Martina clucked in gratitude, pleasantly surprised by his flash of manners. “Thank you,” she said. “We certainly enjoy it.”
“My mother prefers that whole nouveau thing,” replied Tim. “Her place is very Barbie Dream House.”
Martina glanced at Mary, not knowing how to respond, then pushed open the doors to the wide bluestone patio, where Stefan and his father were standing, beers in hand. “We have company!” she called.
Stefan strode over to greet Mary while Patrick appraised his guests, then followed his son more slowly. He tousled Hannah’s hair, took his turn kissing Mary’s cheek, then turned to Tim. “Patrick Kelly,” he said, with his boardroom handshake, his sharp eye.
Tim, to his credit, didn’t shrink from it. “Tim Dackard,” he replied, one hand hooked across his side.
The group soon took their seats outside around a low-slung coffee table, and Martina brought out trays with beautiful hors d’oeuvres.
“Wow, this is gorgeous, Martina,” Mary said.
“You would not believe how much food we had left over from last night,” Martina replied. “The caterers are making me look good.”
But Mary knew the effort that she was putting into the evening was a sign of her affection. They sat for a few moments, recounting the highlights from the evening before. The band was exceptional. The florists did a wonderful job. And wasn’t it nice that Gregory and Melissa Dunks made it?
“So, Tim,” said Patrick, slicing off a bit of blue cheese. “I hear you’re up from Miami.” Around them, the crickets trilled in a call and response.
Tim dunked a shrimp into cocktail sauce, then bit into it. “Yeah,” he said, pushing the shrimp to one side of his mouth as he tossed its tail into a bowl. “My dad owns LubeTime.”
“The oil-change chain?” asked Patrick.
“Yeah,” he said. “Thirty minutes or your lube job’s free.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Totally crass, but that’s sort of Ron.” He then looked over at Mary, letting their eyes hang together. “Right, Mary?”
Mary smiled and let her gaze fall to the table. She leaned back and rested her head in her hand, her foot bouncing in front of her as if it were all a silly little joke.
In the periphery, she saw something flash on Patrick’s face, whether suspicion or curiosity she could not say. “How many locations are they up to now?” Patrick leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees.
Tim squinted with thought. “I think like forty-five or something. But most of those are franchises.”
“How long ago did he start franchising?”
“Like forever ago. I think they’re opening ten more in the next year.”
Patrick’s jaw moved, as if grinding the numbers. “Annual revenue well into eight figures?”
“Tim,” interrupted Martina, with a good-natured smile, “you must forgive my husband. He is obsessed with business.” Then she gave Patrick a sidelong glance, effectively calling him off his line of questioning.
Stefan stood and walked over to the ice bucket that was set on a nearby table. “Can I get anyone anything to drink?”
Tim raised his hand. “I’ll take a beer,” he said. Stefan and Martina exchanged a brief look before Stefan read the label of the bottle in his hand. “Sam Adams okay?”
Throughout the evening, Stefan seemed eager to find ways to remove himself from Tim’s company, whether playing Frisbee with Hannah or manning the grill, but Mary stayed near until Martina said, “Mary, sweetie, can you help me bring some dishes out.”
Mary smiled, her eyes catching Tim’s. “Of course,” she said.
In the kitchen, Martina pulled a foil-covered bowl from the fridge. “He is close to you, your cousin?” Martina asked.
Mary shook her head. “Our mothers used to be,” she said, though Diane only ever felt jealousy toward Gail, never kinship. “But I don’t know Tim very well. I’m sure Stefan told you that his visit was unexpected.”
“Not in so many words, but . . .” Martina looked at Mary, her eyes soft and affectionate, as if she were her own daughter. “Well, we cannot choose our family, can we?” she asked. Turning back to the fridge, she took another bowl from a shelf and handed it to Mary. “Here, let’s get a good meal in everyone’s belly and then off to bed.”
Mary glanced outside and saw Patrick and Tim facing each other, Tim’s back to the house. The sun had sunk even farther in the sky, and Mary noticed how much darker it seemed as she looked out from the light of the bright, cool kitchen. Martina pushed open the door and let the humid night rush in, the air warming Mary’s skin. And as Mary followed Martina back to the table and the meal and everything that was lovely, Tim’s voice came like the cackle of a crow. “A flat tire?” he asked Patrick. And Patrick’s shrewd eyes met Mary’s for just a moment before Mary looked away.
Dinner was consumed in strained silence, Martina volleying the conversation to and fro between her family and guests, searching for subjects on which to engage and linger. I do love Miami’s architecture. When was the last time you were there, Patrick? Steffie, what is that restaurant with the crabs?
When they finished the meal, the Kellys stood, walking their guests to the door together. Patrick stood at the threshold, his hands in his pockets, looking at Tim. “You know, I’d like to speak with your father,” said Patrick. “About his business.”
Tim smiled. “Among other things, I’m sure,” he said. Mary’s eyes snapped to Tim’s. Tim held her gaze for a moment before turning back to Patrick. “It seems like you have a lot in common.”
Stefan followed Mary home that night. He didn’t say so, but Mary knew that he didn’t want her alone with Tim. In the front seat of the Blazer, Tim stretched his legs, relaxing into what he assumed to be an imminent victory. She heard him chuckle quietly to himself. In the rearview mirror, Mary glanced at the headlights of Stefan’s car behind them.
When they pulled up to the condo, Mary put the truck in park but made no move to leave her seat. “Bunny,” she said, turning to her sister, “why don’t you run back and get Stefan.” Mary watched as Hannah walked on the streetlight-lit sidewalk to Stefan’s parking space a few spots down. She was still watching her when she spoke. “All you’ve got are pictures, Tim,” she said. Then she opened the door and closed it behind her. It was only much later that she thought perhaps she should have given him a chance to respond.
Mary didn’t look at Tim again that night. Once inside, she put Hannah to bed, keeping Stefan close by her side. Hannah loves when you read to her. And so the three of them lay on the Chase girls’ big white bed, Mary’s head on Stefan’s shoulder as he read a story about a stuffed rabbit that a child loved so much that it became real.
“Will you stay with me?” asked Hannah, when the story was over. “Until I fall asleep?”