Here to Stay (35 page)

A slow grin moved over his firm lips. “A bridge? Ah, I get it.” A twinkle of mischief warmed his dark eyes. “If I had one to sell, would you buy it?”

Heat inched up her neck. She stepped away from him to follow her brother into the house. “I’m afraid I might.” She turned to walk backward. “Thanks for the outing. It was a great idea. I can’t remember the last time Luke enjoyed himself so much.”

“Five hundred, and I’ll deliver it gift-wrapped to your doorstep,” he called after her. “You interested in the Brooklyn or the Golden Gate?”

Mandy stuck out her tongue at him. He was still standing there, grinning, when she stepped inside and closed the door.

Chapter Fourteen

D
uring the short drive to the market Mandy told herself that the sole purpose of her trip was to pick up the makings for Coney Island hot dogs. After tossing all the ingredients into the cart, she found herself standing at the store’s wine display. Her fingers clenched over the cart handle so tightly they hurt. Looking at the bottles made sweat pop out on her forehead. Her stomach felt as if it weren’t there, and her lungs hitched as if they might stop working. For an instant the display rotated sickeningly and she hauled in a steadying breath. Luke’s voice whispered in her mind:
Run from it for the rest of your life if you like, but don’t kid yourself into thinking it’s normal.

Oh, how she wanted to get away from all those bottles. Only shame and a sense of doom held her fast.
Alcohol isn’t evil, in and of itself
. Luke was trying so hard to change. He’d even insisted he would be fine at the house alone while she went shopping. What changes had she tried to make?

Mandy grabbed the nearest bottle. She didn’t know or care what kind it was, because she knew little about wine anymore. Handling the glass container as if it might detonate, she put it in the cart, then sped toward another section of the store where she could breathe. At the end of the aisle, she saw corkscrews hanging on a clip wire. She jerked one free and tossed it into the basket.
Sick, I’m going to be sick
.

In the bread section, she tried to talk herself down.
You’re going to handle this. You can’t chicken out
. In a moment of weakness—all right,
cowardice
—she set the bottle on a shelf beside a stack of bagels. No. She wouldn’t let this beat her, not any longer. She put the wine back in the cart and gulped down the salty taste of nausea.

Once at home, Mandy set the wine on the counter, feeling as if an alien being had touched down in her kitchen. Trying to pretend everything was normal, she busied herself with the hot-dog preparation, which reeled Luke in like a starving trout.

“Yum,” he said, sniffing appreciatively. “Can we do them with the works, chili, onions, relish, mayo, mustard, and grated cheese?”

“Of course,” Mandy replied with forced brightness. “No point in going halfway. I even read the chili labels to get the very
worst
kind, guaranteed to clog our arteries.”

Silence
. With the intuitiveness he often displayed, Luke asked, “What’s wrong?”

Mandy knew better than to pretend with her brother. “I bought some wine.” Her voice quavered. “I feel like there’s a tarantula sitting on the counter, waiting to bite me.”

Another silence. And then Luke said, “Wow, Mands, I’m proud of you. We actually have
wine
in the house? What kind is it?”

Mandy tried to read the label but was so upset she couldn’t. “Beats me. Pink stuff.”

“If anyone on earth should know her wines, it ought to be you. Dad used to make you go down to the cellar to select the bottles. Remember? You were a vino expert.”

Mandy could recall the spooky trips down the stairway into a section of the basement their father had converted into cellars. But she couldn’t remember anything about the wines. It was as if that part of her memory bank had been obliterated.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes. When she could read the label, she said, “That’s weird. It’s pinkish, but it says it’s white zinfandel.”

“Are we gonna have some?”

That was the plan, to drink a glass, but now that the moment had come, she wasn’t sure she could do it. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bad idea. I could just throw it out.”

“Not.” Luke tapped his way over to the counter. “Where is it? I’ll open the sucker. Get us a couple of glasses.”

Mandy stared at her brother in mounting dismay. “Luke, you’re too young to drink, for starters, and second, I really don’t want you touching alcohol.”

“Why, because you’re afraid I’ll become a drunk, just like good old Dad?”

“I don’t mean to offend you. It’s just ... well, what if alcoholism runs in his family?”

“If alcoholism runs in his family, it’s unlikely to take hold of me if I have one glass of wine. And what if meanness runs in his family? What if being crazy as a loon runs in his family?” Luke whacked the cane on the floor in agitation. “We’re
nothing
like him. We can’t live our lives being scared that his bad traits are going to pop up in one of us.”

Luke was right. Mandy closed her eyes. “I just can’t help thinking, What if?”

“Well, stop. I do
not
want that jerk controlling me the rest of my life. You know what? I don’t think he’s truly an alcoholic. I think he was addicted to the rush he felt when he went on a rampage, and he needed booze to provide an excuse for going there. Maybe his parents abused him. Maybe his brain got injured at birth. Who knows? The only absolute is that neither of us is
anything
like him.” He groped for the wine bottle. “I’m not going to turn into a monster if I have a glass of wine, and you aren’t, either.” He fingered the mouth of the bottle. “There’s no lid. How does this open?”

With trembling hands, Mandy took it away from him. “You need a corkscrew.”

Luke rested his hip against the cupboards. “This may be fun. I’ve never had wine. Do people ever drink it with Coney Island hot dogs?”

Trying to get into the spirit, Mandy said, “
We’re
going to. Does that count?”

With several quick twists, she buried the screw into the cork and pushed down on the levers. Memories flashed. How many times had she done this at her father’s fancy dinners? A cold sweat filmed her body. Her pulse picked up, and between every beat, electricity seemed to snap through her bloodstream.

Mandy drew two tall tumblers from a shelf. She had no wineglasses. Her hand shook so badly as she poured that she nearly sloshed white zinfandel all over the counter. The smell—oh,
God
, that smell. Her gorge rose. The room seemed to pivot slowly on a wobbly axis. She grabbed hold of the counter to steady herself.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered.

Luke felt along the worn Formica surface until his fingertips touched the base of one glass. He curled his hand around it. “Oh, yes, you can. It’s all in your head.” He took a sip of the wine and went still. “Mmm, it’s
good
, Mands. Sort of sweet. Try it.”

He made his way back to the table. Mandy, frozen in place, engaged in a stare-down with her glass. Finally she reached for it. A chill washed over her as she lifted it to her lips.
Just one tiny sip
. She had to do this. If she freaked out and didn’t, Luke would accuse her of running from what she feared most.

And, like it or not, she knew he’d be right.

The sweetness filled her mouth. She struggled to swallow, couldn’t. It was physically impossible to ingest fluid when your throat was convulsing to purge your stomach. Holding the glass out to one side, she rushed to the sink and spit.

From behind her, Luke said, “Ah, Mandy. If it were juice, you could drink it. This is no different. Come sit at the table with me. We’ll do it together.”

Mandy walked jerkily to a chair. Her knees nearly buckled as she lowered herself onto the seat. She set the wine in front of her and stared at it until her eyes burned. “For me, it’s like knowingly drinking poison.”

Luke laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “It isn’t poison.”

“To me it is. Do you know how many times Dad knocked me around for making some stupid mistake with the wines?” Her lip curled, a reflexive sneer. “He’d
die
if he saw us drinking junk that costs less than five bucks a bottle.”

“Good. Let’s rebel.” Luke held up his glass and waited. “You with me?”

Mandy grabbed her tumbler and lifted it. “I’m with you.”

In tandem with Luke, Mandy took another sip of wine. This time the taste was less of a shock, and she was able to swallow. Tense as a well-tuned piano wire, she waited. She wasn’t sure what she thought might happen. When several seconds passed and all she felt was pleasant warmth moving through her, she relaxed slightly.

“You still alive over there?”

“Yes. Lightning didn’t strike. The roof didn’t cave in. I can’t believe it.”

Luke grinned. “I never thought I’d have a glass of wine with my sister. I mean, it’s more likely that we’d buddy-jump from an airplane. You know?”

Mandy giggled. “You’re right. Me and wine? Highly unlikely.”

“Another sip,” Luke urged. “And no trying to cheat. I can hear when you swallow.”

Mandy lifted her glass again. “It’s actually kind of good.”

“Kind of? I think it’s great, sort of like juice, but with a kick.”

They remained at the table to finish that first glass of wine, revisiting unpleasant memories from their childhoods, but creating a lovely new one in the process. Mandy poured them each a little more wine to drink while they made dinner. When they sat down to eat, they were both a tiny bit tipsy.

It was a wonderful dinner. Luke grew more talkative, but otherwise he was the same, only a little more relaxed and inclined to laugh. At moments, she wondered at the wisdom of letting him have alcohol. But if young men his age were being sent off to die for their country, then in her opinion they were old enough to have a glass or two of wine over dinner at home.

As they did the dishes—Mandy rinsed while Luke fumbled to put them in the racks—Luke lectured her once more about alcohol and their father.

“It wasn’t the drink that made him mean, Mands.”

Mandy had to admit that she felt mellow, not agitated, and Luke appeared to be experiencing the same reaction. “What do you think made Dad the way he is?”

Luke felt for the silverware holder. “I have no idea.” He braced a hand on the counter. “I only know I’m really proud of you for what you did tonight.”

He held up his hand. She laughed and gave him a high five. “I was scared.”

“Yeah.” Grabbing another plate, Luke stuck it in the dishwasher, missed the wire uprights, and had to feel with his other hand to position it. “We both have our demons. I’m finding that the more often I face them, the less they frighten me.” He smiled. “This morning when I woke up, I wasn’t scared. I knew you were in the house even though I couldn’t hear you. We’re going to get through this, and come out on the other side.”

She had to think about that. Alcohol. Her dad. All of the changes. But Luke was working with her now instead of against her, and that was a gigantic improvement. “You’re right,” she agreed. “I honestly think we will.”

An hour later, the phone rang. The recorded voice butchered the pronunciation of Zach’s name. Maybe Mandy was still feeling the effects of the wine, because instead of picking up with her usual hello, she said, “Is this a Greek pasta dish calling?”

“A Greek what?”

His voice, rich and deep, came over the airways and wrapped around her like warm tendrils of smoke. “My phone. The way it says your name, you sound like something I’d see on the menu in a Greek restaurant.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “You tempted to have a taste?”

Mandy grinned and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I’m not into Greek cuisine.”

“How about Irish?”

He’s flirting with me
. She’d had men flirt with her, but it had been so long ago that she’d forgotten all her canned responses. “You’re Irish?”

“What, you haven’t noticed my Irish charm?”

“I’ve heard rumors of your Irish temper.”

He groaned. “Cookie is going to pay for telling you all that crap.”

“It wasn’t true?”

“Am I under oath?”

“No, but if you’re really a man of your word, you’ll be honest anyway.”

“It was true. I kick buckets, and if I see someone mistreating an animal, I go ballistic. I do not, however, pick my nose. Not in public, anyway, and I
never
consume the proceeds.”

Mandy laughed. “That’s good to know.” She switched the phone to her other ear. “So ... to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

Long silence. “Damned if I know. I had a reason for calling. Now I’ve forgotten.”

“Back up. Think. When you dialed my number, you had something on your mind.”

“Ah!” It sounded as if he snapped his fingers. “My place, Luke, another visit with Rosebud. I’ve got Friday free. I can quit early. I was thinking we might do another barbecue, sans wine this time.”

She smiled at the remark. “We’d love to come. Is there anything we can bring?”

“Just yourselves. I’ve got everything else covered. Unless, of course, you can find time to whip up another fabulous chocolate cake from scratch.”

“A cake it will be,” Mandy assured him. “Do I have your word that you won’t try to sell me any bridges?”

He chuckled. “Ah, come on. Let a guy have a
little
fun. Actually, I’ve got a special on one right now. It’s painted bright orange and spans a rather well-known body of water in northern California. If you act quickly, I think I can get you a great deal.” He paused. “You sound different. More relaxed or something.”

Mandy did feel more relaxed. She’d just done battle with a fire-breathing dragon and trounced it. “It’s been a nice evening. We had Coney Island hot dogs for dinner.”

“Ah, those will mellow anybody out. Wish I’d been there. I love those puppies.”

“Next time we make them, I’ll give you a call.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”