Mother of the Bride (25 page)

nineteen

That's where Gus found her, flung over the piano in her pajamas, sound asleep with her head pillowed on her folded arms.

It was 6:15. He'd wakened in his boxer shorts and goose bumps, shivered out of bed into his office and looked out the window at the frost silvering the back lawn. He'd pulled on sweatpants, socks and a T-shirt and went down to the basement to check the pilot light before he turned on the furnace. He'd seen the pocket doors ajar, stepped into the R&R room and found Cydney slumped over the piano.

How could she sleep like that? Gus turned off the spotlights and started across the room to turn off the floor lamp, favoring his taped-up foot just a bit. Her laptop was plugged into the floor outlet next to the brown corduroy chair. A cup of tea, cold and filmy, sat on the floor next to the ottoman where the laptop sat humming away on screen save.

It was tempting, but reading what Cydney had written would be like going through her purse. He
should
pick up the cup. The way his luck was running, he'd forget it was there, kick it over, slip on spilled tea, and break his neck. So Gus picked up the cup and leaned toward the table next to the chair to put it down. He nudged the ottoman with his knee as he did and the laptop blinked off screen save. Imagine that.

He smiled and dropped to his heels. It said “Chapter 4” in the upper left corner of the top task bar. That's all he had a chance to read—peering and squinting at the LCD screen because his glasses were upstairs on his desk—before the piano bench creaked and he shot to his feet.

Cydney sighed, drew a breath—and snored. Once, softly,
her lips parted and peach-kissed even in sleep, a little blue welt on her bottom lip where she'd “tabbed byself wid by pork.” Gus switched off the floor lamp and eased onto the end of the bench. Cydney stirred and snored again.

According to Aunt Phoebe, who'd snored like a freight train, ladies do not snore—ladies breathe deeply. So did Gus, content to just sit here and watch Cydney sleep. But it was cold, the furnace had just kicked on—he could smell dust burning off the vents—and her bowed-back sprawl over the piano couldn't be good for her spine.

He slid off the bench, just in case she woke up swinging, leaned over her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Cydney. Cydney, wake up.”

Her eyes opened, her head lifted and she blinked at him.

“Gus,” she said, her voice a foggy croak. “Oh Gus.”

She grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, pulled his head down and kissed him, her mouth slack but mostly on the mark. Gus fixed that with a quick slant of his head and pulled her up on her knees on the piano bench. He wrapped her in his arms, felt hers lock around his neck and her breasts moosh against his chest. Her nipples were hard. God, what a great way to start the day.

She curled her fingers in his hair, broke the kiss and looked at him, a luminous, wide-eyed smile on her face.

“Are you dreaming,” Gus asked her. “Or ami?”

“I'm apologizing.” She nodded at the Family Gallery, a glitter of gold and silver frames in the chilly morning sun slanting across the piano. “I didn't understand about your family, but I do now.”

“Feeling sorry for Gus the Little Orphan Boy?”

“Oh no. I only meant—”

“It's okay, really. If I'd known, I would've pulled that rabbit out of my hat a lot sooner, that's all.”

She laughed and bumped her forehead against his chin. Gus pressed a kiss between her eyebrows. She sighed. He drew a breath of her lilac-scented hair. Over her head he could see Artie standing next to Beth in their wedding photo.
It was probably a trick of the light, but he could've sworn his brother winked at him.

“My room or yours?” Gus murmured in her ear.

“Whattimeisit?”

“Pushing seven, probably.”

“My mother's feet will hit the floor any second. Your room. Tonight.” She scraped a fingertip that made him shiver across his whiskered chin. “Don't shave.”

“I'll throw my razor away.”

He kissed her gently, mindful of her lip, and rubbed his hands up and down her spine. She made an oooh-ahhh noise in her throat and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Obbb
that feels good.”

“I'll give you a massage.” He'd give her the moon, Gus thought, the sun, the moon and all the stars in heaven. “Full body. Twice.”

She made another oooh-ahhh noise and a purr of pleasure when he kneaded the small of her back.

“If you keep that up I'll be asleep in a minute.”

“Maybe you should go to bed for a while. Rest up for tonight.”

“I think I will.” She drew away from him, stifling a yawn and wincing. “My back is killing me. How do you sit at a computer all day long?”

“I take breaks.” Gus cupped her elbows and helped her off the bench, glanced at her laptop and breathed a sigh of relief. It was back on its teddy bear screen save. “I exercise and I don't sleep on pianos.”

“Ah.” She braced her hands on the small of her back and stretched. “That's what I did wrong.”

She looked so damn cute hobbling over to the brown corduroy ottoman in her wrinkled green pajamas, her muscles so stiff she snapped, crackled and popped like a Rice Krispy. Gus let her shut down the laptop and unplug the adapter, then took it from her, tucked it under one arm and looped the other one around her.

“C'mon, old poop. Let me help you to your walker.”

“Oh God, I feel like I need one,” she groaned, leaning into him.

“Take a hot shower to loosen up those muscles. Sleep on your back with a pillow doubled under your knees.” Gus walked her out of the R&R room and through the dining room, to the stairs. “If you're still tight when you wake up, lay on the floor with your feet up on a chair for about ten minutes. It'll help. Trust me.”

She slipped out from under his arm at the foot of the stairs and took the laptop from him. “Do you have to do stuff like that?”

“Now and then.”

“Oh God.” She dragged herself up the stairs by the banister. “Maybe I don't have what it takes.”

“Yes you do,” Gus told her.

She smiled at him over her shoulder, her head cocked to one side. “Do you really think so, or are you just saying that so I'll sleep with you?”

“Both.” Gus grinned and she laughed.

He waited at the foot of the stairs until he heard her bedroom door close, then wheeled through the house and up the stairs, through his office and into his bedroom. His alarm clock said it was 7:10
A.M.
Georgette served dinner around six, she and Herb turned in about 10:30. Who knew about Aldo and Bebe. With any luck, they wouldn't come back.

His office was ready-for-inspection clean and orderly. He couldn't write in chaos, but he had no trouble sleeping in it. Gus figured he had fifteen hours to dig out the mess Aunt Phoebe called the Black Hole because stuff went into it and never came out. Like his socks. He had a bad habit of buying more when his drawer ran empty. He dug probably three-dozen pairs gray with dust out from under the bed and dumped them with the sheets down the laundry chute. He didn't think he and Cydney would end up
under
the bed but just thinking about the possibility made his pulse jump.

Down, boy,
his inner voice said.
What happened to the old do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do thing? As I recall, you trashed the idea of seducing Cydney Vanish when you shit-canned the Grand Plan.

“That was then, this is now,” Gus said out loud. “She wants me.”

God knew why after all the shenanigans he'd pulled. Maybe she felt sorry for him. Poor old stick-in-the-mud recluse, but he didn't care. She wanted him, he wanted her and for the moment that was enough.

He kept Aunt Phoebe's Hoover in the kitchen broom closet. Herb was at the table drinking coffee, Georgette at the stove in slacks and a white cardigan scrambling eggs in a cast-iron skillet.

“Good morning, Angus,” she said. “I was just about to send Herb to fetch you for breakfast.”

“I figured your excellent pot roast was my last supper.”

“The Parrish family doesn't hold grudges, Angus.” Georgette gave the eggs a fluff with her spatula. “We don't get mad. We get even.” She smiled, but there was a glint in her eyes. “Sit down now before the eggs get cold. I'll go wake Cydney.”

“Since she just went to bed, I wouldn't bother.”

“Just now?” Georgette raised an eyebrow. “What was she doing?”

“Fell asleep reading,” Gus fibbed. He wasn't sure why. “I found her when I came downstairs to turn on the furnace, and sent her to bed.”

Georgette frowned. Gus smiled at her, poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it to the table.

“Morning, Gus,” Herb said. “How's the foot?”

“Much better. Don't think I'll need the cane today.”

“Are you sure, Angus?” Georgette brought the eggs to the table with a plate of bacon and sausage and a bowl of fresh fruit sprigged with mint. “Herb and I can postpone our jaunt to Eureka Springs.”

Gus had forgotten Eureka Springs. Oh, what a beautiful morning. He wouldn't have to wait till tonight—he could wake Cydney up with nuzzled, whiskered kisses just as soon as Georgette and Herb left.

“How kind,” he said. How fast can you get out the door, he thought. “But I'll manage just fine.”

Gus wolfed his eggs and took his plate to the sink, rinsed it and reached for the cast-iron skillet.

“Angus, I'll do that,” Georgette said to him from the table.

“Let me.” He smiled. “I'm sure you'd like to get an early start.”

But first, Herb had to drink the last cup of coffee. “Waste not, want not,” he said, settling down at the table to take his time. Georgette insisted on helping Gus load the dishwasher. Then she had to find her sunglasses and take pork chops out of the freezer to thaw for dinner. Herb was still nursing that last damn cup of coffee. Gus was about to yank his head back and pour it down his throat when he finished.

At last, finally, at 8:45 they headed out the front door, Georgette looping her purse over her shoulder, Herb twirling his key ring around his finger. Gus herded them across the porch, down the steps and across the drive to Herb's dusty and dew-covered white Cadillac.

“Oooh, it's chilly.” Georgette rubbed her arms beneath her short sleeves and turned toward the house. “I should take my sweater.”

“I'll get it.” Gus raced inside into the kitchen, yanked her white cardigan off the back of the chair where she'd left it and ran it back to her, his right foot and ankle twinging, but just a little. Testosterone, he thought, was a wonderful thing. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Georgette draped the sweater over her shoulders and gave him a curious, head-tipped look. “You're sure you'll be all right?”

“I'll be fine,” Gus said. Just as soon as you get the hell in the damn car and leave, he thought. “Enjoy your day.”

He smiled and opened Georgette's door. She started to say something, then shrugged, slid into the Cadillac and reached for her seat belt.

“Happy trails, Herb,” Gus said to him over the top of the car.

“Tally ho, Gus,” he said cheerfully, and got in behind the wheel.

The engine started and the Cadillac purred away. Gus half expected the Caddy to come back around the circle because
Georgette had forgotten something else. When it disappeared down the drive, he wheeled across the porch, shut the door and bounded up the stairs into the bathroom next to his bedroom. He squirted his toothbrush with Crest, shoved it in his mouth and got a good look at himself in the mirror. His hair and his whiskers were gray with dust. He was surprised Georgette had let him sit down at the table.

“Shit,” he muttered around his toothbrush.

He turned on the shower while he brushed his teeth, stripped and jumped in. He washed his hair and soaped himself, his mind and his body on fire picturing himself in the shower with Cydney, his hands cupping her breasts, her peach-kissed nipples peeking at him through soap bubbles. Gus groaned and rinsed and shut off the water, shivered into a towel and saw the adhesive tape from his little toe and the gauze wrapped around his big toe stuck to the drain on the tile floor of the shower.

Last night he'd showered in a plastic bag because he wasn't supposed to get his foot wet. Oh well. He peeled the bandages off the drain and threw them away.

He toweled off, chased the dryer through his hair, pulled on a pair of purple silk boxers and the knee-length velour robe Aldo had given him for Christmas. It was striped in mauve and peacock blue and Gus hated it, but it was warm, and he didn't want to be a block of ice sliding into bed with Cydney.

The telephone rarely rang at Tall Pines. Less than a dozen people knew his phone number, but naturally the damn thing rang as he hurried across the living room.

“Hang up.” Gus scowled at the cordless phone on the table next to the blue leather sofa nearest the stairs. “Whoever you are, hang up.”

The phone chirped again like a cricket.

It could be his agent. His editor. An aluminum siding salesman. Or it could be Aldo. Gus swore, snatched up the phone and said hello.

“Collect call from Gwen Parrish,” the operator said through her nose. “Will you accept the charge?”