Thankful for Love (20 page)

He stood and pushed his chair under the table. Looking directly at Jack, he said, “There's one more thing, but it's not about Mom. If you hurt my sister in any way, any way at all, you'll have me to deal with no matter how many galleries you can get my work into. We clear about that?”

“Message received. And just so you know, you have an ally in my sister. She told me pretty much the same thing. Seems she likes Quanna better than she likes me.”

“Sounds like your sister and I are on the same page.”

• • •

The ride from the resort to the freeway was quiet. So was the travel on I-84. When Jack turned off onto the road south, toward the ranch, he finally broke the silence. “Are you ever going to talk, or are we going to have to learn American Sign Language to communicate?” He thought the light tone of his comment would make her smile, at least, if not laugh. It didn't. “Come on, Quanna. Talk to me.”

“I'm still mad.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I've already apologized for not telling you I talked to Amanda. What else can I do?”

“I'm not mad about your talking to Amanda. Exactly.”

“Then what is it—exactly?”

“You and Frank took over the conversation and moved ahead without me. I didn't even have a chance to explain to my own brother why I wanted to see him, much less discuss what would work with Mom. You made the deal with him to get a favor; then you and Frank worked it all out.” She finally looked over at him. “It was like when you took on my neighbor or those jerks who were hassling me in the bar. Or when you announced we were hosting a party for the football game without talking to me. You had all the answers. I didn't have a chance to say anything.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I thought I was helping.”

“But you didn't ask if I wanted help; you assumed. You went ahead and made decisions for both of us without talking to me, without asking what I wanted you to do. If I wanted you to do anything at all.”

He pulled the truck to the side of the road, shoved the gearshift into park, and turned off the ignition. “I'm sorry. Please don't be angry. I don't know what to say other than that. I guess I was doing what I would have with Paula. I grew up with the only other woman I've been with. I didn't have to ask her. I knew.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You and I are still learning about each other, and I'm obviously not always getting it right. Not yet, anyway. If I promise I won't make plans for the two of us without discussing it with you, will you cut me some slack while I figure it out? Please?”

The smile he had been waiting for finally appeared. “When you say it like that, how can I say no?”

He restarted the truck and got back on the road muttering, “Thank you, Lucas, for those lessons on begging and whining.”

• • •

It took Frank less than a day to get back to Quanna to tell her their mother was receptive to meeting Jack. A time was set for the following Saturday afternoon.

Jack picked Quanna up at her apartment and, following her directions, drove to her mother's modest, one-story house back in the hills on the reservation. She was nervous for the whole drive, saying little. Jack occasionally patted her on the arm or the knee as reassurance but seemed to know not to say anything.

Frank answered the door when she knocked.

“You could have used your key, Quanna. This is your house, too,” he said.

“I didn't want to assume,” she said, after kissing him on the cheek. “This doesn't feel like the usual visit home.”

Her mother appeared in the small entryway. “I'm glad to see you, Quanna.” She kissed her daughter then eyed the man standing behind her. “Why don't you introduce me to your friend.”

“Mom, this is Jack Richardson. Jack, my mother Winona Morales.”

Jack extended his hand. “Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Morales.”

“Quanna doesn't need an invitation. This is her home.”

“Of course. I meant ...”

Quanna interrupted. “Mom, could we all go in and sit down?”

Mrs. Morales led the way into a small living room and took her place in a brown recliner, back straight, legs at right angles and together, hands grasping the arm rests, a queen on her throne receiving her subjects.

Quanna sat on the flowered couch and patted the cushion beside her for Jack to join her. Frank dropped to the floor near the sofa and sat cross-legged, leaving a smaller upholstered chair empty.

It didn't stay empty for long. Quanna had already spotted her brother Miguel lurking in the hall leading to the house's three bedrooms. He came into the room after the others were settled and sat in the empty chair.

Quanna waved at him. “Hey, Miguel. There's someone here I'd like you to meet.” She turned to her left. “This is my friend, Jack Richardson. Jack, this is my brother, Miguel.”

“Hi,” Jack said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Did you bring me a present? Frank said you might bring me a present.”

“Miguel, you know better than to ask something like that,” his mother said.

“As a matter of fact, I do have something for you,” Jack said. “Quanna told me you like cartoons. I got a couple new ones for you.” He handed over the bag he'd been carrying. “If you already have these, I can exchange them.”

Miguel pulled two DVDs out of the bag and grinned. “I like them.”

“What do you say to Mr. Richardson?” Winona asked.

“Thank you.” He was already leaving the room as he said it. “I can watch them by myself. In my room.”

“Frank must have told you to do that,” Winona said.

“He said you'd think candy or flowers would be a bribe to get you to like me, but some new DVDs for Miguel would be okay. My mother taught me to take something to a hostess when I visit so I was happy to have his advice.”

By the way her mother fought to keep her mouth from curving up in a smile, Quanna knew Jack had scored a point or two for his honesty and his manners. She started to relax a little. Then her mother said, “Frank and Quanna, please go get the coffee and cookies from the kitchen.”

It was impossible to say no when her mother gave a command. Quanna threw Jack what she hoped was an encouraging look over her shoulder and followed her brother. With luck, they could get it organized and out soon because she sure didn't want to leave Jack alone with her mother for long. Her stomach clenched when she saw the coffee hadn't been started, the cookies weren't plated, and the cups and spoons weren't out. Her mother had done it on purpose, she was sure, so she had time alone with Jack.

• • •

Jack didn't know how to start a conversation with someone he'd been warned might dislike him. He was trying to come up with something when Winona Morales surprised him.

“Thank you for what you did for Frank. I appreciate it. So does he.”

“It was my pleasure. My brother's wife has been an advocate for emerging artists for as long as I've known her. She was only too happy to help.”

“She liked Frank's work enough to pass it along to a gallery owner, he said. He got an e-mail from a woman who wants to talk about representing him.”

“I'm glad it worked out.”

“So, DVDs and introductions to gallery owners won over my sons. How did you win over my daughter? She's usually the levelheaded one.”

The quick change of subject took Jack aback. “Ah ... I can't say I did anything deliberately. We just ... you know ... got to know each other and ... ah ... the longer I knew her, the more I came to care for her.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since the late summer.”

“Why has it taken you this long to tell her family?”

“We didn't tell anyone in either family until recently. We wanted to make sure we knew what the relationship was before we said anything, particularly to my kids. And Quanna's been afraid there would be gossip. I'm older than she is. She works for me ...”

“You're white and she's not.”

“That concerns her, although I'm sure it won't be a problem.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know my family and friends.”

He wasn't happy to see the unbelieving expression on Mrs. Morales's face.

 “There will be gossip, I promise,” she said. “Won't you get tired of hearing it? Maybe you should find someone more like you.”

“You mean someone who's white.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Mrs. Morales, in the years since my wife died, not once has a woman interested me in the least. Until Quanna. She's smart; she's beautiful. She brought music and laughter back into my home. My kids love her. My brother and sister love her. I don't share your fear that somehow it'll all disappear if some jackass makes a racist comment.”

“So, you're serious about her.”

“I love her.”

“Enough to marry her?”

“We haven't gotten that far yet, but we're on the road.”

“What about her education?”

“She needs to finish up her degree. She should be teaching a lot of people's children, not just mine. I've already told her I'll do whatever I can to support her education.”

Winona Morales cocked her head and stared at him. She looked about to say something when Quanna and Frank reappeared, each carrying a wooden tray. One had four mugs of coffee on it, the other, sugar, milk, and a plate of cookies.

“Sorry it took so long. The coffee wasn't ready,” Quanna said. From the worried look on her face, she was anxious to know what had gone on while she was in the kitchen.

Winona looked at her daughter. “Your friend doesn't pull punches, does he, Quanna?” She took a mug from the tray. “How do you take your coffee, Mr. Richardson?”

“It's Jack. And I like it black with two sugars, thanks.”

She added sugar and handed him the mug. “Now, tell me about your boys. Quanna talks about them all the time when she visits. One's ten and the other's eight, if I remember right.”

With that change of subject, the tension in the room seemed to lessen a bit as Jack and Quanna took turns telling Daniel and Lucas stories.

• • •

They hadn't been on the road more than two minutes when Quanna said, “Mom whispered ‘he's no white devil, but you should be careful' when she kissed me good-bye. Which is high praise from her. What did you two talk about while we were in the kitchen?” Her curiosity had been close to overwhelming her ever since she'd brought the coffee into the living room.

“Weren't you eavesdropping?” Jack looked over at her and grinned. “I was sure you would be.”

“Believe me, I tried. But with the noise the coffeepot made, Frank rambling on about the offer he got from that gallery owner, and Miguel's cartoon blaring, I couldn't hear anything but the occasional word, nothing like a whole sentence.”

“It was an interesting cross-examination. She wanted to know how long we've been together, why we'd kept things secret.” He kept his eyes firmly on the road when he added, “How serious I am about our relationship.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Let's see, question number one, late summer. Number two, wanted to make sure we knew where we were headed.” He stopped speaking, and her heart almost did the same, she swore. “Oh, yeah, and I told her I love you.”

Quanna didn't respond, unable to dig words out to say anything without crying. Or laughing. Or both. Finally she drew herself together enough to say, “I think you should pull off the road.”

He did as he'd been requested. “I probably shouldn't have said it to your mom before I said it to you, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

Quanna flipped up the armrest between them, unsnapped her seat belt, slid over, and hopped onto his lap. “Shut up and kiss me, Jack.”

He did that, too, as requested. The kiss was sweet and soft, gentle, and full of love. When it was over, she rested her head on his shoulder and played with his fingers. “Now, tell
me
.”

“I never thought I'd say the words to another woman but I do, I love you.”

“And I love you.” She touched his face; he kissed her fingers. Nothing was said for a few moments as she continued to sit with her head tucked under his chin and he softly rubbed her back. “How soon do you have to pick up the boys?”

“Barb said she'd feed them dinner if we ran late. All I have to do is let her know.”

“Make the call. And let's go to my place. There's a bottle of wine there with our name on it. I'm in the mood to celebrate.”

Preparing for the Richardson Thanksgiving celebration was much more involved than getting ready for the simpler celebrations Quanna was used to. This would be the first year since she returned from Portland that she would not be with her family for the holiday, and if she hadn't been so busy every day the week before the event, she might have been sad about that.

But there wasn't time to be sad. There was too much to do. She was surprised to discover that getting the food organized wasn't the most time-consuming or labor-intensive part of what had to be done. It was moving furniture around in the house to make room, then setting up the tables and chairs needed to seat thirty-two people. Not to mention getting the tablecloths ironed and the napkins sorted out and collecting the requisite place settings of china, silverware, and glasses—dozens of glasses. Most importantly, according to Daniel and Lucas, it involved making place cards and hollowing out the small pumpkins that would hold flowers and candles on the table, tasks which needed her supervision.

Starting the Monday before the holiday, people were in and out of the Richardson house delivering their nonfood contributions to the event. Luckily, everyone involved had participated before and knew exactly what to do and when to do it. If it had been up to Quanna alone to organize it, she'd have run for the hills by Tuesday noon and not come back until Christmas.