One Hot Summer (35 page)

“Exactly,” Remedy's father said.

“That Micah fellow seemed nice enough when we met him yesterday,” Remedy's mom mused. “But Wynd has a point.”

Remedy's hand curled over the limo door handle. She would give anything,
anything,
to get out of that vehicle and away from this conversation before she was forced to confront her parents over a prejudice she'd never realized they had. How could the two people who'd hung the moon for her for so long—her heroes, her family—think such ugly things about Micah and the town she'd come to love? Especially since both her parents had grown up in small midwestern towns. Had fame stolen their memories of what it meant to be members of working-class America?

What if Remedy's lifelong feeling of not belonging anywhere had come from her parents? They were out of touch with reality in some really significant ways that had surely impacted Remedy's view of the world. They didn't want to belong. They didn't want humble roots; they weren't choosing to relate with compassion to people whose lives and circumstances were different from their own. Were all those military charities her dad supported just for show?

Rather than flee the situation, she turned her focus to her parents and looked at them with fresh eyes. “I thought you just wanted me to be happy.”

Her mom shifted and took her father's hand. “We do, dear. But … happiness is such a complicated beast.”

“Okay, time-out,” Remedy said. “Since when are you two so chummy? Why are you holding hands? I feel like a broken record lately, but seriously. You two hate each other.”

Her parents exchanged glances, their expressions trouble. “We don't. I know it seemed like that for a long time, but when you were going through the whole Zannity mess my heart was breaking for you, so I reached out to the only other person who'd know exactly what I was going through.”

“And now you're … you're…” Remedy gestured to their joined hands. It was going to take Remedy a long, long time to process this turn of events.

“We're family,” her dad said. “That's what we realized. We're your family and we're each other's family. And we're worried about you all over again.”

“Give me a break! Worried about what? If I wanted a bigger house, I'd buy a bigger house for myself. But I don't want that. You have nothing to worry about anymore.” She loved Micah's place. She loved her quirky cottage with Luke the temperamental air-conditioning unit. And the only thing she wanted from Micah was his love.

Helen tsked. “What a waste.”

Remedy stared blankly at Helen and Cambelle. How had this weekend gone so sideways? Helen, Cambelle, and Wynd were her clients, and she refused to be drawn into an argument with them. So she decided to fall back on her professional playbook and not let them see her sweat. She forced herself to go numb. “Across the street from Micah's house and the fire station is Petey's Diner, which is named after the dog in
The Little Rascals
TV show. Dad, I know you loved that show when you were younger because I distinctly remember you trying to get me to watch it with you.”

It took a moment for her dad to process what Remedy had said. “You're right. That was a great show. I got all the VHS tapes through one of those infomercials, but you refused. I think that Alfalfa character scared you.”

Remedy thought back but couldn't remember having a feeling about Alfalfa one way or another.

“We should stop in at the diner,” Wynd said. “Let's see what this town's got.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” Remedy said.

“Nonsense.” Helen knocked on the partition, getting the driver's attention. “Circle back around the block and stop in front of that diner we passed back there.”

The driver was already pulling around before Helen had finished issuing the request. When the limo pulled to a stop, the whole lot of them piled out and then into Petey's, much to the bewilderment of Barbara, Petey, and the rest of the diner patrons, who'd been enjoying their lunch.

As it usually did, it took the diner staff and patrons a few minutes to realize who Remedy's parents were. They were perusing the myriad of framed photographs and magazine articles when the first patron approached, looking for an autograph from Remedy's dad. In no time they were swarmed by dozens, who'd abandoned their meals in favor of waiting for autographs.

After so many years of being in the spotlight, Remedy's parents were gracious and accommodating, which she had come to expect. As was her typical routine when such a swarm happened, she hung back and tried to avoid any kind of recognition, because most people, when they figured out that Remedy wasn't a famous actor, lost complete interest in her at all and were usually pretty rude about it. She'd decided a long time ago that it was best to leave the celebrity status to her parents.

Cambelle, Helen, and Wynd, as it turned out, did not share Remedy's disinterest in the spotlight. They swiped menus from a table and cackled loudly at the “disgusting” menu choices. They made a big deal about how sticky the menu was and marveled at the A grade the diner had gotten from the county health inspector, going on about how they expected to find roaches in the kitchen.

Remedy endured it for five whole minutes before she couldn't take it anymore. She had no idea how Petey and Barbara could keep themselves so composed, standing behind the bar listening to the filth coming out of Cambelle's and Helen's mouths especially.

Hands shaking in anger, Remedy corralled them and Wynd toward the door. “It's time for you three to wait in the limo. You've done enough.”

“Don't be such a killjoy,” Cambelle said, pouting.

“Don't be such a bully,” Remedy countered.

Wynd hung a cigarette from his lips and lit it. “I have high standards. That doesn't make me a bully.”

Remedy yanked the cigarette away and stubbed it out on the floor. “You don't see how you're hurting the people who work here? Actual people with actual feelings?”

Wynd sneered. “Look at you, Remedy. I remember when you were yay high, when your dad would bring you out during parties to charm his guests. You wanted to be a princess, but here you are, slumming with these inbred, backwoods Texans.”

Remedy had never been so livid. “Leave. Now.”

“Come here, baby,” Cambelle said. She hooked an arm around Wynd's neck, then snapped a selfie of the two of them standing in front of the pie counter. “We'll post that on Instagram and your place will be famous,” she said to Petey. “You should be thanking us.”

Remedy held her breath until they'd disappeared into the limo. Cambelle certainly wasn't the first bride to sneer down her nose at Remedy and the hardworking people around her, nor would she be the last, but at least at Briscoe Ranch the brides left after the wedding. At least there were good-hearted people for Remedy to spend time with and a man who adored her. If she moved back to L.A., she'd be surrounded by the Helens, Cambelles, and Wynds of the world all day, every day.

The crowd was thinning around her parents, but they couldn't be done fast enough for Remedy's way of thinking. “I'll take two cherry pies,” she said to Petey, sliding a handful of twenties across the counter. “Keep the change. I'm so sorry those idiots were so rude to you.”

Petey plucked a pie from the refrigerated case. “You're Micah's girl, right?”

She loved that description all the more now. “Yes, I am.”

“Why are you hanging around with those no-good people, then? Even if they are famous.”

“Good question.”

With her boxed pies in hand she lingered outside the door for her parents to emerge, and when they did Remedy's parents asked Helen to give them a moment of privacy with their daughter.

Remedy's mom took her hand. “Honey, I know what you're thinking.”

“Do you, Mom?”

“You're upset with us.”

“Uh, ya think?” Remedy said. “I don't think I ever realized what a bitch Cambelle is. Her and her mom. Wynd, too.”

“Remedy, please. They're our dear friends and no one's perfect.”

“They might be your friends, but they're not mine. Not anymore.”

Her mom looked distraught. She squeezed Remedy's hand harder. “They're not so bad. They just didn't like the diner. They've got expensive taste. We all do. You're my champagne and caviar girl, remember?”

Remedy pulled her hand away. “Can you hear yourself right now?”

“Your mother's point is that you shouldn't let a little disagreement with Cambelle change your mind about moving home. It's not about Cambelle or Helen or Wynd. It's about our family being together again.” Remedy's father slid an arm across her mom's shoulders. “After all these years apart, don't you think it's time?”

Remedy was nowhere near ready to deal with her parents' out-of-left-field romance today, but she was ready—beyond ready, she realized—to stand up for herself. “Whether you two are together or apart, we'll always be a family. But I'm ready to make my own life, my own family. And I think I might want to do that here in Texas.”

Her mom's face blanched.

Her father said, “Wynd was right, honey.” He pointed across the street to Micah's house. “That man will not give you the life you deserve.”

The disdain in his voice set Remedy's teeth on edge. “I give myself the life I deserve. Not a man. Not you two. Me. And I'm doing just fine, thank you very much.”

“So this is it?” her mom said. “You want to live in a poor town and you want to spend the rest of your life working to the bone for women who should have been your peers?”

That was one way of putting it. Though it broke her heart, Remedy knew what she had to do. “You know what? I'll drive back to the resort in the limo with you, and I'll even put on a good face for the rest of the afternoon around you and your friends, my clients, but I'm uninviting you from Micah's family party tonight. I wouldn't want any ignorant, low-class people like you two spoiling all the fun we're going to have.”

 

Chapter Nineteen

Micah pulled his truck around the circular drive of Briscoe Ranch Resort, ignoring the valet drivers. Radio blaring, he was feeling good about introducing Remedy to his family. Never mind that her parents were gonna be there, too. That was bound to be strange and probably a little awkward, but he'd prepped his family about the celebrities who would be in their midst and all had assured him they'd be on their best behavior. No fan gushing, no autographs, no problems.

Her parents weren't driving over with Micah and Remedy, though. They planned to be fashionably late. Or, as Remedy told him last night in bed, what they really had planned was staging a grand entrance for maximum effect, as they were wont to do.

According to Remedy's text message, she was waiting for him on the second-level veranda having cocktails with the bride, Cambelle, her mom, and the groom. Wynd, she'd called him, whatever the hell kind of crazy Hollywood name that was. Sure enough, there they were, on the vine-and-lattice-covered patio above the hotel's west wing. The tiny table they were grouped around was loaded down with martini glasses full of pink drinks and everyone looked fresh from a tennis match in crisp white, sporty attire save for Remedy, who was so dolled up and pretty, Micah gave a low whistle under his breath at the sight of her as he parked his truck right below where she sat.

She looked sophisticated up there on the patio with a martini and that fancy dress and heels that probably cost as much as Micah's entire wardrobe combined. She and Cambelle were laughing and talking. Remedy was so far out of his league it was hard to believe she'd had a good time at a sawdust-covered roadhouse like Hog Heaven that first night they got together.

“Your cowboy's here to whisk you away in his big old truck,” he heard one of the women say.

Damn right he was. He poured out of his truck and donned his favorite black Stetson, then tipped the brim to the ladies in greeting, which got them twittering, right on cue.

Remedy leaned over the white wrought-iron railing. It wasn't until that moment that he sensed something was off in her eyes and in the faltering curve of her smile.

His protective instincts kicked up. Something was wrong. Something had happened to her, and, whatever it was, someone was going to have hell to pay if they hurt her.

“Stay there and I'll escort you down those stairs,” he asked.

“Not necessary.”

Maybe not necessary, but with those skinny little heels she had on and her penchant for disaster he wasn't taking any chances.

At the top of the stairs, he pecked Remedy's cheek, then took the time to look every person at her table in the eye in search of a clue about what had happened to rattle Remedy and let them know without words that she was not to be messed with. His attention snagged on Wynd. Malice simmered below the surface of his smirking smile and sharp eyes.

“Everything go all right today?” Micah asked him with a nod.

“More than all right. Our girl Remedy has a lot of brains in that pretty little head of hers.”

What a dick.
“More than you, I'm guessing.”

“Let's go, Micah,” Remedy urged, picking up a stack of pie boxes from the table.

Wynd leaned back in his chair and rubbed his mustache like a rich miser in an old-time movie. “Not so fast, now. Before you got here we were debating something, but Remedy refused to weigh in. Maybe you can help us.”

“Wynd, no,” Remedy said. Her tone was strained and quiet.

Micah draped a fortifying arm around her. No wonder he'd read distress on her face. She'd spent the day fielding a bunch of ignorant comments and questions from this asshole. “All right. Go ahead, Wynd. What's the debate?”

Wynd saluted Micah with his pink martini. “Texas isn't like the rest of the South, right? No cousins marrying cousins and all that
Deliverance
nastiness? Your ma isn't also your aunt, is she?” he added with an artificial twang that reminded him of the act Remedy used to pull when they'd first met.