl was killing the fatted calf. He glanced around the room
and found both Tilly and Louis at the edge of the gathering. Each
had a drink in hand and bored looks on their faces.

Bernard sat next to Rebecca Fields, but her
attention seemed to be focused on the two younger men who hung on
her other side. She was trouble, and he hoped Bernard soon tired of
waiting on her.

“There you are,” Pearl said. She leaned
forward and gave Melody a kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely,
dear. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Grandmother, this is a wonderful
party. I. . .uh, we weren’t expecting all this. You shouldn’t have
gone to all this trouble.”

“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure to be able to
celebrate your marriage and the impending birth of my
great-grandchild.” She turned around and with a flourish clapped
her hands several times. “May I have your attention, please. May I
have your attention.”

It took a moment for the room to quiet down
but soon enough all eyes were on them. He hoped like hell he’d
remembered to pull up the zipper on his trousers.

“My friends know that I’m not one for
speeches,” Pearl said. “But there are some occasions in life that
simply call for it.” She paused and the crowd waited.

“I’m a blessed woman. I have my home, and all
of you as my friends, and my dear family. I have lived a life of
great joy. But little gives me more happiness than to be able to
present my granddaughter, Melody, and her new husband, George.”

The crowd clapped and he could feel Melody
start to shake. “Speech, speech,” someone cried out.

Christ. If she started to talk, she’d
probably blurt out the truth.
Aw, shucks, we’re not really
married.

It might be the thing to get Tilly and Louis
to perk up. Maybe even get Aunt Genevieve out of her room. George
stepped forward. “I suspect I’m even less for speeches than Pearl
Song,” he said. The folks in the room smiled at him. It didn’t make
him any less nervous.

He glanced at Melody and she was smiling at
him, suddenly looking relaxed, as if she were confident that he
could handle this. He stood up straighter. “My wife and I are
grateful to have all of you here tonight to help us celebrate, and
I am thankful for the chance to meet all of you who are important
to her.”

He stepped back and everyone in the room
clapped. Everyone except Tilly. She drained her glass and reached
for the bottle.

Pearl looked pleased. “Thank you, George.
We’re delighted to have you as part of the family. Now, if you’ll
all follow me, we’ll have dinner.”

The next hour went fairly smoothly. Melody
was to his right and Bernard to his left. Bernard generally ignored
him except to pass a dish—his attention being solely focused on
Rebecca Fields, who entertained their end of the table with stories
of mishaps on her television show. George now understood the whole
television thing, having witnessed Pearl watching the news.

It had startled the hell out of him that
first time, thinking that there were small people inside the
screen, but he’d figured it out soon enough and understood it was
some kind of electric signal.

There was much about the future that he
liked. The food was tastier, the choices more. There was almost
immediate access to information, either in the form of a newspaper,
television, or radio. The clothes were softer and the carpet on the
floor as thick as some beds he’d slept in.

Melody leaned toward him just as dessert was
being served. “You handled the speech thing beautifully. Thank
you.” She sounded tired.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine. I guess I’m hoping people have the
good sense to go home early.”

But Pearl had other ideas. Ten minutes after
the dessert plates and the fancy coffee cups were cleared, she rose
from her place at the head of the table. Within seconds, the
chatter ceased. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal,” she said. “Now,
if you’ll join me in the living room, the bride and groom will have
the first dance.”

Chairs were pushed back and napkins thrown on
the table. Men loosened their ties and their wives slipped their
shoes back on. Everyone seemed to be in motion. Everyone but him.
He couldn’t move.

Hannah had loved to dance. And whether it was
a crowded Friday night social, a noisy Saturday afternoon chivaree,
or an intimate evening in their own home, he’d indulged her.