Redeeming Rafe (22 page)

Phillip nodded. “Daddy! Snow Pony. Going now.”

Holy Peter Rabbit on the Damascus Road. What was she going to do?

“Phillip. No. Do not say that.”

He scrambled to get out of her arms, but she clamped him tightly to her hip and hurried on toward doom. Might as well get it over with.

Outside the door of the rose parlor, she set Phillip on his feet and straightened her shirt. That’s when she noticed she was still wearing the Tennessee Titans jersey she’d slept in. This morning, she had just pulled on jeans and a bra when she got up, thinking she’d shower when they got finished with the pony rides.

She took Phillip’s hand and looked hard into his eyes.
Don’t say Daddy
, she silently communicated to him.

Steeling herself, Abby entered the room.

Her mother and Aunt Meg sat side by side on the burgundy velvet davenport, with their husbands in the matching chairs that flanked the sofa.

Of all the things that could have occurred to Abby in that moment, it struck her that, in their polo shirts and tweed jackets, Daddy and Uncle Nate looked like bookends. The books they held up weren’t a matched pair, though. Aunt Meg wore a trendy, soft coral tunic with leggings and cheetah print flats, while Mother wore the same khaki skirt, navy twin set, and driving shoes Abby had seen her in hundreds of times. Or maybe it wasn’t the same one outfit. Maybe she replaced it from time to time, or owned a dozen …

“Darling!” Susan and Meg said together as they stood and advanced.

Abby braced herself, but they weren’t coming for her. They reached for Phillip, who put his hand over his face and hid behind Abby.

Meg knelt down. “Phillip. Come to me please. It’s Grand Meg.”

“Mama!” Phillip held his arms up.

“Oh, Susan!” Meg sounded close to tears. “He doesn’t know us.”

Abby patted Phillip’s back as he buried his face against her neck. “Of course he does. Give him a minute. He’s surprised, is all.”
And he’s not the only one.

“Hello, honey.” Daddy kissed Abby’s cheek and gave Phillip a little pat. At last, someone had spoken to her.

“Why don’t we all sit down?” Uncle Nate said. “We’re overwhelming the boy.”

Not to mention the woman.

“Abby, is it all right if I move this chair closer in for you?” Uncle Nate rested his hand on one of the upholstered chairs that surrounded the marble tea table.

“Sure,” she said. “This isn’t a museum. They don’t mind.”

Susan looked around the room. “I must admit this is tasteful and elegant. I was expecting a lot of gold fountains and acrylic light fixtures.”

“Why were you expecting that?” Abby asked.

“You know. A country music star.” Susan waved a hand in the air. “That’s an interesting outfit you’re wearing, Abby.”

“It’s a football jersey, Mother.”

“I know what it is. I just don’t know why you’re wearing a shirt with Beauford across the back. It’s not as if that’s your name.”

“Gabe Beauford plays for the Tennessee Titans,” Abby said patiently. “We all have jerseys with his name and number. Even the kids.”

“I see,” Susan said. “I had begun to think they weren’t going to let us in to see you. They thought we were fans.” She said the last word like it was obscene. “Finally, someone named Dirk came and checked our IDs and let us in.”

“I guess you can’t be too careful, what with all these interesting people living here,” Meg said. “Singers, football players, rodeo people.”

“You know.” Abby shifted Phillip from her shoulder to her lap. “If you had let me know you were coming, I would have left word with security, and you wouldn’t have had any trouble.”

“We didn’t have time for that,” Meg said snippily and refused to look at Abby.

Enough.

“Not that you aren’t welcome,” Abby said. “As I’ve told you, you are all welcome any time. But what are you doing here, and what was the rush?”

Susan dug into her bag, and brought out her iPad. “The better question would be, what are you doing
here
?”

And Susan flipped the tablet around, displaying a full-screen, living color picture of Rafe and Abby from last night at The Café Down On The Corner. And it wasn’t just any picture. Oh, no. Someone had recorded Abby’s first-ever public kiss and put it on the Internet for all the world to see for all eternity.

Shit. “What? How?” Abby stammered.

“How did we find out what you’ve been up to?
Twang
posted it to their website last night and tagged Jackson Beauford’s Twitter account—and this brothers’ accounts—Gabe and Rafe. I follow them all.”

“Since when are you on Twitter?” And Rafe had a Twitter account? Abby’s head was spinning.

“Since you started living in Jackson Beauford’s house and working for Rafe Beauford,” Susan said.

“Let’s not forget that you and our grandson ended up on the cover of a tabloid where it was speculated that Phillip belonged to Jackson Beauford,” Meg said. “We felt the need to stay abreast of what you’re up to. Good thing we did.”

Abby wanted to rant and rave and accuse them of spying on her, but her common sense reminded her that it wasn’t as if they’d broken into her room and read her diary, or even hacked her email account. They had simply read what was available to everyone via the Internet.

“Mama! Snow Pony!” Phillip said.

Abby set him on his feet. “Phillip. Listen. Go see Grandpa.” She pointed to her father, who clapped his hands lightly, leaned forward, and opened his arms. “He really likes you, and he’d like to hear about Snow Pony.”

“And who is this Snow Pony?” Susan demanded.

“Snowball. A pony Rafe bought for the children,” Abby said.

“Phillip is riding a pony? At his age?” Meg exploded.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Aunt Meg,” Abby said. “You put Gregory and me on ponies at birthday parties when we weren’t much older than Phillip. And Rafe knows what he’s doing.”

Meg took Susan’s iPad and studied the screen. “I can certainly see that,” she sneered.

Why, why, why had she not told them?

“I don’t understand why
Twang
would put up that picture. Rafe is only famous in the rodeo world, and I’m of no interest to anyone.”

“Looks like you’re of some interest to this cowboy,” Abby’s father said. He sounded almost cheerful, but maybe that was because he’d coaxed Phillip into his lap.

“Hayes,” Susan said. When Abby’s mother called her father by his given name instead of Trip, look out. “Abigail, the article was not about you and this cowboy. It was just an aside included in the item about the baby Jackson and Emory Beauford are expecting. There were also other pictures of people in your party—that other twin and his fiancée, the couple whose wedding you were in, and some others.”

Meg popped her tortoise shell reading glasses on and zeroed in on the picture again. “‘On hand for the happy announcement at Beauford, Tennessee’s The Café Down On The Corner, were Jackson’s twin brothers. It seems that recently retired and reigning Professional Bull Riders World Champion, Rafe Beauford, is finding some happy of his own.’” Meg removed her glasses. “Abby, I don’t know what to say.”

“I should have told you,” Abby said. “I shouldn’t have let you find out this way.”

“Find out what, Abby?” Uncle Nate finally spoke. “I guess that’s what we’re here to find out. Are you deeply involved with this man? Or did the two of you just happen to share a kiss and a photo journalist caught it?” His tone begged her to choose door number two—which would be bad enough—but door number one was unthinkable for them.

The trouble was, she didn’t have an answer.

“I … I,” she stammered. “That is, it’s not that cut and dried.”

“Down!” Phillip demanded.

Abby’s father patted Phillip’s bottom and set him on the floor. Phillip, losing some of his shyness, looked from grandparent to grandparent. To Abby’s relief, they were distracted, at least for the moment.

“Phillip, come to Grandma,” Susan said.

“Sweetheart, come tell me about the pony,” Meg said.

“Phillip. Come here, buddy.” Uncle Nate held out his keys.

Meg won, and Phillip toddled to her grinning.

“Oh!” She lifted him to her lap. “I’ve wanted to hug you for so long.”

But Phillip was having none of it. She still held the iPad, and he knew that sometimes videos would magically appear on such a device.

He grabbed for it. “Thomas!” And then he zeroed in on the screen. “Ohhh!” And he pointed to the picture.

Don’t say it, Phillip,
Abby silently begged.

“Daddy!” Phillip cried—and the world stopped.

Keys stopped rattling. Doting grandparent cooing ceased.

Uncle Nate’s mouth fell open. Susan put a hand to her forehead. Trip closed his eyes and shook his head.

And last, but certainly far from least, Margaret Merewether Laurence Whitman let out a keening noise that was worthy of a hired mourner at a sixteenth century Irish wake.

“It’s not like it sounds.” Abby rose and lifted Phillip into her arms. He did not need to be here. She looked around desperately. For once, the gods smiled on her, and Sammy passed by the doorway carrying a stepladder. “Sammy,” she called.

“Hey, Abby.” Sammy surveyed the group. “Good morning.”

They nodded and muttered. Abby did not feel led to make introductions.

“Sammy, will you do me a favor?” She handed Phillip to him. “Will you take Phillip to Gwen? She’s in the nursery with the girls.”

“Abby, no!” Meg said. “Don’t take him from us.”

Abby sighed. “I’m not taking him from you. I’m sending him from a room where he has no business being.” She motioned to the door. “Go on, Sammy. And thank you.”

Once they were gone, Susan said, “Our flight leaves tomorrow night. We’d hoped you’d let us take Phillip back to Nashville with us for the night. We’re at the Hermitage.”

“And you can do that, Mother. I haven’t tried to keep Phillip from you.” That mollified them, if only a small bit
.
She and Rafe were planning to take the children to the pumpkin patch tomorrow, but Phillip could miss it. Abby was pretty proud of herself for not pointing this out to them. She took her seat again. “About what Phillip said. It’s not like it sounds,” she repeated.

“Then explain it to us, Abby,” Uncle Nate said. “Explain why our grandson is calling a man who is not his father Daddy
.
Because we truly don’t understand.”

“We didn’t teach Phillip to call Rafe that.” Abby thought it best not to utter the word. “But that’s what Bella and Alice call their father, and Phillip picked it up. He thinks that’s Rafe’s name.”

“That’s a reasonable explanation,” Trip said.

“They’re babies,” Abby said. “The girls also call me Mama because Phillip does. When they’re older, they’ll understand.”

“I don’t think much of that,” Susan said.

And all of a sudden, if Abby had been angry, now she was furious. Who did they think they were to come down here and sit in judgment of her about things they didn’t know anything about?

“Yeah? It’s not as if any other child is ever going to call me that. Remember?”

“Abigail,” Susan said. “That was a horrible time for all of us! We grieved over that as much as you did.”

“I doubt it,” Abby said.

“Abby,” Uncle Ned said gently. “Please tell us our grandson knows who our son is.” He reached for Meg’s hand.

“I can’t tell you that, Uncle Ned.” There was some sympathy in her voice and in her heart, despite all. “Phillip is two years old. What would you have me do? Take my baby to Gregory’s grave and show him pictures?”

Uncle Ned nodded. “I guess I do want that. I want my grandson to know my son.”

“That’s not going to happen right now,” she said. “When he’s older—”

“When he’s older,” Meg interrupted. “Unless you come to your senses, Phillip will still be here, instead of with us in Boston where he ought to be, where he can see where his father grew up, go to the same schools, and enjoy the same traditions you and Gregory grew up with.”

“And where I’ll become wispy and transparent again, and have no life?” Where she would be away from Rafe and the girls? Unthinkable.

“Honey,” Trip said. “That’s not what we want. But we do want you home.”

“Wispy and transparent?” Meg had begun to cry. Abby was surprised it had taken her this long. “I don’t even know what that means. Is it the opposite of running around with nouveau riche upstarts in bars?”

“Wait a minute!” Abby jumped to her feet. “These people have supported me and helped me, which is more than I’ve gotten from any of you.”

“Not fair, Abby,” Trip said. “You could have come home any time. You still can.”

“Is it so terrible that we want to spend time with you and Phillip?” Susan asked.

“No. Of course, not. And I have made it clear you could visit us here any time. But have you done that? No. You want everything on your own terms.”

“In spite of all of this, we want what’s best for you,” Meg said. “You know you’re more than a daughter-in-law to us. You’re like our own. And Phillip is all Nate and I have left of Gregory. Please, Abby. We know this has been hard for you. Anyone would act out under the circumstances. Please come home. We’ll forgive you.”

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, that actually came out of Meg Whitman’s mouth.

Even Susan forgot her policy to never show emotion and let her mouth fly open in surprise.

“Now, see here, Meg—” Trip began.

But Abby didn’t let him finish. In that moment, she knew she was no longer wispy or transparent. It wasn’t possible for wispy, transparent people to feel such rage.

“
Act out? Forgive me?
For what? I haven’t done anything except move here when Gregory wanted to, and work myself to death to keep a roof over his son’s head. I guess I wasn’t supposed to have the audacity to like it here, to like the friends and the life I made.”

Meg blotted her eyes with a handkerchief. “Abby, I don’t understand this. You’ve never spoken to anyone this way. I don’t know what Gregory would say.”

Abby closed her eyes and summoned calm. She took ten deep breaths. She visualized lying on a fluffy cloud. She imagined stuffing her anger and frustration into balloons and watching them float away. But calm did not come. And she was going to have her say.