Christmas in Cupid Falls (9 page)

Mal stayed in the kitchen cooking as he listened to Pap and Kennedy catch up. Her enthusiasm for the town was only rivaled by her plans.

He’d found a notebook where Kennedy had obviously jotted down ideas for the Center. There was a bunch of pages with a
VD Ideas
header. It had given him a start until he realized she meant Valentine’s Day.

“Should we help Malcolm?” he heard her ask.

“No, that boy is just like his mom. He doesn’t like company when he cooks,” Pap said.

That wasn’t quite true. Mal did like company—he used to enjoy cooking with his mother, and he was pretty sure that he’d enjoy cooking with Kennedy. But he’d rather she sit down and put her feet up. She’d been up early this morning baking pies, and he couldn’t help but notice the plethora of fruit baskets, gift baskets, and flowers that lined the counter of her shop yesterday. She had to be exhausted.

The doorbell rang again.

Malcolm heard Pap go to answer the door. Kennedy came into the kitchen. “I brought the pies.”

“Thank you.” He nodded at an empty corner of the counter. She set them down.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as he mashed the potatoes with a hand masher. “Yesterday must have been crazy for you.”

“I’m fine,” she said in a tone that didn’t brook any further comments.

He switched topics. “I’m going to tell Pap about the baby at dinner. He knows, but I don’t think he’ll acknowledge it until we make it official.”

She nodded. “Fine. But you don’t have to.”

“Kennedy, I—”

Pap came into the kitchen, interrupting what was sure to be an argument. “Look what the cat dragged i
n . . .
or rather who.”

Mal liked to think that being an attorney had taught him to be prepared for the unexpected and that he was prepared for most contingencies. Well, unexpected was one thing and his father walking into the kitchen was entirely another. He wasn’t sure he could prepare for a contingency like that.

CHAPTER SIX

Mal tried to see his father through Kennedy’s eyes. Malcolm Carter III was a tall man. His dark hair had faded to a steely grey that perfectly matched his eyes. Today he wore a pair of black slacks and grey shirt and no tie. That was Senior’s version of dressed down.

He glanced at Kennedy, who was frowning at his father.

“Dad, what brings you to Cupid Falls? I thought you said you were spending the long weekend prepping for the Montgomery case?” He loved his father, but he knew his grandfather and father were like oil and wate
r . . .
they didn’t mix at all. And from Kennedy’s expression, she wasn’t pleased to see him, either.

Frankly, neither was he. Having his father in Cupid Falls had never been a good thing. They got along so much better in Pittsburgh. They were colleagues there. They had business in common. Here? They were simply father and son, and they’d never quite figured out how that should work.

“It’s Thanksgiving. I thought I’d give the whole family holiday a try.”

That was a first for his dad. Mal hated to be cynical, but there was something more going on here.

Kennedy stood, and Mal saw his father’s expression of shock as he took in her condition. “And this is?”

Before Mal could introduce her, she said, “I’m Kennedy Anderson. We’ve met before, Mr. Carter. I was your ex-wife’s friend, and I think I’m your son’s friend as well.”

She glanced at Mal, and he smiled at her description of their relationship, hoping that reassured her that he thought it was a fair description.

“Kennedy forgot to add that in addition to being my friend, she’s also going to be the mother of my child.” He turned to Pap and said, “Sorry. We meant to announce it at dinner. I know you already knew.” Before his grandfather could protest, Mal added, “Or at least suspected, but we wanted to make an official announcement.”

Pap walked over and hugged Kennedy. “I’m thrilled. I’m going to be a great-grandfather. Did I say
thrille
d
? That doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m beyond thrilled.”

Senior stood there, stunned into unfamiliar silence.

In for a penny, in for a pound
, Mal thought and added, “And in the interest of honesty, I’ve asked Kennedy to marry me, but she’s said no. I plan to ask again, and I won’t be back in Pittsburgh until things are settled here, sir.”

“What have you done?” his father finally asked. “I would have thought you’d have learned from my mistakes. I came here on a case and met a girl I thought I couldn’t live without, so I married her and brought her home to Pittsburgh with me. I thought love trumped everything. I should have known better. Valerie wasn’t interested in being an attorney’s wife or living in the city. She missed this ridiculous small town. But by then, I was trapped. Tied to her and this place because of you.”

Mal was accustomed to his father’s shoot-from-the-hip blunt ways, but try as he might, he couldn’t manage to avoid his father’s direct hits—they still hurt after all these years. “Gee, thanks, Dad.”

“That’s not what I meant, Malcolm.” His father sighed. It was a sound of pure frustration. “I simply meant your mother and I were never suited for each other. I think we did really love each other once, but our differences were too great. She couldn’t understand my need to work, and I couldn’t understan
d . . .
her. I never really understood anything about her. The only thing that held us together for the five years we managed was you.”

“Aka, the mistake.” His father looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Mal cut him off. “Senior, I think we should stop talking about the past. It’s only going to lead to trouble.” He shot Kennedy a look and she smiled. “We’ll concentrate on the present and the future. And at the present, this turkey is almost ready. Kennedy, why don’t you set a place for my father? Pap, why don’t you take him in the dining room before he puts his other foot in his mouth.”

Pap led the uncharacteristically compliant Senior out of the room.

Mal turned to the mother of his child. “Kennedy, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I do. I shouldn’t have announced the baby that way. My father does have a way of putting me on the defensive. It’s a great trait for an attorney, but he can’t seem to turn it off outside the courtroom, and it’s not quite the great trait in a father.”

“It’s fine. You were bound and determined to announce it one way or another, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You wouldn’t have announced it?” he asked.

“No. People in town have accepted the fact that their unwed mayor is pregnant. I don’t think we need to complicate the issue by telling them their golden boy is the father. I’d hoped to tell you about the baby, then have you head back to Pittsburgh and get back to your own life and leave me to the baby.”

He placed the turkey on his grandmother’s platter. “I think I’m insulted that you think I’d walk away.”

Kennedy sighed. “That sounded harsher than I meant. It’s just tha
t . . .
” She paused.

Mal was getting used to Kennedy’s silences. As a lawyer he understood the need to sort out your arguments, but he didn’t want to argue with Kennedy. He actually preferred her when she occasionally let some uncensored comment escape. He might not like what she said, and it might even sting, but at least it gave him a bit of true insight into her—into the woman who was going to be the mother of his child.

She finally continued, “Maybe your father summed it up. Your parents loved each other, but they were too different. Their love couldn’t bear the weight of those differences. I think we’re friends—or at least on the way to being friends. If love couldn’t make their marriage work, then what chance does almost-friendship have?”

And with an attorney-worthy bit of summation, she’d hit the nail on the head. She was right about that, so why didn’t he care that she was right? Why did he want to ask her again, right now, to marry him?

And why did he wish she’d say yes?

“Kennedy, I—”

“I’d better go set your father’s place,” she said as she fled.

Kennedy wasn’t sure what Malcolm had been about to say, but she had a feeling whatever it had been was best left unsaid. Facing his father was preferable. She set the plate and silverware down in front of Malcolm’s father.

“How are you feeling?” he asked politely.

“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

There was an awkward pause, and then he asked, “When are you due?”

Her hands fell to her stomach. The gesture had become more and more common because her stomach was so huge there was nowhere else for her hands to rest. “I’m due in a few weeks.”

“And you just let my son know now?” There was censure in his voice.

Pap cleared his throat. “I think we should all remember that this is a holiday. And holidays are about families. Like it or not, that’s what we are. Senior is the father of my grandson, and Kennedy, you’re the mother of my great-grandson, and a good friend to boot. This baby is going to tie us all together as a family from this point on. And I refuse to let him ever feel as if he, or she, is responsible for any fights between us.”

“I agree,” Malcolm said as he walked into the room with a turkey on a platter. “We might not be a traditional family, but the four of us are a family. We’re all tied to an unborn baby—a baby who didn’t ask to be born. And we will all put the baby’s needs and wants first. We will never make him or her feel as if they are anything but a joy to all of us. And if anyone”—he looked at Senior—“can’t abide by that one, very important rule, then they should get out. And get out now.”

His father looked as startled as Kennedy felt by the ferocity in Malcolm’s voice.

Mr. Carter said, “I—”

But Malcolm interrupted him. “Right now, the only appropriate discussion is how amazing my turkey is, and possibly a list of things we’re thankful for. You can all think on that and put together a list as I bring in the rest of the dishes.”

Kennedy watched Malcolm make half a dozen trips to and from the kitchen. His expression said, more clearly than words, that no one should offer to help, much less talk to him.

She looked at his father, whose anger was palpable. She had a feeling Malcolm Carter III was not accustomed to being spoken to in that manner, and he wasn’t overly fond of the experience.

Finally she looked at Pap, who grinned and winked at her.

When all the serving dishes were on the table, Malcolm sat down.

“I’ll go first,” he said. “I’m thankful that I’m going to be a father. It’s something I didn’t plan and I’ve hardly had time to adjust to, but I’m thrilled. I’m thankful that my child will have a mother like Kennedy. Someone who works hard for what she wants and has an innate kindness. I’m thankful to be sharing this meal with everyone I love. I’m thankful that a simple plate of oatmeal cookies finally made me feel that I’d come home.”

Kennedy wasn’t sure what had prompted her to make the cookies for Malcolm, but she was suddenly glad that she had.

Pap said, “I’m thankful that while I might be old, I’m still young enough to appreciate a fine woman when I see one and snap her up.” He winked at Kennedy again. “And I’m thankful that because of my age, I realized that as you get older you never find yourself wishing you had more time to work, you find yourself wishing you had more time for the people in your life. I’m also thankful that my grandson came home to take care of business and that Kennedy will help him as much as she’s always helped me. Finally, I’m very, very thankful I’m going to be a great-grandfather.”

Everyone looked at Kennedy. She’d never done anything like this with Aunt Betty during the holidays. Her parents hadn’t done this at Thanksgiving, but to this day she could remember them being happy about the smallest things. Her father would show up with daisies and her mom would act as if he’d given her a diamond. She’d buy him a new shirt and he’d act very much the same.

She’d asked her mom about it once, and she’d said,
If I can be thankful and happy about the smallest things in my life, imagine the joy I feel over the bigger things, like having you as a daughter. Life’s too short not to appreciate all the moments.
She missed her parents so much, even after more than a dozen years. In a few more years she’d have lived half her life without them. And she felt a wave of kindredness with Malcolm and Pap.

She cleared her throat, trying to push back all the emotions that sat so close to the surface, and managed to say, “I’m so thankful that the baby’s healthy and will be here soon. And I’m thankful to be her
e . . .
to feel like I’m part of a family for the first time in a long time.”

They waited as if they wanted her to say more, but Kennedy was done.

Everyone turned to Senior. “I’m thankful to be having dinner with my son and
his
family” was all he said.

Malcolm’s sigh was audible. But he smiled and said, “Let’s eat.”

Somehow Kennedy got through the dinner. It was a shame that it was so long and arduous, because under other circumstances, she’d have enjoyed it very much. Malcolm was a good cook. Kennedy dutifully put bite after bite in her mouth. She wished Malcolm’s father were anywhere but here.

Everyone except Mr. Carter tossed out a few conversational gambits, but they all faded or simply fizzled almost as soon as they started.

When the meal finished, Kennedy managed to resist the urge to clap with joy.

“Go sit down in the living room, Kennedy,” Malcolm said. “The guys are going to clear and do dishes. Your only job today is to rest. I’ll call you for dessert.”

“Normally I’d argue, but yesterday was exhausting, so I’ll meekly go kick up my feet.”

And while yesterday
was
busy, Kennedy acquiesced more because she welcomed a break from Mr. Carter.

She went into the living room and sat down on the couch she’d sat on a thousand times with Val. Malcolm’s mother had a collection of old teacups. She had loved having a reason to make tea and drink out of her fancy cups.

Kennedy hadn’t had a good cup of tea since Val had died. She could blame it on the pregnancy, but the truth was, having tea was something she did with Val. She couldn’t bring herself to do it solo.

Mondays were the worst days. Kennedy would be in the middle of making a flower arrangement and think,
It’s Movie Monday
, and then remember it wasn’t. Or she’d hear movie reviews on the radio and think about telling Val about which ones sounded good. And every time she remembered that she’d never have another Movie Monday with Val it was like a punch in the gut. She hadn’t gone to a movie in the theater since Val’s death. She just couldn’t face going without her.

Kennedy’s hand strayed to her child. Val’s grandchild. Her parents’ grandchild. The baby would never know any of them.

Kennedy looked around the room, her hand still protectively covering her unborn baby. There were so many pieces of Val here.

Kennedy remembered buying the red throw on the back of the recliner. She’d given it to Val for a birthday. Malcolm’s mom loved things that were soft, and this was like butter. Kennedy struggled up off the couch and ran her hand over it as she passed by the chair on her way to the mantel and the pictures that lined it. She’d seen them a million times. Malcolm as a baby. He wasn’t on a bearskin rug, but rather on a plaid blanket that was still folded at the end of his boyhood bed. Pap and Val dancing at the Center. Pap and his wife on their wedding day, posed in front of the falls. Pap, Val, and Malcolm on his high school graduation day.