Hold on My Heart (3 page)

Libby wasn’t pining away for a diamond ring or a white picket fence in the suburbs. She didn’t need a proposal from Seth. But she did need the promise of a future, something to be certain of and to cling to when everything else seemed unstable and out of reach. But once she’d lost her job, her fair-weather boyfriend became decidedly vague about their relationship. And then he asked for her half of the rent.

It was Seth’s idea for her to leave Chicago and stay with her parents until she found a new job. He was traveling all the time for work anyway, and so it made sense. Sort of. But she’d been home a month now, and he didn’t seem to be missing her all that much.

“Mother, can I get you some roast?” Libby’s father asked Nana, nudging Libby back to the moment.

Nana Hamilton spread her dark green napkin across her tiny lap. “If you could find a bit that’s not too overcooked, that would be nice. Beverly’s roasts are a little tough.”

Libby’s grandmother was hard of hearing, or at least pretended to be so she could say whatever she wanted to in a dramatic stage whisper and then feign embarrassment when she was overheard. Not that she was any gentler when speaking directly to someone. “Ginny, that extra weight you’ve put on won’t come off the same day the baby is born, you know. Maybe you should put back some of those potatoes.”

“Thank you for your concern, Nana.” Ginny put another scoop of potatoes on her plate, clanking the spoon against the side.

“Ginny has been taking great care of herself, Nana,” Ben said dutifully. “And I hope our baby girl looks just like her.”

Libby’s father passed the platter laden with beef. “So, the baby is a she? I thought it was a boy.”

“We thought so last week.” Ben nodded. “But this morning, Ginny decided he was a girl.”

“I had a dream she was a girl,” Ginny explained.

“Can’t you get a picture taken so you know what it is?” Nana asked.

“I want to be surprised,” Ginny answered.

“She’ll be surprised, all right,” Nana fake-whispered to Libby. “That baby’s going to weigh seven pounds, and she’s gained fifty.”

“I dreamt all three of you were boys,” said Libby’s mother, talking over Nana. “Except for the one time I dreamt Marti was a baby ostrich.
That
was disturbing.”

Her comment was interrupted by a crash, a bang, and a clatter as the third Hamilton daughter burst through the front door. She wore cargo pants and a gray T-shirt. She was flushed and giggling and dragging a scruffy young man behind her.

Libby turned to Ginny and rolled her eyes.

Ginny nodded in silent agreement.

Marti’s boy toys were like snowflakes. No two were exactly alike, and they seemed to drift away just as silently as they arrived. This soul mate du jour was mangier than most, with long black hair, ripped jeans, and a vivid green dragon tattoo clawing its way up his left forearm.

“Oh, Mom! I’m so sorry we’re late!” Marti said, her multiple necklaces swaying as she bent over to kiss her father’s cheek. “Hi, Daddy. Hi, everybody. This is Dante.”

The newcomer raised his tattooed arm in greeting and smiled a lopsided smile. “Hello, family.”

Marti nudged him into the chair next to Libby. “Here, baby. Sit in this one.” She grabbed an extra chair from the corner and plopped down next to him, her auburn hair swirling around her face. Marti was twenty-two, looked twelve, and acted somewhere in between. “So, did we miss anything?”

“Did you lose your phone again? You might have called,” Libby’s mother said. “I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry. I meant to call, but…” Marti stole a glance at Dante and giggled again. “We lost track of time.”

Ginny let out a faint grunt of distaste. Ben patted her hand.

Libby’s mother pursed her lips for a minute, and her shoulders lifted a fraction before she said, “Well, we’re all here now. Welcome to our home… Dante, is it?”

He nodded.

“Well, Dante, help yourself to some roast beef.”

Marti shook her head. “Oh, no thanks. We’ll just have the salad. Dante is vegan.”

A hush fell over Libby’s meat-and-potato-loving family.

“Did she say he’s a heathen?” Nana said. She didn’t even pretend to whisper that.

“He’s also a locavore, but we’ll make do with what’s here,” Marti added.

“He’s a loca—what?” Libby’s father asked, shaking his head as if it might rattle.

“A locavore, Daddy. It’s someone who only eats foods that are grown locally.”

“That’s… interesting,” Ben said.

Libby exchanged another eye roll with Ginny. This guy wouldn’t last through an entire meal at this house.

Her father waved around an inordinately large bite of meat before stuffing it into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing he asked, “So, Dante, did you two meet at school?”

The dragon guy grinned. “Hardly.”

“We met at that medieval banquet I went to a couple of weeks ago.” Marti turned toward her mother. “I told you about it. Remember? Dante was my jousting champion. I tied a scarf on his lance, just like in the movies. It was so romantic.” Her delicate cheeks blushed rosy pink, and she looked back at him like he was a fluffy kitten, a yummy donut, and a million bucks all rolled into one.

He leaned over and kissed her with a loud, juicy smack.

Ginny let out another huff of dismay as Libby just stared.

Her father cleared his throat. “Well, Dante, that’s… also very interesting. So where do you go to college?”

Dante took a bite of salad and talked around it. “Life is my education. I don’t need college.”

Three of Libby’s family members simultaneously choked on their food. To almost anyone with Hamilton DNA, there was no higher calling than academia. Libby’s father had taught history for thirty years at Monroe High School, and her mother and Ginny both taught there now. Libby was decidedly the black sheep for choosing corporate America over the blackboard jungle.

“Everyone needs college,” her mother said, aghast.

“Could we hold off on the inquisition for a bit and just enjoy this dinner, please?” Marti said.

Dante glanced around and finally seemed to realize his mistake. “I don’t have anything against college. I tried it for a while, but it wasn’t a good fit for me.”

“Dante is a jousting instructor,” Marti said. “And he’s studying filmmaking, just not in a formal program.”

Libby knew if Seth was there, he’d bet ten bucks that meant the kid sat around all day watching movies and talking about how he could make them better. She took a bite of roast beef and was glad to not be a locavore.

“So, Ginny,” Marti said, clearly intent on redirecting the conversation, “are you sure there’s only one baby in there? You’re looking kind of wide.”

Ginny wiped a bit of gravy off the front of her shirt with a napkin. “I have
not
gained too much weight. Someday you and Libby will be pregnant, and you’ll see—”

“All right. All right. Let’s not start bickering.” Their father tapped his fingers against the tabletop, drumroll style. “Now that you’re all here, I have an announcement to make.”

Libby glanced at her mother, taking a mental “before the homicidal breakdown” snapshot. She’d hoped her father might hold off on this grand proclamation until after dessert. There was strawberry shortcake in the kitchen, and she really wanted some, but she could hardly sit there eating it while her mother wept. Could she?

Her father cleared his throat again. “Since my retirement last year, it’s no secret I’ve been floundering a bit. There’s only so much golf a man can play, especially since I don’t particularly like golf.”

He seemed to be waiting for them to chuckle. Open with a joke and all that. Only no one laughed, even his own mother, so he plowed forward, making eye contact with each of them to ensure their rapt
attention. “I have found myself a project. A pretty big one, and you are all invited to help me with it, if you’d like to. Or not. It’s your choice.”

“What are you talking about, Peter?” Beverly prompted.

He took a sip of water. Libby saw the liquid quaking in the glass as he set it back on the table.

“Beverly, kids, Mom, I bought the old Mason schoolhouse, and I’m going to turn it into a vintage, turn-of-the-century ice-cream parlor.”

A
whoosh
of stunned silence swept through the room. The air around Libby felt thick with their disbelief. She looked at their stunned faces, her gaze finally landing on her mother.

Beverly’s expression blanked even as a telltale flush crept up her peach-hued skin. She touched her throat with one hand. “You did… what?”

“I bought the old Mason schoolhouse, and I’m turning it into an ice-cream parlor.” He said it with a hint of defiance this time, as if saying it louder and faster made it seem like a better idea. “I have all the details worked out. Well, most of them. And I’ve asked Libby to help me,” he added with far too much enthusiasm.

“I haven’t said yes.” Libby shook her head.

Her father frowned at her lack of solidarity.

She couldn’t help him. She really wanted that shortcake.

Beverly blinked rapidly. “I see.” Her voice was honey-soft, but her skin was turning a mottled sort of fire-ant red.

“Which place?” Nana asked.

“The Mason schoolhouse, over near the lake.” He smiled tentatively at his wife. “I didn’t want to tell you beforehand, Bev, because I wanted it to be a surprise. So… surprise!” His voice was strained with painfully false glee.

Libby shook her head at his simplicity. He was playing the dense card, pretending it had never occurred to him that her mother would be upset. Then he could act wounded and victimized when she got angry. It was textbook passive-aggressive. Nana had taught him that.

“That’s amazing, Daddy,” Marti said. “What a fabulous idea. Everybody loves ice cream.”

“It’s a crazy idea, Marti,” Ginny scoffed. “Daddy’s not a businessman. And the economy right now is terrible.” She turned to her father. “Do you mean that old dump on Arbor Drive? There’s nothing down there but empty buildings. No one will go down there for ice cream.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Virginia.” Her father pointed at her with one hand while gripping the arm of his chair with the other. “The city council wants to renovate the entire area. They’re adding a bike path and a new boat launch. That whole stretch along the lake will become just like the old Atlantic City boardwalk.”

Like the fish that got away, every time her father told this story, it grew in size. There was just no telling where actual fact stopped and his optimistic vision began.

“The first businesses in, like mine, will anchor the whole development. There is even talk of bringing back the old merry-go-round that was there in the forties.”

Yep, that was a new twist.

Her father smiled more broadly now. “Isn’t it exciting, Bev?”

A thin white line had appeared around the edge of her mother’s lips. Her eyes were like a doll’s, round and unseeing. “Exciting? Peter, what do you mean you bought it?”

He rolled his shoulders. “I used some of our savings, and I bought it.”

Her fingers fluttered around her throat again, and Libby felt real sympathy for her mother.

“How much of our savings?” Her voice was as thin as smoke.

“Not all of it. Just a little, and well… Libby’s wedding fund.”

A sizable boulder fell off a cliff and landed smack on the top of Libby’s head. “My wedding fund? That’s what you used?”

She hadn’t even known her parents had a “Libby’s wedding fund,” but the fact that her father just spent it on that fossil of a building showed a distinct lack of his confidence in her ability to find a husband. She was only twenty-eight. There was still time.

“Her wedding fund?” Marti gasped. “What about my wedding fund? Is there still one for me?”

Libby’s father waved his hand in her sister’s direction. “You’re only twenty-two years old, Marti. We’ll have plenty of time later to save up for your wedding fund.”

“Um, not really.”

Everyone’s gaze swung to Marti, and that
whoosh
of silence came back for another pass.

Marti flushed a shiny pink and glanced at Dante. He nodded and smiled, still eating his salad as if this were normal dinner conversation.

With a girlish giggle, she held up her left hand, showing off a chunky, green stone set on a thick, tarnished band. Somewhere a Cracker Jack box was missing its prize. “Dante and I are getting married.”

“Your family is losing it,” Ben murmured to Ginny.

“That’s not funny, Martha,” Beverly said. “We’re discussing your father and this building he bought.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny,” Marti said. “It’s supposed to be awesome.”

Dante leaned in and hugged her to his side. “It
is
awesome, babe.”

Libby’s father drew in a long, labored breath and pointed his finger at the interloper at his table. “This Dante? This college dropout with the ink all over his arms? I don’t think so. No offense, kid.”

Ginny reached over and grabbed Marti’s hand, tugging it closer for examination. “That’s not an engagement ring. Engagement rings are diamonds. I don’t know what that is.”

Marti snatched her hand back. “Geez, Ginny. It’s an engagement ring if we say it is. Does everything have to be your way?”

“What do you mean you’re getting married?” Libby’s mother’s voice cracked. The mottled splotches on her face went from red to purple. This was just not her night.

“Just like what it sounds like. We’re getting married in two months, and we are going to live happily ever after. That is so awesome about the ice-cream parlor, by the way, Daddy. I am totally with you on this one.”

Libby hiccupped. Two months? Marti and this derelict had known each other for three weeks and were already engaged, and she couldn’t wrangle a proposal out of Seth after more than a year of cohabitation? Not that she’d really tried, but still—Marti was taking cuts in line. Libby should get married first.

“You’re twenty-two years old, Martha,” her father said again. “You are not getting married.” His hands thumped down hard on the arms of his chair.

“In two months? What kind of wedding can you plan in two months?” Ginny said.

“I don’t really think that’s the issue here, Gin,” Libby interrupted. “How about the fact that they don’t actually know each other?”