Man Of Her Dreams. Patt Marr
her eyes hot with anger. “Not another word. Not if you’re going to disappoint me.”
But wasn’t that his role in this family? He’d learned that before he’d learned to read.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, her tone so unwelcome it stung.
He dropped his eyes and prayed, not sentences, not even words. Just the name of his Lord, silently, fervently.
“Deborah, why don’t we go back to our guests?” his father said, taking her arm.
She shook off his hand and went to Trey, sitting on the arm of his chair as she’d sat by Ry. Trey put his arm around her protectively, gloating in her preference.
“I’m not leaving until I hear what Ry has to say.” His mother leaned against her elder son.
His dad had tried. Ry had to give him that. It was more than Ry could remember his dad doing before.
“Mom, the reason I came home was to wish you and Dad Happy New Year. And I want to say that I’m sorry for—”
“Sorry?” his mother interrupted. “Sorry! That’s it?”
Ry froze, speechless, staring at his mother’s angry, quivering lips.
“My father would turn over in his grave if he could see the lack of dedication you have in your life.” Her voice shook with emotion. “With the advantages you’ve had and the opportunities you’ve thrown away, you’re a disgrace to his name! Rylander Hamilton was a healer, not a glorified taxi driver. You could have been like him. You still can!”
The injustice of her words sent adrenaline pumping through Ry’s body. He wanted to rush out of the room, slam the door behind him and never come back.
But he sat, rooted in place, feeling sorrow creep through his mind, replacing that first flood of anger. In his work, he had seen sick people who couldn’t distinguish reality from fantasy. His mother—with her crazy highs and lows, her swings from utter devotion to utmost derision—had to be sick. He wasn’t trained to identify the problem, but the doctors sitting in this room ought to know.
One look at his dad said he did…and was helpless to do anything about it. What about the rest of them? Yes, Trey knew. And Beth? The sympathy in her eyes about broke his heart. Only Meg was as much in the dark as he was, but she looked as if she were ready to do battle if he gave her the nod.
He couldn’t leave it like this. He’d come all this way. Maybe by tomorrow his mother’s mood would improve.
Searching for words that wouldn’t ignite another outburst, he said, “You have guests. I don’t want to keep you from them. Mom, I told Dad that I’d like to come back tomorrow if that would be okay.” He hadn’t talked this way in years. Hat-in-hand polite, fearful of rejection.
“You’re not spending the night here?”
Another swing? She wanted him here?
“I’ve already invited Ry to stay with me, Mom,” his sister said, coming to his rescue.
“You only have one bedroom,” his mother argued.
“Ry can sleep on the sofa.”
“The sofa?” It was Beth’s turn to receive the maternal glare.
“It pulls out, queen-size,” Beth said, grinning in spite of the glare. Nothing ruffled Beth.
“Nonsense. Ry, you have a real bed upstairs.”
This was unbelievable. Now his mother was in a tug-of-war over where he slept?
“Not your old bed, of course,” Trey said, plainly delighted to enter the fray. “Mom redecorated soon after you left. The same summer, in fact.”
Ry almost laughed. Did Trey think that tidbit was important? His room had been right for a boy, with its sports theme and trophies that no one cared about except the guy who earned them, and he’d left them behind.
“So, would tomorrow be okay?” he asked again, trying to keep them focused on the real deal instead of where he would sleep and the decor of his room.
“That will be fine,” his father said. “Come for brunch. All of you.” His gaze included Meg.
“I’m sorry,” his mother said, cold as ice. “That won’t do.” She picked a bit of confetti off of her sleeve. “I won’t be here. I’m driving Aunt Jackie back to Palm Springs. Isabel and Trey are going along.”
It looked as if that were news to Isabel and Trey, but they didn’t contradict her. Ry didn’t blame them. They’d had enough fireworks in here.
“Why don’t you wait a day to do that?” his father suggested. “Ry has come all this way, and Jackie would love to see him.”
Ry’s mouth almost dropped in surprise. First, that his dad seemed to care. Second, that Dad thought he could influence a decision made by Mom. That didn’t happen.
“No,” his mother said, moving toward the door, clearly through with the conversation. “We’ve made our plans. We’ll stick to them. And we should get back to our guests.”
She shut the door behind her, and his dad swallowed hard. Had it always been like this and he’d been too young to notice? Beth and Meg looked at each other, sharing a silent communication that he wished he were in on. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he’d hoped for a lot better than this.
“Ry, let’s still get together,” his dad suggested as if there had been no unpleasantness. In truth, the tension in the room did seem to leave with his mother. “How about meeting me tomorrow morning after I make rounds?”
“Think you can get up that early, Ry?” Trey snickered.
“Oh, I think so,” he answered, letting his drawl counter his brother’s rudeness. “I’m still on New York time. When I meet Dad, it will be about the time my shift is half over.”
“It must be nice that paramedics have regular hours,” Isabel said.
Ry loved the way she said “paramedics,” grouping them with some lower form of life.
Trey gave his wife a little hug, beaming approval. Poor Izzie, if that’s what she lived for.
“I’m never sure when I’ll see Trey,” she added. “He works so hard, just like his father.”
If Trey was like his dad, Izzie would be raising the kiddies alone.
“Well, then, Ry, I’ll meet you at the hospital,” his dad said, heading for the door.
“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, following.
Beth and Meg did, as well, but Isabel stopped them, saying, “Wait a minute. Trey, I think Ry should see our beautiful home. Why don’t all of you come over for breakfast in a little while?”
“It really is beautiful,” Beth said, mischief in her eyes. “Isabel was an interior decorator before she was married. She has wonderful taste. You’ll want to see for yourself.”
“I’m still an interior decorator, Beth,” Isabel claimed.
“Sure, you are, baby,” Trey said, shepherding her toward the door. “But we won’t trouble Ry with a visit.”
Isabel pouted. “I don’t see why not.”
“Yeah, well, Ry’s like magic. Now you see him, now you don’t. Don’t count on your dear brother-in-law, Izzie. If he couldn’t come to our wedding, he won’t be coming for breakfast.”
Meg cranked up the volume of the music playing in her car, praying she’d catch its soothing mood of worship. Anger still roiled in her stomach, thinking of Mrs. Brennan’s explosive behavior.
When they’d been younger, she’d known Mrs. Brennan wasn’t a loving mom like her own, but she hadn’t