15. Wade
15
WADE
A week after August and I started our little game of who could hold out the longest, I was scowling down at the Bryants’ patio grill and trying to convince myself I could handle seeing her across the table tonight without dragging her to the nearest bedroom, damn the consequences.
The hostess might frown on that.
Morgan had sent out the call for a mandatory family dinner and, at Gene’s request, BYOT or “bring your own takeout,” was the theme of the night. I’d ignored it and brought a large chef salad and a few sweet potatoes to grill, with both Phoebe’s blood pressure and my cholesterol levels in mind.
That fortuitous decision had the added benefit of allowing me to leave the crowded house for a few moments’ peace—or as much peace as two collies continuously barking at absolutely nothing could give me—when the tension in the air got to be too much.
I’d seen the look on Morgan’s face when I arrived.
She’d only taken a few days to recover from her jet lag and get her ducks in a row for the start of the semester, but her look said she still had plenty of energy left to deal with whatever was bothering her. Not that I would necessarily know what that was until she was ready to tell me. Unlike Bernie, who flared hot and fast and moved on just as quickly, if something upset Morgan, you might not find out about it for months, but when you did, you’d be sorry. Her ability to keep a grudge alive was impressive and occasionally unsettling.
At least she’d handled the news about the rental better than August imagined she would. I’d been relieved, for her sake, but not surprised. Then again, I’d always been aware that the dynamics between the two sisters were more complex than mine and Bernie’s. When it came to August, Morgan’s usually calm, predictable behavior wasn’t always present.
Maybe it was a woman thing. I didn’t mean that to sound sexist, but you couldn’t argue that women had very different relationships with each other than men did. I supposed it could have something to do with how different they were, and how long they’d been separated.
When Morgan decided to move in with us at seventeen, which had caused their initial separation, it had also taken a lot of weight off my shoulders. My stepmother, Yvonne, believed in raising us “free range,” while my father was no more than an infrequent visitor, using us as a quick pit stop before long-haul trucking his way around the country and into the bed of every willing woman he could find.
We’d barely seen him growing up, and I hadn’t heard from him in the last ten years, which was fine by me. But my childhood had been spent making up for his absence. I’d done under-the table work at the garage until I was old enough to be on the payroll, eventually purchasing and renaming it. I’d helped Yvonne with chores and bills, so she wouldn’t regret sticking around, despite my father’s infidelities. And I’d done everything I could to make sure my sister got to be a normal kid for as long as possible.
I’d have crashed and burned without Morgan. She’d been there through Bernie’s rebellious years, her unexpected pregnancy and Yvonne’s decision to sign over the house to her before signing divorce papers and moving out. She’d been there for me through my misstep of a marriage.
She was my closest friend and part of our family. And I was keeping secrets from her, psychoanalyzing her relationship with her little sister…and seducing August.
Is that what you’ve been doing with her sister? Feels more like masochism with a side of blue balls.
Don’t think I hadn’t been kicking myself about it all week. A week, instead of a few days, because I was still waiting for my gut to tell me August was ready for the next step. Meanwhile, my dick had been ready five days ago, and neither it, nor August, were happy with the delay.
If this was a game of chicken, I was about to lose. I could make it through dinner, but once that was over, I was going to give her what she’d been begging me for last night. I was through waiting when I wasn’t even sure exactly what I was waiting for. A code word? A proposal? A legally binding contract promising she’d never leave the state, no matter how unhappy it made her?
Seriously, what the hell was my problem?
“Did those sweet potatoes do something to piss you off?”
Morgan stepped through the sliding glass door and my shoulders tensed instinctively. “No more than usual. How goes the recovery?”
She ambled closer, looking casually comfortable in her at-home lounge pants and an oversized shirt. It was only the look in her eyes that meant business.
“Better now. How’s the apartment?”
“It keeps out the rain,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.
Thank you, August, for taking that secret out of play.
“Kingston mentioned he offered you a room at his place.”
Kingston needed to shut the hell up. “If you had the option of having your own space or sharing the bachelor pad of Hound Dog Haywood, tell me you wouldn’t make the same decision.”
Her lips quirked. “I can’t argue with that. He really is still a hound dog.” She sat down on her cranberry-red patio sectional and sighed. “Thank you, by the way, for getting August’s car working again. How’s she been doing?”
Was there a right way to answer that question?
“The car or my landlady?” I started warily. “Myrtle’s doing fine. August’s been busy.”
“I heard. Rick and Lucy told Gene about the VW and the race as soon as we touched down. August left a message on my phone an hour after that.”
Of course, they did. And August had managed to sneak in her confession under the wire, the way she’d planned. Clever little minx.
Where the hell was she anyway?
“She texted a few hours ago that she was coming to dinner.” Morgan glanced at the time on her phone. “Do you know if she’s going to be late?”
“I’m staying in the apartment by the pool, not keeping tabs on her every move.”
When I’d knocked on her door on my way here to offer her a ride, she was still in her pajamas, with a Post-it note stuck to her shirt and a glazed look in her eyes. She’d told me to go without her, that she would be over after she finished the chapter she’d been working on all morning.
Knowing how she got when she was writing, I’d kissed her, given her a little slap on the ass and pushed her toward the shower, telling her the book would have to wait unless she wanted to miss family night and Gene’s decision about Jiminy.
She hadn’t argued, but she wasn’t here yet either.
“Gene wants to take the car,” Morgan said, as if reading my mind, “even after what happened to her Honda at the airport. ”
“Like I said, Myrtle is fine. Hondas last forever.”
She huffed impatiently. “You don’t think it’s strange that August suddenly decided to sell Mom’s car so she could join the team?”
I set down my grill tongs. “The bug is in her name and in good condition. It can race.”
She got to her feet. “It’s in good condition because of all the work you did on it. But August shouldn’t?—”
I turned and my look shut her down. “Morgan, I don’t feel comfortable having a conversation about that. It’s not my place. Your sister will be here soon, and you can talk to her about it then.”
We stared at each other for a moment and then she made a face. “Fine. I forgot for a minute. You’re a vault and you hate family drama.”
“I am and I do.” I hesitated for a second before adding, “And you hate surprises, but you’ve gotten a few this week. I get that, and I’m sorry about it.”
Her expression softened. “Thank you.”
“If it helps, my first reaction was probably similar to yours, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“You have?” she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.
I nodded. “She’s convincing. And like I said, it is her car now.”
“I didn’t think she’d do this with it. The idea is insane,” she muttered to herself. “Are there any other surprises in store?”
“Yes.” Her gaze jerked to mine and I shrugged. “I’m a vault, but everyone deserves a heads-up.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Lucy called to her through the half-open sliding door and she went back inside without saying another word.
I’d thought approaching August about the apartment was awkward, but it was nothing compared to the conversation I just had with the woman I’d been friends with my entire adult life .
If you start sleeping with her sister, it’s probably going to get worse.
Tell me something I didn’t know. I was still all in on my plan. The brilliant and masochistic new version I’d devised on the fly when she’d said she wanted me at the garage. Friendly neighborhood foreplay. But I’d made sure it was on my terms, with my original goal still in mind.
How’s that working out for you?
There were still a few kinks I needed to work out. Like maybe volunteering to help her tear down wallpaper wasn’t the best way to get her alone. When it was done, we’d both been too exhausted to do more than give each other a sticky high five before retreating to our separate showers and beds.
I’d also learned you couldn’t have a conversation with a woman wearing sound-muffling headphones to write while you hammered away on her stairs. Though she had ordered another pizza. I’d decided to consider that our third official date.
You haven’t actually taken her on one of those yet.
Because she didn’t want romance.
The biggest issue was time. As in, I needed more of it, and it was passing too quickly. Speaking of, I took out my phone to check it again. Where was she?
I should let her know Morgan might try to put a kibosh on the car situation. She’d practically said as much, and if you were dating someone, you gave them a heads-up if they might be walking into a potential intervention.
You just want to check on her. And you’re not really dating.
We were painting the living room together and I’d been making her come on a regular basis all week. As far as I was concerned, we were in a relationship. I was calling her.
I walked quickly along the fence line until I hit the driveway, where I nearly bumped into my sister .
“I thought you were inside,” I said dumbly. “I’ve got to make a call, but Phoebe’s potatoes are in the back?—”
Bernie poked my chest with her finger, hard enough to shut me up and get me to focus on what she was wearing. That was her Get Me Some outfit. And lord, I wish I didn’t know that about my own sister. The black vest topped snug black jeans, showing off the three small birds in flight on her shoulder—her “Don’t Worry About A Thing” tattoo. She’d gotten that without telling me when she was sixteen. Right before she told me she was pregnant.
According to August, she’d done it on purpose. The tattoo, not the pregnancy.
“What’s with the poking?” I asked, rubbing the sore spot on my chest. “And why are you dressed like that?”
“I can wear what I want. And I have a late date with a frisky construction worker who wants me to move to Hawaii with him. See how I tell you things as soon as you ask?”
I grimaced. “Unlike you, I don’t need those kinds of details. Unless you’re taking him up on it. Are you moving to Hawaii?”
“Don’t be stupid.” She poked me again. “Your turn. Spill your guts.”
“About what?” I asked warily, glancing over at the house to make sure no one was listening.
She must have had the same thought, because she lowered her voice. “First you fix her car. Then you move into her apartment, save her from a falling tree and give her a job. Now you’re in the icehouse whenever she’s in the office or behind the bar, mooning like a lovesick old dog and making her blush. I know you’ve got a thing, Wade. Phoebe knows you’ve got a thing. Tell me I’m lying.”
I couldn’t do that, so I hedged. “I asked her to do paperwork for the same reason you offered her those shifts. Because you didn’t want to do them.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, that’s why I offered. I have my own business to run and no patience for drunken idiots with wandering hands. But I didn’t think she’d take it. Why would she accept a menial job that pays shit for tips? What?” She huffed in amusement when I didn’t answer. “Did the royalties stop pouring in from those books of hers or something?”
She studied my face. I was aiming for stone, but she knew me too well. Or maybe I didn’t have the poker face I thought I did.
“That’s it, isn’t it? It’s not a thing—she’s having money troubles and doesn’t want Morgan to know.” She nodded as if answering her own question, sounding disappointed. “That makes so much more sense.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Why would you say that?”
There was no small amount of pity in her expression. “Because you’re you. You see a problem and you Wade in to fix it. You’re big-brothering her, just like you do to the rest of us. And here I was hoping it was something juicier.”
“I’m not big-brothering her.”
She made a dismissive clicking sound with her tongue. “Please.”
I wished she didn’t know exactly how to push my buttons. “You want the truth? Fine. I’m not sure where it’s going, but there is a thing. It’s a mutual thing that we don’t want to share with the rest of the class yet. Happy now?”
She hadn’t blinked since I started talking. “Bernie?”
“This is so much information,” she whispered, almost maniacally. “Why would you give me this power over you?”
“I’m already regretting it,” I said ruefully. “Try to keep it to yourself, because I can’t convince her to take a chance on sticking around if everybody’s getting in her face or gossiping about us.”
She jumped on that slip. “Sticking around? Phoebe said her friend offered her a place to stay back in San Diego.” Oh great, Phoebe knew about that now? “She says August is thinking about it. She wouldn’t tell me any more than that. ”
She was doing more than thinking about it. I’d spent a few sleepless nights wondering if that was why her friend was coming here. Not for the race or a visit, but to convince her to leave with him ahead of schedule.
“How can she think about moving when she’s about to be a grandmother?” Bernie asked. When I gave her a look, she waved her hand. “Grand-godmother. Whatever. If I have to do it, she does too. She promised the shaman.”
“So, you’ve forgiven her for whatever you’ve been mad about for the last few years?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I know I’ve been a bitch. I wanted to apologize, but it never seemed like the right time. I didn’t think she’d leave .”
That sounded familiar.
“It hasn’t happened yet,” I told her gruffly, not liking the guilt on her face or the way it mirrored my own feelings. “Maybe we could both spend a little more time with her. Remind her that she’s got people here that care about her.”
She was staring as if I’d sprouted a second head. “Let me get this straight. You’re not sure she’s staying, but you’re still having a thing? You’re still interested?”
I’d always been interested, and after these last few weeks, I didn’t see that changing anytime soon. No matter where she decided to go. “Can you keep it to yourself?”
“I know my job.” Her fingers made a zipping motion over her lips. “No telling Morgan.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. “No telling anybody was what I was going for.”
She gave me a pitying look. “That’s not realistic and I’m ashamed of you for thinking it is. I have to tell Phoebe. Though she’s the one who put two and two together, so she already knows. But if she didn’t, I carried her in my body for nine months and that bond supersedes all other oaths.” She chewed thoughtfully on her lip. “And I have to call Yvonne so she can send some good juju your way via her spirit guides. But that’s it. The three of us won’t break the circle of trust. Not until your wedding night or your tenth anniversary, whichever comes first.”
She sounded more like our stepmom every day.
“I have to get her to spend more time with me before you start ringing those bells, Bernadette.”
She quietly bounced in place like she’d run into her favorite boy band in the grocery store but didn’t want to scare them away. “ You have the crush now. How the worm has turned.”
“What worm?” I shook my head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I needed someone to keep their head on straight, because I’d lost mine weeks ago.
Maybe this crush, as Bernie called it, was my midlife crisis. A constant hard-on and no common sense was not what I was expecting forty-nine to look like, but I supposed it could have been worse.
“Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute,” I said, holding up my phone, “I have to tell her Morgan isn’t happy about her entering the race.”
I didn’t expect my words to turn Bernie into an avenging angel right in front of my eyes.
“Are you talking about the race? The 24 Hours of Lemons?” Her voice got progressively louder and I took a step back instinctively, out of poking range. “That thing I’ve been banned from participating in for years, in spite of the fact that I dated a stunt driver in my twenties who told me I should consider changing careers because I was that good? She’s entering that race?”
“What are you talking about? No one’s banned except for that idiot Dave. I was planning on asking you to give August a few lessons in defensive driving. Did someone ban you?”
What the fuck ?
The front door opened and Gene stepped outside with a bucket of fried chicken cradled possessively in his arms. “What are you two plotting out here?”
How hard was it to get a minute of privacy in a house full of people? I went ahead and texted August while keeping a cautious eye on my volatile sibling.
Bernie crossed her arms, covering her ire with a thin-lipped smile. “Welcome back, Eugene. I bet I can guess what you brought to dinner.”
“You can’t bring me down, Bernadette.” He proved it by grinning in spite her use of the full name he hated. “I’ve been looking forward to this since we got off the plane. I bought an extra bucket so I don’t have to share. I haven’t had fried chicken in a month.”
I shook my head. “From what your wife told us, you found a place that served it in Rome and refused to get on the boat until you ordered some.”
“Fried chicken in Italy, Gene?” Bernie’s tone was all mock disappointment. “That feels like a tourist move.”
“Funny story,” he started, his back against the closed garage door as he settled in, still cuddling his treasure. “There was this old guy on the cruise who would not stop complaining about the lack of Italian food in Italy. He kept saying, ‘Where’s the lasagna? Where’s a good deep-dish pizza? Why doesn’t this have any meatballs?’ It was hilarious. At least I’m not that much of a tourist. I went native. I ate?—”
“Donkey,” Bernie and I said simultaneously. “We heard.”
He looked over at me with narrowed eyes. “Well, I heard we got Jiminy. And I’ve got five hundred in cash, ready to hand over as soon as that sweet sister of mine gets here.”
Bernie fumed silently beside me and I cradled my phone in my hand, hoping I’d sent the message out in time. “You know her terms? ”
“Sure.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug, pulling out a chicken leg and pointing at us with it as he spoke. “She wants to drive a lap or two with the big dogs. I talked Morgan off the ledge about it, because I’m not seeing a downside. Her sister finally leaves the house, we make sure she knows what she’s doing, and we get the car. After what Dave did to us, I was expecting to settle for a barely-running garbage heap even you couldn’t fix, so this is a gift. The best gift I’ve had in years.”
He took a bite and wiggled his pale eyebrows.
I don’t think Morgan was as convinced as he thought she was. “You really want that VW, don’t you?”
“I can be a good brother-in-law and chew gum at the same time,” he said before his expression burst into absolute glee. “But yes. I’ve got so many ideas.”
Bernie was practically vibrating now. “Will you two boys excuse me for a minute? I’ve got to make a call.”
Who was she calling? I nodded to Gene before following her to the end of the driveway to talk her down.
“Bernie, hang—Gus?”
She’d parked on the curb and was holding a bag of what looked like sliders in one hand and glancing down at her phone in the other.
Her pajamas had been replaced with a sweet coral blouse and a pair of tan capris that hugged her round hips. Her hair was pulled back on the sides, her thick curls falling to her shoulders in bouncy spirals that begged to be tugged.
My fingers twitched with the compulsion to touch her, but when she looked up, her expression uncertain, I managed to restrain myself.
She’d gotten my message.