“Supper is about ready,” Arlen called out, choosing that exact moment to stick his head in the kitchen door.
“We’ll be right out,” her mother called from where they still stood in the dining room. “I’m sorry. What were you about to say?” she asked, turning back to Lauren.
“I—nothing.” Now was definitely not the time to embark down that path anyway. She should have known better. “We should get outside. It smells delicious.”
Thankfully, her mother didn’t press and they both went back through the garden, around to the rear patio that was as sprawling as the ranch home itself. “You have a beautiful place here,” she told Arlen, speaking honestly. She’d had the right mind-set at the start. Keep it relaxing and enjoyable. There’d be time to get answers later.
At the moment, there was delicious smelling barbecue to eat, a sexy flight school owner smiling at her…and the perfect opportunity to observe her mother with her new husband, and perhaps draw some additional conclusions on her own.
“Thank you,” Arlen said in response to her compliment. “I had it designed by a fellow I know in Denver. He’s a real whiz at building green, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, going green is a huge topic back at home, as well. I think that’s great,” she said, and meant it. Thankful she could be sincere.
“Well, he’s an innovator, Dave is—Dave Brumfield’s his name—knows all kinds of ways to keep from impacting the environment without making your house look like something from a science fiction movie.” He chuckled, clearly expecting them all to laugh along, which they dutifully if not heartily did.
“You’ll have to show me some of the innovations,” Lauren said, thinking he had a way of making any conversation sound like a sales pitch, no matter if he was sincere or not. “When did you rebuild?” At his questioning look, she added, “I mean, when did you ‘go green’?”
“Arlen’s previous home burned down quite some time back,” Charlene said, pausing in the middle of arranging the place settings on the large, rectangular glass table that dominated most of the lower part of the patio. “So, he took the opportunity—well, you tell them,” she said.
“No, no, that’s okay.” He looked at Lauren and Jake and finished the story anyway. “It was a difficult time,” he said, “but something good came out of it.” He gestured to the home behind them.
Lauren glanced between the two, but there was no overt tension. Her mother was smiling as she went smoothly back to her role as hostess, leaving her husband to make the small talk. Lauren couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t a strategic retreat to something that came as second nature to her. She still hadn’t seen any clear sign of “newly wedded bliss.” Or even simple affection. It would almost be more believable that they’d been married for decades and had settled into their own routines, each comfortable in an orbit that didn’t necessarily include the other.
“What happened?” Lauren asked, more as a means of continuing the conversation than anything, then realized how that might sound. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. I just—it must have been horrible, losing your home.” She risked a glance at Jake, but he was tending the ribs on the open grill, while Arlen was still stationed by the smoker.
“It was. A real tough time. Summertime, real dry, lightning strike. Spread all the way to my back acreage. Took out four of my best bulls along with a good quarter of my land, and my house.”
“That’s terrible,” Lauren said, and meant it. She couldn’t imagine losing everything like that. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Mercifully, no. And it was contained before it spread any farther through the valley.” He turned and started moving the meat to the platters on the sideboard. “Took a while to go through all the legal processes, insurance and such, so I had time to think about what I wanted. I considered moving into town, but I’ve grown attached to living out here, seeing all this every day.” He waved his long handled fork toward the mountains, but didn’t really look at them. “So, I did some research on architects and Dave happened to be in town on vacation, and the rest just sort of sprang from that.” He did look up then, looked at his house. “I’m real proud of what we accomplished here.” He glanced at Lauren. “We talk about the environmental issues, but it’s time more of us put ourselves into the picture intimately, if you know what I mean. It’s been something of a personal movement of mine ever since.”
Lauren smiled and nodded, even though now he sounded like he was stumping his cause on the campaign trail. Maybe he simply couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d been mayor for so long, politico-speak was his normal conversational style. But she also couldn’t help but think if he was so environmentally conscious, that his ‘personal movement’ would have been more readily reflected in the press she’d been poring over, both back in D.C., and, more intimately, the past day or two.
She glanced at her mother, to see if she could gauge her expression while listening to her husband pontificate, but she was still busily arranging everything just so. “It’s a beautiful table, Mom,” she said, awed, as usual by how her mother made it all look so effortless. “You really always amaze me with how you put things together.” She laughed a little and looked at Jake. “I take after my father. We couldn’t arrange plastic silverware on a picnic table if our lives depended on it.”
“Oh, it’s just force of habit,” Charlene said. “You do anything long enough it becomes second nature.” She primped the last napkin, then, looking satisfied and pleased despite brushing off the compliment, she spread her arms to them. “Fill your plates and come have a seat. I’ll get the lemonade and the tea.”
“Would anyone care for wine?” Arlen asked. “Beer, Jake?”
“I’m fine with lemonade,” Jake said. “Haven’t had any in a long time and it sounds good.”
“Me, too,” Lauren said.
“I can bring out a bottle of cabernet, if you—”
“Don’t bother with it,” Arlen told Charlene. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. I’ll have some lemonade, too.”
Conversation ceased as they all went about filling plates from the sideboards, giving Lauren more time to think. Other than Charlene’s aborted attempt to talk about the house, neither of them included the other in their conversational efforts, nor did they comment on what the other was saying. When she’d commented on the lovely table, she’d half expected Arlen to give her props as well, saying something about her mother’s wonderful hostessing capabilities, but he’d said nothing. Maybe he wasn’t paying attention, or the sort who passed out compliments. Hard to say. The air between them wasn’t strained. But it was hardly convivial or teamlike. Much less affectionate. She just didn’t get it.
Fortunately, this time she had Jake with her, as a second set of eyes and ears. Maybe she really would just not ever get it and had to simply get past it. Or maybe Jake would confirm what every second spent around the two of them continued to reinforce inside her: which was that these two people may be happy in their life here, but they weren’t exactly happy with each other. Much less in love.
“Hey,” Jake said as he moved in next to her while she used the tongs to grab a roasted ear of corn.
“Hey, yourself,” she said, feeling ridiculously breathless just by his very nearness. She bobbled the corn and Jake quickly moved to cover her hand with his own.
“Careful there.”
“Got it,” she said, delivering corn husk to plate. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
She glanced at him. He was still leaning in closely, so she could talk without being overheard. “I mean for all of it. You really didn’t have to come here tonight. I can’t imagine this is great fun for you.”
“So far it’s just been handling the rituals surrounding the manly art of barbecue.” He leaned in front of her to snag his own ear of corn and used the motion to catch her gaze with his own. “How are you holding up? How was the tour?”
“Good.”
He quirked a brow, but led her on toward the smoker as Arlen and Charlene made their way to the grill.
“That sounds…less than enthusiastic.”
“No, not at all. We’re good, or getting there. I’m way more encouraged than I was. She’s truly happy here and it shows in what she’s done with the house. I’m finding out all kinds of things about her I didn’t know. I guess she didn’t really, either.”
“But?”
She glanced at him. “You’re way too good at reading me, for knowing me such a short time.”
“Maybe we’re just in tune.”
Maybe they were. She heard his words from earlier in the day echo through her mind.
Sometimes you just know
.
“We’ll talk later,” she said, feeling her mother and Arlen drawing closer. “Just…watch them together.”
“What do you—”
“Are you all getting enough to eat?” her mother asked as she stepped in behind them. “Please, there’s enough here for a week of leftovers. Jake, I hope you’ll consider taking some home with you.”
“Thank you, Mrs.—”
“Charlene,” she said. “Please.”
“Certainly. I appreciate your generosity in inviting me this evening, but please don’t feel—”
“Please, otherwise I’ll be having barbecue for a week. You’d be doing me a favor. Since Arlen got this smoker—”
“I thought you were enjoying it,” he asked as he joined them.
“I am,” she said, carefully shifting between Lauren and Jake so she could serve her plate.
“Here, let me,” Jake said, quick to take up the tongs. “What can I get you?”
“I’d love some ribs,” she said. “And I do like the smoker,” she said to Arlen, “but you have to admit we’ve had just about everything you can smoke on it over the past few weeks.” She smiled to smooth over any possible ruffled feathers, ever the perfect hostess.
Arlen chuckled, but looked a bit ruddier about the cheeks. Could have been the heat from the barbecue and smoker. “What can I say, when you do something, you should keep doing it until you get it right.”
“Here you are,” Jake said, taking care of serving Charlene. “I think we’ve perfected it with this batch.” He wiggled his eyebrows a little. “And, you know, winter will be here sooner rather than later, so you can always get retaliation with a Crock-pot.”
Lauren and her mother both started laughing, leaving Arlen and Jake looking perplexed. “Long story,” Lauren said, “but suffice it to say that Matthews women and electrical cookware…not a good match.”
Jake gently nudged Lauren. “Good to know.”
“The secret is out,” she said, still smiling.
Arlen finished filling his plate at the smoker. “You already know what a great hostess Charlene is,” he said, “but we do try and leave the cooking to others.”
“Now, Arlen, you know I make a perfectly respectable dry martini.”
Everyone chuckled and Charlene led them and their loaded plates to the table. Lauren relaxed a little. Finally, a little banter. It was about time. She tried to catch any further byplay—shared glances, anything—between the two, but Jake stepped in front of her to help pull her chair out, and they were both seated across from them by the time she’d unloaded her plate and taken her seat. “Thank you,” she said, glancing up with a smile as Jake helped push her chair in.
“My pleasure.” He took the seat next to her, so they both faced their hosts. “You do set a beautiful table, Mrs.—Charlene,” he said, quickly correcting himself. “Are those flowers from your garden?”
“In fact, they are. As you probably know, Arlen was very involved in getting the botanical gardens started in Cedar Springs some years ago. So I had the very fortunate privilege of working with the head gardener there to get some clippings and some advice.”
“A very nice perk,” Lauren said.
“You know something about that, I suppose,” Arlen said. His tone was entirely conversational as he started digging into the ribs on his plate. “Perks, I mean. Working for Senator Fordham must come with a few. He’s pretty highly placed.”
Lauren felt rather than saw Jake come to attention at the comment, which she found equally interesting. She’d have to ask him his thoughts on that, too, later. But while she’d have much preferred to eat her dinner and let her mind wander to the possible directions her evening might take once they departed the ranch house, she couldn’t afford to let Arlen’s conversational gambit go to waste.
“I would say the sacrifices are greater than the perks, but some of them aren’t all that bad.” She smiled. “Still the stuff you put up with makes it a little easier to take advantage of the perks you do receive without feeling too guilty about it. They’re usually well earned. You probably feel the same, having been mayor for so many years.”
“I do my best not to take advantage, but in a small town, we all rub each other’s back, as it were.” He settled into his meal but lifted his gaze to meet Lauren’s. “How long have you been in D.C.? Your mother tells me you rose pretty quickly in the ranks. Impressive.”
Lauren risked a glance at her mother, but she was busy skewering her corn cob with little red-and-black-checked glass chickens. She realized they matched the kitchen décor, and wondered again at the change in her mother. She’d never thought of her as particularly whimsical. At all, actually. Pragmatic, steady, determined, gracious, with an amazing eye for detail, her style had always been understated southern elegance. In a million years she’d have never expected ceramic chickens and antique baking implements used as room décor, no matter the room.
But Lauren loved her mother’s new kitchen, loved the warmth, the ambience. And while her mother had always been nothing less than a warm and welcoming hostess, and made certain her home reflected those same sensibilities, that warmth had generally been established by the polish in the fine oak and heritage furnishings, the perfectly constructed and color-coordinated window treatments, all contrasted with the bright colors of the fresh flower arrangements that always filled their home. Whimsical, her childhood home was not.
And yet, her mother’s exquisite eye hadn’t failed her in her most recent stint as home designer. So the whimsy was all hers. And Lauren found she really wanted to get to know the woman who had chosen a checkerboard backsplash and ceramic chicken and rooster salt and pepper shakers. She thought she knew her mother better than anyone. But now she wondered if her own life upheaval had skewed her perceptions of…well, everything in her life.