Charlotte Douglas - Almost Heaven

Grant’s expression sobered. He glanced across the concourse as if to avoid her gaze. “I don’t know if emergency is the word I’d use, but you’re definitely needed here.”

MJ’s knees went weak and she sank onto the nearest seat. “My mom? Dad? Are they okay?”

“They’re not sick or injured, if that’s what you’re asking.” Again he evaded her eyes.

“But they’re okay?” she insisted.

Grant looked ill at ease. “I promised your grandmother I’d let her fill you in.”

MJ crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw. “I’ve been up all night, I’m worried out of my mind, and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

“Merrilee June—”

“I’m MJ now.”

Grant’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Why?”

“So I don’t sound like a character from Gone With the Wind,” MJ said irritably. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“MJ,” Grant said with a grimace, as if the nickname left a bad taste in his mouth, “you know I won’t go back on my word to your grandmother.”

“A thousand horrible possibilities are driving me crazy! Don’t you feel any loyalty to me?”

His expression darkened. “As I recall, you cut me loose from any obligation six years ago.”

MJ’s panic meter was registering overload. She grabbed Grant by the biceps and attempted to shake him. She might as well have tried to move a tree. “Then for old times’ sake, please tell me what’s wrong.”

Her voice, loud and frantic, traveled across the concourse, drawing stares from other travelers.

“Calm down, Merrilee June, or I’ll have to go to my truck for horse tranquilizers.”

“Calm down!” Her voice rose an octave. “How calm would you be in my place?”

“The sooner we get going, the sooner your grandmother can fill you in,” Grant said, so reasonably she wanted to hit him. “I’ve already told you it’s not a life-and-death matter. Cat and Jim couldn’t be healthier. Sally Mae will explain the rest.”

Admitting defeat, MJ released her grip. She’d forgotten how stubborn Grant could be. Not actually forgotten, she realized. She’d simply relegated everything about him to the back of her mind. When she’d first moved to New York, that tactic was the only way she’d survived missing him.

“Is that all your luggage?” Grant nodded toward her camera bag.

MJ shook her head. “I have another bag. I didn’t know how long I’d have to stay. Still don’t,” she said accusingly, “since I haven’t a clue why I’m here in the first place.”

Grant grasped her elbow and steered her toward the baggage claim area. “I’m not breaking my promise to Sally Mae by admitting you’ll be here a good while.”

“A week?” MJ prodded.

“Probably longer,” Grant said, “but, hey, it’s spring-time in Pleasant Valley. You might as well enjoy it.”

At Grant’s easy manner, MJ’s anxiety lessened slightly. As her father’s business partner, Grant was fond of both her parents. If they were in imminent danger, he wouldn’t be so relaxed. Intense curiosity replaced her fears. What in heaven’s name was going on that would make Nana call her home from New York in the middle of the night? And how serious was the situation that solving it could take weeks?

MJ quickened her steps. Nana had a lot of explaining to do.

MJ parted with Grant at the baggage carousel and waited for her luggage while he went for his truck. When she picked up her bag, exited the airport and found him parked at curbside, her heart did flip-flops. The pickup was new, but the same make and color as the truck he’d had six years ago.

The years melted away and she was a college student again, home for spring break and waiting for Grant to arrive at her parents’ house. She’d known Grant all her life. He was six years older, but MJ had been best friends with his sister Jodie. The Nathans lived around the block from the Strattons, their backyards adjoined, and MJ and Jodie had been inseparable as children, even though Jodie had been two grades ahead of MJ in school. For MJ, an only child, Jodie had been the sister she’d always wanted. And Grant had been the handsome big brother, one who couldn’t be bothered with “the DTs,” short for Double Trouble, as he’d called MJ and Jodie.

The summer before MJ’s senior year in college, everything had changed.

Until that summer, she hadn’t seen much of Grant for years. First, he’d gone away to college, then veterinary school, and finally to an internship at an animal clinic in Georgia. Jodie had kept MJ informed of her brother’s activities in her letters to MJ at school, but MJ, busy with college courses and new friends, hadn’t given much thought to the boy she’d had a crush on through elementary and high school.

The summer after her junior year, her parents had welcomed her home with such enthusiasm that MJ again experienced momentary guilt at choosing a college in California that had kept her so far away. After only a few hours with her mother and father, however, her guilt had dissipated. Cat and Jim Stratton, even after more than two decades of marriage, were obviously crazy in love and the best of friends, as well. Merrilee June, as she’d called herself then, had recognized that when she eventually left home for good, her parents would miss her daily presence, but as long as they had each other, their lives would be complete.

“We’re having company for dinner,” her mother had announced upon Merrilee’s return from college for the summer. “Your father’s new partner.”

Merrilee had rounded on her father with concern. “A partner? You’re not slowing down?”

Jim Stratton had been in his late forties, which, to Merrilee, had seemed ancient at the time.

“On the contrary,” her father had said with that amiable grin she adored. With his dark brown hair and soft gray eyes, Merrilee had always thought him the most handsome man in the world. No wonder her mother loved him so much.

“The practice is growing so fast,” her father had explained, “I need all the help I can get. I’ve been working weekends for too long. I want to spend more time with your mother.”

Cat had winked at her daughter. “What he really means is he’s missing too many ball games on his brand-new, big-screen TV.”

But Merrilee had known better. Her parents had always enjoyed activities together: hiking, white-water rafting and picnics in the nearby Smoky Mountains, tending the vegetable garden that consumed most of the backyard and driving to Greenville or Asheville to attend concerts. For as long as Merrilee could remember, her parents had loved playing records from the fifties and sixties and dancing something they called “the Shag” with the furniture pushed aside in the family room. The snappy and sensuous movements of the dance had caused electricity to crackle between them. And when her father did watch sports on TV, her mother was right beside him, engrossed in the game and yelling caustic comments at the officials, just like one of the guys. Her dad had jokingly bought her mother a rubber-foam brick she could throw at the umpires and not damage the screen.

Another favorite sport of Jim Stratton’s was the opportunity to introduce his wife to someone new.

“Cat?” the person would usually ask. “Is that short for Catherine?”

Her mother would shake her head. “For Catawba. It’s the name of the river near Rock Hill where my father grew up. He loved the river and the name, so I was stuck with Catawba.”

Jim Stratton’s eyes would twinkle with delight. “Good thing her dad didn’t live on the river near Asheville. Instead of having a wife named Catawba, I’d have a French Broad,” he’d explain with a satisfied chuckle and suggestive leer.