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Conversation never lulls, as we talk about everything from the fire, Ashley’s newly widowed mother, and Dale’s fermenting old-vine Syrah, the progress of which he’s extremely happy with.
My brother is more animated than I’ve seen him in…well, ever, to be honest. He just lost half his Syrah vines—his favorite and his place of solace—but his attitude shows strength and contentment. Marriage is clearly good for him. I’m excited to have a heart-to-heart with him soon, though apparently it won’t happen tonight.
Tonight is for Brendan Murphy, a high school classmate of Dale’s who lives in town and runs Murphy’s Bar. He and Dale were never close—Dale was never close to anyone except Dad and me, and now Ashley—but apparently Brendan has information for us. I’m intrigued, though I’d rather head over to the Pikes’ and say hi to Callie.
“Did you know that, Donny?”
I jerk toward Mom’s voice. “I’m sorry. Did I know what?”
“Callie Pike won’t be going to law school in January after all. Maureen told me they need the money to help rebuild.”
“Callie was going to law school?” I raise my eyebrows.
“You didn’t know? You seemed to spend a lot of time with her at the reception.”
I’m not about to tell my mother that Callie Pike and I weren’t talking about law school or the law or even the reception. We were speaking in innuendos, and I was hoping to get her between the sheets.
“I figured that was what you must have been talking about,” Mom goes on. “You two have that in common.”
“We were talking about other stuff,” I say. “The fire. You know.”
“Strange that law school didn’t come up,” Mom says.
I nod. Not so strange at all, but I’m so not going there. Not with my mother.
Dale smirks behind his wineglass, and Ashley gives him a good-natured punch on the upper arm.
My brother gives me all kinds of crap for my ways with women. So I like women. I like sex. What’s the problem? If a woman gives me her consent, why shouldn’t I take her to bed?
Dale and I have always had our own distinct ways of dealing with things. He goes inward, and I go outward. Just the way we’re each wired.
“I didn’t know Callie was interested in the law,” I say. “She must be upset that her plans have gone awry.”
Dale guffaws. “Who the hell uses the word awry?”
“High-powered corporate lawyers, apparently,” Ashley says, smiling.
“She is,” Mom says, ignoring Dale and Ashley. “Maureen feels terrible about it. I almost told her we’d gladly pay for Callie’s law school, but I figured that was out of line.”
“Yeah, Mom,” Dale says. “That would be out of line. No one wants to feel like a charity case. Especially not the Pikes. They’re proud people.”
“They are,” Mom agrees, “but we have so much to give.”
“We have to let them be who they are, blue eyes,” Dad says, looking at Mom with the love I’ve known since I came to this house twenty-five years ago.
“I know, Tal,” Mom says. “I never forget my humble beginnings. Dad and I never took charity, and there were times when it would have helped.”
“The Steel Foundation is helping them with loans and grants,” Dad says. “They’ll be all right. We can’t force them to take our help, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. They’re entitled to their pride.”
“Of course.” Mom polishes off her second margarita. “I know. I just…”
“You want to help,” Dad says. “You’re just being you, blue eyes, and that’s why we all love you.”
Dale looks at his plate. He loves Mom, but he doesn’t get her. To him, even thinking about offering the Pikes charity is an affront to his senses. I agree, but I also understand where Mom comes from.
It’s a balance—a balance Dale and Mom don’t have. They’re both constantly walking a tightrope around each other. If one or the other of them could just ease up slightly, everything would be okay.
He has Ashley now, and he’s opened up more than I ever thought possible.
I’m happy for my brother. He deserves the best. He was my protector all those years ago. I was so young and innocent. Without my big brother and his quiet strength, I have no doubt I’d have died in that horrific place.
Mom helps Darla clear the table, and then she brings out a chocolate cake, my favorite.
“This is a treat,” I say.
“Nothing but the best for your homecoming.” Mom smiles as she slices a huge hunk of cake and sets it in front of me.
Dale rolls his eyes. I don’t even look at him, but I know he’s doing it. I can feel it.
Mom serves cake to everyone else as I shove a succulent bite into my mouth. Moist and dense and perfect. Mom learned how to make cake from Aunt Marj, who’s a chef. Somehow my mother, whose only culinary claim to fame is her grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, perfected this amazing dessert. I told her once that it was my favorite, and that was all it took.
