Chapter 8 Cal
Cal
Iclock the look on Frankie’s face when she hears her ex-husband’s name. Her smile vanishes into a hard line. Her eyes turn just as stony. She goes as rigid as a horse who doesn’t want to be saddled.
“Should we be worried?” I ask.
She lifts her gaze to mine. I resist the urge to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, like I would a horse, to let her know she’s safe. But Frankie’s not a horse. Horses are easier to read.
At last, she shakes her head. “Bran’s not violent. Just persuasive.” She clutches her water glass, then suddenly stands. “Your family’s not in danger, but he’ll find me. I should go…”
Frankie pops up from her chair like she might run, but Mom reacts before I can.
“Let’s take a minute before we make any decisions.” She takes Frankie’s hand and leads her to the big sectional in the family room, as far away from the front door as she can, then sits right next to her.
When I sit diagonal from Frankie, I’m still trying to work out why she thought I was worried about my family being in danger.
Yeah, the idea came up, but I was asking if the two of us should be worried.
Me and Frankie. I guess I kind of think of us as a team when it comes to keeping her away from people she doesn’t want to be around.
But now I’m worried that she might not be straight with me. Maybe I should be more worried than I was.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “What do you mean he’s persuasive?”
Frankie jiggles her legs up and down, taking her time to find an answer. “He knows how to say the right things to get what he wants.” She stops jiggling long enough to huff. “Knows how to say the wrong things, too. Whatever it takes to write the story he wants.”
My confusion must be written on my face because Frankie answers my question before I can ask. “He’s a journalist. He’s always chasing a story and doesn’t stop until he gets it.”
I nod, although I still have a lot of questions. Like if he wrote something about Frankie that led to their divorce.
“That’s why his name sounded familiar.” Mom sits taller. “He wrote all the stories about the resort mess three years ago.”
Frankie rubs the hem of her T-shirt between her fingers as she nods.
“Flo’s mentioned that led to a lot of trouble for you.”
My eyes pinball from Frankie to Mom and back before Frankie nods again. Somewhere I’ve lost the thread of this conversation. Apparently, Mom didn’t take her own advice to me about getting Fran’s story from her. She knows a lot more about Frankie than I do.
I shouldn’t be surprised. She and Flo are the type of sisters who talk every day. They hold each other’s secrets. And, I guess, other people’s, too.
“Jo-Joe!” Junie’s yell carries over the sound of her feet as she runs down the hall and into the family room. “I finished! Frankie can see my room now. It’s all clean!” Her cheeks are red with excitement as she grabs Frankie’s hand.
“Did you ask Frankie?” Mom reminds.
Junie blows out her breath. “Please can we play now?”
Frankie’s mouth opens, and she sends Mom an uncertain look, like she’s ready to bolt.
“I think Frankie may need to rest for a while, June Bug. But we’ll keep her as long as she wants us to, so you’ll have time to play later,” Mom says in a way that massages the tightness out of Frankie’s shoulders.
“That’s okay. I could use a distraction.” Her voice wavers, but then she smiles at Junie. “We can play.”
Junie pulls Frankie from the couch, her legs as wobbly as newborn colt’s.
“Ask your Daddy if it’s okay, Junie. Frankie’s his guest,” Mom says then lifts an eyebrow at me.
“Sure.” I stumble over the word, not sure if that’s what Mom wanted me to say before remembering I’m the one who should make those decisions.
Doesn’t matter. Junie’s dragged Frankie from the room before I’ve finished saying the word.
Since moving back in January, it’s been easy to let Mom parent both Junie and me.
She didn’t seem to mind at first, but lately she’s given me a lot of not-so-subtle reminders that she’s already raised me, and it’s not her job to raise my kid.
She hasn’t been as quick to respond when Junie chooses her over me.
But Junie chose Frankie today.
I’m not sure what to feel about that. Relief that she’s found one more person to adore? Worry that it’s someone with stories I’m the only one who doesn’t seem to know? Embarrassment at all the conclusions I’m jumping to when Frankie’s been here a total of five minutes?
Mom pats my knee and stands. “Why don’t you help me with dinner? Dad and the boys will be home any minute—including Hayes.”
“I thought he was in Arizona.”
Mom shakes her head on her way to the kitchen. “That was last week. Had a rodeo down south this week and is heading to Northern Nevada and Idaho next. Cassidy’s on her way, too.”
“The whole family…” I mumble.
“You’re not happy about that?” She hands me an apron and flips on the faucet for me to wash up.
“Not unhappy. Just thinking about Frankie.”
Mom’s lip pulls. “You seem to be thinking about her a lot lately.”
My eyebrows go up at her observation. “Not about her. Just thinking through what it means for her to have the whole family here.” I shake water off my hands a little too close to Mom, a subtle warning to mind her own business.
She wipes at the water spots on her apron while sending me a teasing glare. “It means she’s got a lot of support.”
I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know everything about her?”
Mom lifts her shoulders. “I’ve pieced things together based on what Flo’s told me about Frankie since she’s been here and things I knew before—”
“—About her acting days?”
“Hmm. That and some of her history beyond her career. But I’m not a gossip.” In a blink, Mom’s in motion again—I’m surprised she stood still as long as she did. “I’ll let her tell you about herself. You want the facts, not a bunch of rumors and tall tales.”
“You think she’ll tell me her story?”
“When she’s ready.” Mom lugs a huge watermelon across the kitchen and rolls it into my arms. “Cut this up, will you? Sandwiches for dinner tonight. Too hot for anything else. We’ll picnic outside.”
And that’s the end of our conversation. Any info Mom has on Frankie, she’s keeping to herself, no matter how hard I try to get it out of her.
So, while she pulls all the sandwich fixings from the fridge, I cut up watermelon like she’s asked and tell her about the pink eye outbreak in the Stevens’ herd.
I’ve just finished the watermelon when the door to the mudroom opens, and the sound of a stampede carries into the kitchen.
“Boots off!” Mom yells, like anyone needs reminding.
Well, maybe Hayes who appears for a second before turning back around to leave his boots where they’re supposed to be. He passes Dad, Wes, and Bennett on his way.
“Use the shower in there, too Hayes,” Dad calls after him. “That boy can’t remember a damn thing. He would lose his head if it weren’t attached.”
“He's playing dumb. He just likes to poke the bear.” Mom gives Dad a gentle jab in his belly, then pretend shivers. “Come to think of it, I like poking the bear, too.”
“Mom, Dad please.” I turn away from them as Dad pulls her into his arms.
My tolerance for their lovey-dovey stuff is nonexistent since Kayla died. Not that we had the kind of relationship Mom and Dad have. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to watch.
“It never stops,” Bennett plucks a slice of watermelon from the tray and downs it in two bites while reaching for another piece.
“Wait for dinner.” Mom breaks away from Dad to swat Bennett away from the watermelon.
“Too hungry.” He reaches around her and dodges a second swat as he grabs another piece.
“Better get these animals fed,” Dad says, reaching for his own slice.
Mom stops him with a look. “We’ve got company, and we’re eating outside where it’s cool and we can show off our sunset.”
“Company?” Hayes walks out of the mudroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Look who I found.” He points his thumb over his shoulder at Cassidy.
“We have company?” Cassidy strides after Hayes, passing him with her much longer legs. She got Dad’s height. Hayes got Mom’s grit.
“Yes!” Mom barks. “Quit wandering around in a towel, Hayes, before she walks in here.”
Hayes stops mid-reach for watermelon. “She? Is she pretty?”
His smirk makes me want to punch him.
“She’s Cal’s friend. Now go take a shower,” Mom orders.
Hayes grabs a watermelon wedge and grins around it. “A friend? Does she have a name?”
I almost say Frankie, that’s how familiar that name is to me now after only a week, but I stop myself. “Fran.”
“The one who works for Flo?” Bennett asks, and I nod.
“Auntie Cass!” Junie calls from down the hallway, and the pattering of her feet follows.
“Hayes! Get yourself into the shower immediately!” Mom yells, before moving into action, pushing him toward the mudroom bathroom like he’s a cow trying to break from the herd.
Junie wraps herself around Cassidy’s waist, Mom shoves Hayes into the bathroom, then Frankie appears. Everyone goes quiet, and I wonder how I didn’t realize she was famous the first time I met her. I recognized something special in her that day, even if I didn’t recognize her.
Frankie’s a star in any room she enters. The center of the universe. The sun that warms everything she touches. Now, her cheeks grow pink with the heat of everyone’s eyes on her, but not from embarrassment. She soaks up all the attention and glows with it.
I scratch the back of my neck, not sure how to introduce her when everyone has to see what I’m seeing. This isn’t some ordinary waitress from a diner.
“Everyone, this is…Fran. Fran…this is my family.” I point to each member one by one. “My older brother Wes. Ben’s next in line after me. You just missed my youngest brother, Hayes—be grateful about that. My sister Cassidy. You know Junie and my mom. And that’s my dad, Joe.”