True Places(54)

Brynn was quick to show her knowledge of history. “Probably the Gulf War, Grandpa.”

Anson nodded. “He’s got the syndrome then, Iris?”

Iris had stopped eating during this exchange, although she hadn’t looked up from her plate. Now she turned to Suzanne’s father, her gaze steady. “My father is dead.”

“Then why are they looking for him?” Anson’s tone was affable, as if he was hoping she could clear things up for him.

“Iris,” Suzanne said, “you don’t have to say anything.”

“Why shouldn’t she?” Reid said.

“Well, even if Iris is right,” Whit said calmly, “there should be relatives.”

Why couldn’t he leave it alone? This was a family dinner, after all, not a debrief. Suzanne caught her mother’s eye.

Tinsley nodded. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She tore a biscuit in half and pulled off a small corner, considered it closely, and spoke across the table to Reid. “Now, Reid. I promised Queenie Bourne you’d help out at the golf scramble fund-raiser. It’s a tradition, and your grandfather and I are counting on you.”

Reid’s gaze was fixed on the wall over Tinsley’s shoulder. He did not move or speak.

Suzanne picked up her glass and drained it, gripping the empty glass to resist the urge to throw it. The problem was she had only the one glass, which would force her to choose among her mother, her father, and Whit.

Whit leaned forward to intercept Reid’s gaze. “Your grandmother asked you a question.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“But when your grandmother speaks to you, you should respond.”

Anson nodded gravely. “Basic respect, son.”

Tinsley shot him a look that Suzanne understood immediately: Says the philanderer.

Suzanne looked around the table. This was her family. These were her loved ones. These were her parents, her husband, her children. She did not feel love for them. She did not feel love between them. She knew it must be there, had been there, this love: filial, romantic, maternal. It couldn’t just evaporate, could it? Except maybe it had, because the people around this table were not a family. They were not a loving unit. Suzanne didn’t know what they were.

Her mother was filling her glass with white wine. Suzanne put two fingers on the base of her own wineglass and slid it toward her mother. Tinsley filled the glass and caught her daughter’s eye. A thin smile spread across Tinsley’s face, knowing, confiding.

You see how it is. This is my life.

And it’s yours.





CHAPTER 24

After they finished eating, Grammy Tinsley told them to leave everything where it was. “The elves will be in first thing tomorrow.”

Brynn loved this about Grammy. How wrong would it be to ask if she could move in? Grandpa was a zero but easy enough to ignore. Plus he adored Brynn and therefore would be blind to anything she did, not unlike her father.

Grandpa herded them into the living room, looping his arm across Whit’s shoulders and directing the favored son to the seat next to Grandpa’s black leather easy chair—his throne, as he put it.

Chocolate-chip cookies, brownies, and lemon squares waited on the coffee table. Brynn snagged a brownie and the corner seat on the comfiest couch. Reid loped over and sat on the opposite end. He looked like he’d been smacked for peeing on the floor.

Grammy headed straight for the bar in the corner. “I’m having more wine, but if anyone wants coffee, I suppose I could manage it.”

Brynn vowed that her first house would have a bar just like Grammy and Grandpa’s, all dark wood and soft lights and sparkling glasses. Grandpa joined Grammy at the bar and poured whiskey into cut-glass tumblers for Brynn’s father and himself. Brynn’s mother helped herself to another glass of wine. Was that her third? So much for the designated drivers. Oh well, either Reid would step up or they could call a cab. Or maybe Brynn would stay right here and never leave. Squatter’s rights.

“Brynn,” Grammy said, “I nearly forgot. The seamstress dropped off your dress. Try it on if you wish. It’s on the bed in your mother’s old room.”

Brynn jumped up from the couch and threw her arms around her grandmother. “Thank you!” She rushed over to Iris, who crouched near the doorway, as far away from everyone else as possible. “Come with me!” Hanging with Iris was always good for a laugh and had the added advantage of irritating the shit out of her mom.

Iris hesitated. She was terrified of everything, except natural, dirty things, and was probably calculating whether being dragged into the far reaches of an unfamiliar house was preferable to hanging out with the rest of the family. Brynn made the decision for Iris, taking her by the arm and pulling her to her feet. They disappeared into the hall and up the stairs.

Grammy Tinsley had redecorated Suzanne’s room a few years ago; she wasn’t one of those sentimental moms who turned their kid’s room into a shrine. The color scheme was shades of gray with red accents. Brynn adored the look, especially the little touches that made it all work, like the thick charcoal cashmere blanket on the end of the bed, and the throw pillows, each featuring a prancing red horse with a long black tail, stenciled with flowers. Maybe when she went to college, Grammy could design her room.

The dress lay on the white spread. It was more beautiful than she remembered: a short black cocktail dress with a jewel neckline made of embroidered silk and wool tulle. The lace bodice was embellished on the front and back with jewels and embroidered with flowers and pink hummingbirds. It was to die for.