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Penny’s voice lured me from my angry thoughts, but I snapped at her anyway. “What?” When she pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow that said, ‘Not today, mister’, I apologized. “I’m sorry.” I killed the engine, dread swirling in the pit of my stomach. “Just in case its not obvious, home is definitely not where the heart is.”
“That’s right.” She reached over and placed her hand over mine. “Your heart is right here.” She squeezed my fingers. “I’m beside you and no matter what happens when we walk inside that house, you’re going to be okay.”
This woman, my woman, who taught me how to love and accepted all the broken pieces of me...I didn’t know how I’d gotten so lucky. But I had my own fears, my own insecurities. The fact that I was sitting in the car, wishing that I could just say to hell with them all and put my family in the rearview felt like weakness. Even now, with Penny clutching my hand like she was trying to lend me some of her strength, the little boy that was told over and over that vulnerability was unacceptable almost pulled away. "What kind of a man is so afraid of facing his family that he'd rather chew his arm off than walk through the front door?"
Penny strummed my hand with her thumb, giving me the most gentle smile I’d ever seen. "A man with a family that spent years trying to make him small and insignificant. You're here now, in spite of all they've done to crush you, Xander. You're not weak, you're beautifully strong."
I pulled away, but only so I could take her face in my hands and kiss her properly. I tasted love and forever on her lips. If I could think stuff like that, then being a little squirrelly about a family reunion didn't seem so bad.
Branson was waiting at the door, the bubbly, infectious routine he'd done for Penny before a distant memory. He looked like he'd been on his deathbed and my mother had snatched back his covers and demanded that the show go on.
Penny tightened her grip on my hand, silently asking me what was going on and I wondered the same thing. I'd never seen a wrinkle in his uniform in all the years he'd worked for the family. His bald head always shined like it was freshly polished. Today there were patches of thin gray hair. His face was languid, his eyes red along with his cheeks and the tip of his beak-like nose.
"You sick, Branson?" I asked gingerly, keeping my distance.
"No, Mr. Wade," he sniffed indignantly, stepping to the side and letting us pass. "Your father is ill."
Penny's hand ran up and down my arm, like she could sense that I had zero patience for his whole endless devotion to my parents spiel.
"This may come as a shock to you," I said tersely. "But I'm aware my father is sick."
"And yet this is only your second visit in months." He turned to Penny before I could growl another word, flashing her a pained smile. "You must excuse me, Miss Robertson." He dropped an eye to his disheveled clothing. "Let me assure you that my misshapen appearance is far from the norm."
"Usually he's in a top hat and cravat."
My sister's playful lilt drifted from the stairwell. I must have been more shocked by Branson's appearance than I realized because I missed the walking, talking mannequin who was perched against the bannister. Marie was in some peach colored evening gown with pearls looped around her neck. She'd cropped her golden locks into a bob that managed to make her look even younger than I remembered. She brought a cigarette to her lips and lit it, taking a long drag that she released with a sigh.
"I can empathize, Branson," she pouted, moving down the stairwell step by step, looking like she was transported from the The Great Gatsby to 2015. She was utterly ridiculous and ambivalent to everyone but herself. "I know I'm just tore all up about Daddy."
"Oh, we can all see just how distraught you are," I bristled. "The cigarette you're puffing on while dad is upstairs dying of cancer gave it away."
She didn't even flinch, her aquamarine eyes glittering as she continued her descent. "You're so cute when you're pretending you're concerned about our father."
I opened my mouth to stake my claim, to...what? I'd barely been in Marie's presence for two minutes and already I was back to defending myself. Trying to prove that I was a good son. Worthy. A glance to my right, to Penny, reminded me that I was worthy. I had nothing to prove. "You and I need to have a conversation, Marie. And when I say conversation, I'm politely saying that you're going to shut your mouth and listen to what I have to say before you start dropping lies."
Marie joined the rest of us, clasping her hands together gingerly and mustering her best innocent expression. "I've never told a lie my whole life." She winked at Branson and he giggled like she was the funniest comedienne he'd ever met.
"Marie-"
She held up a slender finger, her crystalline eyes settling on Penny. "And you must be the girlfriend." Her inspection was slow and meticulous, like she was measuring every perceived defect. Penny held her own, barely acknowledging Marie's presence at all.
When she realized Penny wasn't about to run for cover or kiss her ass, Marie clicked her heels together. She drew her hands to her hips and frowned. "She's a little plain for your tastes, isn't she?"
I was ready to take my sister down a peg, but Penny just smiled brightly and fired back, "Next to that Oscars worthy gown, anybody would look a little plain."
Marie's nostrils flared, betraying her, but she just let out a haughty chuckle. "She's got a backbone, eh? That's definitely new. Jenna told me she made quite the exit. Almost like she couldn't take the fear of your true colors shining through."
"What are you afraid of, Marie?" Watching her slither down the staircase, dripping in designer crap, all but waving her trophy like this was a game, I knew the answer to my question. The cigarette, the gown, the drama with Jenna; it was her way of getting attention. Of being seen. I guess we had something in common after all.
She tossed a look of pure disdain over her shoulder. "You should know that answer by now." Her voice darkened. "I'm not afraid of anything."
Branson, the consummate professional, perked up, trying to steer the conversation back to something respectable. "How about I prepare drinks?" He turned to Marie first, all smiles. "What can I get for you, Miss Wade?"
She took a couple of bored puffs. "Long Island iced tea." She blew the smoke in my direction. "A bourbon or something manly for my brother-"
"No drink for me, thanks."
Marie was suddenly in a hurry to get out the door, even though I knew she wouldn't get very far. She owned several cars, but preferred to be driven around like someone important. I intercepted her nonetheless, solidly between reality and escape. "About that conversation-"
