Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Paisley
Satterfield family barbecues were a circus. Add to that the high of the Chargers winning the cup along with Greyson and Cal’s birthday, and the air was electric with energy.
I’d counted no less than a dozen children screaming with glee as they darted through the sprinkler.
There was a rousing game of CATAN in the den.
A kitchen full of laughter. The Satterfields might live loud, but they loved loud too.
It was the last homely house this side of the mountains, a beacon for weary travelers where none were turned away and burdens were left at the door for a while.
And hearts were cheered with good food and good fellowship.
Honestly it felt like the homeyness of Rivendell with the noise levels of the Prancing Pony. I doubt anyone here would bat an eye if two hobbits spontaneously started dancing on the picnic table. Oh wait, there were. Except I think they were Brett’s youngest kids.
Compared to the quiet house I’d become used to with Greyson or the sweet nights with Juliet and the girls on video chat, this level of noise was deafening. Probably loud enough for bylaw noise violations, but no one seemed to mind. Maybe the neighbours were used to it?
There were more Satterfields than I remembered. Seven missing years did that to a body. But they were all as huge as I remember—all six kids were six feet and up. Some people just got all the luck in genetics. Guess they grew ’em different in Idaho.
Mama D told me not to worry about bringing a dish, but that didn’t sit right with me. So last night with Greyson’s help, I’d managed a potato salad. Mainly, he kept me from burning the house down. Too bad I hadn’t been as successful with the cookies this morning.
“Hey, looks good!” Shane, the second-oldest Satterfield brother, grinned and snatched the bowl I clutched against my middle. “No more kitchen mishaps?”
My cheeks flushed. “Umm . . .” Did I want to fess up about the burnt cookies to my fire chief brother-in-law? Not really.
But Greyson came to the rescue. He squeezed my shoulder as he slipped past me with an excited Rosie Cotton. “She’s doing great.” And he disappeared to let her out into the vast backyard.
The words sent the heat in my cheeks spiraling down my neck.
“Pais, you made it!” Melissa, Dallas’s wife, wrapped her arms around me in a gentle squeeze. “Ooh, you brought potato salad! I hope you didn’t feel pressured.”
Mama D had said much the same thing. No one expected me to have to cook after my fall.
Or The Accident as everyone was calling it.
While I appreciated the sentiment, I was feeling a little too coddled after the ordeal.
And my emotional fragility might be part of it.
Everyone was walking on eggshells around my missing memory, and it didn’t help that I couldn’t even remember all the faces behind the voices of concern.
Physically, I wasn’t feeling too worse for wear.
My scrapes were mostly healed, and I’d graduated from the sling with a good riddance.
But I hated the pitying looks and the velvet glove approach.
“Just wanted to do my part,” I said lightly, following her into the kitchen.
“Hey, you!” Shawna, Shane’s wife, waved at me, knife in hand as she chopped up bacon into small pieces.
I smiled at her and glanced around the spacious, homey kitchen. It was a heady tapestry of aromas, and even though my stomach was tight with knots, it gurgled softly with appreciation.
Mama D caught sight of me and, after a hug, shooed me away. “We’ve got this, honey.”
“But I want to help!” I protested.
Ignoring me, she gently scooted me towards the living room. “Here, you can take this to Pops. He’s manning the grill.” She thrust a glass baking dish into my hands, presumably for housing all the burgers, and gave me a final nudge.
Huffing softly to myself, I slipped out the patio doors to where Pops and the rest of the guys were gathered around the barbecue. “Mama sent me with this,” I offered quietly when they all glanced my way.
Dallas took the dish from me and offered a nod. “Good to see you again.” In the haze of visitors that had popped in since I’d come home, I remembered seeing him stop by.
“Hey, hon.” Pops’s blue eyes crinkled with smile lines. He stepped away from the grill to give me a hug. A nice comforting hug full of warmth, sunshine, and smoke. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” I said quietly into his shoulder.
Once the burgers were done, the clan (numbering over thirty by my rough estimate) assembled, and Pops said the blessing over the food, adding a special thanks for Cal and Greyson, before we all dug in.
There really was too much food, but it was divine.
Juicy burgers with homegrown tomatoes and lettuce.
Four flavours of potato chips. A veggie platter with ranch dip.
Darling little skewers with fruit pieces cut into shapes.
Two cherry pies. A Black Forest birthday cake for Greyson and Cal.
And gallons of sweet tea. (Mama D’s Southern roots always showed in the summer.)
After the meal and watching Greyson and Cal blow out the candles, I stood my ground about loading the dishwasher, and Juliet, true to her word, had backed me up before I was ushered into the living room with a cup of half-sweet sweet tea.
But the room was hot and close, so I slipped out into the crisp evening air of the shady back porch.
It had gotten late, and the sun had just set, leaving the darkening sky splattered with fading colour.
A cool wind rushed out of the north and dark clouds climbed high on the horizon.
All the tells of a summer thunderstorm.
The porch swing beckoned, and I sank down to watch the gaggle of kids chase a few of the uncles around.
There were six Satterfield kids, and they were all married—or in Cal’s case, he had been.
Only four of them had kids (five, if you counted baby Delavan on the way), but somehow there were still seventeen grandkids running around—all ranging from infants to teenagers.
Night air was good for racing minds because mine was remarkably calmer than it had been fifteen minutes ago. Until . . .
“Mind if I join you?”
I glanced up to find Greyson with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the porch railing. Not sure how I missed seeing him. The man had a presence.
When I shrugged, he eased onto the porch swing. I was short enough that my legs didn’t readily reach the floor, so it was nice to have someone else take over keeping the rhythm of the swing. I was average height, but in a house built for giants, my legs still dangled.
“Is it always like this?” I asked, motioning to the screams of delight in the yard and several kids dogpiling their uncle. I think it was Dallas from that flash of reddish-brown hair.
Greyson chuckled, low and velvety.
I shuddered, then shook myself. I was just cold, that was all. Should have brought a cardigan. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Paisley Grace.
“Family barbecues are a Satterfield family tradition,” Greyson said quietly. “I didn’t get out here much during my military time, but ever since I was a kid, Mom and Pops made family time a big deal. It brought us together.”
I smiled fondly at the figures on the lawn. “Jules brought me here the first year of college, and I’ve never left. Your family was so welcoming it was like I wasn’t a stranger. Like I—”
“Whoa!” Juliet cried, tumbling out the door, dragging Myles behind her. “It’s a little nippy out here, but it’s so loud inside I can’t hear myself talk.”
“That’s never been an issue, Sunshine,” Myles said with a smirk. “You can command any room.”
She swatted his chest, but a goofy smile touched her face.
Myles tugged her down onto his lap in the chair across from us, and Greyson’s gaze lingered on me.
Before we were interrupted, the word belonged was about to slip out.
But he was a stranger. Or at least the brother of my best friend.
He didn’t need to know my vulnerability, even if a part of me wanted to let him inside. We were friends in our own way.
Haha, friends. That dreamboat is your husband, that annoying voice in my head chirped. Oh, I couldn’t take these mental gymnastics.
“You still feeling sick?” I asked Juliet.
She groaned and leaned against Myles’s shoulder. “It’s a perpetual state.”
The breeze ruffled Myles’s shoulder-length hair, and he kissed Juliet’s temple.
Cal tromped hand in hand with a little girl around four years old up the stairs from their roughhousing on the lawn.
His face was eerily similar to Greyson’s, and they shared the same eye colour, but Cal’s hair was a noticeably lighter sandy brown.
Though not perfectly identical, the twin genes still ran strong.
“Daddy, is it almost time for dessert?” the little girl begged, tugging on his hand, her glossy, dark curls bouncing. Pink flushed her cheeks from the exercise and her blue eyes—which marked her as a Satterfield—were bright like only a child’s could be.
“Dessert? You already had birthday cake, Lovebug,” Cal said, indulgently brushing a hand over her wild hair.
She giggled and bounced up and down. “But that was forever ago. I’m hungry!”
Cal shook his head and smiled at her. “We’ll ask Meemaw then.”
She shrieked with delight, then noticed me for the first time. “Auntie Paisley!” And I was enveloped in the crushing hug of a four-year-old flying into my lap.
“Hey, you,” I said slowly, trying to infuse my voice with warmth. In my mind, this ball of sunshine—who had been pointed out earlier to me as Khia—didn’t exist. I didn’t even remember Cal getting married. “You’ve . . . grown,” I settled for lamely.