Her Unexpected Family (9 page)

“Stunning,” he murmured, and there was no missing the appreciation in his gaze.

“Tight,” she muttered back.

“Yup.”

She sent him a scolding look and was glad when Christa voted that dress out of contention. “I want to be able to move on my wedding day.” She laughed. “I spend enough time trussed up with military gear. Beauty and comfort are my only two requisites.”

The next dress Emily modeled was vintage lace, with cap sleeves, a heart-shaped back, a fitted bodice and an A-line skirt. Gorgeous, timeless and wearer friendly. Emily gave Christa a thumbs-up when she stepped up onto the riser with Grant's help. “Comfortable, movable, breathable,” she told Christa, and the army captain returned the thumbs-up, times two.

“That's the one.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it's perfect. Emily, can you turn around?” Emily did, just as their connection wavered, then locked in again. “Yes, this one, definitely. I love it, Caroline, but I'm absolutely insisting on paying for it.”

“No you will not. I won't hear of it. This is just a nice way for folks to say thank-you, so you just hush.” Caroline faced the decorated air force captain and shook her finger. “You worry about what goes on over there. We've got this covered.” She indicated the four of them, her, Emily, Grant and Janet as a crew. “You do your job. Let us do ours. And thank you, Christa McCarthy, to you and Spencer for keeping us safe.”

Christa blew her a kiss, and Emily was pretty sure her eyes grew moist. “Thank you, Caroline. Thanks to all of you, I—”

The connection scrambled, then broke, and all they had was a black screen, but that was all right. She'd picked a gown, a beautiful gown. Their goal was met.

As Emily turned to go back into the dressing room with Janet, Grant touched her hand. She turned, and the look in his eyes...

Her heart danced. Her breath caught. He swept her and the dress a long, slow look. “Stunning is right. And I'm not talking about the dress, Em.”

“No?” For the life of her, she couldn't bring her voice above a whisper.

“No.” He whispered right back, smiling. “I'll go start the paperwork while you get changed.”

She wasn't sure if she walked back into that dressing room or floated. Her reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and a happy smile. Janet met her gaze and raised a brow in understanding. “Someone's smitten.”

She tried to deny it, then sighed. “Yes. It's silly, right?”

“Love is often silly,” Janet told her as she helped her out of the dress. “But in Grant's case, I've prayed a long time for someone to make a difference. He's so alone, more than he realizes. No mother, no sister here, no wife, no faith. Those two little souls, needing so much.” Janet lifted her shoulders once she had the gown secured on the broad heavy-duty hanger. “A sweet woman with a love for God and children would be wonderful. I was friends with Dolores for years. She was the kind of mother who went the distance, always, but she was not an easygoing woman. She liked things her way.”

Grant had a bit of that quality, too.

“She loved her children,” she continued, “and she was in church on a regular basis, helping with this and that, but once you knew her, you realized if Dolores McCarthy said it, she meant it, and there was no changing her mind. And that's not always the best way to do things. Still, for all her hardheaded ways, I miss her like crazy. She would have loved to spoil those twins.”

No father, no mother, no wife and his sister deployed. At least Grant had Uncle Percy and Aunt Tillie nearby, with all their old-time eccentricities. Corinne had been a single parent for just over a decade, but her family lived in the area and she was surrounded by Gallaghers at every turn.

Grant didn't have any of that support.

She met Grant up front. He was finishing paperwork with Caroline, and when he saw her moving their way, his eyes—those big gray-blue eyes—brightened.

Caroline slipped out from behind the desk to hug her. “Emily, thank you for helping. That made such a difference to Christa, I'm sure. A gown should always be worn to be appreciated.”

“I sure appreciated it.” Grant's droll tone raised Caroline's brows.

“A beautiful woman in a wonderful dress is fashion at its best,” Caroline declared.

“And on that note.” Emily tapped her watch. “I've got to go. I'm overseeing two big events this weekend and if I mess up, Kimberly will kill me. That might not be an exaggeration on my part.”

“Knowing your sister, I concur.” Caroline paused, flexed her hands, then tried to hide a grimace of pain. “She was a beautiful bride, just lovely. And Drew, a most handsome groom.”

“They looked perfect, didn't they?”

“They did,” Caroline agreed, but then her voice softened. “Although we all know that marriage is more than how we look on one particular day.”

“True words.” Grant spoke softly, then extended his hand to Caroline. She stepped back and rebuffed the offer of a handshake.

“I would, Grant, but my hands.” She made a face of regret. “Handshakes are painful.”

“Then how about this instead?” Grant took hold of Emily's heart when he folded the stout bridal-store owner into a gentle embrace. “Thank you so much for what you did for Christa today. We're both grateful.”

His hug made her smile, but Emily wondered how much longer Caroline would be able to hang on to her popular little shop. The sheer weight of some wedding gowns strained the upper body and the hands.

“I'll see you back to the office, Em.”

Her phone buzzed. She read
Roselawn
in the display and shook her head. “I hate to say no, but I've got to take this. Caroline, may I use the back office?”

“Of course.”

She swept the phone and waved to Grant as she moved down the narrow hall to Caroline's office. She hadn't heard back from Stella, and if Roselawn was calling her, she assumed the angry bride had called them. She sucked a breath and sank into Caroline's seat. “Emily Gallagher, how can I help you?”

“It's Marcia at Roselawn, Emily, and you can start by running interference with your bride.”

“Stella?”

“That would be her.” Marcia wasn't exactly the warm, fuzzy, happy sort of party house owner. “When we contract with a wedding planner, we expect to work hand in hand with the planner as a liaison and avoid the histrionics I just handled. Ms. Yorkos stormed in here, demanding we give her a price break on her shower because of combined ineptitude on your part and ours.”

Could this get worse? Emily knew better than to ask that question, because the Stellas of the world fought for and demanded special treatment. “I offered to have Kate & Company swallow the cost of the additional entrée and resend the invitations.”

“Well today's complaint, on top of those, was a pastry table.”

If Stella went to Roselawn to demand a pastry table, did that mean she was pulling the wedding shower and wedding or staying with the contract? Emily didn't know. “She's decided she wants one? Because she'd opted out on that when we suggested it.”

“She's demanding we provide one at our expense because we should know enough to provide vegetarian choices as a given, not a choice, and that the pastry table will soothe her embarrassment with her peers.”

Marcia's words brought a lightbulb moment.

Stella wasn't mad about the entrée, like she claimed. Stella was crazy cheap and wanted to work the angle to get every freebie she could wrangle out of honest business owners. “Marcia, you didn't cave, did you?”

“Not yet, but you know how things are in the winter. We can use the business.”

Emily understood her point, but the thought of Stella squeezing special considerations out of people angered her. And when Kimberly returned and found the event messed up, how could Emily justify it? She'd promised Kimberly that all would be smooth for one short week.

It wasn't smooth, and Emily had a wedding and a fiftieth anniversary party to oversee on the coming weekend. Spending extra time soothing Stella's ruffled feathers wasn't how she wanted to spend the next two days, but if Roselawn's call was any indication, she might be doing just that. “I'll talk to her, Marcia.”

“Please do. I'm incensed at the idea of giving away a pastry table to serve sixty people, but on the other hand, I don't want those sixty people giving us negative internet reviews. That's a game changer.”

“I hear you.” Reputation was critical in a popular area like the Finger Lakes. “Let me see what I can do.” She hung up as Caroline came down the hall.

“Bad news,” Caroline surmised. “Not your dad, is it?”

“A bride.”

“Oh. Well.” Caroline shrugged. “Emily, there's one thing I've discovered in this business. You win some, you lose some and mostly you make folks happy.”

That sounded so delightfully simple.

“Kill 'em with kindness, sweetie. It's much better to smooth back ruffled feathers than to gather them once they've been lost in the wind.”

Caroline was right. She needed to bend over backward if necessary to make this right for Stella. And if it cost the business money, she'd make up the difference out of her Barrister buyout account. Dad wouldn't hear of using her settlement money to help pay his medical bills, but if she used it to offset a loss on Stella's wedding, that was her choice.

“I owe you, Caroline!” She hugged the older woman gently. “And I'm going to pray for your arthritis. I am so sorry to see you in pain.”

Caroline didn't look up at her. Not at first. She walked with Emily to the front of the store. Janet was showing a bride around, while four twentysomethings checked bridesmaids' gowns. “The pain's not the hard part. Pills help manage that. It's this.” She swept her quaint shop a look. “I love this, I've always loved this and when folks would quack at me to retire, I'd shrug them off. What did they know? But now.” Her hands fluttered. “I can't do it.”

Emily had seen this same raw emotion in her father's face the previous year, when faced with his prognosis. “Change is hard.”

“Yes, it is. I hate to close down, but my options have thinned from narrow to nothing.” She clenched her hands, then winced because she'd done it. “I've always told folks to leave things in God's hands, but when it comes to myself, I'm the last to follow my own advice.”

“Ain't it the truth?” Emily put an arm around her shoulders. “If you need help with anything...”

“I'll make my firm decision before the busy season starts up again in January, but I think the writing's on the wall. It will break Janet's heart. She's been here a long time, but then, haven't we all?”

Emily's phone signaled a text. Caroline shooed her out the door. “You go on with your day, and when Christa comes into town, you bring her right over. Rita will come in special to do her alterations.”

“I will,” Emily promised. She checked her phone as she walked south on Center Street. Two texts. One from Noel Barrister, saying he was having a contract drawn up and one from Allison, saying Stella Yorkos had called.

Noel's reminder ignited a flame of temptation back to the garment industry she knew so well. She squelched it, squared her shoulders and called Stella back. “Stella, hello. Allison said you called. How can I help you?”

“You probably can't,” the other woman stormed. “You haven't been all that much help so far, but I've been to Roselawn and they're reluctant to try and fix this fiasco of a shower. I'm utterly despondent over this whole ordeal. I can't even think to do my job properly.”

Great. Next thing she knew, the savvy and greedy young lawyer would sue them for loss of income. “Well, that's not good, we can't have one of New York's best and brightest unable to work.”

“No?”

Emily didn't miss the note of surprise in Stella's voice. “Of course not! We've got the second set of invites done, with the new response cards, and they've been mailed. Also, I talked to Roselawn this morning, and we'd like to offer a complimentary sweets table to your guests to soothe any angst this might have caused. Honestly, Stella, it's the least we can do.”

Four distinctly quiet seconds passed. Emily waited, and when Stella said, “Thank you, Emily,” in a much more relaxed voice, Emily fist-pumped the air.

“You're welcome. And I know it's an added cost, but you should really think about one for your wedding, as well. Gabriella did one for the Smoltz wedding four weeks back, and I'm still getting calls and reviews, raving about it. When something is that memorable...”

“I'll check it out.”

Emily chalked up another success. The Smoltz family was on Stella's guest list, and if April Smoltz's guests loved her wedding, Stella would want to one-up her for sure. “Good. And if you have any questions, Stella, don't hesitate to call me. A holiday-themed shower and a Valentine's Day wedding.” Emily paused intentionally to let the unstated appreciative drama mount. “What could possibly be better?”

“Nothing.”

Emily scored a mental victory. Yes, her bank account would take a minor hit, but if it kept Stella from badmouthing Kate & Company, Emily would be okay with that. And if her big sister never found out?

She'd be all right with that, too.

Chapter Nine

C
hrista's call came through ten minutes after Dolly finally fell asleep. Grant answered the phone and sank onto his favorite recliner. “Hey, nice dress today, Captain.”

She laughed. “It's beautiful, Grant. And that was so nice of Emily to model the gowns. This is all so weird, to be doing this halfway across the world.”

“But it's coming together,” Grant assured her. “You were right, hiring a planner was worth every single penny. And more.”

“I'm glad. But that's not why I called, actually.”

Something in her voice made Grant sit taller. Straighter. “Then, why? What's up? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. It's just—” She breathed deep, and then said, “It's Dad, Grant.”

“It's what?” He couldn't have heard her right. He hunched forward in the chair, suddenly unrelaxed.

“It's about Dad. I've been talking with him.”

Surprise and anger didn't creep up Grant's spine. It raced. “Why? Why would you give him the time of day, Christa? He abandoned Mom, and us. You were a baby, and he walked out on you and never looked back. Why would you think he's important enough to search him out now? Especially with Mom gone.”

She kept her voice calm, and that only made him angrier. “What if he did look back, Grant? What if he tried to be part of our lives, but couldn't?”

“The impossibility of that leaves me speechless.” Grant stood and ran a hand through his hair, then paced the floor in quick, hard steps. “He didn't have to leave, Christa. And then he didn't have to stay gone. Have you seen him?” He didn't want to ask that question, he didn't want to appear interested. It slipped out because now and again he wondered if his father was even still alive, but never enough to check it out online.

“In Colorado, two years ago. That's where he lives now. He's got a very nice wife, and two kids, Mike and—”

“No. I don't want to hear how I was casually replaced by someone else two thousand miles away. I don't want to hear that he's put his life together with them, while he ignored us. I watched him walk out that door thirty-three years ago, Christa. He kissed me goodbye, told me to be brave and walked away. Mom was crying, you were crying and I was supposed to be a brave five-year-old while my father walked out of our lives.” He remembered how he raced to the window and watched as his world fell apart around him. His mother's tears, Christa's baby wails and his father, backing out of the small driveway, onto the road, then driving away.

And he never even looked back to wave.

Oh, he remembered all right, every single second of that horrible afternoon was etched in his brain. “I can't forgive him, Christa. Please don't ask me to.”

She sighed and said nothing. Seconds ticked by, long and slow. “Why now, Christa? What's brought this all up?”

“My wedding,” she whispered, and the sadness in her tone took Grant by the throat. “Mom's gone, and I'm getting married, and I wanted my father at my wedding. At long last, I wanted a semblance of normal, Grant, but I get it.” Her voice firmed. “I really do, and I won't press. I was too young to have any memories, so I have much less to forgive. It's different for you. Way different. But Grant, you should give him a chance to explain.”

“Never.” He didn't want explanations for why responsible adults walked out on children. He'd lived it twice, and both times he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. “Unlike you, I have no desire to reopen those old wounds. I've got enough fresh ones to deal with, thanks. Including two kids who need me to be at my best when we hit the ground running in the morning. I'm calling it a night, Christa.” He hung up the phone, then stood, staring at it, filled with disbelief.

She'd gone to meet Joe McCarthy, purposely. Under the guise of vacation, she'd gone out West and arranged to meet their father and his new family. Didn't she understand the pain he put them through? Didn't she get it?

Maybe she's forgiven him
, his conscience prodded.
Your mom used to talk about forgiveness all the time, remember? But did she ever forgive your father? Did she ever really move on?

Grant shoved the mental questions aside.

His mother had worked night and day to care for them. She spent hours each week in church, praying and helping. She was one of those hands-on Christians, always there in a pinch.

Did she ever forgive Joe McCarthy?

Grant didn't care, one way or the other. He checked on Tim and Dolly, sound asleep in their wooden cribs. He couldn't imagine walking out on them.

An image of his former wife came to mind, as she tucked that single picture of Tim on the seat beside her and drove away.

Pain knifed his gut. His chest went tight. He tried to stifle the image, but Christa's talk of forgiveness and reasons kept tugging the memories back.

He couldn't sleep and finally stumbled out of bed at five o'clock, still angry, and now exhausted. He made extrastrong coffee, and when Timmy scrambled down the stairs looking so sweet and innocent in his pajamas, Grant hauled in a deep breath.

He'd get through today on no sleep somehow. And then the next and the next, because that's what a real parent did. They stayed the course, no matter what.

* * *

“Emily, you and Allison have done an amazing job.” Kimberly handed them each a box of chocolates featuring a fancy emblem on the following Monday.

Emily didn't dare exchange looks with Allison as she accepted the box.

“I had the best honeymoon ever, and I tried not to worry, but—”

“You did worry,” Emily filled in from her seat, “hence the fourteen text messages you sent, trying to micromanage from the Caribbean.”

Kimberly winced. “Guilty.”

“But we managed without you, although I have to say it's really nice to have you back,” Emily admitted.

“Your December calendar is free other than Stella's shower and the New Year's Eve gala with me at Chesterton's.”

“Yes.”

“Time off, well earned.”

Emily didn't disagree, but it felt odd, too. In retail, December was a highlight month of sale following sale, doing whatever it took to promote current trends before the January downturn. To
not
be busy felt out of place. She didn't want extra time to think about her failed marriage and career, or her father's prognosis. Being busy would be much, much better.

Her phone buzzed just then.
Grant.

She smiled, stood and moved down the hall. “Hey, what's up?”

“I'm desperate.”

He actually sounded desperate. “What's going on?”

“Mary Flanagan was just taken to a Rochester cardiac center by ambulance. We've got to pick up all the kids within the hour, but they can't reopen the day care tomorrow with the assistants because they're not certified. We've got snow coming and I love my Aunt Tillie, but she can't watch Tim and Dolly for a whole day, much less however long it takes to get a replacement.”

“Poor Mary! Bob's got to be frantic with worry.”

“I'm sure he is. And there are only a few day cares in town, and Mary's was the only one willing to take a little one with Dolly's issues.”

“Are you serious?” Allison and Kimberly looked up when she raised her tone. “How could a day care facility possibly say no to a child just because they have developmental disabilities?”

“They said they didn't feel equipped.”

Equipped? To handle a perfectly wonderful if somewhat stubborn two-year-old? What was so hard about that? Kimberly moved into Emily's line of sight, and pointed to their open December calendar.

Emily met her gaze, nodded, then jumped in, both feet. “I'll watch them.”

“What?” Relief and surprise wrapped Grant's tone. “But you're working.”

“I've got a light December and Kimberly's back, so there's plenty of time. I'm sure someone will step up to the plate to help Mary out, but until then, I'll watch the kids.”

“Em, are you sure?”

Oh, she was sure, all right. The very thought that someone shrugged off a child because they were different made her even more certain. “Absolutely. I'll go pick them up now. Do you have the car seats in your SUV?”

“Yes.”

“I'll switch cars with you, then, and go pick them up. We can have an adventure.”

“An adventure?”

She ignored the caution in his voice. “I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Em, thank you.”

Would he thank her so freely when she took the twins on outings? He'd kept them on a short leash up to this point, but Emily wasn't a short-leash kind of person. She turned toward Kimberly. “You're sure you're okay with this?”

“It's the perfect time,” Kimberly assured her. “January will fill with appointments and we have a few winter events, but there's nothing in the next few weeks I can't handle on my own, and we can do the New Year's gala together. Piece of cake.”

Just when she'd been ruing having too much time on her hands... “See you later.”

“I can't wait to hear how your day goes.”

“Fun and getting funner,” Emily told her, then dropped her gaze to her dress. “Once I go home and crawl into some jeans, of course.”

An email alert came through the phone as she crossed The Square. Noel Barrister, with the word
contract
in the subject line and an attachment icon.

She'd read through that later. Right now, she was off to a twin adventure. She hurried home, got changed and drove to the highway department offices. She walked in, greeted Jeannie and when Grant came out of his office to meet her, she reached out a hand. “Keys, please.”

“You're sure you're okay with this?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes.

“And there's not much lunch food for them at home. I figured they'd be at day care so—”

Emily waved him off. “Chicken nuggets, Dad.”

“And their nap time is always one thirty to three thirty.”

“Or whenever they get tired,” she quipped. “Keys.”

He handed them over, but didn't cover the look of worry quickly enough. She made a wry face and folded her arms. “They will be just fine. And if you want help with this, I suggest you learn to trust, because if you start second-guessing every little thing I do, then—”

He stood back, hands up, palms out. “You're right, of course.”

“She's absolutely right,” Jeannie declared from her desk. “These kids are about to have the time of their lives!”

“Yes, they are.” She smiled up at him, took the keys and turned. “We will see you tonight, Grant.”

“Keep your phone on, okay?”

“Of course.” She waved and walked out the door, then drove to Mary Flanagan's. Dolly and Timmy McCarthy were about to have some fun. And so was she. She picked them up from day care, tucked them into their car seats, bought lunch and took the twins to her house. When lunch was done, she bundled them up, clasped a tiny hand in each of hers and took them for a walk around The Square.

People greeted them. Some stopped to chat, while others called out and went on.

The twins stared, shied away and stared again, but by the time she got them back to her driveway, they'd started smiling and waving at people.

She'd heard the forecast of snow that morning, which wasn't a big deal when you walked to work, but two kids and a five-mile trip was a little different. A glance west showed a dark ridge moving their way. She ignored Dolly's protests, changed diapers and tucked them back into their car seats. She texted Grant.
Heading to your place before snow.

His text came back immediately.
Good!

Grant was a helicopter parent, no doubt about it. Could he relax and take a step back? Life held surprises, but if one trusted in God...

Did Grant trust in God? Did he trust in anything?

Dolly dozed off. Tim fought sleep until she undid his jacket and tucked him into his crib.

She studied their rooms. No sweet pictures of Jesus with children. No Bible passages. No Noah's ark decals or
VeggieTales
friends.

There were eighteen little board books about animals, and not one about baby Jesus.

Could she make a difference in their lives? Or better yet, should she try? She didn't know, and until she knew, she might be smart to keep her defenses up.

* * *

Grant wanted to check up on Emily and the kids.

He didn't dare, until the snow hit as predicted late afternoon, and then he called. “Hey, I'm going to be stuck here at least through rush hour. Are you guys home safe and sound?”

“We are.” The joy in Emily's voice uplifted him. “I made soup for supper.”

“Soup?”

“Mmm-hmm. By the way, two-year-olds don't do well with soup.”

He laughed out loud, picturing it.

“Sure, laugh it up. We morphed to PB&J and they're happy as can be. You'll have soup to eat when you do get home. Tillie offered to come over for the night, so you might want to work that out with her.”

“She spends the night when snow is predicted so if I get called in, the kids are covered. I'll call her. Emily, I can't thank you enough for today. I'll start scoping out places for them this week and see what's available.”

“Kimberly assured me that my presence isn't crucial at Kate & Company this month, so use me as needed. I am helping Rory with the Nativity play at church, so I have to fit their evening practices in. But that's at night, so it shouldn't cause a problem.”

“My mother put us in some of those when we were little. I distinctly remember being a shepherd multiple times.”

“I bet you were a cute shepherd.”

“I expect I was,” he drawled and made her laugh.

“The play is in two weeks. You should bring the kids to see it.”