Chapter 15
“Thank you for dinner.” Martha patted her lips with her napkin. “I would’ve been perfectly happy with the food at the rehab center, but it was nice to spend time with you on Thanksgiving Day. I still hate that you missed dinner with your family.”
“You know how my family is. We don’t have Thanksgiving.” With his plate only half-empty, Collin moved his food around to appear more had been eaten.
“Didn’t you say you were invited to dinner with your cousin, Charlie, at her parents’ house? Why did you turn down their invitation?”
The real answer was Collin hadn’t been prepared to answer Charlie’s questions about Olivia and the Santa Claus disaster. She’d been needling him for details ever since hearing about the episode from Grace.
“I want to spend time with you, Martha.” Collin put his fork down, his three bites of turkey having somehow filled his stomach to the brim. “In fact, I want to take you somewhere Saturday night. My brother invited me and some friends to a new club in town.”
Martha swallowed a bite of food. “What are you doing, Collin? Why are you inviting me to go out with you instead of bringing a girlfriend?”
He squeezed his eyes tight against a flood of guilt. “Because I let you down. I promised to get you a new kidney, and I failed. I need to spend time with you before you die.”
With a longsuffering sigh, Martha said, “This is my fault, isn’t it?”
“Nothing is your fault. You’re the innocent one here.”
“You’re upset because I told you I refused to live on dialysis, right?” Her brows lifted. “I only said that because I was afraid.”
“You’re not afraid of anything,” Collin argued. “You’re the bravest person I know.”
“I am afraid, but I shouldn’t have made such a rash statement. I don’t like dialysis. I don’t like needles. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since I lost my home, it’s to appreciate what you have. I shouldn’t have complained about needing dialysis when I’m blessed to be alive.” She reached across the table and patted his hand. “I’m blessed to have you acting like one of my sons, and I’m really blessed to have Steven Gherring promise to support me financially. I have so many things to be thankful for. I shouldn’t be moping around, feeling sorry for myself.”
Collin started to protest, when her cell phone started chiming inside the worn leather bag that never left her shoulder. She dug in the depths, extracting her new cell phone. After several seconds, she found the right button and answered the call.
“Hello? Oh, hi. How are you?” She listened quietly for several minutes, her eyes widening at first, and then glistening with tears. “I can’t believe it!” She choked, pressing her hand to her throat. “Thank you so much. Yes, I hope it works out, but I promise not to set my hopes too high. Thanks again, and happy Thanksgiving.”
She hung up and stared at Collin, her mouth hanging open. “That was Olive Oil. She thinks she’s found a kidney for me.”
“Olivia?” His heart flipped inside his chest. “How? Where did she find it?”
Her lifted hand silenced his questions. “I don’t know any details, and it may not work out. But even if it doesn’t, I’ll be okay.”
“You don’t want to die anymore?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m ready to strike a bargain. I’m willing to fight to stay alive, at least for a couple of years, whether or not I get a transplant.”
The knot in his stomach began to loosen. He felt a sense of control returning—one that had been missing since he’d first learned Martha had kidney failure. He studied her face, searching to see if she was sincere. For the first time, he noticed a rosy hue had returned to her cheeks. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, Martha.”
“Uh-uh-uh!” Her finger waggled like a metronome. “Like I said, it’s a bargain. You haven’t heard what I want from you.” She took another bite of turkey.
“What do you want?” He was afraid to hear the answer.
She put her fork down and leaned forward, her stare intense. “Collin, you know I lost both my sons in the war.”
“You told me that,” he responded, wondering where she was headed.
“If they were here with us they’d tell you I’m a pro at laying on a guilt trip.”
“Go ahead and lay it on me,” he challenged. “I can take it.”
“There’s one thing you could give me. One thing I want that I can’t get for myself. In five years, I may not be here, and it will be too late.”
“Am I supposed to guess?”
“You’re welcome to try.” She lifted her chin.
“I’m guessing you want to be the mother of the groom in a wedding, although I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening soon.”
“Well, that would be nice. But what I really want requires a bit more effort and costs considerably more. It’s something I’ve never had, but always dreamed of.”
“What is it? A trip? A sports car?” Collin took a sip of water, smiling as he imagined Martha behind the wheel of a Corvette.
“No…a grandbaby.”
Collin sucked in a shocked breath, sending water down the wrong pipe and starting a coughing fit.
“No reason to get all choked up about it.” She chuckled as he cleared his throat. “You have a little time to get used to the idea, because I want you to get married first. But we can’t afford to waste a lot of time.”
“Martha, I don’t even have a girlfriend. How do you expect me to get married and have a baby?”
“Only in the next year or two.” She leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of water. “You don’t have to rush it.”
“You don’t think getting married and having a kid within two years is rushing things? I have to find a woman willing to be my wife, first.”
“I seem to recall you complaining that plenty of women seemed interested in getting married.”
He stared down his nose, emphasizing his disapproval. “Do you also recall that those women only wanted to marry me because of my money, and that I’m not interested in any of them?”
She nodded, her lips turning downward. “That does sound familiar. It’s too bad there isn’t a girl out there who’d be interested in you for yourself, instead of being attracted to your money. Can you think of anyone like that?”
“If a girl like that actually existed, I couldn’t marry her.”
This time her brows knitted together and stayed that way, like there was Velcro in the creases. “Why ever not?”
Fingers closed around his throat, cutting off his air. “Because I don’t deserve someone like that.”
“You’ve been listening to your father, haven’t you?” Her eyes flashed with anger. “You’re a good man, Collin. You are kind, and gentle-hearted, and loving. Whatever he said to you isn’t true. You don’t respect him or his opinion about anything else, so why would you believe his judgment of you?”
With his eyes trained on a spot on the ceiling, Collin deliberated before answering. He’d never spoken to anyone of his mother’s eviscerating pronouncement the night she left, and with good reason. To say the words aloud would make him despise himself even more. He kept his memories private.
“You don’t know everything about me, Martha. I don’t deserve you, either.”
“Oh my goodness!” Her eyes rolled up, showing the whites. “Stop your whining right now, or you’ll give me a new reason to wish I was dead. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I haven’t lived a sheltered life since we went bankrupt. I know for a fact you have a good heart, and I don’t care what secret you’re hiding from your past.”
“Won’t mention it again, but there’s nothing I can do to fulfill your demands in less than two years.”
“You could start by inviting someone your own age to that club Saturday night. Someone like Olivia.”
Her sharp, all-seeing eyes probed him for the truth as he squirmed in his chair. Yet he knew Olivia deserved someone who would love her, rather than control and manipulate her. “Olivia wants nothing to do with me. Don’t ask. It’s a long story, but she caught me in a big lie.”
Martha’s face wilted like a cut flower in the summer sun. “That’s too bad. I really like that girl. And the two of you would’ve made beautiful grandkids for me.”
“Martha!” Blood rushed into his face.
“Don’t have time to waste with niceties. Need to be practical if I’m going to get what I want before I die in a couple of years.”
“Your better bet is to work hard to find a matching kidney, so I don’t have to marry the first girl who’s willing.”
“You can’t marry just any girl, though. Make sure her hips are wide, like mine. Child-bearing hips.” She winked.
“I don’t want to discuss hips with you, or anyone else, for that matter. Can we please change the subject? Anything besides hips?” His face was so hot he could’ve fried an egg on it.
“Fine. Let’s see, what shall we talk about? Hmmm. Why don’t you tell me what you did to make Olive Oil angry?” Martha’s impertinent smirk left no doubt she knew what she was doing.
Collin released a long sigh. “How wide do those hips need to be?”
* * *
“Stop puttingdirty things into my clean dishwater—you’re going to mess it up.” Olivia snatched the plate from the suds, rinsing off the food particles and setting it on top of the rinsed plate stack.
“Why do you have to wash everything twice?” Spencer complained. “You wash it once just to stack it on the counter. Then you wash it again.”
“Because I don’t want food particles in my clean dish water. Gross. Icky bits of food floating around in there.” Olivia dropped the rinsed silverware into the bottom of her dishwater, before grabbing a stack of plates and lowering them into the suds. “However, since that was the juiciest turkey I’ve ever eaten in my life and the stuffing was incredible, you’re totally forgiven.”
Spencer beamed. He’d been the chief chef in the household even back when he was in high school. Now she only enjoyed his cooking on holidays and at their weekly family gatherings on Sunday nights. “I’m glad you liked it. I got that recipe from the book you got me last Christmas—The Test Kitchen.”
“Emily is so lucky. I’m never going to find a guy who can cook like you.”
“Afraid you’re right. My greatness is unmatched.”
She gave him a shove, leaving wet handprints on his shirt. “Get out of my kitchen and send Hannah and Claire in here to help with the dishes. They’ve had more than their fair share of baby time already.”
“Will do.” Spencer ducked through the door.
At six feet three inches, he was the tallest of the Marshall clan. Hannah and Claire, who burst into the room moments later, closely mirrored Olivia’s five feet nine inches. Only Grace, a bare two inches over five feet, had inherited a latent, short gene. If she didn’t have their father’s hazel eyes and a turned-up nose identical to their mom, they would’ve accused her of being an accidental mix-up at the hospital.
“Your new cell phone was ringing earlier.” Claire held it up so Olivia could look at it without drying her hands.
“That’s my roommate’s number. I’ll call her back when I finish.”
“I like your new phone,” said Claire.
“It’s not really new,” Olivia explained. “Had to get a refurbished one. All I could afford. At least I got to keep my same phone number.”
Hannah fished in the drawer for two fresh dishcloths and handed one to Claire. “This is perfect. Claire and I can dry dishes and put them away, and you can tell us all about the guy you met on Saturday while you wash.”
Claire picked up a plate, examining it before she wiped it with her towel. “And I’m going to be the clean-inspector, in case you miss anything when you wash.”
“I never miss anything,” Olivia defended. “I’m a perfectionist, like you.”
“True,” said Claire. “It’s Hannah who gets in a hurry and leaves food on the plates.”
“My dishes come out perfectly clean,” Hannah snapped. “The two of you stare at my clean plates until you see spots in front of your eyes and then blame me for it.”
“Believe whatever makes you happy.” Olivia grinned at Hannah, relieved to have distracted her from her quest for information. “I need to go for a walk when we’re done. A little exercise to burn off all those calories.”
“I see what you’re doing here, and it’s not going to work.” Hannah leaned close as she picked up another plate from the stack of rinsed dishes. “Time to tell us all about guy number three from Find Your Forever. Is he really your forever-guy? Grace wouldn’t give us anything—she said we had to let you tell us.”
“Might as well spill it. You know you want to.” Claire squinted at the plate she held a few inches away from her face and rubbed at a spot with her towel.
“Not much to tell. I went. He’s an attorney. Thirty-six years old. Good-looking. We talked a few minutes. He got my cell number.”
Hannah plopped her hands on her hips, dishtowel dangling. “Stop teasing. Give us the details.”
Olivia gave in to the inevitable and repeated the story of the lunch meeting for her sisters’ benefit, including all the pertinent details, but not her confusing reactions.
“I can tell you think he’s hot.” Hannah carried a stack of plates to the cabinet. “But I can’t tell if you like him.”
“I’m not sure, either,” Olivia admitted. “He’s got an ego the size of the Pacific.”
“And he wants to make you his trophy wife,” said Claire.
“But he’s not looking for a normal trophy wife,” Hannah argued. “Sounds like he wants a beautiful, smart, accomplished trophy wife, instead of a gorgeous, mindless bimbo.”
“I still can’t imagine Olivia in that role.” Claire grabbed a new dishtowel to replace her saturated one.
“I agree with you, Claire.” Olivia started washing the first pot. “But you didn’t see him. He’s pretty tempting.”
“You’re going out with him on Saturday?” Claire asked. “What about Collin’s party? Thought we were all going together.”
A pot slipped from Olivia’s fingers, splashing into the sink of water. “I forgot all about it. But I’m not going to Collin’s party, since I’m still mad at him.” She searched for remnants of her earlier fury, finding a few strands.
“You’re mad at Collin? What did he do?” asked Hannah.
“I guess I haven’t talked to you since last Friday. We had a little run-in.” Olivia tucked her chin down, hoping her sisters wouldn’t notice the evidence of her humiliation. “I found out that night in the break room, when I kissed Blake in his Real Santa Claus suit, it wasn’t Blake at all. It was Collin, pretending to be Blake.”
“What!” Hannah exclaimed, bursting into uncontrollable giggles. “You kissed Collin and thought it was Blake?”
“No way,” Claire moved to lean against the counter beside Olivia. “Are you telling me the whole time you thought you had the hots for Santa Blake, you actually had the hots for Santa Collin?”
“I think it just happened that one night, but it’s still mortifying,” Olivia confessed.
Hannah eyed her with a crooked smile. “But it was Collin who gave you that hot Santa kiss, right? That means, when you were trying to choose between Collin and Blake, you were really choosing between Collin and Collin. No wonder it was such a tough decision.”
“I vote for Collin over this Fitz guy,” said Claire, returning to her dish-drying duties. “I don’t want you to end up with a man named Fitzwilliam, no matter how cute he is. His name is too long. It won’t look good when I design the wedding invitations. Collin is perfect—same number of letters as Olivia. In fact, I’ve already made up a sample invitation, and it looks so good. I got this new font, Wedding Dreams. I’ll show you, later. You’re going to love it.”
“Claire! You can’t be making wedding invitations for Collin and me. We’re not even dating.”
Claire lifted her hand and pushed her objection away as if it floated in the air. “It’s only a matter of time before he wears down your resistance.”
“No resistance is necessary, since he isn’t interested in me anymore.” Olivia rinsed the last pot and handed it to Claire. “Just as well, because the two of us always seem to clash.”
“I guarantee Collin is still interested,” said Hannah. “That kiss he gave you in the break room? Did that seem like the kiss of an uninterested guy? Because you told us you could hardly stay on your feet.”
“I told you that? I must’ve been sleep deprived. What else did I tell you?”
“Enough for us to advise you to cancel your date with Fitz and go to Collin’s party instead.”
“Only to get you in to the private party floor at The Slipstream,” Olivia accused.
“We’re going, with or without you.” Hannah tossed a lock of curly auburn hair over her shoulder. “I’m thinking maybe Collin dropped you because he’d prefer a redhead.”
“Collin is too old for you.” Olivia nabbed a wet dishcloth from the counter and popped it at Hannah, who dodged deftly to the side.
“He’s only five years older than me, as opposed to Fitz, who’s nine years older than you. Who names their kid Fitzwilliam, anyway?” Hannah questioned.
“Didn’t I tell you? He’s named after—”
“Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice,” Claire supplied, in a matter-of-fact voice.
“How did you know that?” Olivia asked, astounded.
“Everybody knows Mr. Darcy’s name was Fitzwilliam.” Claire scrunched up her nose as if she thought her sisters were ignorant.
“Yeah, everybody,” Hannah snorted a laugh. “As in everybody who’s a complete and total book nerd and remembers every minute detail of every book they’ve ever read. In North America, that’s probably you and Emily.”
“Emily, me, and Fitzwilliam’s mother.”