Family Be Mine. Tracy Kelleher

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      Sarah reached in the hidden pocket of her wedding dress and pulled out a hand-embroidered handkerchief. It had been Grammy’s, as well. She handed it to Julie. “Here, you can pass this to my mom. I know she has one of her own, but this might be a source of added comfort.” Grammy had been a sensible woman. She would have understood.

      Next, without missing a beat, Sarah clasped her left hand and began working off the engagement ring that Zach had picked out and she had always found too showy. She passed it to Julie while Katarina busily positioned the bouquet of ferns and lilies of the valley under Penny’s head to act as a cushion.

      “Could you take this, too?” Sarah asked. “I don’t want it to get in the way.”

      “The way?” Julie looked confused.

      “I intend to slap a certain someone silly, but I have no desire to break any skin.”

      “Sarah. Let me explain. Ple-ease.” Zach’s wailing voice penetrated through the door.

      Sarah shook her head. “When I come back out, and after my mother has recovered—poor Mom—I’m not sure she’ll ever recover. Earl was one thing, but this…. Anyhow, when all the drama’s died down, do you think someone could scrounge me up some Tums?”

      “Tums? I was thinking more along the lines of vodka,” Katarina said.

      Sarah laughed a sad laugh. “Actually, vodka sounds like a great idea, but under the circumstances, I’m afraid it’s not such a good idea,” she said in a low voice, not wanting to further upset her mother. Penny’s eyelashes fluttered closed.

      Katarina raised her eyebrows. “And that’s because…”

      “You remember when I told you how my father blew a gasket when he found out I was living with Earl in New York City?”

      Katarina and Julie nodded.

      “Well, he’s going to have an apoplectic fit when he learns that this time I’m pregnant.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      September, four months later

      “RUN, FRED, RUN!” Huntington Phox called to the black-and-white dog that was dashing from one side of the backyard to the other. A mixture of Australian cattle dog and an undisclosed number of hounds, Fred was low to the ground and moved like a bullet train.

      “Uh…Hunt, I think he’s mastered running. It’s ‘stop’ that might need a little more work.” Ben Brown turned from watching the hyperactive animal to his longtime friend and partner.

      He and Hunt went back more than a few years, first working at the same investment firm on Wall Street before Ben unnecessarily took the fall for an insider trading scandal and left the company. The two had gone on to found a successful venture capital firm in Grantham. Hunt knew that Ben was grateful. For his sticking by Ben no matter what, Hunt also knew his friend was more than grateful.

      He also knew he was cagey. Ben might gladly walk through fire, walk on water, or put out the fire with the water for Hunt. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own agenda.

      So Hunt waited, knowing that Ben was mindful of the tactical nuances necessary when it came to persuading Hunt about something. Because, even though Hunt may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he haggled with all the skill of a Bedouin horse trader.

      “So when did you acquire this…this…beast?” Ben asked, opening with what Hunt surmised was a sideways gambit.

      Hunt glanced at Ben before returning his attention to Fred. The “beast” raced along the winding paths fronting the flowerbeds, scattering pine-bark chips and beheading several black-eyed Susans.

      “For your information, Fred happens to be a dog, a one-year-old dog, and I picked him up today when I was driving by the animal shelter.”

      “Well, if you say he’s a dog, I guess I’ll have to believe you. But he looks more like a big tail attached to an unidentified flying object.”

      Fred chose that moment to leap a hydrangea bush with a single bound. He made it about halfway before losing air and crashing into the branches. Ben winced. Fred bounced out and looked around. His tongue hung out, practically reaching his knuckles. His eyes were bright and eager.

      Ben shook his head. “All I can say, you’re a braver man than I to risk bringing a new puppy to your mother’s garden.”

      Hunt turned. His hands were thrust into the pockets of the khaki pants that hung from his slim hips. He had finished his rounds of chemotherapy three months ago, but his weight loss was still apparent. Not that he had ever been heavy. But the lanky physique that had proved ideal for skiing and tennis and wearing a custom-made tuxedo with debonair flair, now resembled an undernourished teenager’s. The bulky fisherman’s knit sweater only accentuated his sunken chest. And the baseball cap he wore barely concealed his stubby hair, thinner and curlier than the thick blond waves he once had.

      “It’s not a question of bravery,” Hunt said in response to Ben’s remark. “I brought Fred here because my house doesn’t have a fenced-in yard.” That was true. His ultra-modern in-town dwelling might have a rooftop pool, a state-of-the-art sound system, and a well-stocked wine cellar, but it lacked even a single blade of grass.

      He went back to admiring the dog’s antics. “Besides, Mother won’t know. She’s in Manhattan, attending the opening of a new exhibit at the Met.” Those of Hunt’s social ilk only ever used the shortened form of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

      “And you think she won’t notice when she gets back?” Ben watched as Fred finally gave up the chase and plopped down in a sunken reflecting pool. The mutt lapped the water, then raised his head and panted. Water dribbled from his corrugated black lips. He looked very wet, very tired and very proud.

      Ben laughed.

      Hunt shrugged. “I’ll figure out something. In the meantime, I keep reminding myself that I am her only son and heir.”

      Ben walked over to the pond and looked more closely. “At the same time you might try reminding yourself that your mother’s prized water garden used to be in that pond.”

      Fred burped. He waggled his narrow bottom on what was once a rare species of water lily.

      Hunt winced.

      Ben straightened up. “Although I don’t have the name of an exotic-plant specialist on speed dial, I’m not without some equally powerful resources. Lucky for you, I think I know how to smooth this over.”

      Hunt raised his eyebrows doubtfully. He had an inkling his friend was about to show his hand.

      “Oh, ye of little faith.” Ben pulled out a pamphlet from the back pocket of his jeans.

      Hunt looked at it. “Don’t tell me. Some little idea of my mother’s?”

      “What did you expect? She drove out to my place a few days ago and showed me the course listing for the new session of the Adult Education School. She thought you might be interested, and I agreed it was a good idea.”

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