Reclaim My Heart

chapter SEVENTEEN

“Take a left at the light.” Tyne pointed even though Lucas was watching the road and couldn’t possibly have missed seeing the turn.

“I remember. Believe me.”

He’d been testy all afternoon. Visiting her parents wasn’t high on his ‘wanna do’ list. He hadn’t come right out and voiced that opinion, but his temperamental behavior had told her all she needed to know. She shouldn’t have sprung the news on him like she had; everyone wanted the courtesy of being asked rather than being told that plans had been made for them. She’d have to find some way to make it up to him.

“Hey, Mom,” Zach said. “I’ve been thinking. I’d like to get a tat.”

Surprise had Tyne blinking.

When she didn’t respond, he offered, “A tattoo.”

“I know what a tat is, Zach.”

“Not anything huge,” he breezed ahead. “Just something small. A feather maybe, or a—”

“No.”

“No?” he complained. “Just like that? But you didn’t even think about it.”

“I don’t need to think about it. You’re fifteen years old. You don’t need to be marking up your body with—”

“Tyne.” Lucas glanced at her.

Something in Lucas’s black gaze made her pause, but she was too deep into her mother-lecture mode to stop now. “Zach, a tattoo is forever. What if you change your mind later on? And besides that, it’s a well-known fact that employers frown on hiring people with tattoos.”

“But he’s got one,” Zach said the words almost as an accusation. “And he’s got a great job.”

Tyne should have focused on the conversation, but in a flash she was back in that tattoo parlor with Lucas. She had been so damned excited, and she’d thought the idea of matching tattoos had been more romantic than anything on the face of the earth. Lucas had let ateveh Lucas her choose the design. She’d loved the dreamcatcher, a symbol of unity and protection, and Lucas hadn’t hesitated. He would have one put on his arm and she would have a smaller version tattooed on her shoulder blade.

That had been the plan, anyway. Once she’d seen how he’d clenched his jaw against the pain of the buzzing needles, she couldn’t go through with it. But she’d loved his tat. Loved the intricate design, the sacred beads woven into the delicate webbing, the regal feathers trailing down his arm beneath the circle. She remembered tracing her fingers over it every time they made love.

Zach leaned forward. “And besides that, he says you were gonna get one too.”

Tyne gasped. “Lucas! Why would you tell him that?”

Lucas didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

She sighed in complete exasperation and then sat there trying to decide what to say to her son.

“Look, Zach,” she told him, “can we talk about this later? We have plenty of time to discuss the pros and cons of tattoos.”

Now it was her son’s turn to heave a sigh, but his was filled with frustration. “Whatever.”

“Yeah,” Lucas murmured, “we have enough to worry about tonight.”

Balancing the Black Forest cake on her lap, she softly said, “Dad apologized, Lucas.”

She’d told him this several times already. Lucas tossed her a swift glance.

“Look, I’m nervous enough,” she pleaded. “Your attitude isn’t helping matters. You were the one who suggested we go see them and get it over with, remember?”

A metallic click resounded, and for the third time Zach scooted to the edge of the rear seat and poked his head into the space between the two front bucket seats. “What’d he do?” The question was thick with curiosity. “My grandfather. What’d he do that he needed to apologize for?”

Tyne twisted around, sticking the tip of her thumb into the cake’s creamy frosting. “Zach! Now look what you made me do. If you take that seatbelt off one more time…”

She didn’t have to finish the threat. Zach slid back into the seat, tugged on the belt and secured it across his chest and lap.

Refusing to be put off, Zach repeated, “So what’d he do, Mom?”

Tyne glanced at Lucas, then faced forward, slipping her thumb into her mouth. The buttery frosting melted on her tongue.

How much should she tell her son? She wanted to caution him about what kind of people he was about to meet; it would have been irresponsible of her not to give him at least some warning. But she didn’t want to taint what could very well be an important evening for him. He was meeting his grandparents for the first time. Everyone should have pleasant memories of their parent’s parents, shouldn’t they?

Her father had apologized. He’d expressed his love for her. Said they’d missed her. Wanted back into her life. Maybe…‌just maybe they had both changed.

“Your grandparents,” Lucas said, zeroing in on Zach’s image in the rearview mirror, “were very unhappy with your mother when she became pregnant with you.”

Shifting in her seat, she saw that Zach had blanched. She glared at Lucas.

“So they did know about me?” Her son sounded upset. “You guys haven’t seen each other all these years because of me?”

“This has nothing to do with you,” she assured him as quickly and calmly as she could. “What happened back then was between me and them. I was very young. They had lots of plans for me. They wanted me to go to college. They wanted me to—”

“I can’t believe,” Lucas said, his tone heavy with incredulity, “you’re making excuses for how they acted.”

“I will say it again.” Her teeth were clenched. “You are not helping matters, Lucas.”

He looked at her. “He needs to know.”

Everything, his sharp gaze advised.

Surrendering to her anger and blowing up on Lucas would have given her great satisfaction, but it would only deflect from what she already knew as fact. He was absolutely right. But how did you tell your son, who happened to be half Native American, that his grandparents were prejudiced?

She hadn’t a clue exactly what to say, she only knew she had to prepare him. Just in case her mom or dad ended up saying something insulting.

“I need to know what?”

Tyne turned, careful of the cake she balanced on her thighs. “Honey, there are things you should know about my mom and dad. They can be very…‌opinionated.”

The soft sound Lucas let loose sounded suspiciously like a snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Lucas, I’m trying to ease him into this, okay?” She glanced over her shoulder at Zach. “Honey, you know that station on TV? The one that advertises their news programs to be fair and balanced?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, your grandparents would never be interviewed by that network.”

Zach sat a moment, chewing over the information. “So, what you’re saying is they’re unfair and unbalanced?”

Lucas chuckled despite his ill humor. “Two for two. Way to go, Zach.”

Tyne struggled to hold back a smile. “Lucas, these are my parents we’re talking about,” she reminded him.

He shrugged, still smiling broadly. “If you don’t laugh at life, all you’d do is cry.”

“Whatever,” she intoned. “What I’m trying to explain, Zach, is that your grandparents aren’t very open-minded people, and—”

Her son’s gaze left her face to stare, his mouth parting, his eyes widening. “Whoa! Would you look at that!”

Lucas turned the steering wheel, the car bumping slightly onto the asphalt driveway. Tyne looked up the hill at the house she’d been raised in. A lovely, old Victorian, the house sat on a rise that afforded a beautiful view of the town, rolling hills, the wide, winding river. Lush vegetation deliberately placed to offer a variety of texture and color decorated the vast lawn.

“They could charge admission to this place.” Zach was taking it all in, glancing left and right as his father eased along the wide, curving driveway. “This looks like that place we visited. That botanist’s house. Remember?”

“Bartram’s Garden,” Tyne supplied.

“Yeah. That was it.”

As a single mother on a limited income, she’d become an expert at sniffing out inexpensive outings, places of interest to take her son to while away a long summer day.

An in-ground pool and pool house sat off to one side, the building sporting the same lacy gingerbread trim as the main house.

Lucas motioned to the pool house with a slight jerk of his head and murmured, “We could have used that when we were dating.”

She clamped her lips together to keep from grinning, but it was a failed attempt. Since they’d made love, there had been a deliciously playful air between the two of them. Even though Lucas was annoyed that she had obligated him by accepting her father’s invitation to dinner without asking him, it obviously hadn’t dampened the lively energy that danced between them.

“Zach,” Tyne tried again, “what I’ve been trying to tell you—”

“There they are,” Zach said, cutting her off.

Tyne shifted to face forward. Her parents stood waiting on the side porch, and the instant Lucas brought the car to a halt, they hurried downy hidth="5%"> the steps toward them.

With her blond hair cut in a short, fashionable style, her tailored capris and trendy blouse, Patricia Whitlock looked at least ten years younger than her husband. However, Tyne knew there was just a couple of year’s difference in their ages. Her mom’s eyes glittered with unadulterated excitement, and Tyne’s heart swelled with bittersweet pain.

“Zach,” Lucas said as he put the transmission into park, “I want you to try hard this evening not to react to anything you might hear or see.” He twisted around. “Son, I want you to keep a tight rein on your anger.” He glanced out the side passenger window at Tyne’s approaching parents. “We can talk about anything that bothers you on the way home. Understood?”

Although Zach’s brow knitted with confusion, he nodded silently.

Smiles could convey many different sentiments; the one she offered Lucas expressed her gratitude for his ability to tackle the bottom line with their son when she hadn’t been able to.

When Tyne stepped out of the car, her father smiled a greeting, kissed her cheek, took the cake plate from her hands, and then for the first time in almost sixteen years, she found herself in her mother’s arms. A child waking on Christmas morning couldn’t have been happier than she was at this moment. Sure, her inside churned with conflicting emotions and a heady sense of doubt, but this was her mom. Her mom.

Patricia pulled back to wordlessly gaze into her daughter’s eyes, pressing her palms against Tyne’s cheeks. The moment stretched out for an eternity.

Her mother has always had a tendency to teeter close to the line of kind, caring intimacy, sometimes crossing into an odd realm of intrusion. With her mom’s hands still pressed to her face, Tyne was reminded of the strange sense of invasiveness and claustrophobia her mother’s officious affection caused her. It had only gotten worse when she’d become a teen. She remembered once complaining that her mother meant to bleed the life out of her with those long, yearning looks.

Annoyed with herself for finding fault before she’d even had a chance to say a word to her mother, Tyne smiled and pulled away from the loving but clingy touch. “Hi, Mom. You look wonderful.”

“Oh, Tyne.” Her mother pressed her palm on her heart. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I just can’t. There aren’t words.”

“Mom, Dad,” she said, turning and motioning Zach forward, “I’d like for you to meet my son, Zachary. Zach, these are your grandparents.”

The teen shook his grandfather’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Now, what’s all this ‘sir’ stuff?” Richard Whitlock asked. “I’d be happy if you’d call me Granddad.” His brow furrowed. “If you want to, that is.”

Zach only nodded, his whole face transformed by the offer as he continued to shake the man’s hand.

Patricia gave her grandson a big hug, and when she lifted her hands toward his face, Tyne quickly attracted her attention by touching her shoulder. Zach looked relieved.

“Mom, Dad,” Tyne said, shifting her self a quarter turn, “I’m sure you remember Lucas.”

“Of course.” Her mother hugged Lucas as if all that nasty name-calling and animosity of the past had never happened. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Lucas caught Tyne’s eye over the woman’s shoulder, sending a silent message of disbelief. He murmured, “Hello, Mrs. Whitlock.” Before Patricia could get her hands on his face, he took a quick sidestep and thrust his hand out toward Tyne’s father. “Mr. Whitlock.”

The wave of relief that hit Tyne was strong enough to make her lightheaded. Lucas intended to be civil. No one would have blamed him for acting otherwise.

“Mom, the place looks beautiful.” She let her gaze wander over the yard. “Dad told me you were busy with your gardening, but this is just amazing.” She lifted her hands and let her gaze scan from one corner of the property to the other. “Zach said you could charge an entry fee.”

Patricia beamed at the teen, then looked at her daughter. “I couldn’t handle this yard on my own. I have Martin’s Landscaping come in. You remember Mr. Martin. You went to school with his son, Mark.”

Indeed, Tyne remembered. Poor guy had environmental allergies and was always sporting some sort of angry rash that had him scratching his skin raw. His condition wasn’t excuse enough to keep his father from pressing him into service on weekends, school holidays and summer breaks.

“Mark went to chiropractic school,” Patricia said. “He’s got an office in Lancaster.”

Tyne nodded, happy to hear he’d found a way to change his career path.

“Mr. Martin comes himself to supervise the crew and I appreciate that so much.” Patricia wrinkled her nose. “His workers are mostly Mexican, or Cuban, or Guatemalan. Puerto Rican?” She shook her head, lifting her shoulders dismissively. “Something like that.”

“Hispanic?” Tyne supplied.

“Yes.” Her mom nodded. “But they do a great job.”

But?

Tyne shook her head, wanting to press the issue; however, she thought it best to bite her tongue.

“I’ll take this inside,” Richard said, lifting the cake he held in his hands. “It looks delicious, Tyne. There’s fresh lemonade over by the gazebo.”

Lucas, Zach, Tyne, and Patricia headed toward the pool. Next to the ornate gazebo there was an outside kitchen complete with a sink, granite countertop, and a massive grill.

“Do you like lemonade, Zach?” Patricia wrapped her fingers around the handle of the large glass pitcher.

“Yes, ma’am.” The teen finger-combed his hair and then scrubbed his palms on the thighs of his shorts, eyeing the patio furniture, the kitchen, the pool.

His grandmother poured him a tall glass and set it on the bar. “You should come swimming while you’re here. You could bring some friends. It would be fun. I’d like to meet your friends.”

“His new friends live in Wikweko.” Tyne heard the warning in her tone.

Patricia looked clueless.

“Mom, Zach’s friends are Native American.”

Her mom clicked her tongue, her breath leaving her in a huff. “I realize that, Tyne. What are you trying to say? That I don’t want Zach’s friends in my pool?” She crossed her arms. “I’ll have you know I have a pool party for all of Mr. Martin’s Mexicans—” she stopped, then raced to correct herself “—Hispanics, and their families, at the end of every season. Just to thank them for all the work they do.”

Snatching up the ice bucket, Patricia rounded the granite bar. “Don’t be difficult, Tyne. I’d wanted this to be…‌I’d hoped—” Her fuchsia-tinted lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “I’m going to the house for more ice.” She glanced at Lucas and Zach. “I’m sorry. Excuse me for just a moment.”

Tyne watched her mother storm across the lawn. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered over her shoulder.

Her father came out of the house just as her mother entered. He paused to talk to his wife, but Patricia swept by him, disappearing inside.

“What happened?” he asked Tyne, just feet from the back door.

“I’ll fix this, Dad,” was all she said.

She followed her mother into the house.

The mudroom looked like something from the pages of Martha Stewart Magazine. Wainscotinge. id.< covered the bottom half of the walls and was painted a pristine white. The small, square window Tyne remembered in her youth had been replaced with a larger, bay window that let in loads of light. The gleaming washer and dryer were surrounded by white cabinets sporting shiny, porcelain knobs. Even the flooring was different, wide oak planks having replaced the old linoleum she remembered.

In the next room, she could hear her mother rummaging in the freezer, several chunks of ice thumping into the bucket that hadn’t really needed filling.

Stepping over the threshold into the kitchen, Tyne said, “Mom, I’m sorry.”

Her mother’s anger was spent. Now her shoulders were rounded and the muscles in her face had gone slack.

Patricia closed the freezer door. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve dreamed about this day. About you coming home. About meeting my grandson.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip and inhaled deeply. “When your father came home and told me he’d seen you, and that you were coming to dinner, I thought I’d have a coronary. My heart was racing to beat the band. I wanted everything to be perfect. Just like I’d dreamed.”

She set the ice bucket on the counter. “But I realized…‌just now…‌that it could never be perfect. Because, well, because, although I’ve always seen you as perfect in every way, as being amazingly talented and so intelligent you were bound to succeed at whatever you chose to do—” she lifted her hand to her throat, her gaze drifting “—you’ve only seen me as…‌as…” She struggled for a moment, then shrugged. “Something ugly. Something stupid. And flawed.”

Tyne chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Mom, I’m far from perfect. And when I left here the last time, perfect wasn’t at all how you’d have described me, I’m sure.” But her mother didn’t react.

Patricia went to the cabinet over the dishwasher and opened the door. Then she shut it and turned around. “No matter what we did for you, it was never quite good enough.”

“Oh, now, Mom, that’s not true. I—”

“We were not quite good enough. We were an embarrassment to you.”

Tyne went quiet, unable to dispute her mother’s statement. Parents who shot off racist remarks like an unpredictable, misfiring automatic weapon mortified their teenaged children.

“Your father has a wonderful reputation in this town,” Patricia said. “He’s well respected. And I have more friends than I can count. The people in Oak Mills like us, Tyne.” She frowned. “Do you know how it hurts to know your own daughter doesn’t?”

“I love you, Mom.” Tyne took a step forward and then stopped. “I might have been angry for a while.”

“A long while,” her mother pointed out.

And she was forced to agree with a small nod. “But I do love you.”

“And we love you.” Patricia reached up and tugged at a short lock of her hair. “We love you so much. Everything we ever did, or said, or planned, was because we love you, Tyne.”

Without being told, Tyne knew her mother was trying to explain their actions of the past.

“You have a son,” Patricia continued, “a teenaged son. Surely, now that you’re a parent you can understand our feelings. Our motives. We only meant to do what was best for you. You might not have been able to appreciate that then, but you have to be able to now.”

There must have been a thousand things she’d done over the years that were in Zach’s best interest; early bed times, the teeth brushing routine, controlling what he watched on TV. The list was endless. And as he’d gotten older, the parental choices had gotten harder because her son had discovered his voice. Despite his complaining, his anger, his comangThe liplete displeasure, Tyne continued to do what she thought was best for her son. Keeping him from going swimming with his friends last week was a prime example.

She found herself nodding slowly at her mother. “I do understand,” she admitted.

The frown creasing her mother’s forehead smoothed a bit. “Now if I can just get you to see that I didn’t mean anything bad before. When I mentioned Mr. Martin’s Mexicans.” She closed her eyes and frowned, her chin jutting forward. “Hispanics. Because I didn’t, you know.”

Tyne sighed. Keeping her words as gentle as possible, she said, “Mom, do you hear yourself? You talk as if Mr. Martin owns his employees.”

Patricia gasped. “I did no such thing.”

“Come on, Mom. ‘Mr. Martin’s Hispanics.’ Don’t you hear the inference?”

“No, I don’t,” Patricia countered. “They’re his crew.”

“Why is it necessary to mention their nationality at all?” she asked civilly.

Once again, her mother’s hands lifted in exasperation. “Because that’s what they are. Tyne, you don’t understand. I am sure that they are very proud of who and what they are. I’m sure they have no problem with me calling them Mr. Martin’s Hispanics. I complimented their work, didn’t I?”

She didn’t get it, Tyne realized suddenly. Her mother truly didn’t comprehend that some of the things she said, some of the names and phrases she chose to use in certain contexts, could come off sounding offensive to others. Had that been caused by her upbringing? Tyne’s grandparents had died when she was a young child, so she had no way of knowing what kind of parental influence her mother had had. It could have been that her mother’s parents were bigots too, and that her mother was so comfortable in the standards set for her that she wasn’t able to see that those standards could be raised. But if racism was a learned trait, why hadn’t Tyne picked it up?

Was it plain ignorance on her parents’ part? Ignorance had nothing to do with lack of brains or education. It was possible for people to be bright and ignorant at the same time. Was her mother’s an entire generation that society had to make allowances for? Tyne dismissed that idea immediately. This type of shallowness had nothing to do with age. S





he’d met plenty of older folks who were open-minded and accepting of others, people who had adopted a ‘live and let live’ attitude, not just when it came to race but religion, politics, sexual orientation, whatever. However, she’d also encountered people, of all ages really, who seemed bent on building walls rather than bridges.

Her mother had invited Zach and his friends swimming. And if she made a habit of throwing a party for the landscaping crew then maybe she had become a little more enlightened over the years.

Her mother sighed. “Tyne, I really wanted tonight to be special. I had hoped we could get through the evening without—”

“I agree, Mom.” She stepped forward, offering a warm smile and holding out her arms in invitation. Her mother eagerly stepped into her embrace. “Tonight should be special,” Tyne said. “Tonight is special.”