Courting Disaster by Carol Stephenson Page B

man?”
    I closed my eyes. “I didn’t know he was dead.”
    “I want your father to hear about this. You’re coming to dinner. No arguments. I expect you in a half hour.”
    Did I mention I’m my mother’s daughter? Once we gather up steam, we bulldoze over all resistance. Sighing, I dropped the phone into my bag.
    “Any idea how much longer? I have a command performance to attend.”
    Amusement glinted in Jared’s eyes. “I’ll speak with Sam.” He went into the bedroom and emerged again after a few minutes. “He’ll call you in the morning.”
    “Thanks.” Suddenly feeling awkward, I shifted, not sure how to take my leave. Remembering I still wore his jacket, I took it off and handed it to him. “Thanks for the loan.”
    “You’re welcome.” His fingertips brushed against mine and I could have sworn electricity arched between our hands. However, nothing seemed to faze Jared. With a casual “see you later,” he returned to the bedroom.
    Why my foolish heart hoped for more, I didn’t know. This wasn’t exactly a social situation, but still…
    “Later, dude,” I muttered and stomped through the house.
    Still fuming twenty minutes later, I pulled into the drive of a sprawling ranch-style house in the western suburbs of West Palm Beach. I got out, grabbed one of the basketballs that were perpetually lying about the place and sent it arching into air. It swished through the hoop above the garage door. Score, three points.
    After putting the ball away, I headed inside. “Mom, Dad?” I called out as I wandered from the hall into the dining room. Because my parents love family and entertaining, they had one of those enormous country-style dining tables. Today it was set to capacity, with a smaller table tucked in a corner for the grandkids.
    But it wasn’t Sunday.
    My mother, wiping her hands on a towel, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Carling, baby. Are you all right?” She rushed over to give me a big hug and then immediately proceeded to burst into tears.
    My father materialized from the direction of the TV room. Looking slightly lost, he decided it was safe to pat my shoulder while Mom blubbered away. “You okay, brat?”
    The Dents would never be fodder for an Oprah Winfrey show unless she featured a day in the life of a normal family. There was no angst, no tearjerker material in our lives. We were the average all-American family made famous by TV shows like Leave It to Beaver or the original Cosby Show.
    “I’m okay, Dad.” I patted my mother’s shoulder. “Mom, don’t cry. You know that makes me crazy. I’m fine, really.”
    I suppose there’s comfort in knowing how you’ll look when you grow old. When I looked at my mother, I saw myself in thirty years. Only a few extra pounds from bearing three children padded her slim frame, stylishly outfitted in black cropped pants and a black-and-white striped tunic. Silver-frosted short, wispy black hair—straight hair being the bane of both our existences. Laugh lines softened her once sharp angular features. Tears shimmered in her moss-green eyes.
    “Every time I look at you,” she sniffed, “I see myself as a young girl.”
    We also often thought along the same lines. Spooky. “Then I must be gorgeous,” I said. Her lips spread in a shaky smile and her sniff was even louder.
    Dad dug a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Thanks, dear.” She grabbed it and blew with gusto.
    Dad winked at me. With fair hair that had turned to snow and twinkling blue eyes, he was a large man with a heart of marshmallow. A retired firefighter, he kept himself busy with volunteer work—otherwise he’d go nuts—while Mom still worked as a legal secretary.
    “What’s with the table? Who all is coming to dinner?”
    “We are.” With the impish Dent grin on their respective faces, my older brother Chris and sister Angela burst into the room. More laughter, kisses and love. My brother, taking after Dad in more than size and