Everything You Are(87)

If it helps, if it heals him and heals Allie and brings both of them back to the music, then she can live with that. But what if she makes things worse by meddling? Bringing Braden out here to face his past in front of witnesses might be the stupidest thing she has ever done. What seemed like a brilliant idea earlier in the day has begun to feel like insanity.

Still.

It has to be done.

The directions Jo gave her are clear and concise, and she turns off what seems to her an already isolated road and onto a narrow driveway, closely lined by evergreens, packed and rutted with snow. As they emerge into a cleared space in front of a low, cozy-looking house, Phee is relieved to see lights on in the windows.

Almost midnight. The timing really couldn’t be worse. It was Jo who insisted on her stopping here first, Phee reminds herself. Before she’s even switched off the engine, a porch light comes on, illuminating a wide circle that includes the SUV.

The door opens and a woman steps out, striding across the yard and yanking Phee’s door open.

“Phee? I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

“Got him,” Phee says.

Jo looks past her into the back seat. “Braden. You’re actually here.”

“I was shanghaied.” His voice is wound so tight, it sounds ready to snap.

“I wish . . . ,” Jo says, then clears her throat. “Where is that Allie girl?”

“Here,” Allie says.

“Don’t suppose you remember me. I’m your aunt Jo.”

“Hey,” Allie says.

“Well, come on in, all of you. Dad will want to see you.” She says it like she means everybody, but she’s looking at Braden.

“It’s so late,” Phee says. “We don’t want to intrude—”

“We’ve been expecting you. Dad waited up, and there’s a pot of soup on the stove. I sure hope you are all hungry, because there’s no way Dad and I are going to eat it all.” As she talks, everybody unloads from the SUV and Jo leads them up to the house. “Mute that TV, would you, Dad? They’re here.”

The noise from the television shuts off sharply in response to her command.

Braden reaches for Allie’s hand. “Come on, little bird. Nobody’s going to eat you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably.” He tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “If anybody gets eaten alive, it will be me.”

The inside of the house is spotlessly clean. Heat emanates from a woodstove at the center of a room that holds a comfortable-looking couch and a couple of armchairs. An elderly man lays back in a recliner, a TV remote resting on a rounded belly. Tubing snakes from his nostrils down to an oxygen canister at his side, and his breathing is the loudest thing in the room.

He has the same face shape as Allie and Braden, the same cleft in his chin. As they enter the room, he slams his feet down to the floor and stands.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat drug in. Come here and give me a hug, boy.”

Braden crosses the room, stiff as a robot, and allows himself to be hugged. The old man is already looking past him to Allie.

“And this must be Alexandra. My God. Last time I saw you, you was just this little bit of a thing, all eyes and hair. Guess that hasn’t changed much. Clear to see where you fit in the family tree, anyway. Well, are you just going to stand there?”

Allie gives him a hug that is fractionally less stiff than Braden’s. “So,” the old man says, looking from Allie to Braden and back again. “What’s new?”

“Dad!” Jo warns. “Behave yourself. We have company.”

“Well, maybe you tell me what we’re supposed to talk about,” he retorts. “The weather? Can’t talk about the last time you were here, orders from Jo. Can’t talk about anything that matters. Don’t know shit-all about your life over the last few years. Tell me about the funeral, then, since I wasn’t invited.”

“It wasn’t exactly an invitation-type event.” Braden stands frozen in the middle of the room, as if something will break if he dares to move.

“Maybe we could talk about your mother’s funeral, then. How you weren’t here. Or how she cried her eyes out over you after—”

“Dad!” Jo interrupts. She turns toward the little troop still standing just inside the door. “The bathroom is down the hall there, if any of you need it. Just jiggle the handle if it sticks. Food is in the kitchen, right through that door. I’ll just put the pot of soup out on the counter. We’re not fancy here; you can serve yourselves. Not enough chairs at the table, but you’re welcome to have a seat in the living room. Don’t be shy, now.”

“I totally have to pee,” Steph says, heading for the bathroom.

Katie follows. “Right behind you. Better hurry.”

“Lovely house you have here.” Dennis lowers himself onto the couch. “Did you build it yourself, Mr. Healey?”

“Can I help with anything?” Phee asks Jo, the word “dynamite” beginning to take on a whole new meaning. The relationship between Braden and his dad is full of land mines she could not have anticipated.

“Hey, you got my brother across the threshold,” Jo says. “The least I can do is feed you. Allie, child, you look dead on your feet. Come in the kitchen, let’s get you fed.”