Chapter Twenty-Three

 

Luke surveyed their work. The old oak trees shading the yard held the sun at bay, and the dozen chairs they’d set up in conversational pockets were a pleasant alternative to the crowded indoors.

“Thanks for helping, hon.” Brooke’s mom clipped leaves from a plant in the garden. “All I needed would be Scott fainting in the yard.”

“Lise, this time of year I’m in attics replacing burnt motors on fans. If I can handle a stifling hundred-ten-degree attic, I can handle eighty degrees outside.”

“It’s eighty-five degrees and forty percent humidity.”

He chuckled at their bickering and followed the pair through the side door and into the kitchen. Lisa filled mismatched glasses with ice and water.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the glasses at both of them. “Drink.”

He took one and leaned against the wall.

“Now.” Lisa popped her hands on her hips and squinted her eyes. “What was I up to?”

“Mint.” Scott pointed toward the fistful of green on the kitchen island.

“Right.” She roughly tore the leaves from the stems. “I wonder where Brooke’s gone? I wanted her to play during dessert.”

Luke snorted.

Brooke had predicted the request. These two clearly loved their daughter’s career. She couldn’t be right about drama if she got the job in DC. Maybe if he dug for spoon-sized scoops of info he’d learn why they’d be upset if she leveled up to a different symphony.

“You two must be proud of Brooke.”

“Be prouder if we could find her,” Scott said.

“You bet we’re proud.” Lisa deposited the herbs into a strainer sitting on top of a pitcher loaded with teabags, then poured in boiling water. The rising steam carried a strong, cleansing mint scent. Lisa slipped a lid over the pitcher.

“She said her grandmother showed her how to play when she was little,” Luke said. “And then a neighbor offered lessons, and formal training began when she was in elementary school.”

“That one was born with music in her blood, I swear. Since she was a toddler she danced, tapped out rhythms on the coffee table, and other things like that. That’s what caught Babcia’s, then Talya’s ear.”

“Lucky that violinists were close by.”

“Divine intervention.” Lisa opened a cabinet over the sink. “Could you get the pitcher up there for me, hon? My step-stool is occupied by my husband.”

Luke caught the pitcher’s handle and gave it to Lisa.

She shoveled ice into it. “We don’t normally put guests to work like this.”

He was more than a guest, but that was top secret. “No problem.”

“On the day they placed her in my arms, if you’d told me she’d be a professional violinist, I’d have laughed at you.” Lisa wiped her hands on a tea towel. “Classical music for pleasure? I’m more into Van Halen, but Brooke’s introduced me to a whole different world.”

“Me too,” he said.

Shit, he shouldn’t have admitted that. Thankfully, her parents didn’t pick up on it.

“Has Brooke played anywhere else?” he asked.

“Not professionally.” Lisa shook her head. “When she was younger, the Conservatory arranged travel to different cities and the kids played with their symphonies. I chaperoned most of them, and Brooke and I decided those other places couldn’t hold a candle to Baltimore.”

He pursed his lips. They had no clue about her aspirations, did they?

Scott laughed. “Can you imagine Brooke alone in another city? I’m not sure she can boil an egg.”

“Or do laundry. Remember the pink towels? How embarrassing the daughter of a housekeeper washed red sweatpants with a load of whites.”

“And remember the time she killed the microwave because she stuck a Chinese food container in it? Or when she nearly ran the car through the fence in the alley?” Scott thumbed tears from his eyes. “If our Brookie moved to another city, she might not survive.”

Luke frowned. Distant though they were, at least his mother didn’t entertain people with a list of his adolescent flubs.

“In her defense, it’s our fault.” Lisa poured the freshly brewed mint tea into the waiting pitcher of ice, which cracked and popped under the cascade of hot liquid. “We wanted Brooke to stay focused on violin, so we took care of everything. She practiced four hours a day, plus school and homework. The poor kid didn’t have time to learn how life worked. We like her to stay close so we can help.”

“Does she want help?”

He was overstepping. Actually, he’d pole-vaulted over the line, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Of course.” Lisa dropped a limp tea bag pompom into the trash. “Who doesn’t want help?”

Brooke’s mother’s confidence was unshakable. Brooke hid half her life from her parents, but wow, her parents were willfully blind, too. If she shared her dreams with them, would they believe her, or try to convince her she was wrong?

“I get the impression that—”

Brooke entered the room, eyes flashing fire. “Who wants to hold Maria?”

“I do.” Scott grinned and scooped the baby from her. “Let’s go show you off.”

As her dad left the room, he babbled baby talk at the waking infant.

“Can I help you with anything, Mom?” Brooke asked. “Besides an impromptu concert? Because I’m a capable adult.”

Lisa knit her brows in confusion. “What?”

“I was in the window seat at the top of the stairs and heard everything.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Can you please stop with all the embarrassing stories?”

“It’s a sin to eavesdrop, Brooke.” Her mother hefted the pitcher.

“It’s not a sin, just bad manners.”

“And I taught you better than that. Excuse me, please. It’s time for cake.”

Her mother exited, leaving Luke with Brooke. Finally, he could apologize, explain his behavior the other day, and find out what happened with her audition.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

“What the hell were you doing?” She whirled on him.

He backed up. “Talking to your parents.”

“Don’t play dumb. You had no business saying anything about me moving to a different city.”

“I was planting a seed.”

She leaned into his space and lowered her voice. “That wasn’t planting a seed. That was smacking them in the face with a tree. Your spy skills suck.”

“I’m not a spy, remember?” He edged closer and dropped his voice, too. “I analyze intelligence; I don’t gather it.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that CJ’s best friend casually inquired about my upbringing, floated the idea of me moving away then debated with them about what’s good for me?” Brooke flung her hands toward the ceiling. “That’s a deep family conversation. Last time I checked you aren’t a part of this family.”

He smirked. “Except I am.”

“Argh.” She scrunched her face. “Stop interfering, got it?”

She stomped from the room. He should let her cool off.

Should, but nope.

Luke shoved off the counter. Fuck cooling off periods and quiet space to sort through things. That’s how his mom did things, and where did that get them? Phone calls on holidays and birthdays. He didn’t want that with Brooke.

In the dining room, he cut through the crowd surrounding the sheet cake and cookies. She wasn’t here. He ventured further into the house and smiled politely as the collection of middle-aged ladies on the floral couch. Outside? He hustled to the side yard and found Helena enjoying a glass of tea in the shade.

“Helena, have you seen Brooke?” he asked.

“She hugged me goodbye a minute ago and took off that way.” Helena pointed west. “You probably have time to catch her and apologize.”

That caught him off guard. “Apologize for what?”

“Whatever dumb thing you did. Don’t debate with me—just go.”

He hurried through the front gate and scanned the tightly packed neighborhood. At the end of the block, Brooke’s pink sundress fluttered as she hooked a left.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Brooke!”

She didn’t stop. Dammit.

Sweat swamped his back as he jogged up the street. Pedestrian traffic thickened at 34th Street, where the shops and eateries were located. He spotted her by the building decorated with the giant pink flamingo. He crossed the street, against the signal, and a car honked.

“Brooke, c’mon, can we talk?” She was three squares of sidewalk away. “Let me give you a ride.”

She muttered something he didn’t catch. Stupid hearing loss.

“What?”

“I said I’ll accept a ride, but don’t make my Hampden come out.”

“What does that mean?”

She whirled on him. “It means if you keep testing me, I’m not responsible for what happens next.”

~ * ~

Brooke was on the brink of giving into her frustrated tears when Luke called her name and offered her a ride. Her pride wanted to refuse him, but her aching feet begged her to reconsider.

She climbed into his truck, but there’d be no talking. She didn’t explode like CJ or her parents. No, she preferred to seethe and channel her anger into dark and twisty music, like the Danse Macabre or Halls of the Mountain King.

Luke started the car and merged into traffic, carrying them away from her parents’ quirky neighborhood and toward her center city townhouse.

“Your parents are nice people,” he said. “Be honest with them. They’ll understand.”

She sighed. “God, you’re arrogant.”

“Yes, but it’s informed by my experience. Shutting out family sucks. After a while, you forget how to talk to each other.”

Well, there was a hint she hadn’t expected.

“You’re telling me to be honest with them then drop a vague bomb? You owe me more details.”

They cruised through two intersections without further conversation. The silence made her skin itch, but she’d wait hours for him to speak.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “After my dad and brother died, my mom didn’t involve me in big decisions. I was informed, almost as an afterthought. Like, the week I graduated from high school, she handed me a stack of cardboard boxes to pack my shit. She’d sold our house and bought a condo two towns over without giving me so much as a heads up. It doesn’t feel good to be on the outer circle like that, especially when my whole circle was two people.”

“I’m sorry that happened, Luke, but the circumstances are different. Please don’t meddle.”

“It’s advice.”

“Unsolicited. You don’t know my parents well enough to give me advice about them.”

“But I’ve spent tons of time with your brother over the past two years and with you over the past two months. Both of you are amazing people. How can the parents who raised the two of you be monsters?”

“I never said they were monsters.”

“Then why can’t you be honest with them?”

She pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Awesome. Add a tension headache to the pile of things plaguing her.

“How honest should I be, Luke? Do I tell them about getting married in Vegas?”

He glanced at her. “Probably.”

Jesus, if he’d changed his mind about this basic agreement, what else was changing? Anything to do with their divorce? Hope fluttered in her chest, but she suffocated it. No, she didn’t want that. She wasn’t falling for the good, solid, handsome man her family loved and who’d anchor her where she did not want to stay.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’d never let me live it down. You’ll be long gone, and they’ll still bring it up, like the red sweatpants. If they teased me about you, Luke, I’d die. You’re more than sweatpants.”

Oh, God, she’d barfed that right out, hadn’t she? Easy, breezy, cool Brooke had admitted a deep, dark secret. Had she told him he was more than sweatpants?

They hit a red light, and he twisted toward her. “I get it. I’m a huge mistake and you want to keep me a secret, but what about the job, Brooke? When will you tell them you’re moving?”

Her chest tightened. Time for more honesty.

“I didn’t get it,” she mumbled.

Green light. But Luke didn’t hit the gas. “Pardon?”

Once more, with feeling. Sigh. “I didn’t get the job.”

Her throat thickened. She wanted to leave this truck, go home, and wrap herself up in music for the rest of the day.

He palmed her shoulder. “Oh, Brooke, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Despite the soothing calm of his touch, she shrugged off his hand from. “Don’t pity me. And anyway, this is a perfect example of why I keep things from my family. What’s the point of causing a bunch of drama when I didn’t even get the job? It’s the same thing with you and me. We’re ending soon, so why tell them?”

Heat crept into her cheeks. Why did she say that? The paperwork part of them would be over, but that didn’t mean they had to be. The scary truth of that, and how badly she wanted them to not be over, whacked her in her heart. Out. She had to get out of here and ignore the last thirty seconds of her terrible thinking.

“Right,” he said in a flat voice. “Court date’s the week after this.”

A car behind them beeped, and he eased the truck north, then stopped in front of her house.

“I’m glad,” she said. “Because I can’t take much more of this.”

Slamming the door wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped.