Because that’s what he does, I think, watching River admire the car.He brings things back to life.
“It’s more for me than for you anyway,” I add. “You spend so much time at the shop, depriving me of the pleasure of you in your work clothes, greased and sweaty, bent over a car…”
“I’ll bend you over this car right now,” River says, his voice gruff as he pulls me tighter to him.
My hand slips down the front of his jeans. “I dare you…” I squeeze.
He groans, then removes my hand. “That’s one way to introduce ourselves to our neighbors.”
“The fun way.”
River laughs as we head back to the house. “Don’t forget. We have dinner at Dad’s tonight.”
“Forget? You’ve reminded me at least ten times since this morning.”
“I know, but…”
River doesn’t finish his sentence. I narrow my eyes. “We have dinner at your dad’s all the time. It’s not exactly life and death if we’re late.”
River runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I just…have a lot going on at the shop. Maybe I’m reminding you soIdon’t forget.”
“Uh-huh. Should I invite Beatriz?”
“I already did.”
The plot thickens…
“I wasn’t aware you kept a direct line to my tia.”
“I love her too.” River grins. “You need to learn to share.”
Beatriz retired on the Holden Parish pension plan. She wouldn’t let me give her as much as I wanted but enough to live comfortably and visit family in Salvador, Brazil, any time she feels like it. She’s a frequent guest at our dinners with River’s dad and sister and will be at our home too, once we’re settled in.
I start to make a snappy retort when River jerks to a stop. I follow his gaze and freeze.
Margaret and Reginald Parish are walking up the drive. Reg is carrying a large gift, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a light green bow. The day is hot, and he’s wearing a polo and shorts; she’s in a sundress. They’re both wearing hopeful, nervous smiles.
“Is thatthem?” River asks in a low, angry voice.
“No, my parents would never look that human, even in disguise. That’s my aunt and uncle.”
After I returned from my self-imposed exile, I left the door open to talk and reconnect with Reg and Mags through Bernard. That had been a year ago, and Bernie had nothing to report. Except the news that my parents had officially disowned me.
And made it public.
Gods of Midnightremained under my name, and I did the interview in which I revealed—in graphic detail—the conversion therapy program they’d sent me to.
My parents had retaliated by taking out a full page inThe Seattle Times. I’d been a “destructive force” in their life since my childhood. Incorrigible. Promiscuous. An embarrassment. Alaska was a last attempt at discipline, but I’d continued to shame the family name, even after they’d generously granted me my inheritance.
They concluded their little exposé by declaring that I was heretoforedisowned and that no one in the Parish family should contact me ever again.
River had had to peel me off the bathroom floor in the early morning hours that week, holding me while I purged myself of them the way he’d grieved for his mother. Except where he grieved for what he lost, I grieved for what I never had.
After not hearing from them, I figured my aunt and uncle had sided with my parents, just as they had when the decision to send me to Alaska came down in the first place.
Why are they here?
River lets out a breath, and his hand slips into mine, warm and solid. When I say nothing, he clears his throat. “Hi, I’m River. I don’t believe we’ve met. You’re Holden’s aunt and uncle?”
