21. Viggo
VIGGO
Agarden party at a gigantic lake house on steroids was not my idea of fun.
First of all, there were too many people.
It didn’t seem possible to have fifty or sixty friends willing to travel to a northern outpost in the wilderness for a weekend of revelry.
Secondly, everyone was casually dressed yet dripping in diamonds, Rolexes, and Prada shades.
I didn’t own anything fancy, but I knew better than to show up at Dexter’s side in worn-out jeans and a tee.
And I admit I’d enjoyed the hell out of Dex’s response to my blue oxford shirt and khaki getup.
He’d whistled appreciatively. “Damn, you clean up nicely.”
“Hmph.” I’d flipped the keys in the air and motioned toward the rental. “I’ve been to a few grown-up parties.”
“I’ll drive. I know the way and…I need to stay occupied.”
I’d surrendered the keys and settled into the passenger seat only to have my ears talked off for fifteen solid minutes.
Did I know the people who lived in the Upper Peninsula were called Yoopers?
Did I know that some areas in the UP got almost four hundred inches of snow per year?
He’d monologued about skiing for a few miles while I’d hummed and grunted to let him know I was still there.
I’d learned early on that Dex was a nervous talker, but this was rather severe.
“It’ll be okay, you know,” I’d finally interjected as he pulled into a long circular driveway behind a Range Rover waiting for valet service.
His lips had twitched at one corner. “Thanks.”
I’d squeezed his hand and hoped I was right.
Ten minutes later, I couldn’t understand his angst. Everyone was very very…nice.
Yes, they were well-dressed and elegant with country club airs and phony laughs, but they smiled warmly and greeted Dexter with effusive hugs, kisses, and “It’s so wonderful to see you’s.
” His movie-star looks, charming disposition, and easy grin marked him as one of them, and he certainly looked the part in his pressed khakis and a button-down that was probably from a Paris designer’s recent collection.
Dexter emanated charisma to the nth degree.
I’d witnessed him work his wiles in Wood Hollow to sell donuts by the dozens and convince half the population of the Four Forest area that they needed flag football in their lives.
But there was more to Dex. So much more.
It seemed odd that I might be the only one here who could tell his laughter was too polished to be sincere.
He was playing a role and working hard at it.
I didn’t escape their curious glances, which was understandable. If nothing else, I was a full head taller than most of the partygoers and I was sure they wondered how I fit in. But there were no snooty once-overs, no hostile posturing.
“You made it!” An old man with thinning white hair and a thick mustache beamed with pride at the sight of Dex.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Happy birthday, Gilbert,” Dex said a little too smoothly.
“Thank you very much, and you are?”
“Viggo,” I supplied, offering my hand. “Happy birthday.”
“Good to meet you. Thanks for coming.” Gilbert motioned to a server with a tray of champagne and waved to someone behind us. “I have to mingle, but I’ll catch up with you soon. It’s been too long, Dex. Far too long.”
Dex twisted a flute glass between his fingers and nodded. “Yeah. Is my mother—”
“On the lawn. She’s had her eye out for you for hours. Go on and say hello.” Gilbert clapped Dexter’s shoulder and skirted around us on shaky knees.
The property’s stone-and-wood facade with the encroaching forest to the south and its dramatic cliffside perch on Lake Michigan made for a grand setting.
I admired the beautifully carved mantel above the hearth, the vaulted ceilings, and ornately chandeliers on our way through the grand living area to the porch and the outrageous lakeside view.
We stood on the deck overlooking the lawn.
Older couples in sundresses and linen slacks played croquet and bocce ball or chatted at the high tables decorated with bouquets of sunflowers.
I put my sunglasses on and waited for Dexter to extricate himself from the clutches of a grandmotherly woman who patted his cheeks and asked how he was feeling.
Someone else commented on the marvels of modern medicine, and Dexter gave a short chuckle I recognized as a signal he was ready to move on.
I leaned in and tugged at his sleeve, whispering, “Come.”
He followed me onto the lawn and took a sharp right to a clump of high bushes that served as a wind barrier. It wasn’t necessarily private, but it was partially shielded from view.
Dex put his hands on his hips and sucked in a deep gulp of air. “This isn’t terrible, is it?”
“No, not at all. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. These are old family friends. I think we’re the youngest guests by a long shot. Gil’s kids are here, but they’re in their forties and fifties. I’m surprised. Mom usually invites her minions from the firm and their kids.”
“Do you want to talk to her?”
Dexter inclined his head toward a striking brunet. “Yeah, I should get this over with. I’ll introduce you, but feel free to bow out at any time.”
I didn’t reply. I followed him like a bodyguard, gauging his mood by the tight set of his jaw as he pasted a smile on his face and approached his mother. She quickly ended her conversation with a portly older man and turned to him.
Mother and son engaged in a sort of standoff, and this right here was the tension I’d been expecting all along. I scanned their faces for clues and noticed how very alike they were—same hair, same color eyes, same straight spine and stiff upper lip.
“You’re here,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I told you I’d come,” he replied in a cooly cordial tone. “Mom, this is Viggo. He’s my…friend.”
She lifted a brow, her sharp gaze raking me from head to toe. “Thank you for coming, Viggo. I’m Margaret. Dexter’s mother.”
“A pleasure to meet—”
“Where are you staying?” She pivoted to Dex. “I just heard your house was leased for the summer. Your agent’s wife works for me, you know.”
“Uh…right. We rented a place nearby.”
“Rented? Oh, Dex. Get your bags and take your room. You’ll both be more comfortable. Did you see Lance and Georgia?” Margaret’s delivery was rushed, as if she’d remembered she was on a timer and was leery of using the precious resource in one go.
“Yes. Lance and Georgia are Gilbert’s kids,” he added for my benefit.
Margaret tilted her chin and studied him. “And how are you feeling, dear?”
He sighed. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“No headaches, no—”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Don’t be cross, but Jennifer is expected after all. I wasn’t positive that you’d come, and we have work to attend to in the morning. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“No, I—”
“I didn’t think so.” She touched Dexter’s elbow lightly, the first instance of physical contact between mother and son. “You’ll excuse me, please.”
“Wait. I need to talk to you. Can I have five minutes?”
Another lift of perfectly arched brows. “I have a houseful of guests, dear. Later will have to do. Welcome, Viggo. Dexter will show you around and—”
“I’m having a baby,” he blurted. “My surrogate is four months along. I’m going to be a dad, and I thought you’d want to know.”
He slugged his champagne in one gulp and plucked mine from my fingers, too.
There was a party happening in our periphery and gulls swooping overhead called out in a plaintive “Ha-ha-ha,” so though it wasn’t silent, something icy and foreboding sliced through the air, drowning out sound.
“A baby?” She zeroed in on me. “Are you getting married? Are you—”
“No,” he intercepted. “We’re friends. Viggo is a close friend of my surrogate’s, too. Her name is Freya.”
Margaret opened and closed her mouth. “I hope this is a joke.”
I frowned, stepping in front of Dexter as if to protect him. “This is no joke. Your son is happy, and that’s what matters most…I’m sure you agree.”
She shot daggers at me, nostrils flaring, though her voice was steady and even. “I’m sure that if you knew my son better, you’d disagree.”
“Mom…”
“He doesn’t know, does he? Does your surrogate know? Does the family planning agency know? Or did you tell them you had a partner? That’s the only way this is acceptable. You cannot do this alone. Not to yourself, not to a child. It’s irresponsible.”
“Irresponsible?” Dexter’s jaw dropped. “I told you I was looking into surrogacy a long time ago. You don’t have to be happy for me, but why are you so surprised?”
“I didn’t think you’d do it,” she hissed. “After everything you’ve been through and what you put your wife through, I’m shocked. Truly. And you have some nerve announcing this now…at Gilbert’s party. It’s unbelievably selfish.”
Dexter pursed his lips. “Got it. I’m leaving.”
He strode away, leaving me alone with his mother. Her pinched expression morphed into concern, pain, and finally, chilly resolution. No doubt she made a cunning adversary in the boardroom, but it didn’t translate well in the current situation.
“I apologize for the unpleasantries.” Margaret stared after Dexter. “I must get back to my—”
“Unacceptable.” I rounded on her angrily. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I will tell you this—Dexter is a good man, and he’ll be a great dad. With or without your support.”
I fixed her with my meanest glower, hoping to convey my utmost disdain before trudging to the house and through the press of new arrivals.
The valets were doing a brisk business in the wide driveway, racing to serve the row of cars waiting patiently for attention. It seemed we’d been early after all.
The newcomers were young, some with children and teens. Some who looked familiar, like politicians or TV personalities you thought you knew, but didn’t. I craned my neck and spotted our rental at the very end of the driveway.
Dexter was behind the wheel.
I opened the door and unlatched his seat belt. “I’ll drive.”
We didn’t speak on the way to the cabin. I was terrible at giving comfort, and I had no idea what I was up against.