Page 13 of On the Fly
“Who’s getting married?” he asked, ignoring her question for the time being.
“Why would you know them?” She wrinkled her brow in confusion, the tea pot raised over a second cup.
“Mom, what’s going on around here? I’m so confused.” This time, he grabbed a nearby barstool and sat. The center island separated him and his mother as he waited for her to explain.
The tea kettle stayed poised to pour. “I don’t know what you don’t understand. Do remember we turned Whispering Winds into a bed and breakfast?”
“No, you said you were renting rooms to tourists seasonally for something to keep you busy,” he squawked. “You never said you remodeled the entire house and ran a full-fledged business, including destination weddings, out of our family home.”
She waved away his concerns. “Your dad and I agreed to the change about five years ago. I sent an email to all of you,” she said, and finally made the decision for him, pouring him a cup of the hot tea.
“Mom, this is our home. Why would you do that?”
“And it still is. I saved three bedrooms in the back of the house for whenever any of you want to come home, which only your sister has ever used.” She had that overly patient mom voice, the one that said she was talking to a willful child as she gathered both cups, bringing one to him. “We even separated the living spaces for privacy, which is why parking around back would have been more convenient.” She gave him a raised eyebrow, reminding him that he hadn’t followed her directive.
He’d walked into the twilight zone. She sidled up on a stool close to him, bringing the cup to her lips and blowing.
“Come on, son. You haven’t been home in a decade. I was spending my time in the city with your father. The house was dying. We’ve given it back life in a big way. We were featured inSouthern Livingmagazine last year, and we’re booked every weekend for the next year. We employ lots of locals, and so many other properties in the area have done the same thing. Not the wedding venue part, but they’ve opened their homes as bed and breakfasts to help house all the tourists coming to the area. It’s benefiting the entire community and…” She took a sip of her tea before looking at him again. “And it gives me something to do, something I feel is important…especially now.”
Ander didn’t know what to say, so he took a sip of his own tea, forgetting to blow on it and nearly burning his lips off. He cringed and set the cup back on the island.
“You have to admit, this house was made to host grand parties and weddings.”
“But you and I were supposed to be having dinner tonight, remember?”
“You know I’m the worst at schedules. How long are you here for? My living area is off the hidden stairs in the back of the house. The entire party has a vineyard tour to kick off the weekend thirty minutes after they arrive. The rest of my time is yours,” she said, crossing one of her long legs over the other.
“We need to talk about the airline.” He watched her casually take a sip of the tea. Nothing ever fazed this woman, not ever. Ander smiled. She was steadfast in everything she did, including her lack of care how he handled the transition of the company.
Her patient smile landed on him. “Ander, I have complete faith in you to do what’s right.”
“You shouldn’t. My heart’s not in this, Mom,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But you’ll do it and make a success of it and then your heart will join in.” She patted his hand. “That’s how it’s always been with you.”
“Mother.” Ander gripped the bridge of his nose. “You never hear me.”
She laughed, a whimsical sound. “And you never hear me.” She splayed her hands, taking in the whole house and its new role as her example. “How long are you here for?”
“Long enough to have dinner and talk through my plans and schedule a family meeting to get everyone’s commitment. I’m not agreeing to anything, mind you.”
A sound caught her attention as several women carrying carts of food barreled through the kitchen doorway. One older woman stared at him a moment before saying, “Is that little Ander Jorgensen all grown up?”
“It is, Sally. Keep him company. I think the guests are arriving.” She hopped off her stool and hightailed it out of the room. Since he had no idea who any of these women were who were beaming at him, he was more than ready to duck out when his mom stuck her head back inside to add, “Babe, take your keys to the valet. They need the space at the front.”
In a sudden flash, he recognized the older woman—Mrs. Sally Kemps. She’d had a daughter he’d lusted after who was a couple years older than him. He took a quick sip of his tea, wishing it was something stronger, as he stood and made his way to the door. He grinned at Sally, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, as he left the kitchen to follow his mother’s orders.
~~~
If tranquil and sublime were enough to turn the course of Emma’s week around, this drive through Napa Valley, leading to the bed and breakfast, was just what the doctor ordered. From the light breeze floating through the car to the fragrant smells of all the flowers in bloom, she might concede her fears about the weekend were baseless. Now, she understood why her stepmother had chosen this venue. Even if it was a close replica to so many of the southern plantation style homes in Georgia, the weather and scents were absolutely perfect.
She was late, but not by much. Emma tapped the brakes, coming to a near stop as she rounded a corner and the breathtaking bed and breakfast came into view. Majestic and magical, something very close to a fairytale. The landscape’s serenity sent a smile to her lips. She could easily see herself there. The only thing off about the idyllic image was her stepmother’s entire family gathered on the front porch. As she slowly drove forward, she wrinkled her nose. She likened them to a plague blowing in, destroying the natural serene atmosphere. As if the family heard her negative thoughts, all heads turned toward her approach in the front circular drive.
Emma took a deep breath as her anxiety spiked. The peace of seconds ago faded as the running anthem in her head since boarding the flight to California repeated its chorus. “I don’t wanna do this. I don’t. I don’t.”
Unfortunately, a sinkhole failed to appear right underneath her vehicle and swallow her up. Darn shame. The valet approached her door as she put the rental in park.
“I bet you’re Emma,” the valet said with a bright smile as she exited. He was cute, youngish, maybe early twenties and full of fun sass if the twinkle in his eyes was anything to go by. Normally, that would have been right up her alley by way of fun verbal exchange, but not this evening. The energy of the family waiting for her dampened her usual jovial nature.
