That's (Not Exactly) Amore (15 page)

Even before her eyes go stormy, I know I’ve gone too far. “Young lady . . .” She slaps her palm against the countertop. “I’m not a fool and I happen to love this man.” Her eyes fill, but she quickly blinks away the tears. “I have work to do.”

“I’m sorry, Ma.” I toss my banana peel into the garbage. I know I’ve hurt her, and I fully intend to go back later and offer a better apology. But right now I have to figure out how to talk her out of this silly marriage before she makes a big, big mistake.

14

A
ll six feet four inches of Mark are looking good when he stands on the porch a few hours later. It’s hard not to stare at him. He takes my hand as we walk to the curb, where a taxi waits for us. “You look pretty tonight,” he says, opening the door.

I look down at my outfit. Gray crop pants, a white button-down shirt, a gray jacket, and knee-high platform boots. I guess I do look good. I even broke out the Ralph Lauren cologne Dancy gave me for Christmas. Just a touch, in case Mark goes in for a sniff.

Our fingers remain laced during the ten-minute cab ride to the Nautical Mile and while we walk to his dad’s restaurant. I like the sound of the boats on the canal, and I’m enjoying the time with Mark, but I can’t stop thinking about Mom, so I know I’m an awful bore to be around.

Instead of walking to the door, Mark steers me to a vacant bench just a few steps from his dad’s restaurant. “Let’s sit a minute and you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I didn’t realize I was that obvious,” I mumble, allowing myself to be led like I have no mind of my own. But I have to admit, I sort of enjoy the way he takes charge.

After I relay my exchange with my mom from this morning, he nods, his eyes awash with sympathy. “Do you want me to do some investigating? Make sure this Aaron guy is okay?”

I’m sure my eyes must reveal the shock I feel. “Of course not.” Can he even do that? “How would you go about it?”

“I’d look him up in the system. Any activity out of the norm would show up. Unpaid parking tickets. Arrests.”

“Credit report?”

He smiles. “No. But if he’s tried to scam any ladies and got pulled in for questioning, it would show up.”

I’m conflicted. I want to know what’s what with this Aaron who seems too good to be true. But on the other hand, he seemed pretty genuine at church and he really did lose his wife recently. Maybe he’s just lonely and likes my mom. That’s not completely out of the question. And I have to admit it’s refreshing to me that Mark’s reaction is different from Joe’s—which was a little disappointing, to say the least.

I’m spared the necessity of an immediate response as a very pregnant Liz waddles up the sidewalk next to an average-looking guy who stands barely five feet eight. He must feel like a dwarf next to Mark.

“What are you two doing out here?” She gives me a grin. I have to wonder if she’ll make it through the party without going into labor. Not that I know anything about it. But if I had to place a bet, I’d say that enormous stomach is about to deflate at any moment. She follows my gaze and her cheeks pink up. “Who knew a stomach could stretch that much? You should see the stretch marks. I’ll have a road map on my stomach for the rest of my life.” She reaches up and pats her husband’s cheek. “Poor Rick.”

Rick squeezes her and presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “I love every single mark.”

She grins up at him and then winks at me. “What a guy. He’s a liar, but what a guy.”

The four of us laugh as we enter the building. I’m struck again by how much fun Mark’s family is. Can I see myself as part of this crew? I mean, it’s different from the easy, quiet life an only child has growing up with two accountants as parents. As different as night and day.

And then there’s Joe. Well, there’s not really Joe, is there? Or is there? I’m so confused. I like Mark. He’s nice and polite and the kind of guy you want around when you want to be protected.

But Joe . . . Okay, Joe is moody, but he did carry me to his apartment and put me in his bed. Joe makes my heart race. No doubt about that. But his family . . . well . . . his family may or may not be mafia.

Country music blares from a jukebox in the corner. “Isn’t that great?” Liz shouts above the noise. “We found it at an auction a month ago. Bought it for Dad’s birthday and stocked it with old country stuff. George Jones, Loretta Lynn, stuff like that.”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Great.”

I hate country music. Old and new. I think it should be banned above the Mason-Dixon Line. But that’s just me. As long as I’m not forced to listen to it. Which apparently I will be for the next couple of hours.

Mark leans down and speaks close to my ear. “Let’s go find a place to sit.”

I nod as he leads me toward the back of the room. On several tables, tubs of ice hold cans of soda. Mark and I each grab a can—diet for me, of course—on our way through the dining room.

“Uncle Mark!”

I’m just sitting down when a preschool boy practically assaults my date, flying into his arms. “Where’s your gun?” he asks through a space where his two front teeth should be.

Mark lifts the boy to his lap. “I’ll never tell. Are you enjoying Grandpa Carl’s party?”

The little boy nods and then seems to notice me. He ducks his head. Mark meets my gaze. “This is Kyle.” He nudges the little boy. “Hey, sport. Meet Laini.”

Kyle is having none of it and refuses to look at me. I usually have a way with kids. But right now I have no cookies, cupcakes, or Popsicles handy to use as bribery, so I resort to my winning personality.

“Hi, Kyle. Nice to meet you.”

Again with the ducking.

“Hey, sport, you’re going to hurt Miss Laini’s feelings if you don’t say hello.”

A chubby hand gives me a wave and my heart melts into butter.

From the corner of my eye I see a figure heading toward us. Mark turns at the same time. “Busted,” he says quietly.

A breathless, slightly overweight (but probably no more than I) woman stops by us, hands on hips as she stares at Kyle. “There you are. Mommy was scared half to death.”

“Look, Mommy. Uncle Mark is here.” The simple statement brings a smile to my face. I glance at “Mommy.” Is this another of Mark’s sisters? She looks nothing like Mark or Liz, or their dad, for that matter.

“So he is.” The woman lifts her eyes, and I swear she practically devours Mark with her smoldering gaze. A look that quite frankly makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I’m guessing this woman is not related to the hunky police officer, despite Kyle’s use of the word
uncle
.

Setting the boy on his feet, Mark stands. “Kellie, it’s nice to see you.” He bends and gives her a quick peck on the cheek.

There’s nothing wrong with that, but then she sort of leans into him and closes her eyes. Hello! What am I, part of the decor?

Mark pulls back as quickly as he moved in. He reaches for me and I stand up as he takes my hand. He sort of yanks me against him. I know it’s a defense against the maternal seductress. “Kellie, this is Laini Sullivan. Laini is my—uh—date.” Good heavens. Talk about your unnecessary details. Obviously I’m his date. The fact that he has to spell it out leads me to believe one of two things: these two had a really heavy relationship and he needs her to know he’s moved on. Or she’s dogging him in a stalker sort of way, and he wants her to know he’s really and truly not interested.

Her cheeks go red as she looks to me. “Nice to meet you, Laini.”

I offer my hand and she takes it. “Come on, Kyle. Let’s leave Uncle Mark and his new girlfriend alone now.”

“Oh, I’m not . . .” I would say I’m not his girlfriend, but Mark squeezes my hand a little tightly and I know he wants me to shut up and not spoil the illusion.

She whips around. “Not what?” Good grief, is that the look of a hungry wolf puppy?

“Um. I’m not bothered by the little tyke at all. Kyle’s welcome to hang out with us all he wants.”

“No thanks. That would be a little awkward.”

I smile. “Well, you’re his mother.”

“Yes.” She gives me a tight smile in return. “I am.” Grabbing Kyle’s hand, she practically yanks the kid away.

I pull my hand, which by the way has no feeling left in it, away from Mark and take my seat. “So, Uncle Mark,” I say, lifting an eyebrow in his direction, “what’s up with that?”

Heavy sigh. “She’s a waitress here. Divorced while she was pregnant with Kyle and never saw the father again. He wasn’t interested.”

My heart is starting to go out to her. “I take it the two of you dated?”

He nods. “Right after Kyle was born until about six months ago.”

I know darn well my jaw just opened like a wooden-soldier nutcracker on Christmas Eve. “You dated her that long and didn’t marry her?”

He scowls. “I think that was her point too.”

Light is beginning to glimmer just a little. “So it was her decision.”

Leaning forward a little, Mark looks me in the eye with frankness that commands my attention. “Listen. Call me a jerk if you want, but the main reason I stayed with Kellie for so long was because of Kyle. I wasn’t in love with her or I would have married her a long time ago. I love Kyle. But he’s not mine either and it isn’t fair to Kellie, Kyle, or me to marry her for the wrong reason.”

My eyes travel the room until I spot Kellie. Her gaze is on us. Compassion sears my heart. I look back to Mark and nod. “I understand.” I try to push away my concern, but something about a relationship that lasted so many years, has a child involved—even if the boy isn’t Mark’s—just nags at me.

Reaching across the table, Mark squeezes my hand as relief washes over his features. “Do you? I should have told you about Kellie before we got here. I wasn’t positive she’d show up, though, and I didn’t want to go into it just yet if I didn’t have to.”

“Mark!” Even across the room I recognize Mr. Hall’s booming baritone.

Mark stands again, and I follow suit. Carl beams when he sees me. “I see you brought the good-looking girl back.” He holds out both hands and I have no choice but to slip mine into his. He pulls me slightly forward and kisses each cheek—lingering a little too long, if you want to know the truth.

“Happy birthday, sir,” I say, timid in the face of this man’s show of affection.

“Thank you, sweetheart. And thank you for coming.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“I hear you’re an interior designer.”

I feel a blush coming on. I can’t bring myself to admit to that. I mean, I haven’t even graduated yet. I say as much to Mr. Hall.

“But she’s about to graduate.” Mark grins at me proudly. “She’s designing the new look at Nick’s, that coffee shop I was telling you about.”

Mr. Hall nods. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember.”

He looks around and then back to me. “What would you recommend we do here?”

Oh, no. No. Do not put me on the spot. I can’t think on my feet.

“Come on, Dad.” Mark steps in, my knight in a leather bomber jacket and a great-looking pair of Levi’s. “Talk shop another time. Let Laini relax.”

Mr. Hall sends me a wink. “Listen to my son, already looking out for you. What do you think of that?”

“I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time.” I lean in a little conspiratorially. “I don’t think I’m ready to relinquish the job just yet.”

A chortle leaves him. “Listen to her—Miss Independence. She’s a feisty one, son. You’ll have your hands full.”

Mark looks like he wants to die right there on the spot.

“Come on, Dad. You been dipping into the wine?”

He winks at me, then Mark. “Only a little. But it’s my birthday, for crying out loud.”

“Dad! Come on. Time to cut the cake.”

Thank goodness for Liz.

The next morning I wake up early, as usual. As I mull over the night before, a couple of things still nag at me. Kellie, for one. And her son, for two. I think Mark might have gone in for a kiss, except that Kellie happened to be outside looking for a cab when we were leaving and we had no choice but to offer to share. And it just so happened that I was on the way, so we dropped me off first.

Mark held my hand and then walked me to the door. “I’ll call you,” he said just before leaning in and kissing my cheek much the same way I’d seen him do to the psychotic ex-girlfriend waiting in the cab. I had a feeling she’d do everything in her power to get him to stay late. Or at the very least to kiss her good night.

I try not to let the thought of either scenario ruin my morning coffee on the deck with the chiminea lit and smelling hickoryish from the pieces of bark Mom buys for that purpose. But it’s no use, and the images just won’t go away. So much so that I’m relieved when Mom gets up a mere fifteen minutes after me even though I normally prefer my privacy this time of morning.

I look up as she steps onto the deck, and shock zaps through me like a hundred volts of sheer power. My mother is not wearing the frayed, worn yellow chenille robe. Instead, she’s wrapped cozily in the white robe I bought for her three years ago.

I’m so happy I can’t even play it cool. Jumping up, I throw my arms around her. “Look at you!”

She smiles. “I thought it was time to let it go.”

And I know, in that simple statement, she’s also letting Daddy go.

My throat aches at the thought. Actually, all of me aches at the thought. Clear through to my bones. Daddy is really and truly gone.

“Honey, I didn’t have the chance to mention this yesterday, but . . .” She picks at an imaginary thread on her robe. I know it’s imaginary because she hasn’t worn it enough to have any loose threads. “Aaron’s son, Chad, and his daughter-in-law are coming to church today.”

“That’s nice.” Nice like the stomach flu.

“Do you really think so?” Her eyes are so filled with hope, I can’t bring myself to tell her I was being facetious. Besides, what will it hurt to tell a little white lie? “Sure, Mom. Real nice.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re coming around about Aaron and this wedding, honey. We’re all going out to eat at Valmont’s after church. Aaron has already made lunch reservations to include you and his children so we can all meet and discuss things over a nice meal. What do you think?”

Honestly? I think I’m never telling another little white lie again as long as I live.