The Good Wife (28 page)

“Will do,” he replied. And to his credit, he still sounded completely unruffled. “Anything else I should know?”

* * *

T
he lights of Napa gleamed in the distance. They weren’t far now. Would be parking and entering Angèle, one of Lauren’s favorite Napa restaurants, in minutes. Lauren rubbed her hands on her legs, suddenly nervous.

What was she doing bringing Chris home with her, unannounced like this, without them even going out to dinner first?

What was she thinking?

Was she trying to humiliate him? Herself? Make a point? And if so . . . to whom?

“Chris,” she whispered, stomach starting to churn, panic building. “You asked if there was anything else you should know.”

“Yes?” He glanced at her as the GPS changed screens, showing him that he’d be turning soon. They were almost there.

Her belly flipped, and flipped again. “There’s actually a lot.”

“Okay.”

“I probably should have told you before . . .”

“Is your husband going to be there?”

She laughed, just as he’d intended. “Not married. Never have been.”

“Okay.”

Lauren shifted in her seat, her gaze fixed on Chris. “Never married,” she repeated, “but I had a son.”

She waited for some reaction. Chris remained silent, but she could tell he was listening.

Lauren pressed on. “Got pregnant in high school. Kept him. Raised him with my family’s help.” Her fingers curled into her palms. “He would have been a senior this year. Would have graduated last—” She was unable to finish the sentence.

Would have graduated last week.

Would have been something seeing him in his cap and gown.

The school remembered him anyway. Someone in the community had funded a scholarship in his name.

“Would have,” Chris said quietly.

She nodded. “He died last June.”

“How?”

“Car accident.” She swallowed hard. “Two other kids died with him. And the fourth was left paralyzed.”

It wasn’t dark yet, just the pale gold and lavender of twilight, and she could see Chris’s face, his features set, mouth firm.

Her heart ached. Everything in her felt tender and bruised. “I moved to Alameda last September, needing to get away from Napa. But Napa is still home. It’ll always be home. But it’s hard coming back, so I don’t do it often.”

“Yet you’re coming back tonight,” Chris said.

“Trying to step up for my family. Be there for them again . . . as much as I can.”

“I bet you were a great mom.”

It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and she blinked, holding back tears. “He was amazing. Really smart. And talented. And sweet.” She struggled to keep control. “It’s been . . . hard . . . trying to . . . move on . . . without him.”

Chris didn’t immediately reply. A minute passed before he reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her palm, sending sharp darts of sensation up through her arm.

“You’re doing good, darlin’,” he said. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. One foot in front of the other, and you’ll get there.”

Lauren’s family was seated at a table in the corner of the restaurant by the window overlooking the river. The interior was dim. Candles flickered on tables, reflecting off the glass.

Lisa spotted Lauren before they’d even woven their way through the crowded floor to the table, and she jumped up, grinning.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, moving toward Lauren and giving her a hug. “Holy shit,” she whispered in Lauren’s ear, clearly approving of Chris, before turning toward him and introducing herself. “I’m Lisa,” she said, smiling up at him, offering her hand. “Lauren’s big sister.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Chris answered, taking her hand but then leaning down to kiss her cheek. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Lisa gestured to her husband. “Matthieu, my husband.”

“I’m Chris,” he replied, shaking Matthieu’s hand.

“Rick Summer,” Lauren’s dad said gruffly. “My wife, Candace.”

“Candy,” Lauren’s mom corrected.

“Chris,” Chris repeated, shaking more hands.

The baby let out a wail from her car seat in the corner.

“And that’s Audrey,” Lisa added, before gesturing to the table. “Now come sit. We’re so happy you’re here!”

* * *

F
or the next hour, over coffee and dessert, Lisa and Dad peppered Chris with questions.

“So what do you do, Chris?” her father asked, almost immediately.

“I’m finishing school,” Chris said easily. “Earning my master’s in mechanical engineering.”

“Where?” her dad asked, eyes narrowed.

“At Cal,” Chris answered, giving the nickname for Berkeley, the first university founded in the University of California system. “My undergraduate degree was from UT Austin.”

“Mechanical engineering there, too?”

Chris nodded.

“You’re Texan?” Dad persisted, drumming his fingers on the table, expression brooding.

Chris wasn’t fazed. “No. Was raised outside Phoenix. My dad’s parents are from Texas, though.”

Dad looked from Lauren to Chris and back again. “So how long have you two been dating?”

Chris glanced at Lauren, took her hand. “Not long,” he said, smiling into her eyes. “But I’ve been chasing her awhile.”

Lauren’s face burned, cheeks hot, and shyly she glanced down at their hands. She liked the way her hand felt in his. Liked the way his fingers curved around hers. She felt surprisingly good. Warm. Safe.

“What do you mean, chasing her?” Dad demanded. “She wouldn’t go out with you?”

Chris grinned lazily. “Nope. Didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“You should have left her alone, then,” Dad muttered.

“Dad!”
Lisa and Lauren exclaimed at the same time.

Matthieu glanced away, trying not to laugh. Mom appeared mortified.

But Dad shrugged, unfazed. “What? I’m not allowed to ask?”

Lauren’s face still felt too hot. “You’re being a little aggressive with the questions, Dad. Don’t you think?”

Her dad ignored her. “Chris, do you mind?” he asked.

Chris grinned, shook his head. “Nope.”

“See?” Her dad sat back, victorious.

Mom changed the subject then by asking Lauren about business at Mama’s Café, which led to a discussion about business at Summer Bakery & Café, which led to further discussion about the future of the Napa restaurant.

It was Lisa who put a stop to all the speculation about the Napa café’s future. “This doesn’t have to be decided now,” she said. “And it’s no one’s business but Lauren’s and mine, and oh, maybe that’s because it’s our business.”

“But your sister isn’t even here, helping you out anymore,” Dad retorted, clearly in one of his more confrontational moods.

“But once again, that’s none of your business, Dad,” Lisa said gently but firmly, looking him in the eye. “I went into business with Lauren, not you. Any money you loaned us to start the business was paid back ten years ago, and I have always been totally supportive of Lauren going to Alameda and working at Mama’s. If, and when, we’re ready to sell, we’ll sell. Until then, we won’t. So there’s no point in continuing this conversation because it’s not a group decision, it’s a Lauren and Lisa decision.”

Dad mumbled grumpily and shuffled his feet. Mom looked at her watch. Then Lisa looked at her iPhone. “We probably should go,” she said, sounding regretful. “Audrey’s going to need to eat and I’d just as soon nurse her at home.”

They were all on their feet then, gathering purses and shawls. Lauren handed her dad a wrapped box. “For you to open at home,” she said. “Happy Father’s Day,” she added, giving him a kiss.

They walked out together, and on the curb her dad shook Chris’s hand and then gave Lauren a hug. “Be smart,” he said gruffly, holding her close, his beard-roughened cheek grazing hers. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I understand,” she answered, kissing him back.

He still held her. “And just so you don’t think you’ve pulled anything over on me, I know exactly who Chris Steir is.” He let her go, brows lifting. “And I still don’t like the Athletics.”

Lauren laughed, hard. “Good night, Dad.”

His stern expression eased. “Good night, sweetheart.” He gave Chris a half nod.

* * *

C
hris held Lauren’s hand as they walked the half block to his car. “Your dad reminds me of my dad,” he said. “Tough guy.”

“Yeah. He’s . . . opinionated.”

“He’s entitled to be.”

Chris opened the door for her, and she stepped up into the passenger seat of his black SUV. It was a new one, a luxury model, Cadillac or something like that, with lots of chrome and all the windows tinted black. “I have to be honest,” she said as he climbed in on his side. “This doesn’t seem like the kind of car you’d drive.”

“No? What kind of car did you think I’d drive?”

“A sports car. Something red, fast.”

“Actually, this isn’t my car. I borrowed it from Boone for the night.”

She turned in her seat, faced him. “This is Boone’s car?”

He nodded, smiling shamefacedly. “I have a car—it’s a ’60 Cadillac, big fins, bullet grille, hardtop, sweetest paint job ever—and I baby the heck out of it.”

“You were afraid to drive it to Napa?”

“No. It just wouldn’t start when the game was over. And so I told Boone I needed his car and he gave me his keys.”

“You left him with a car that wouldn’t start?”

“Oh, I didn’t give him my keys. My car is still in the team parking lot. Walker went home with his family.” He saw her face. “It’s okay. His wife was there, and she has a car, and her whole family was there, too. Thirteen or fourteen of them. So he’s fine. Trust me.”

“What about tomorrow’s game?”

“We’re off tomorrow. He’s good.” Chris reached out, caressed a strand of her hair. “We’re good.”

Lauren watched him start to type an address into the GPS. “Do we have to go back right away?” she asked.

“No. Absolutely not. I just know you get up early every morning—”

“I’m taking tomorrow off.”

He sat back. “So where do we go?”

“I’ll show you my sister’s and my restaurant, it’s a block from here, and then I’ll take you by our old place.”

Chris didn’t say much as Lauren walked him around Summer Bakery & Café, just nodded and nodded again as she pointed out the bakery, the café, walked him back to the huge kitchen. An impressive kitchen. “It’s beautiful,” he said as she relocked the door and they returned to his car.

“Now I’ll show you where we used to be,” she said, giving him directions to First Street. “Go slow,” she added as they approached the house. “There.” She tapped his arm, pointed.

He braked in front of the white Victorian house with the red-brick path and the big front porch. The house was dark except for the pair of porch lights that flanked the front door.

“That’s it,” she said. “That was where our first restaurant was, in that little Victorian house. It was our grandma’s house. She gave it to Lisa and me, and we turned it into a bakery and café, and Lisa and I lived in the back. With Blake.”

“How old were you when you and Lisa opened the restaurant?”

“Twenty-two or twenty-three. Blake was four.” She frowned, trying to remember. “I’m sure Blake was four. It’s all kind of a blur now. So much has happened since then. It was so much work, getting started, but my mom and grandma helped so much. They were always around the first year or two, making sure things were okay. I don’t think either of them thought Lisa and I would pull it off. We weren’t great cooks back then, but we were young and stubborn.”

“I bet you and Lisa have stories.”

“So many stories,” she agreed.

“She loves you a lot, doesn’t she?”

“She’s a great sister and still my best friend.” Lauren stared out the car window at her old house, remembering the years there and the neighbors on this street. It was a close-knit community, but it’d been too close for her after Blake died. She couldn’t handle the sympathy and pity, or even the cautious, kind smiles as people popped into the bakery to pick up a dozen dinner rolls, a loaf of warm cinnamon bread, or to order a special-occasion cake. Grief was a hard thing. It was also something she needed to do alone, away from her family and the community that had always rallied around her.

“Do you want to go inside?” she asked abruptly.

Lauren hadn’t been in the house since she moved. Mom went over once a week. Cleaned. Dusted. Watered the plants. Collected the mail. Lisa had told her that just recently. Lauren had been shocked, but it’d also made sense. Mom went to the cemetery to take care of Blake. Mom came to the house to take care of Lauren. It was her way of nurturing. Her way to stay connected.

“I’d love to,” he said.

He parked, and they walked up the brick path. Lauren’s stomach hurt as she unlocked the front door. He followed her in and she turned on lights. The front of the house still looked like a business. Big, open areas, empty areas where tables used to be. A counter. A bakery display cabinet. An old cash register.

Her stomach knotted again. “Not very fancy,” she said apologetically.

“Homey,” he said.

She nodded and led the way through the kitchen and into the back, where she and Blake had lived. Lauren rattled off the names of the rooms as she went. “Our tiny kitchen. Cozy family room. Then just the two bedrooms and our bath. Small, isn’t it?”

“It’s your home.”

She nodded, opening her bedroom door, gesturing to the old-fashioned bedroom set. “My bedroom.” She looked up into his face. “It was Grandma’s furniture. But I kept it. I like it.”

“Sweet.”

She spotted the framed oval photograph of her holding baby Blake on the dresser. It was taken on her first Mother’s Day. She looked like a kid. But then, she had been just a kid.

Lauren backed out of the room, Chris followed, and she moved down the hall to Blake’s room. Carefully she pushed the door open. Moonlight fell through the small window onto the twin bed, the covers smooth, pillows plump, his pitcher’s glove nestled against the lower pillow.

Gone. Still gone.

It’d been a year now. He wasn’t coming back.

She flicked the light switch, swallowed hard as the overhead light revealed the framed jerseys on the wall, and the baseball pennants and the poster Blake had gotten signed at a game his Aunt Lisa had taken him to when he was thirteen.