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“You still living alone?”
“Yup. I like having my place to myself.”
“Well, you’re not going to have much space to yourself at Mom’s.”
“I thought she remodeled the house and the tenants live upstairs?”
“They do. When she got rid of Dad’s office, she had the workers put in a separate entrance for the upper floors.”
“I didn’t realize she got rid of Dad’s office.”
“There wasn’t much point in keeping an office at the front of the house when the business had been moved. I work out of the office towers over on Lexington.”
“Then you didn’t have any problems taking over for Dad?”
He didn’t answer, but cast a curious glance his way. “What’s with all the questions? You’ve never expressed an interest in any of this in the past.”
“Just because I haven’t lived here doesn’t mean I haven’t been interested.” He knew that before they arrived at his mother’s house, there was something he needed to say. “Look, Shane. Now is probably as good a time as any for this.”
“For what?” His brother didn’t take his eyes off the road.
“I know that we’ve had our differences and that the last time I was home, things were said that neither one of us probably would have mentioned had the circumstances been different,” he began, trying to find the words that wouldn’t put his brother on the defensive. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want our family to be one of those kept apart by hard feelings.”
Shane cast a sideways glance at him. “Is that an apology?”
“Yes, it is. I’m sorry about what happened the last time I was home. I know your relationship with Dad was different than mine was.”
“Maybe we should just leave it at that,” Shane said, then motioned with his thumb toward the back seat. “Little pitchers have big ears, if you know what I mean.”
Dylan glanced at Mickey and then back to Shane. “Point taken.”
“Dylan, we can’t change the past.”
“No, but we don’t have to repeat it, either.”
“I agree.”
There was a short silence, which Dylan broke by saying, “You know, it really was good to see you standing there at the airport. It made me think of when we were kids and all the fun we had. I’d like to think there can be more good times for us.”
“I know it would make Mom happy.”
“There’s Grandma’s house!” Mickey’s tiny voice squealed with delight, as Shane pulled up in front of the big blue Victorian house Dylan had called home for eighteen years.
His mother may have remodeled the inside, but not much of the exterior had changed. It looked as familiar to Dylan as the day he’d left. The only thing missing was the small sign with the words Frank Donovan, C.P.A., written across it in bold letters. It had been on the newel post for as long as he could remember, a small lamp lighting it in the darkness. Now the only light came from the recessed fixture above the door where the number fourteen was painted on a tin frieze.
As soon as Dylan stepped inside the house, he saw the results of his mother’s remodeling project. Gone were the accounting offices where his father had spent his days working. One room had been converted to a library, the other a dining room. Dylan hung his jacket on a coat tree, aware of two things: the aroma of freshly baked bread and the sound of Middle Eastern music.
Mickey noticed the latter, too, saying, “Hurry up, Daddy. The music’s on.” He tugged at the snaps on his jacket while his father untied his boots.
“Are those bells I’m hearing?” Dylan asked as he wandered down the hallway. He found his answer when he stepped around the corner. Gathered in the middle of his mother’s living room, waving their arms and swishing their hips were at least a half dozen women dressed in what could only be described as harem apparel.
“Remember, you’re drawing a circle with your hips, keeping your movement fluid.” A melodious voice directed the women. “Shift your weight from side to side, then back and forth.”
“Move, Uncle Dylan,” Mickey pleaded, pushing on his legs to get him to step out of the doorway. “I want to belly dance.”
Activity ceased as six pair of eyes turned toward Dylan.
“Oh my gosh, you’re home. I didn’t hear you come in!” one of the dancers exclaimed as she rushed toward him.
He stared in surprise at the woman wearing red harem pants and a matching blouse with poufy sleeves—or maybe he should have called it a half blouse since it didn’t cover very much midriff. She looked nothing like the woman he remembered. No brown hair peppered with gray, no glasses, no apron covering her matronly skirt and blouse. Nothing about her was familiar except her voice, and it told him in no uncertain terms what he found difficult to believe. This was his mother.
CHAPTER TWO
Dear Leonie: The nicest guy just moved into the boardinghouse where I live. I’d like to let him know I’m interested, but there’s one small problem. He’s my landlady’s son and I’m not sure she’d appreciate me making a move on him. What should I do?
Signed: Don’t want to be out on the street
Leonie says: How nice is your apartment? Are you willing to sacrifice it for something that might never develop into anything special? On the other hand, there are lots of nice apartments. Can you say the same about men?
DYLAN’S MOTHER WRAPPED her arms around him and gave him a hug. “It’s so good to see you! Welcome home.” She pushed him back a little and said, “How’s your shoulder. I didn’t hurt it grabbing you like that, did I?”
“No, it’s fine. I—” he stammered, at a loss for words. Her dance costume was unlike anything she’d ever worn. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother’s midriff before. Even when she’d gone swimming she’d worn a one-piece. Nor had she ever been a blonde or had her fingernails painted bright red. She looked nothing at all like the mother he remembered.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he finally said.
“I don’t need them anymore. I had laser surgery.” She stepped aside and said, “Hey everybody, if you haven’t figured it out, this is my son Dylan.” Then she pointed to each of the women in the room in turn. “This is Krystal. She lives upstairs so you’ll be seeing more of her, and this is Valerie, a friend of Krystal’s, Jennifer you already know since she’s married to your brother, and you remember my friend Jan, don’t you?”
Dylan acknowledged the introductions with a nod and a few polite words.
“And this is Maddie Lamont, our instructor,” his mother said when she’d reached the last of the belly dancers. “I know you remember her. She stayed with us one summer and practically became part of the family.”
Dylan’s eyes met those of Madeline Lamont and he had his second shock of the night. She was nothing like the scrawny kid who’d looked as if she’d wanted to bolt every time he tried to talk to her.
Quite the contrary. She was boldly looking him over with eyes full of the same surprise that was in his. He didn’t remember them being such a bright blue, but then they’d always been hidden by glasses. When she smiled, he saw perfectly straight teeth instead of a mouth full of metal. Her long dark hair fell in soft, shiny waves down to her shoulders instead of being pulled back in a clip. And she’d gained weight. In all the right places.
Like the others, she wore harem pants, but instead of red they were a turquoise-blue and had a slit down the side of each leg. Around her hips was a scarf from which rows of coins dangled provocatively and on her fingers were tiny cymbals—the source of the tinkling sound he’d heard when he’d first entered the house.
“Hi Dylan. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” she said in a voice that made him think of moonlit nights on the beach with the sound of the surf in the background.
“Yes, it has,” he answered, trying not to gawk at her like some bar patron ogling an exotic dancer, but that’s exactly what he thought of when he looked at her. Instead of having a top with long sleeves, she wore a bikini bra, trimmed with sequins and beads and revealing a generous amount of cleavage.
“We’ve both changed a bit, haven’t we?” she said, amused by his reaction to the changes thirteen years had produced.
“Just a bit,” he agreed, still having a hard time believing that the skinny little kid who’d done cartwheels on the front lawn had matured into this beautiful woman.
“Can we dance?” Mickey asked impatiently, drawing Maddie’s attention away from Dylan.
“Maybe we should stop for tonight,” she suggested to Leonie.
“No, it’s okay. You girls go ahead and finish. I’ll take Dylan into the kitchen and make him something to eat,” Leonie insisted. She linked an arm through Dylan’s and motioned for Shane to join them.
“Smells good in here,” Dylan said as he stepped into a kitchen that didn’t look much different than it had the last time he’d visited. “You must have been baking.”
She chuckled. “Not me. Maddie. She’s the cook around here. She loves to make bread from scratch.”
It was hard for Dylan to imagine the woman with the jewel in her navel and cymbals on her fingers as whipping up anything in the kitchen. She didn’t exactly look like the domestic type.
Leonie put her hands on Dylan’s arms and give him a thorough perusal. “Let me look at you.”
“He’s got all his limbs, Mom. I already checked,” Shane quipped, grabbing a can of soda from the refrigerator. “Dylan, you want something stronger? Mom’s got beer in here.”
“No, but a cup of coffee would taste good.”
“I’ll get you a cup. You sit.” She pushed him toward a chair at the table. “I have some cold chicken I can put in the microwave. How does that sound?”
“It sounds great, but I’m not hungry. Why don’t you sit down so we can talk?”
“All right, but let me change first.” She gestured to the costume. “I wouldn’t want to spill anything on this fabric. It needs to be dry-cleaned. I’ll be right back.” With a wave she was gone, leaving him alone with his brother.
“Surprised by all the changes?” Shane asked, hooking a chair with his foot and sitting down across from Dylan.
“You could have warned me about that.” Dylan gestured with his thumb toward the living room. He didn’t intend for his tone to have an edge, but he was tired and it had been a shock to see his mother belly dancing.
Shane popped the top on his soda and took a drink. “I shouldn’t have had to warn you. If you called home, you’d know what’s been going on here.”
So much for the truce they’d declared in the car, Dylan thought, wondering if he and Shane would ever be able to sit down and talk without the past coming between them. He chose to ignore his brother’s comment. He wrapped his fingers around the cup in front of him, appreciating its warmth. He’d been cold ever since he’d left the airport and it felt good to be in the kitchen drinking hot coffee.
Shane broke the silence with an attempt at an apology. “Forget I made that crack. I was out of line.”
“It’s forgotten,” Dylan told him, although they both knew it wasn’t. He didn’t expect that years of tension between him and his brother would fade away with a few sentences. It would take time to rebuild their relationship, but time was something Dylan had.
“I meant what I said earlier, Shane. I have missed you. And this evening, coming home with you and Mickey in the car, listening to him talk…well, it’s made me realize I’ve missed a lot of other stuff, too.”
Shane grinned proudly. “Mick’s quite a kid, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he is. Smart little thing. Must take after his mother,” Dylan teased.
“Who takes after his mother?” Leonie asked on her return. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and a red sweatshirt. Dylan again was surprised at how young she looked.
“Your grandson,” Shane answered.
“I think he has the best of both of his parents,” she said with an affectionate pat on Shane’s shoulder. Then she looked at Dylan. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? How about a nice turkey sandwich?”
“See? She hasn’t changed as much as you thought. She’s still the same old mom,” Shane told Dylan with a sly grin. “Always trying to feed somebody.”
“I’m supposed to. It’s in a mother’s job description,” she insisted, arranging cookies on a plate.
“Belly dancing isn’t,” Dylan said. “What’s up with that?” he asked, nodding toward the other room.
“Maddie suggested she teach us because it’s such great exercise.” She set the plate on the table in front of Dylan. “It’s low impact and it releases tension. And the best part is, it’s fun.”
“Then you’re only doing it to have fun?” Dylan asked.
“You don’t think anyone would pay to see us, do you?” she asked with a laugh, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Then why the fancy costumes?” Dylan wanted to know.
“Maddie suggested we get them—to make it more fun. At first I was a bit shy about wearing something so exotic looking, but then I figured what the heck, why not try it? So I did and I liked it.”
“Mom’s tried a lot of new things lately,” Shane pointed out.
“I’ve noticed,” Dylan stared at her hair. “So tell me. Do blondes have more fun?”
She fluffed her curls with her fingers. “As a matter of fact, I think they do. I probably should have done this years ago.”
“I liked you as a brunette,” Dylan told her.
“I did, too, but I wasn’t exactly a brunette anymore. Salt-and-pepper gray would be more accurate. People have told me I took ten years younger because of the highlighting.”
“Is that what you want? To look forty-two?” he asked.
“Thirty-two would be even better, but I’ll settle for forty-something,” she said with an impish grin. He must have frowned because her smile slid away. “You’re looking at me as if you don’t approve.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t approve; it was just that she didn’t look like his mother. She looked…well, young, for one thing. And so very different from the last time he’d seen her. Before he could say anything, Shane spoke up.
“I think you look great, Mom. And I won’t be offended if anyone asks if you’re my sister.” He gave her an affectionate wink.
She flapped her hand at him. “As if they would. It was a change I needed and it’s been a good one for me.” To Dylan she said, “You probably haven’t noticed, but I’ve lost weight since the last time you were here, too.”
“I noticed.”
As she sat down at the table she said, “Maddie’s the one who helped me shed the pounds.”
“Maddie knows about dieting, too, does she?” Dylan asked with a lift of one eyebrow.
“It’s not really about dieting, Dylan. It’s more about living a healthy lifestyle,” his mother corrected him.
“And I suppose that Maddie knows all about that, too.”
She frowned. “Dylan, why that tone of voice? There’s no reason for you to be sarcastic regarding Maddie.”
“I’m not trying to be sarcastic, just asking questions,” he insisted, although he knew he was sounding churlish. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Ah, don’t mind me. I’m just tired. Maybe I should take my bags and go to bed. You want me to take the spare bedroom on this floor?”
“I’m going to put you in Jason’s room. The spare bedroom is now my office.”
“If you needed a office, why didn’t you just use Dad’s?”
“Because she didn’t want to use his,” Shane said, coming to his mother’s defense. “Mom has a right to remodel the house if she wants.”
