By the time the wheels of the SUV crunch to a halt in front of my childhood home, I’m still scrambling to put myself together.
Guilt jams in my throat, looking at the old two-story farmhouse. It badly needs a new lick of paint, and I have to figure out a way to get it done without tipping off my parents. They’re already upset I paid off the house. For my dad’s medical debts, I had to invent a “retroactive insurance policy” I could put them on. I’m not proud of lying to them, but I couldn’t stand back and do nothing to help.
They don’t care how much money I have now. From their point of view, they’re still the parents, and I’m the kid who should let them figure stuff out.
Months have slipped by since my last visit, and while my parents won’t admit they’re getting older, I can’t ignore how little I’ve stepped up recently.
Out back, the door to the screened-in sunroom that faces the woods flies open, and my mom darts down the stairs with a big smile, warm eyes lighting up when she spots Jackie climbing out of the car.
She’s smaller and frailer than I remembered, her neat bun entirely gray now, but it doesn’t stop her from lunging forward, wrapping Jackie in a bear hug.
“Welcome, dear! I can’t believe this boy who talks even in his sleep kept you a secret.” But she doesn’t stop there. “Every time he calls, he’s all ‘Did you read the article I sent you?’” She tries to imitate me. “‘Jackie got an award for this and that.’”
Jackie’s smile falters for a second, but she bounces back, smiling wide, her training kicking in. “Entirely my fault. I wanted to surprise you.”
My mom beams, and I swear Jackie’s worries melt right off her shoulders.
“I missed you, too, Mom,” I deadpan. “Where’s my hug?”
Mom levels me with a flat stare. “Only child syndrome,” she tuts. “Should’ve given him some siblings.”
“He doesn’t like to share the spotlight,” Jackie says, amused.
Mom hooks an arm through Jackie’s and starts dragging her toward the house, talking her ear off, when she remembers again that I’m also there. “Make yourself useful, dear, and get the girl’s bags.”
Uh-oh. This should be fun. Let me see how she talks her way out of hurting my mom’s feelings on this one.
Sure enough, Jackie smiles warmly, squeezing her hand. “Lori, it won’t be necessary. I have a room at the B&B with the security team.”
Mom might look like a mild-mannered, middle-aged Minnesotan, but Jackie forgets she’s facing a retired teacher. The strong-willed unofficial mayor of this town. “Hell, no. You’ll stay in Adam’s room.”
Images of Jackie in my teenage bed flash way too vividly in my head, and I have to shake myself back to reality.
I make a half-hearted, jokey attempt to rescue her from my mother’s scheming. “That bed is too small for the two of us.”
The woman’s eyes nearly pop out, like I’ve just told her she’s won a brand-new expensive parka. “Oh, you two—”
“No!” Jackie blurts, her cheeks on fire. “The cabin pressure clearly scrambled his frontal lobe.”
I try not to dwell on the speed with which she denies any possibility of us being together.
Mom levels me with a disappointed scowl, but barrels on undeterred. “Adam, we’ll find you a spot for the air mattress, dear.”
I’ve had the pleasure of using that thing when family came to visit on my parents’ anniversary. Do I care I’m going to wake up feeling like shit, with my spine in knots, if it means she’s under the same roof?
I don’t.
The bodyguards move swiftly into position, Patrick giving a subtle nod that it’s all clear. I grab the luggage and trail behind the two women. One thing I can appreciate about Rawlings’ security is that they blend into the background. Half the time, I forget they’re even there.
“The kids are here!” Dad’s handlebar mustache bristles over his smile, looking at us like we’re still in college.
He’s still a big guy, still smells of wood and oil, and when I hug him, the scent hits me square in the chest. It’s like being a kid again. He never gave me one of those half-ass hugs some men think are good enough to show affection.
My dad was always solid and steady, holding me close to his chest until I let go on my own.
“I’d help with the bags, but we’reshort-handedtoday.” He winks at Jackie, snickering, waving his rolled sleeve over what’s left of his arm.
Starting with the dad jokes right off the bat.
