Twilight time, p.11
Twilight Time, page 11
Spencer’s eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened into a thin line.
Well, she’d really stepped on a landmine, hadn’t she? She tried to signal an apology, but Spence’s angry focus stayed one hundred percent on his older brother.
“Whoa, whoa,” she said, holding up her hands. “I’m sorry. That was my attempt at humor. Spence did nothing wrong. It was a misunderstanding. You see, my ex-hus—”
“You’re still quick to think the worst of me,” Spence interjected before Maia could finish her explanation.
Lawrence didn’t blink as he returned Spence’s glare with one of his own. “Your track record speaks for itself.”
“I don’t have a track record.” The denial came out in a low tone, simmering with rage.
“Our mother’s attorney disagreed.”
“Our mother’s attorney was an ass. Our father came around to believing me. But not you. And not Prudence. You both condemned me without a second glance and never bothered to seek out the truth.” Tossing his napkin atop his untouched meal, he got to his feet. Below the table, Lily roused with a jerk that slammed her behind into Maia’s shin. “Thanks for this charming reunion dinner, but I’ve had all I can swallow for one lifetime.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, stop being so dramatic. Sit down. Pru and I forgave you a long time ago. Father insisted.”
The conversation flew over Maia’s head, but the bits and pieces she managed to grasp swirled in an alphabet soup of confusion. What had Spence done or not done to cause this level of resentment between them? To need an attorney involved? Was he a criminal? Ridiculous. Even if she didn’t trust her own instincts when it came to men—which, with her track record, who would?—Leah would have never insisted she go with him if he had some deep dark secrets in his closet. Though, at the moment, she would’ve probably sacrificed a kidney to be anywhere but here.
She glanced at Cecily to see if the evening’s hostess planned to defuse this incendiary situation, but the older woman sat watching, hands folded in her lap, her face emotionless, flat as a blank sheet of paper. Her eyes, however, flitted back and forth between the brothers, a glint of delight evident whenever her husband struck a barb at Spence.
My God, Cecily viewed this volatile scene as entertainment!
What had she walked into tonight?
“I never needed your forgiveness,” Spence retorted. “I needed you to believe me. But you still don’t, do you?”
Lawrence waved a hand. “It’s water under the bridge now.”
“For you, maybe. But for me, that bridge caught fire ten years ago and burned to ash.” He then turned his ire toward Maia. “Are you coming, or do you plan to sit there until dessert?”
Despite her muddled questions combined with surprise at seeing this side of him, she refused to allow him to include her in his wrath. Whatever had happened between him and his siblings had nothing to do with her, and she would not be drawn into it. Too many years with Teddy had worn down her patience with childish behavior.
“If you want me to accompany you, ask me. Do not insult me. Do not order me. I would think you know me well enough by now to understand I don’t respond well to angry demands.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her but must have thought better of it, and snapped his jaws shut again. Smart man. After a snort of exasperated breath, he spoke in a more amenable tone. “You’re right. I’m not angry with you, and I have no right to take out my frustration on you. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I don’t know about you, but I have a sudden craving for a double cheeseburger and fries. Would you care to join me? Or you can feel free to stay behind and dine on this naked chicken on a freshly mowed lawn with two teeny berries for garnish. I’m sure Lawrence would be happy to drive you home after dinner’s through.”
She studied the other faces around her: smug, silent Cecily and cordial but in a sanctimonious way Lawrence. “Can we get curly fries?” she asked Spence.
He grinned for the first time since his brother had shown up at their campsite last night. “Extra-large.”
Chapter 12
They’d had to bribe their driver to stop at the fast-food place by ordering a meal package for him as well, but the burgers and fries were a welcome change from that skeletal chicken served at the Knowles Mausoleum. Maia had been patient, never asking questions throughout the ride back, as they ate, or even now while he poured her a glass of wine and sat beside her in front of the dwindling flames in the stone firepit.
“I guess I owe you an explanation now.”
She took the plastic wineglass from him and sipped. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“But you have questions.” A statement of the obvious.
With one brow arched, she tilted her head in his direction. “Wouldn’t you?”
He hid a grimace behind a slow swallow of the pinot noir.
“Look,” she added when he made no comment, “I’m not going to pry into anything you don’t want to share with me. Even though the reporter and the horror movie aficionado in me is screaming that I should be putting your past under a high-powered microscope.”
Thank God for her sense of humor, which always seemed to pull him out of a funk. “I appreciate you not surrendering to your baser nature,” he replied in a perfect imitation of his brother’s snootiness.
She sucked in a breath. “Oooh! Cheeky talk for someone whose temper tantrum sabotaged my fancy dinner plans.”
“Not to mention your possible interview with my world-famous brother.”
“Your world-famous brother is an ass. And I hope you’ll forgive me for adding, ‘So is his wife.’”
A chuckle rose in his throat, but he washed it away with more wine. “Seriously, I am sorry about that. A quick interview with Lawrence probably could’ve brought you a whole bunch of new viewers.”
“Or his snotty attitude could’ve turned off the few viewers we already have.”
We. Interesting how she included him as part of the video podcast or whatever it was she was doing. All he did was occasionally record something she needed him to capture on his phone. Not exactly the labors of Hercules. Still, he appreciated that she appreciated that small effort.
“If you think he’s snotty now, be grateful you didn’t grow up with him. He’s actually a lot mellower since he married Cecily.”
“Brrr!” She gave a mock shiver.
“You have no idea.”
With a gleam in her eye, as if challenging him, Maia tilted her plastic wineglass to her lips and drained the contents. “Well, I don’t know about you,” she announced, getting to her feet and stretching her arms wide, “but today’s shenanigans have wiped me out.” She gestured to the fire and the chairs around it. “Do you need help putting all this away?”
She was handing him a temporary reprieve, and he clung to this escape hatch, knowing full well she’d regroup and expect answers tomorrow.
“I’ve got it,” he told her. “Go on up. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
A habit they’d adapted in the last several days—allowing a time window for the other’s privacy, which wasn’t always easy to find while traveling together in an RV.
As he reached to take her empty wineglass, she bent forward and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “You’re a good man, Spencer Knowles. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
While he mentally picked up his jaw, she called to Lily and sashayed away, humming to herself.
What the...?
Long after twenty minutes had elapsed, Spence still sat where she’d left him, staring into the puddle of wine in the bottom of his cup and wondering about that kiss. What had possessed her? And why was he sitting here, longing for another taste of her mouth against his? More surprising, how was it, without ever knowing what he and his brother argued about and the ugly history that led to his resentment at both his siblings, she took his side? Not only took his side, but reassured him he was a good man? As if she’d known him for years instead of a few short weeks.
At last, when the glowing embers of the dying fire turned more gray than orange, he got up, tossed the last of his wine on the dirt, and tidied up the site. As he did so, that single lyric popped into his head and blossomed into a full-blown chorus.
She’s a complicated lady
All contradictions all the time
But when her lips lean in to kiss me
It always blows my mind.
Wow. That sucked. Well, he never claimed to be a brilliant lyricist. Maybe one day he’d run this ditty past Wyatt, see what magic he could conjure to fix it. Or better yet, turn it over to Leah. She was the gifted one when it came to putting emotion into words.
Not that he had any real emotion toward Maia. Just... that kiss. That kiss, like a tornado, came out of nowhere, landed where he least expected, and turned him inside-out. Between the verbal sparring with his brother and that kiss... it was a wonder his brain hadn’t exploded tonight.
By the time he climbed into the sleeping cabin, Maia and Lily were both out cold. In the dark, he stripped down to his boxer briefs, stowed his day’s clothes in the laundry bag, and climbed into his bed on the far side of the area.
The stupid melody continued haunting his brain, until finally, like a powerful lullaby, it lulled him into sleep. When he woke, sunlight poured in through the skylight above him, and the aroma of bacon tingled his taste buds. Alone in the sleeping area, he dressed, then straightened his bed before heading down below. His nose hadn’t lied.
Maia looked up at his entrance and smiled. “Morning. I figured I’d make us a decent breakfast while we’re still hooked up. Once we burn rubber outta here, I’m assuming we won’t stop again until we’ve put about a thousand miles between us and Chicago.” Her tone held no malice, no sarcasm. In fact, she sounded more apologetic than he would’ve expected. “Coffee’s up but if you want to grab a shower, the food will be ready in about ten minutes.”
“I’m good, thanks.” He poured a cup of coffee into one of the Melmac cups on the counter and gestured to the pans sizzling on the two-burner stovetop. “Need help?”
“God, no! There’s barely enough room for me in this teeny kitchen. Have a seat and enjoy your bean juice while I finish up and get everything on plates.”
Sliding onto the bench seat at the table she’d already set, he watched her flip pancakes. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. We could’ve stopped for breakfast somewhere before we ‘burned rubber outta here.’”
“No, I owed you this. For what happened last night.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong last night.”
“I pushed for us to go to dinner at your brother’s house. I shouldn’t have. What’s between you and him is none of my business. I should’ve understood there was too much conflict for a pleasant hour or two of banter to heal. Way to read the room, right?” She shook her head. “Now you know why I got canned from the station. My journalistic skills suck.”
“That’s not fair to shoulder all that responsibility. You didn’t know. How could you? Everybody sees Lawrence’s photo on his book jackets and thinks he’s some warm, sophisticated Dr. Feelgood. Like the professional dad in a fifties sitcom.”
“I should’ve listened to you, though. But I was too starstruck. You know what they say about never meeting your heroes ‘cuz in real life they’ll only disappoint you? Yeah.” She raised the hand holding the pancake turner. “Guilty, party of one.”
“If he disappointed you, that’s on him. Not on you.”
After removing a few strips of crispy bacon to a paper towel lined plate, she turned to face him. “You know what I don’t get?”
“What?” He took a sip from his cup and let the heat and caffeine recharge his neurons.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but... were you adopted or something?”
He nearly choked on the next sip. “No.”
“It’s just so weird. I’ve never seen two brothers less alike.”
Placing his cup on the Formica table, he shrugged. “You have to remember, there’s a thirteen-year age gap between us.”
“What about your sister? Pru? Is she closer to you or to him?”
“Pru’s the oldest. She was sixteen when I was born.”
“Uh-huh.” She turned back to the pans to remove three pancakes and two more strips of bacon. “So, your parents had a built-in babysitter.”
He snorted. “Hardly. I had a bevy of nannies and house staff to raise me. Pru and Lawrence were already out of the house when I was still an infant. By the time I was shipped off to boarding school when I was ten, Pru was in her residency in Boston and Lawrence was in med school.”
“That’s right. He was an anesthesiologist in his former career, right?”
“Yeah. He had a fairly successful practice when he sold his first novel.”
“Sleeping Dogs Lie,” she noted. “The book was way better than the movie.”
Spence hid his distaste behind his coffee cup. “You should have told him that last night. He loves to hear how Hollywood doesn’t respect his style of genius.”
“Ordinarily I’d laugh right along with you, but in this case, I agree.” She carried the pancakes and bacon to the table and placed them in the center. “Did you see it?”
“Nope. Never read the book either. I didn’t have to.”
She piled two pancakes on her plate and drizzled syrup on top. “Why not?”
“I had the sneak peek.”
“I don’t get you.”
He stared into the blackness of his cup. “I told you he’s thirteen years older than me. Think about how a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old deals with a toddler. Lawrence delighted in tormenting me when we were home together on holidays or summer breaks, especially if I got out of line in some way.”
“What did he do?”
“He’d make up stories to scare me. Horrible things that would happen to me if I went through his stuff or didn’t follow his orders or smart-mouthed him. One of his favorite threats was the plot of Sleeping Dogs Lie. He’d tell me he knew how to render me unconscious long enough to sell me on the black market. By the time I came to, I’d be in another country with new parents or in an orphanage in a place that didn’t speak English, so I couldn’t tell anyone who I was or where I belonged.”
She dropped her fork against her plate. “That’s cruel. You must have had nightmares for years over that.”
“A few at first, yeah. I mean, I was two. Three, tops. And he knew exactly what to say to terrify me. Once I turned four, he was in college and the threats stopped. Then I was sent away to boarding school, so we saw much less of each other until we were both older. That’s when a whole new flurry of problems arose.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Whenever there’s a large age gap between siblings like us, parents react in one of two ways when it comes to raising the younger kid. They either become more relaxed because they’ve already been through the wringer with the older ones—and in that case, the older ones usually go to bat for the younger ones, advising the parents to go easy on the kid.” He grimaced. “Or the parents become stricter with the younger child and the older siblings are too delighted in their own freedom to step into the fray.”
“I’m guessing your family took option two.”
“My father was a world-renowned cardiologist. Mom was a high-powered litigator. Their kids were destined for greatness. Since Pru and Lawrence were both on their way to mega-stardom in their chosen fields, my parents saw no reason to loosen the reins for me. In fact, they felt if they could restrict me further, I might surpass my brother and sister’s career arcs: become head of the DOJ or... I don’t know... discover the cure for cancer or something.”
“But you became a musician.”
He slid a piece of pancake into his mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed before replying. “Music was supposed to be a diversion, replacing toys, TV, and video games as a mild entertainment that would keep my brain engaged.”
“Like your nephews not being allowed to go to the Navy Pier because it wasn’t cerebral enough.”
“Exactly. I fell in love with the violin—most string instruments, actually. But the violin is my favorite. It’s so versatile, so evocative. You can make a listener laugh or cry or dream or sigh, all in the way you glide the bow along the strings. There’s a magic to the long draw or the nimble quick tickle that’s intoxicating for both the player and the listener.” He flushed, embarrassed at waxing poetic over his instrument. “When my parents started pushing me to decide between law and medicine, I opted for medicine. Two years in, the stress was eating me up inside. I swear I thought I was dying. Wound up in the ER with all the symptoms of a heart attack one night. The attending physician diagnosed me with anxiety. Advised me to find a good therapist and a better outlet to relieve my stress. I did what he said. Got into therapy, found an instrumental chamber music group and picked up my old violin. By the time the next semester rolled around, I realized how much I hated medicine. Law was out of the question as well. I told my parents I wanted to pursue a career in music.”
“I bet that went over well.”
“As bad as you think it was, their reaction was a thousand times worse. They screamed, cajoled, bribed. I was steadfast. They threatened to disinherit me and when that didn’t change my mind, they followed through, not just by cutting me off from their finances, but from the family in general. I didn’t care. I earned a full ride to the New England Conservatory, found a roommate to share a seedy apartment, and took a job as a bartender at an upscale restaurant to cover living expenses. I was actually happy for the first time in my life, living on my own, without pressure from my family, just me and the music.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“It was. Until a family acquaintance ran into me at the restaurant one weekend. Called my father to ask if something happened to them financially. My father’s pride took a tremendous blow. He called and demanded I quit the job and never take another position dealing with the public. I refused. Told him it wasn’t up to me to assuage him of his guilt or shame at how he and my mother treated me, all because I wanted to forge my own path in life.”
