All kinds of nightmare scenarios flashed through Reno’s head. Pacing, he reached for his cell phone. He’d call his dad’s number first, then Angela, then 911.
Or the hospital? Damn it, he wasn’t sure.
“He probably spent the night with your mom,” Rachel said.
In mid-dial, Reno froze. “What?”
“Didn’t you see Tom and Judy at my party last night?”
“Uh…” Reno was still getting over the realization that this panic—this utter freak-out—must have been what he’d put his parents through all during high school. He’d done his share of sneaking out past curfew. He ought to be shot. Concentrating hard, he said, “I saw them, I guess. For a second.”
Truthfully, he’d started blotting out any thoughts of his parents together. Thanks to their lame-ass divorce talk, it was too painful to remember how happy they’d once been. Not that he’d admit as much. Trying to seem tough, Reno jerked up his chin.
“Did you see them?” he asked.
“Of course! I’m the one who invited them. And, you know, helped them end their feud. I guess you could say my advice worked, judging by the hot and heavy make-out session I saw them indulging in.” Looking pleased with herself, Rachel squinted at the blankets folded on the sofa. “Ugh. These are polyester, Reno. And plaid. Show some respect. Your father is a great guy.”
Ugh. Make-out session. Reno shuddered. That wasn’t something he wanted to associate with his parents. Ever.
In a mighty effort to turn his thoughts toward something less parentally X-rated, Reno finally realized what Rachel had just said: And, you know, helped them end their feud.
Could it be true? Sure, Rachel’s advice to Kayla had helped her patch things up with her Kismet Elementary School posse. But it wasn’t as if his very own L.A. diva was some kind of miracle worker. On the other hand, Rachel had taken his father shopping for new shazaam!-style clothes. She’d bought him cool shoes.
Check out my kicks! Nice, right?
She’d restored his hope and his excitement for life.
But that didn’t explain all this. That didn’t explain…
“Did you take my mom shopping, too?” he demanded.
“Of course! Right after we finished crafting about six dozen of those reindeer ornaments with the wooden clothespins and the glue-on googly eyes. She just needed a few new things—”
“So you are responsible!”
“Um.” Rachel backed up, looking alarmed—probably at the sudden intensity Reno felt. “Maybe. Responsible for…?”
“Bringing my parents back together.” He didn’t know how, and he couldn’t begin to fathom all the details, but all of a sudden Reno believed it was true. It made sense.
It made a weird kind of sense, but it made sense.
“Do you know what this means?” Overflowing with relief, Reno pulled Rachel into his arms. He didn’t want her to see the stupid, gullible tears that sprang to his eyes. Even though she could probably hear him sniffle all the same. “We can have Christmas together again this year!”
“Mmm-hmmm.” Rachel’s voice was muffled, squashed against his chest. “Behold the power of fashion.” Apparently her solutions weren’t always as pragmatic as the one she’d dished out to Kayla. She patted him. “Just one big happy family, right?”
“Right.” Another sniffle. Manfully, Reno got a grip on himself. He set Rachel apart from him, but he couldn’t distance himself from the beaming smile on his face. He realized it was happening and tried to suppress it with a tough-guy grimace.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asked, looking concerned.
“I’m fine.” Gruffly, he cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”
He hustled her toward the door—the better to prevent her from witnessing him swabbing at his eyes. His chest felt light, though, his shoulders loose, his whole body free. The little-boy part of him had apparently been terrified of that divorce all this time, but the grown-man part of him had ruthlessly quashed all those fears. Now Reno felt seriously at risk of breaking out with some sort of shake-your-groove-thing celebratory dance.
Rachel pivoted. Instantly, Reno sobered as he opened the door for them both. He ushered her toward the snowy porch.
No dice. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Look, there’s my neighbor.” Right now, Reno felt prepared to grasp at any distraction. “Hey, Gerry!”
Rachel gasped. “That’s my dad! Ohmigod!”
“Oh yeah. That’s right.” Too damned cheerful to ask why she was bolting behind him, using his body as cover, Reno waved.
Rachel’s father, busily walking up the drive, waved, too.
“Hide me. Hide me!” Rachel said in a harsh whisper.
“Hide you? Why? Everything is awesome!” Reno’s head swam with remembrances of happy, close-knit Christmases past—and with anticipation of the bright and cozy holiday that now lay ahead for him and his family. “What’s up, Gerry?”
Boisterously, Reno stepped onto the frosty porch to greet the man. They shook hands, Gerry Porter looking exactly as happy-go-lucky as he always did. The icicles on the eaves glistened in the sunlight. The holiday yard decorations Reno had already put out stood at the ready. The lights on the porch railing lay on the snow like jewels. Everything really was awesome.
“I just came to see if I can borrow your ladder.”
“Sure,” Reno said. “I’ll open the garage for you.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
On cue, Reno stepped toward his garage.
A muffled squeal came from behind him.
He glanced back to see Rachel, frozen in an awkward position with her eyes wide and her gaze directed straight at her father. Without her shield—aka Reno—to hide behind, she looked utterly conspicuous. Especially in that sexy red dress of hers, with her bare legs and strappy shoes plainly visible beneath her Scorpions sweatshirt, coat, and scarf.
“Rachel?” Gerry Porter breathed. “Is that you?”
Doh. That was when Reno realized what all the whispering had been about. Rachel didn’t want her dad to see her doing the morning walk of shame. In last night’s dress. With—it suddenly seemed to him—Reno’s handprints glowing in neon relief against her skin in all the most indecent, erotic places. The two of them couldn’t have appeared more naughty if they’d tried.
Stricken, Reno gawked at Gerry Porter.
Rachel continued to do the same.
“So, uh, Rachel. Thanks for dropping off Kayla for me to babysit,” Reno improvised quickly. “That must have been one crazy and totally innocent slumber party you and Angela and Kayla had last night.”
“Err…” Rachel’s perplexed gaze met his. She caught on quickly. “It was! Cra-azy slumber party. Pillow fights, pink nighties, curlers, sing-alongs…the whole nine yards!”
United in their completely improbable lie, they nodded vigorously and faced her father. Gerry crossed his arms.
“Now you’re a cast member of the musical Grease?”
For an instant, the only sounds were a distant snowplow a few streets over and the strains of “We Three Kings” wafting from that bastard Hal’s garish yard display.
“Yes.” Rachel nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Rachel—”
“No. Dad, I’m sorry. Just hang on. I can explain!”
“So can I, Mr. Porter,” Reno offered.
Instantly, they were teenagers again, hands clasped behind their backs in contrite poses. Reno hoped like hell that he hadn’t accidentally given Rachel an Angela-style hickey as a souvenir of their night together. Just in case, he nudged his shoulder sideways, gesturing for Rachel to cover her neck with her hair. Hastily, she complied.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rachel said.
“It’s all perfectly innocent,” Reno added. “We were just leaving to help shovel Mrs. Bender’s car out of a snowbank.”
“That’s not all you’re shoveling this morning. Don’t try to sidetrack me.” Gerry Wright frowned. “It’s daytime, and my daughter is dressed like one of those hoochie girls on MTV.”
More silence. Then…
“What are you doing watching MTV, Dad?”
“Uh…” Gerry stamped his feet, staring at his boots.
“Does Mom know about this?”
Now Gerry found an intent interest in Reno’s eaves. “Er…”
“Come on, Rachel.” Sensing an opening, Reno helped out. “What’s a little Pants-Off Dance-Off to a fully grown man?”
Gerry Porter blanched.
Rachel tsk-tsked. “That show is on Fuse.tv, not MTV, Reno. My dad probably doesn’t even know Pants-Off Dance-Off exists.”
They both crossed their arms and raised their eyebrows.
Gerry spread his arms wide. He beamed, his smile rather shaky but nonetheless earnest. “Grease, huh? Congratulations!”
Rachel stepped into her father’s embrace, blushing furiously but appearing grateful all the same. Reno stood by, awkwardly examining the snowbank for signs of a Crackers invasion. If those were tiny bichon frise footprints—
“Come here, son!” Gerry Porter blustered. “Don’t be shy!”
Suddenly, Reno found himself enveloped in a Porter-style embrace himself, pounded by his neighbor’s hearty back slaps and nearly muffled by the fluffy wad of Rachel’s scarf that got in his mouth. Helpless against the onslaught, Reno gave in.
He hugged them back.
Mashed against Rachel, welcomed by her father, Reno had the strangest feeling he would never be the same again…even if he wasn’t really part of a touring musical road company in the midst of a Christmastime Grease revival.