The Game of Denial

• The Game of Denial
  
• Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Adcock
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Dedication
  
• Chapter 1
  
• Chapter 2
  
• Chapter 3
  
• Chapter 4
  
• Chapter 5
  
• Chapter 6
  
• Chapter 7
  
• Chapter 8
  
• Chapter 9
  
• Chapter 10
  
• Chapter 11
  
• Chapter 12
  
• Chapter 13
  
• Chapter 14
  
• Chapter 15
  
• Chapter 16
  
• Chapter 17
  
• Chapter 18
  
• Chapter 19
  
• Chapter 20
  
• Chapter 21
  
• Chapter 22
  
• Chapter 23
  
• Chapter 24
  
• Chapter 25
  
• Chapter 26
  
• Chapter 27
  
• Chapter 28
  
• About the Author
  
• More Brenda Adcock Titles
  
• Other Yellow Rose Books
  
• Visit Us On Line
  

B O O K S B Y Brenda Adcock

====================

Pipeline

Reiko's Garden

Redress of Grievances

The Sea Hawk

Tunnel Vision

Soiled Dove

The Other Mrs. Champion

The Chameleon

Picking Up the Pieces

The Game of Denial

by

Brenda Adcock

Yellow Rose Books

by Regal Crest

Texas

Copyright © 2014 by Brenda Adcock

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-61929-131-7 (eBook)

eBook Conversion January 2014

First Printing 2014

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Original cover design by Donna Pawlowski

Final cover design by Acorn Graphics

Published by:

Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

229 Sheridan Loop

Belton, TX 76513

Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

Published in the United States of America

Acknowledgments

I am one of those people who actually reads the acknowledgements in any book I read and am always amazed at the vast chorus of people each author thanks. I wish I had a million people to thank for assisting me, but I don't make friends easily and am too shy to let a bunch of other people read what I've written. That probably sounds stupid because I hope many will read what I write because I enjoy storytelling. So if you're one of those who also reads the pages before the beginning of a story, thank you.

Having said that, I wish to thank my publisher, Cathy Bryerose for continuing to have faith in me, Cindy Bryerose for simply being my friend. I have to thank Patty Schramm for her patience while editing my work and never fails to let me know when I've made yet another POV error and usually makes me laugh in the process. I'm sure there are others I should thank, but the old brain fails to connect. As always, however, my deepest thanks to my partner, Cheryl. She is, after all, the one who encouraged me to submit my first manuscript. Now ten manuscripts later I'm still thanking her and always will.

Dedication

To Cheryl --

Who finishes my sentences before I do, and always has.

I love you just doesn't say well enough what I feel.

Chapter One

EVELYN CHASE CURLED her fingers into a tight fist and slammed it into the bowl of rising bread dough on the counter in front of her. She folded the dough in half as she shifted her mouth to blow wavy blonde hair away from her eyes.

"Remind me never to piss you off, Evey," a woman's voice laughed behind her.

Evelyn glanced over her shoulder at the attractive young blonde who would be her daughter-in-law in less than two weeks. "You'd be amazed how liberating making homemade bread can be, Fran."

"Is that how you kept Brad in line when he was a kid?" Francesca Carmichael laughed.

"It's how I still keep him in line. Psychological warfare."

Fran was preparing a large basket of snap beans for canning. "I can't wait for my family to taste these beans tonight."

"They've never had green beans before?"

"Not fresh and certainly none that taste like yours. If I can spend enough time around you I might become a decent cook one day."

"You'll be like every other new wife and learn to do things the way that's best for you. Never let your husband convince you to cook like his mother. It's a whole new life and you'll both make a lot of adjustments."

Evelyn punched the dough down once more and folded it in half before covering it with a hand towel and washing her hands. "Have you and Brad found a place you like yet?" She pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and took a handful of beans from the basket.

"We've looked at a couple of places, but each one lacked something. I'm sure we'll rent for a while. We don't want to rush into something and then decide we hate it."

"As long as there's room for you to grow as a family when you're ready, you can do pretty much what you want with the rest of it. This place wasn't always like this. We added a little at a time over the years once the kids started coming along." Evey took another handful of beans, along with a deep breath. "Tell me about your mother, Fran. Honestly, I'm a little apprehensive about meeting the rest of your family. I'm sure I'll look like a bumpkin next to them."

Fran laughed. "You're not a bumpkin, Evey. You're probably saner than they are. I'm not sure what I can tell you to make you less nervous. Just be yourself. The chances are you'll never see any of them again."

"Your mother is in advertising, isn't she?"

"Mother owns an advertising agency in New York. Top drawer, that's how she describes it. My sister Charmaine and my brother Tucker both work with her directly or indirectly. Tuck's the agency's attorney and Charmaine is an ad exec for her."

"Sounds like a close family."

"Only in proximity most of the time. Tuck and Charmaine are as different as night and day. I'm sure you'll like my brother, but Charmaine is an acquired taste. She drives Mother crazy most of the time." Fran paused before continuing. "She has a number of close male friends Mother doesn't approve of."

"Will your biological father be here for the wedding?"

"Uncle Ron has promised to come, but I don't consider him my father. He agreed to relinquish any paternal claims before Charmaine and I were born. The same is true for Tuck and Meg's biological father."

"Will he be here as well?"

"Uncle Gerard sent a note saying he planned to be here, but none of us have seen him since Mama died."

Evelyn sat back in her chair. "I'm sorry, Fran, but your family is very confusing to me. I can't even imagine relationships such as yours."

Fran laughed. "I know it's confusing, but it was the only way my parents could have the children they wanted and still remain in the same gene pool. They thought it was safer and if any of us developed health issues, they at least wouldn't be tracking down a total stranger. This way we were a perfect blend of both our mothers' families. If you want to know what my Mama, Martine, looked like, just look at Charmaine. I think the only reason Mother tolerates some of what she does is because Charmaine and Mama could be twins, at least in the looks department. But Mama's personality was nothing like Charmaine's. In that area, she's more like Uncle Ron. Sort of a wild child, but basically harmless."

For a few moments, the two women silently worked on the beans. Fran dropped the last handful into a large bowl of cold water and took a deep breath. "Does it bother you that my parents are lesbians?" she asked quietly.

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but shut it quickly. She wasn't sure what to say to the young woman who would soon be a part of her family. "I don't know," she finally said. "It's not a lifestyle I've had much contact with."

"I can assure you it's not hereditary," Fran said. She looked at Evelyn warmly. "Mother can be a little intimidating at times, but basically she has a good heart. Of all the members of my family,
Meme
, my grandmother, is the only one anyone fears. Even Mother, I think. She's not your typical Midwestern grandmother, that's for sure. For a woman who grew up in a working class family, she's a little class conscious. She is extremely outspoken and that occasionally leads to a conflict with Mother.
Meme
has accepted all of her grandchildren, but never the relationship that created us."

Chapter Two

"WOULD YOU FEEL better if I captured a few exhaust fumes in a baggie to remind you of home?" Charmaine Carmichael snickered as she watched her mother anguishing over packing the correct clothing.

"Don't be a smart-ass, Charmaine. It's not an attractive quality," Joan Carmichael answered sharply then brushed light sandy blonde hair across her forehead. Her soft, intelligent, brown eyes slowly scanned the accessories that lay in neat rows next to her suitcase.

Charmaine pushed away from the doorframe of her mother's luxurious bedroom and wandered across the room. She plopped down in the maroon velvet upholstered rocker that had been her Mama's favorite chair. "I can't believe you're allowing Fran to have her nuptials in Hooterville."

"It's her wedding." Joan shrugged. "When you get tired of bed-hopping and decide to settle down you can have yours wherever you wish."

"But ten days? I haven't been away from room service and valet parking that many days in my
entire
life."

"Just think of it as a long overdue vacation from the lap of luxury."

"Then I should be allowed to bring Giancarlo with me as a distraction from all the fresh air and down-home charm."

Joan straightened and scratched the side of her head. "Why do the terms "˜American family farm' and "˜Italian gigolo' not go well together in my mind?"

"He's not a gigolo, Mother. Besides, I know you think he's fun to have around."

"He's very handsome," Joan said. "And as shallow as a koi pond. No Giancarlo, Charmaine."

"Are you almost finished packing those shucky-darn, howdy y'all clothes so you'll look like one of the natives? The car will be here in less than half an hour."

"Check with the airport and make sure the plane will be ready to take off as soon as we arrive," Joan said as she closed her suitcase. "Otherwise I might chicken out myself. No pun intended."

"WHERE THE HELL is your sister?" Joan fumed while her chauffeurcarried luggage to their limousine.

"Probably attempting to load ten days' worth of music onto a five day iPod," Charmaine said.

Joan walked back into her townhouse and up the staircase to the second floor. "Meg! Let's go!" We should have had more boys, she thought. I never had these problems with Tucker.

The door to one of the rooms popped open allowing earsplitting music to escape into the hallway. Joan blinked hard, gaping at her youngest child. Once Megan hit her magical eighteenth birthday, she discovered tattoos, body piercing, and apparently Goodwill, if her attire was any indication. Joan sighed. Only a month or two before Megan had looked so...normal. The final blow came when the girl discovered heavy metal music. At that point, a set of black earbuds became a permanent appendage to her body, forcing Joan to develop a form of sign language to communicate with her. After a few quick signals Meg nodded and disappeared into her room, emerging a minute later with a camouflage backpack and a large rolling suitcase. Although Joan had spent a small fortune, equaling the national debt of a medium-sized African nation, on clothing for the teen, she wasn't shocked to see the now familiar torn, faded jeans and oversized neon yellow t-shirt announcing in bright red print "I was born this way...what's your excuse?" The only parts of her wardrobe that matched were her lime green flip-flops and a lime green baseball cap. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail and stuck out the hole in the back of the cap. Even with that less than stellar attire, the ubiquitous earbuds remained firmly ensconced beneath the cap. Joan sighed as Meg bumped her suitcase down the hardwood staircase and hoped their maid would be able to fill the dents left in the wood before they returned.