“So…” her mother said, “Lance couldn’t stayany longer?”
“He had a phone call and had to leave. Hesaid he was sorry for having to leave so soon.” Chantelle twirledthe noodles on her plate despite being famished getting off theplane. She had tapped her high heels, waiting at baggage claim,shifting and sighing. Though vending machine snacks ranged fromhoney buns to Little Debbie cupcakes, she didn’t want to spoil herdinner at home. Though her appetite left her after seeing Lance,her stomach’s sensitivity subsided.
His broad chest and chiseled face haunted herfor years. Yet, his looks were only on the surface. It wasn’t thereal him. The real Lance listened to her stories, even though hewasn’t an advent reader as she was. Though he grew up privileged,he didn’t act proud. He always treated people with respect.Chantelle had a problem meeting his eyes without her breathhitching.
“It’s too bad.” Her mother continued. “Heloves our spaghetti nights.”
“Spaghetti night?” Chantelle’s eyebrowsetched together. “I thought that was our thing. He comes over forspaghetti night? Since I left?”
Her mother bobbed her head. “He’s one of thefamily, dear. I hope he’ll still stop by after the wedding.”
Elise touched Chantelle’s shoulder. “Are youokay? We didn’t know you were coming this early and your brother…”She eyed her husband. “Grant didn’t tell me Lance was coming untilafter we left the house.”
Chantelle rolled her eyes. “It’s justLance.”
Her mother waved a finger at her. “I don’tthink so. You two were close.”
“And now he’s getting married and I’m livingmy dream. We both got what we wanted.” Chantelle stuffed a meatballin her mouth.
“I see you started without me,” a baritonevoice stated.
Chantelle wiped her mouth in case somespaghetti sauce splattered her face. Looking over her shoulder, shegazed at her stepfather, Douglas Evans. She wasn’t keen on hermother remarrying at first. Even after meeting the kindheartedcarpenter and seeing her mother’s happiness, Chantelle struggled toaccept her step-dad. Yet, she knew he cared about her mother, soshe stood from her seat to greet him.
“You’re just as pretty as ever,” he said toher. He opened his arms wide.
She forced a smile. “There’s more to me thanmy looks.” She felt a twinge of pain inside her chest as she huggedhim. Why did that comment always bother her? Douglas didn’t meanany harm, nor did the others that complimented her beauty.
Douglas towered over her with his six-fourframe. Though sixty-one, the man kept in shape with his hard chest.“I know you are. Your mother saves all your articles and keeps themin a scrapbook. She’ll read them out loud to me every once in awhile.”
“It puts him to sleep,” her mother said.
“That’s nice… I guess.” Chantelle didn’t knowhow to take that one.
Her mother waved away her response. “They’regood Chantelle. He says it’s the way I read. What do you want,dear? A performance?”
Elise giggled while Grant rose from his seatto shake Douglas’ hand. Out of everyone, her brother acceptingtheir step-dad took her by surprise. He had been against themdating, but seeing their mother’s eyes beam must have changed hismind. Chantelle was working on it still.
“Good to see you, Douglas,” her brothersaid.
Chantelle returned to her seat. Would sheever get used to someone else sitting in her father’s place?Douglas greeted her mother with a kiss, and she held back an inwardwince.
“So I was thinking?” Douglas said,interrupting her thoughts. “Why don’t we take a family photo?”
“What?” Chantelle asked, her mouth fallingopen.
“I’m a little surprised myself,” her mothersaid.
Douglas took his wife’s hand. “This is ourfirst year as husband and wife, and I want us all to get togetherfor a photo.” He looked at Chantelle. “I know it’s important toyour mother. She’s sentimental about these things.”
“I’ve learned that the brief time I’ve beenin this family.” A hint of humor was in Elise’s voice.
“I’m cool, as long as I know the date andtime,” Grant said.
Chantelle scooted her chair back from thedining room table. “Excuse me. I need some air.”
Her mother stood, but Douglas appeared totalk her down. Chantelle hurried out the door to the tree house inthe backyard. It had been her favorite place to play with herbrother until he got older, got into sports, and found his firstgirlfriend. Careful in her heels, she climbed the board steps tothe fort.
Opening the latched door, she entered thespace that filled her memories as a child. A cut out window with acloth nailed over it made a curtain. A small table with mismatchedcups sat in the corner while a list of membership rules caught hereye. She and Grant spent hours thinking about what to write, but itall came down to “no adults allowed.”
The boards squeaked underneath her feet asthe wind ruffled the leaves. It brought a fresh breeze with a hintof tree sap. Recalling the splinters as a kid, she sat on the roughwooden planks.
“I know you’re in there.” Grant calledout.
Chantelle huffed. “Leave me alone.”
“Can’t do that.” Hearing the creaks in thebackground, she knew her brother was coming to pester her.
He peeked his head through the door. “I’malmost thirty. I’m not climbing trees anymore.”
She wrung her hands together. “Did you govisit him?”
He shook his head but proceeded inside to sitnext to her. “Not today.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “I knowMom’s happy, but you know how broken she was when dad died.”
Grant bobbed his head. “I know, and we lostsomeone too, Chantelle. I won’t negate that, but Mom’s moved on. Itdoesn’t mean she forgot Dad.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say a word.The day had been clear as a sky after rain. She and Grant sat inthe same spot three years prior, dressed in black from theirfather’s funeral.
With a parking lot filled with cars, theirfather proved to be a beloved man in town. Filled church pews,along with a book filled with signatures from family and friendsoffering condolences. Chantelle had been grateful for a closedcasket funeral, her father’s wish. Footsteps had muffled the thickcarpet, while soft music played. She’d
