“There’s my girl,” she whispered as she held on to me. Finally, she reached out and stroked my hair a few times. “You look so pretty today. So happy.”
“I am happy, Mom,” I assured her quickly. “Promise.”
She pressed her fingers to the middle of my forehead and chanted softly, “Om shanti…shanti…shanti.”
It was the Sanskrit word for peace, and touching the middle of my forehead was like connecting to my center of consciousness, my third eye. I closed my eyes and felt my shoulders relax. When repeated three times, Shanti was said to safeguard the receiver from the three stresses or disturbances brought on by nature, by the modern world, and by one’s own negativity.
I opened my eyes and met her worried gaze. “I swear I’m okay.”
She sniffled once, then nodded. No tears, thank goodness. I had sympathetic tear ducts and nobody got away with crying alone when I was around.
“It’s wonderful to be here, Rebecca,” Derek said as he clicked his key to lock the car doors. “Thank you for inviting us.”
Derek was the only person besides Guru Bob who called my mother by her formal name. She usually corrected people and told them, “Call me Becky,” but when Derek did it, she would go all giggly. It might’ve had something to do with that accent of his.
“It’s our pleasure,” Mom said, patting his arm as we all strolled up the walkway to the front porch. “We’re just thrilled you’re willing to spend time here with the old folks.”
I snorted at that line. My parents looked and acted younger than anyone I knew. My siblings and I had been teasing them about their youthful exuberance for years now.
“It’s such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Mom said cheerfully. “I hope you’re hungry because I’ve made way too much food for lunch.”
Derek tried to be casual, but I could swear I saw his ears perk up. “Did you happen to make your Crazy Delicious Apple Crisp?”
Derek was a junkie for Mom’s apple crisp. She made it with apples picked fresh from her small orchard growing on the side of the hill below the back terrace. The spicy, lightly sweetened apples were topped with crunchy, crumbly, crispy layers of deliciousness, and she served it with a hard caramel sauce that made grown men moan.
“Of course I did,” Mom said. “I made it just for you.”
“I don’t suppose you’d consider running away with me, would you?”
Mom beamed like a schoolgirl. “Silly man.”
“Don’t tease me, Rebecca,” Derek said, touching his hand to his heart. “When it comes to your apple crisp, I’m deadly serious.”
Dad slapped Derek’s back jovially. “Don’t blame you, dude. But I’m afraid I can’t let her go.”
Derek shook his head in mock defeat. “You’re a lucky man, Jim.”
“And a hungry one,” he said, chuckling.
Mom rewarded Derek with a sweet smile as she tucked her hand into Dad’s.
I loved that Derek was able to joke with my parents. For a big, bad, dangerous international spy guy, he had a great dry sense of humor. It was one of the qualities that had first attracted me to him. Well, that, and the fact that he was handsome and strong and sexy and willing to catch me whenever I fainted.
“You’re pretty lucky yourself,” Dad said to Derek.
“Don’t I know it,” Derek said, his lips curving in a private smile for me.
Mom led the way down the wide hall toward the guest room. “I hope it’s okay that I’ve invited the whole town for lunch.”
“The whole town,” Dad repeated emphatically.
Mom waved her hand lightly. “Well, at least fifteen people, anyway.”
“Sounds like a party,” I said.
At the end of the hall, Mom pushed the door open to the guest room, then left us to settle in and unpack before everyone else arrived at noon. The room had formerly been the childhood bedroom I’d shared with my younger sister, China, and often with my friend Robin. Mom had redecorated it in warm brown and taupe shades to accommodate more grown-up visitors. Namely, Derek. Thank goodness, because the shocking-pink Hello Kitty bedspreads and matching lampshades would have been met with his howling laughter.
In my defense, the Hello Kitty motif had been China’s idea. I’d wanted a Nirvana bedspread, but Mom claimed she couldn’t find one.
Twenty minutes later, Derek went off to track down my dad in hopes of doing a little wine-barrel tasting while I headed into the kitchen to help Mom.
She was stirring something in a pot on the stove, but turned when I walked in. “The weather’s so nice, I cleaned off both picnic tables on the terrace.”
“Okay, I’ll set the…Whoa.” I gazed around the kitchen. “You weren’t kidding, Mom. You cooked way too much food.”
“It won’t go to waste,” she said easily.
“No way.” I arranged glasses on a tray to take outside. “They don’t call us the thundering hordes for nothing, right?”
Growing up, it had been my father’s pet name for his six rowdy kids. Especially when Mom would call us in for dinner.