The Sweetest Hours. Cathryn Parry

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СКАЧАТЬ he would never let on to any of them that he knew what Burns Night was. He was simply an observer, killing time. His mouth shut. A ghost who would fade from memory once his driver arrived and he left this small Vermont town forever.

      The brother in the wheelchair rolled over to him at the same time that Kristin came hurrying back into the room.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, her face flushed and her smile trembling in an “I apologize!” grimace. “My niece wanted help with her part in the festivities. I didn’t mean to desert you.”

      She turned to the largest of the men, the one in the wheelchair. “George, this is my brother Stevie. Stevie, this is George. He’s a work colleague, and he’s stranded in town until his ride gets here.”

      “My sympathies,” Stevie said, holding out his hand.

      “Good to meet you,” Malcolm answered, and shook the man’s hand, nearly getting his fingers crushed in the process.

      “This—” Kristin continued, with unmistakable worry in her voice “—is my mom. Mom, this is George.”

      “Er...hello,” Malcolm said.

      Mom speared him up and down with her sharp eyes that didn’t appear to miss much. Clearly, an appraisal was in process.

      Frowning, Mom asked him, “George? George what?”

      “Smith,” Kristin replied.

      “And what does he do at Aura Botanicals?” Mom demanded.

      “Marketing,” Malcolm said without hesitation. The crowd was moving toward the dining table, so he followed along, praying the line of questioning would soon stop.

      “And where did he go to school to prepare for the job?” Mom demanded of Kristin.

      “Er, Dartmouth.” Malcolm decided to answer her directly. “And later, Harvard Business School.”

      Mom whirled to stare at him. Her eyebrows shot up. In a heartbeat, her expression changed. “That’s the Ivy League!”

      He knew that. Kristin sighed and leaned over to murmur into his ear: “I went to a local college and my grades weren’t stellar. No one around here lets me forget that.”

      “Engineering is difficult,” Malcolm remarked. “I imagine that business studies are much easier.”

      “You’re being nice to me. I appreciate it.” She pulled out a chair and indicated that he sit.

      He did so, and she joined him to his left. Her face seemed frozen in a mask of what appeared to be both trepidation and hopeful excitement. The dining table was large, and there were a variety of chairs jammed around it, due to the crowd the sister-in-law chef had invited. He wasn’t sure who everyone was, and he was glad Kristin hadn’t made the big deal of introducing him to everyone. He was just waiting for his ride. That was all.

      He leaned back in his seat, cushioned and lined with fabric, while hers was an aluminum folding chair. Despite them each sitting on different kinds of chairs, he and Kristin were at the same height, so his thigh brushed against her thigh. His elbow rubbed her elbow.

      She drew back, smiling sheepishly at him. “This is worse than airplane seating.”

      He stared, then realized she was talking about coach class in commercial airliners. He didn’t know much about that.

      The little rug rat climbed into the chair on the other side of him, his right side—his eating side—which was a relief because she was miniature size, and it was unlikely they would bash elbows during the course of the meal.

      He smiled tentatively at the little girl. She grinned back, her freckles even more impressive at this close angle, and she cupped a hand, whispering into his ear, “Watch me, I’m going to dance later.”

      “You’re...?”

      “George,” Kristin’s mother said, simpering from across the table, “I apologize for our boardinghouse arrangement. We are not usually so uncivilized.”

      “Yes, we are,” an older man contradicted her from the opposite side. He stood and leaned across the table to shake Malcolm’s hand. “I’m Rich, Kristin’s dad.”

      “Better than being poor,” quipped the brother in the wheelchair as he maneuvered himself beside the dad.

      “They’re terrible,” the mother said, fussing with the silverware that the sister-in-law had set out. “Pay no attention to them. We’re usually not so disorganized, either.”

      “Sure we are,” a tall man chimed in.

      “I should probably explain who everybody is,” Kristin murmured to Malcolm. Discreetly, she inclined her head. “That is my dad, Rich, and mom, Evelyn—both of whom you’ve already met. Dad works at the county Chamber of Commerce and Mom serves part-time in the town offices and the rest of the time in the café, helping Stephanie.” She gestured across the table, still speaking in a low tone. “PJ, my oldest brother, is married to Stephanie. This is, of course, their house. Then there’s Stevie.” She tilted her chin toward the man in the wheelchair. “He’s renting a basement room, for now, while he rehabs from his motorcycle accident.” A cloud crossed her face.

      “Will he be okay?” Malcolm asked softly. Throughout the entire conversation, he kept his gaze on the tableau of the room. Bustling, energetic, they weren’t paying much attention to him—except for the mother. But at the moment, she was occupied with searching for napkins—giving him and Kristin a chance to talk safely.

      “We hope so,” Kristin answered in a lower voice. “Stevie was reckless, going too fast, and he lost control when a car coming in the opposite direction crossed over to his side. We’re lucky he survived the accident.” But she brightened and talked faster. “Over there is Neil, my second oldest brother. He lives across town.”

      “How many brothers do you have?” Malcolm asked, suddenly feeling nervous. So much for being aloof. The haggis hadn’t been presented, and already he was betraying himself.

      “Four. The last, Grant, just joined the marines. He’s in boot camp. He’s hoping to come home and join the police force after his tour of duty.”

      Brilliant. “Er, are you the youngest sibling?” God, Malcolm hoped not. That would bring out her brothers’ protective instincts.

      “No,” she said, “I’m right in the middle. Two older than me and two younger.”

      Malcolm nodded. He didn’t know why he was bothering to keep close track of everything. He would probably never see her again—he was counting on never seeing her again.

      “Except for the marine, no one in your family tends to move very far from home, do they?” he observed.

      “No, we do not.”

      Before he could ask why, the sister-in-law—Stephanie—strutted into the room. She’d changed from her chef clothes and was wearing a blouse with green and navy blue plaid in it—Black Watch, he automatically thought. She still looked formidable, the military tartan appropriate on her.

      Clearing СКАЧАТЬ