GINA WILKINS - Husband for a Weekend

A little more than an hour’s drive lay ahead of them when they crossed the Arkansas/Missouri state line. Kim pointed that out to Tate, telling him she would guide him to her mother’s house after they reached Springfield. She’d never been to this house, but she had been given detailed directions. Her mother had moved into a new place since Kim had last been persuaded to come for a visit.

“You know, it just occurred to me,” Tate said with a sudden frown. “What has your mother been calling me? You said she’s told everyone you’ve been married for more than a year. Did she give your imaginary husband a name?”

“She said she called him—er, you—Trey. You know, as if you were Somebody the Third. She thought that sounded impressive, I guess.”

“Hmm. That’s rather a coincidence. Actually, I am the third Tate in my family. My mom’s dad and his dad were both named Tate, though obviously there’s no ‘the third’ in my name.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone you prefer answering to Tate. As to your last name, she said she never mentioned it and no one asked.”

“Rather odd, isn’t it?”

“Not in my family,” she replied with a faint sigh. “As competitive as they all are, they wouldn’t want to hear too many details about this perfect life Mom has concocted for me.”

She saw him slant a look her way, and she could only imagine the thoughts going through his head. He and Lynette came from such a normal, stable family. Tate was in for a shock when he met Kim’s relatives. It was just as well she wasn’t bringing him home as a mate, even a potential one, she told herself. He’d be running in panic before the weekend was over rather than tie himself to anyone from the dysfunctional clan he was about to meet.

She checked the directions again as Tate turned onto the street where her mother lived. “Second house on the left,” she said, checking the numbers. “Yes, this is it.”

A car and a pickup truck were parked in the driveway of the buff-brick house, so Tate pulled up to the curb. “Nice place,” he commented, studying the modestly middle-class house on the tidy street lined with similar homes. “Somewhat more … um, normal than I was expecting.”

“It is quite average-looking, isn’t it?” She eyed the cheery flowers in the beds on either side of the small front porch. “Apparently, Mom is a suburban housewife these days.”

“As opposed to …?”

“Her first husband, my father, was in the military, so she was an army wife living on base for a few years. They split when I was just two and he died in a motorcycle accident not long afterward. Her second husband, the father of my first half brother, Julian Cavenaugh, sang in a traveling bluegrass band based in Branson. We lived in a mobile home park and Mom threw pots and made macramé wall hangings to occupy herself while he was on the road. They divorced when I was eight, when the singer decided he made better music as a single act. Her third husband had a lot of money, so she was a society maven in St. Louis during that phase, when my younger half brother, Stuart O’Hara, was born. That marriage ended when I was thirteen, when Stuart’s dad was caught in a tax fraud scheme and lost everything, including my mother.”

Tate didn’t say anything, so Kim finished her convoluted history quickly while reaching for her bag. “Her fourth husband was a cattle rancher in a little town about fifty miles from Springfield. Mom embraced country life, learning to bake and knit and raise chickens. I lived there until I was eighteen and left for college. I never went back—she and Stan split up before my first semester ended. She was involved with several men after that, but didn’t marry again until three years ago. This latest one, Bob Shaw, is a tax accountant, a couple of years younger than Mom. She turned fifty earlier this year, though she wouldn’t admit it under threat of torture. I’ve only seen Bob once. He seemed nice enough, if a little bland.”

“Are you close to your brothers?”

“Not really. Stuart was just a little boy when I moved out, and I haven’t seen him all that often since. Julian entered the military the day after he graduated from high school, married soon after that and was deployed overseas for the most part until he got out of the service and moved back to Missouri a few months ago, sans the wife. Apparently, she found new companionship while he was serving in the Middle East.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. My brother and I share our mother’s luck with romance, apparently.”

She climbed out of the car without giving Tate a chance to ask any further questions. So far when she’d told him these stories about her family’s past, he’d merely listened intently, then kept whatever reactions he’d had to himself. Perhaps he was too bemused to think of anything to say, since her background was so vastly different from what she’d heard of his and Lynette’s.

She knew he would never look at her quite the same way after this escapade. She just hoped that when this weekend was over, they could at least still be comfortable as once-a-week lunch buddies.

Before she could even unbuckle Daryn from the car seat, the front door to the house opened and her mother rushed out to greet them. “Kimmie! Trey! I’m so glad you’re here. Where’s that grandchild of mine?”

Tate had time only to give Kim a look of startled amusement before Betsy descended on him. Her mother, Kim noted, had needed no rehearsal. No one watching would ever suspect that Betsy had never even met the man she was hugging so warmly.

Betsy gave Tate a smacking kiss on the cheek before drawing back to gaze up at him. “How was the drive?”

“Very nice, thank you. Um—have I met your husband?” Tate asked in a quiet voice meant only for Betsy’s ears. Kim barely heard him, herself, as she approached them with Daryn in her arms.

“Not just yet, dear.” Betsy smiled blandly as she replied. “Don’t you remember, I came alone to visit you and Kim after Daryn was born?”

“Of course.” Tate grinned, clearly charmed. “How could I have forgotten that?”

Betsy beamed. Kim noted that her mom had adopted her newest role with the same attention to detail as all the parts she’d played before. She looked every inch the middle-class homemaker with her blond-highlighted hair, red-plastic-framed glasses, yellow-print cotton top and ivory cropped pants. She barely resembled the woman who’d worn braids and tie-dye during her bohemian phase, or designer-labeled suits and heels to country club luncheons, or denim and gingham and boots on the ranch.

Betsy patted Tate’s arm with a pink-manicured hand. “Funny and handsome. As I’ve said many times before, my daughter is so fortunate to be married to you.”

Tate laughed softly.

Betsy turned to plant an air kiss near Kim’s cheek. “Hello, darling. You look wonderful—though I did like your hair better a bit shorter. And look at my little Daryn. She’s growing so fast! You’ll want to be careful not to feed her too much, dear. Chubby babies grow into chubby adults, you know.”

Reminding herself that quarreling with her mother was like arguing with a cat, Kim responded mildly, “Daryn falls right into the middle of the recommended size charts for her age, Mom. She’s perfectly healthy.”

It didn’t surprise Kim that Betsy made no attempt to hold the wide-eyed baby, just kissed her soft cheek, then stepped quickly back. “Oh, I just love your wedding rings,” she said in approval. “Yours looks a bit tight on your hand, Kim. As though maybe you’ve gained a little weight since your wedding day.”

Kim had been all too aware of the unfamiliar ring on her finger during the drive here. She didn’t really need her mother pointing out the flaws with it, especially since Kim was wearing it to satisfy her in the first place.