A huge smile breaks out across his face as he tosses the newspaper to the side and pushes to his feet. “Well, I done reckon pigs must be flying today. Took damn near killing me with a heart attack to get you to do it, but I’ll take it.” Chuckling, he pats me on the shoulder then scuffles past me toward the door. “Now, I need to go freshen up before I meet the future mother of my great-grandchildren. Want her to know where you got your good looks from.”
The screen door slams shut behind him before I can say anything else, and with a defeated sigh, I follow him inside to start preparing lunch. I pray he’s not upstairs calling Minister Edwards to come over and perform a marriage ceremony. Though I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Hey, Teague,” Nancy greets me as I stroll into the kitchen and drop the bags on the table. “What’s got your grandpa all in a tizzy? He just flew through here, mumbling something about needing to get his good suit out of the closet. I could hardly understand him he was in such a hurry.”
Yep, that’s what I was afraid of. Grandpa only wears that suit to weddings and funerals, and as far as I know, no one around here has died. At least, not yet.
“A friend of mine from San Francisco is on her way out to the farm,” I explain, while unpacking the sacks and putting the groceries away. “And Gramps is optimistically hoping that Finley is ‘the one’ for me, so I think he’s getting ready for an impromptu wedding that’s absolutely not going to happen.”
Coming over to help me with the last few items, Nancy chuckles, “That man is a stubborn ole fart, isn’t he?”
“Has been since I can remember,” I agree. “He doesn’t take well to the word no, nor does he like anyone telling him what to do or how to do it. Honestly, you’ve done better with him than I ever thought possible. I think, despite all his complaining, he really likes you.”
She laughs hard this time. “He better, for all the belly-aching I have to listen to from him. I wouldn’t just put up with that from anyone.”
There’s a brief pause when I walk in the pantry to grab the seasonings I need for the hamburger meat, and when I reemerge back out into the kitchen, I see Nancy standing next to the counter with the box of condoms I bought in her hands… you know, just in case.
“Does the ribbing really make that much of a difference that you can say it doubles the pleasure? I mean, how do you even measure that?” She smirks, holding the contraceptives out toward me, obviously trying her best not to crack up. “And extra-large, huh? I’m impressed, young man, but you better not let Grandpa see those. I’m willing to bet he’s hoping for great-grandchildren sooner rather than later.”
The tips of my ears burn with mortification as I take the box from her hands, but I hold my chin up and hold her amused stare. “I’m not sure about doubling the pleasure, but it definitely makes a difference. And thank you.” I flash her a modest smile. “I may have been a little runt as a kid, but I can assure you that is not the case anymore.”
Tipping her chin in the direction of the staircase, she says, “Go put those upstairs before your lucky friend gets here, and then let me know what I can do to help with lunch. What’s on the menu?”
“Homemade cheeseburgers and oven-baked sweet potato fries,” I answer, my feet already striding across the floor to escape the awkwardness. “If you don’t mind peeling and slicing the potatoes, I’ll get the grill fired up then start on the meat.”
“Sounds good.”
Hurrying to my room, I shove the condoms inside the top drawer of my nightstand then do a once-over in the mirror to check my reflection before Jessica arrives. She’s only used to seeing me in business suits or my birthday suit. I’m not sure what she’s going to think about the white Hanes T-shirt, Levi jeans, ratty Iowa State ball cap, and work boots I still have on from this morning’s perimeter ride and grain haul. Shit, I’m not even sure what I think about the man staring back at me right now.
It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve worked the crops like I have the last couple of days, and I never thought I’d say this, but I’m realizing how much I’ve missed it. As the CEO of Goodman Farms, I’ve completed several multi-million-dollar acquisitions I’ve fought tooth and nail over, but never have I felt the same sense of pride and accomplishment in signing the dotted line on a contract as I do at the end of a productive day in the fields. So if I’m supposed to be this cutting-edge, influential, and innovative businessman, and not a farmer, then why is that the case?
The chime of the doorbell interrupts my moment of introspection, and not wanting Grandpa to get to Jessica before I do, I leave the question unanswered in my mind, pushed to the back burner where it can simmer for a while until I’m ready to revisit the bitter taste of regret it leaves in my mouth.
Sprinting down the stairs two at a time, I rush to get to the front door first, but when I turn the corner from the living room, I find Grandpa standing in the doorway, engulfing Jessica in a massive bear hug. Her bulging eyes lock on mine as I slow my approach, and I whisper a silent plea to any higher being that may be listening to have mercy on me and not let this day get out of control.
“Finley,” Grandpa says, after eventually releasing her from his grasp and taking a step back so he can get a good look at her. “You aren’t anything like what I was expecting, but beautiful just the same. Welcome to the farm. Come on in and make yourself at home.”
Jessica smiles politely at him and nods, then shoots me an inconspicuous 'you totally owe me' glare before speaking. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Goodman. Teague speaks so highly of you. Thank you for having me over.”
“Call me Grandpa, dear, and my door’s always open to pretty girls like yourself.” He waves his hand in the air, indicating it’s no big deal, then looks over at me and wags his finger in my direction. “And don’t you listen to a thing that boy right there says about me. Bunch of nonsensical gobbledygook is all that comes out of his mouth. Boring business baloney and stick-in-the-mud gibberish. He forgot how to have fun when he left for college. I hope you can help him figure it out again.”
“Thanks, Gramps. Good to know I got you running my fan club,” I chuckle, stepping around him to greet Jessica with a hug and a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek. “How was your flight and the drive out here, baby doll? Have any problems finding it?”
Sporting a wicked grin, she shakes her head and reaches up to lightly tug on the brim of my hat. “No, sugar bear, no problems at all. I’m just a little exhausted from all that traveling. Could sure use something to drink.”
“I bet your feet are hurting ya too, traveling all day in those uncomfortable looking things,” Grandpa comments, looking down at the chunky-heeled sandals she’s wearing with her long sundress. “You know, when Teague was a kid, he used to—”
“All right, that’s enough,” I cut him off, seeing no need to share the fact I was mildly obsessed with wearing my grandma’s high heels when I was a small kid. “J-Finley didn’t travel a thousand miles to hear old childhood stories about me. I’m going to grab her a glass of sweet tea then take her outside to look around the farm while I get the burgers ready.”
Jessica playfully pats my chest and purrs, “Oh, Teague, don’t be silly. I’d love to hear all about when you were a kid. You know, since we’re just getting to know each other in this early stage of our relationship, it helps me better understand who you are… my handsome snickerdoodle.”
I grit my teeth at her sugary-sweet voice, knowing damn well I have to play along with her little ruse in order to keep my own scheme convincing.
“Wonderful!” Grandpa exclaims, seemingly oblivious to anything off around him. “I can take Finley out to the barn and show her around a bit, while you and Hitler make our lunch. And don’t worry, boy,” he smiles over at me, lowering his voice to a loud whisper that everyone in the house can still hear, “I won’t tell her any of the embarrassing stuff like the crusty sock incident, or how you thought you pooped a corn cobb that one time.”
Then, hooking their elbows toget
her, he leads her away from me and back out the door she just came in through, heading toward the large barn on the other side of the driveway. Just before they’re out of earshot, I hear Jessica ask him, “So what were you going to say earlier about Teague and shoes?”
Groaning, I take my hat off and drag my fingers through my hair as I spin around on my heel and retreat to the kitchen. This day can’t end soon enough.
Finley
AFTER NEARLY THIRTY minutes of standing under the spray of the shower, I turn the knob to the far right and step out to dry off. With a leopard-printed towel, no less. Thick steam fills the jungle-themed bathroom and I have to wipe the fogged-over mirror down with my hand in order to see my reflection, but even then, it’s still blurry.
I’d hoped blasting my skin with scalding hot water would wash—or perhaps burn—away the concentrated layer of humiliation that still covered me hours after I fled from the spa, but no such luck. Even though I can’t see it, I can most definitely feel the sticky grime of the guilt from earlier today embedded in my pores. I’m not sure if there’s anything but time that can make it go away.
Opening the door to the bedroom I claimed as mine for the night, the cool air from the air conditioner slaps me in the face and goose bumps pop up all over my arms and legs, making me look like a plucked chicken. Well, so much for shaving my legs. Scurrying over to my small suitcase, I dig through the clothes until I find my favorite blue yoga pants and a hole-ridden Rolling Stones T-shirt I’ve had for at least five or six years, then quickly slip into them, reveling in the comfort of the familiar clothes.
I slip back into the bathroom, the sauna-like effects having dissipated with the open door, and begin my nightly regimen of applying face cream, brushing and flossing my teeth, and twisting my hair up in a bun on top of my head. Fiona’s voice drifts into the room as I secure the rubber band in my hair, and not sure if she’s calling out for me or talking to Farrah, I amble out into the living room area, still unable to get used to the giant elephant head and tusks that cover almost an entire wall.
Not seeing either my sister or niece at first glance, I pad farther into the room until I discover Fiona on the phone in the other bedroom — the one she and Farrah are sharing. As soon as she notices me, she hurriedly ends the conversation and hangs up the receiver, her expression so guilt-ridden I’m pretty sure I can see the canary’s feathers peeking out of the hole where her two front teeth are supposed to be.
“Hey, how was your shower? Feeling better? I saved some of that cheesecake for you in the fridge. Are you hungry now?” she asks, her tone showing a little too much interest.
I nod as I scan the room for clues of what she’s up to, but nothing appears to be out of the ordinary. That is, of course, assuming you consider life-sized gold cheetah statues at the base of the bed and zebra-skin rugs ordinary.
“Yeah, I feel a little better now, but I don’t want any cheesecake,” I reply, narrowing my eyes on her. “Where’s your mom?”
“She got dressed and took the lift downstairs to check out the casino for a bit, said she didn’t want to spend the entire night in the room,” she answers, with a casual shrug. “If you changed your mind and want to change and go meet her, I can ring the nanny back and have her come up to stay with me.”
I shake my head and frown. “No, I’m good, but I’m not thrilled with the idea of Farrah being down there alone. Why did you let her go?”
“You do know I’m six, right?” Fiona giggles, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger. “As much as I like to try and control my mum’s crazy, I can only do so much, especially when you locked yourself in the loo forever after dinner. Is your belly still upset?”
“I’m feeling a bit better, I guess. Must’ve been all that junk food I ate during the drive up,” I fib, refusing to admit to either her or my sister about what happened with Dennis. Letting them believe I have a stomachache is much easier. And less mortifying. Even if I do feel a little bad about us missing our dinner reservation at the steakhouse. Hey, at least they delivered all the food we wanted up to the room. “Who were you talking to on the phone when I first walked in?”
“You should’ve seen what Mum was wearing when she left,” she replies, purposely avoiding my question. “I didn’t think she had any knickers on with that dress, but I saw them when she bent over to put her heels on.”
I blink hard. “What? What are you talking about? And why aren’t you answering my question?”
Pressing her lips together, she shrugs again. “I’ll tell you where she went so you can go get her, if you agree to continue the road trip. I know you don’t want to stay here in Reno, but I don’t want to go back to San Francisco yet.”
“Where do you want to go?” I ask, confused on what her play is. “Disneyworld or something?”
Fiona’s eyes brighten and grow wide, making me think I’ve hit it, but she shakes her head. “No, actually, I just want to drive east. Explore the road, stop where we want, go different places. I was on the phone with Uncle Frank about possibly stopping off in Salt Lake City for a couple of nights. I know he’s your and Mum’s favorite uncle and y’all haven’t seen him in a while, and I’ve never met him… at least not that I remember.”
“Uncle Frank?” I exclaim, now completely perplexed. “How in the world did you even get his number? And why Salt Lake City?”
“I got his number from Mum’s phone,” she retorts proudly, “and Salt Lake City, because when I looked at the map to see where we could go next, it stuck out at me. Plus, I thought it’d be fun to meet this wild and crazy uncle you guys used to tell stories about.”
I chuckle, thinking of some of the ridiculous Uncle Frank stories from my childhood, but then remember he’s not that guy anymore. My mom’s much younger brother, Uncle Frank, lived in the garage apartment behind my parents’ house in Phoenix when we were growing up. He was that one uncle we all have — a rowdy rebel who refused to grow up for as long as possible. Then, about five or six years ago, he met a guy on a deep sea fishing trip who opened his eyes to the way of God, and soon after, he packed up his stuff and moved to Utah, where Mom says he seems to be doing well. I haven’t seen him since he left, but based on the five-hundred-dollar Visa gift cards he’s sent to each of us the last few Christmases, I’m guessing something’s got to be going good for him.
“Squirt, I’m not sure Uncle Frank is still the same guy your mom and I remember. He’s all grown up. Hell, he’s probably got a wife, maybe even some kids.” Realizing I have no idea what’s going on in his life makes me feel a little bad about not keeping in touch with family since I left home.
Fiona must pick up on my thoughts, because she then says, “So don’t you want to go see him? You may have an aunt and cousins you’ve never met. Come on, Aunt Finley. Let’s be adventurous. What’s the worst that could happen? After all, he’s family.”
After the massage debacle earlier in the day, I’m all thrown off, both mentally and emotionally, and even though I really want to get in the car tomorrow morning and go back to San Francisco, I don’t see what a few more days on the road can hurt. Especially if it means so much to Fiona.
“All right, we can go,” I give in, “but only for a couple of days. I need to get back home to handle some things.”
Throwing her arms around my neck, she cheers and kisses my cheek. “Thank you so much, Aunt Finley. I promise it’ll be fun.”
“Now where did your mom say she was going?” I ask. “Hopefully I can find her before she does something stupid.” Like going to jail or getting knocked up again without knowing who the father is…
“She said she’d be at the roulette table. Something about betting it all on black.”
With a loud groan, I spin around and fly out of the suite, not bothering with a bra or shoes, hoping to God I find her there. Sprinting off the elevator in the direction of the roulette tables, I pull up short when my eye catches a flash of red fabric and a head full of long black curls walk by with a small group of
drooling men trailing after it.
“Oh Lord, Farrah,” I mutter under my breath, as I redirect my path to follow her.
She stops in front of a bar, and the men form a semi-circle around her, all vying for her attention as she orders a drink. I approach slowly, not wanting to make a scene to garner more attention, but when I overhear one of the guys ask his buddy if he thinks she’d take them both on for a grand, I lose my shit.
“Excuse me! Move please! Get the fuck out of my way!” I shout, as I push through the hard bodies and cloud of overbearing cologne to reach her.
“Finley?” Farrah yells, her heavily made-up eyes roaming my body, taking in my holey pajamas and bare feet. “What in the hell are you doing down here dressed like that? I thought you had the bubble guts and were spending the night praying to the Porsche gods?”
One of the guys has the audacity to laugh and I growl at him, giving him the death stare, which thankfully shuts him up. “It’s porcelain gods, and I’ve had a miraculous recovery,” I grit out, as I take the drink out of her hand and set it on the bar. Then, grabbing her elbow, I tug her toward me. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Squirming out of my grasp, she shakes her head emphatically. “No, we’re not. I just started having fun. It’s boring in the room.”
I ignore our audience and hook her arm again. “Farrah, if your idea of having fun is being a prostitute, then we have serious problems.”
“A prostitute?” she shrieks, making sure everyone in the casino is now staring at us. “Why would you say that? These guys don’t think I’m a prostitute.”
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and let my head hang down. “Yes, Farrah, they do,” I tell her, then point to the ones I overheard talking. “Those two right there want to know if you’ll do both of them for a thousand dollars. I heard him ask his buddy if he thought you’d go for it.”