Last Chance Christmas (Last Chance #5)(16)
Author: Hope Ramsay

Clay and Jane, Stone’s brother and sister-in-law, watched Haley’s antics with the sappy look of expectant parents. Jane had made her big announcement at the dinner table. Not that anyone was really surprised that Jane was expecting a baby, since the whole town knew she’d had a doctor’s appointment today.

Stone was going to be an uncle. It was a weird feeling. He was used to being the only married one.

He left his spot by the dining room arch and strolled into the living room. Then he picked up a glass ball and hung it on a branch next to where Lark was standing.

She was so tiny. And yet she was unbelievably strong. And like a firefly or something, she had this internal glow about her. He stood there for a long, embarrassing moment wondering what he should do next. Decorating Christmas trees wasn’t one of his talents. Neither was talking to women he found attractive.

“So,” she said as if she understood his sudden awkwardness, “you’re going to be an uncle.”

“Yeah, Uncle Grumpy,” Stone’s younger brother, Tulane, said. Stone wanted to drop-kick Tulane across the living room like he’d done when they were kids.

“He’s trying,” Lark said with a little smile. “It’s not always easy for warriors, you know.” Her voice was soft, and she glanced up at him. Once again he got the uncanny feeling that she really understood. He’d never been Mr. Christmas even when Sharon was alive.

“Hey, y’all, I’ve got all the photo albums,” Momma said from across the room. She came into the parlor weighed down with half a dozen books. “Come on, girls, I know you want to see all those nak*d pictures of Tulane. He had such a cute butt when he was a baby.”

Tulane groaned. “Momma, please.”

“Oooh, lemme see,” Sarah, Tulane’s bride, said as she elbowed her way across the crowded room.

In about five seconds Momma was reigning on the living room couch with Sarah, Jane, and Stone’s sister, Rocky, beside her, peering at every embarrassing photo ever taken. Lark took a seat on the rolled arm of the sofa while Hugh, Rocky’s husband, leaned nonchalantly over its back, no doubt looking for photos of Rocky when she was little.

“Momma has a real talent for preserving the worst photos ever taken,” Clay said.

“You know,” Lark said, “I did a project in college about that very thing.”

“A project on dodgy photos? You don’t say?” Hugh gave her one of his raised eyebrows.

“Well, not exactly. I did this project where I scanned hundreds of photos from family albums. I was looking for the art in plain sight. But I discovered that every family album has the same photos,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” Stone asked.

She looked down at the album in Momma’s hands. “See this one?” She pointed to a photo of Stone on his first birthday. He was crying, and the single candle on his birthday cake was burning brightly.

“Not one of my better portraits,” Stone commented.

“But so you,” Momma replied.

Lark laughed. The sound carried him away.

“But how is this photo in someone else’s album?” Momma asked.

“Well, this particular photo isn’t, but every family album has a picture of the crying baby and the cake with one candle.”

“That’s kind of creepy,” Stone said just to be argumentative.

“Honestly, son,” Momma said, “if you want to be a negative person, you can just take your negativity out on the porch or something. I think it’s kind of sweet that every family has a photo of a baby on his first birthday. It connects us one to the other, you know? What other photos fall into that category, Lark?”

“Well, the nak*d baby, the first haircut, the first day of school, the graduation, the picture of the kids without their front teeth.” Lark looked up and smiled at Haley when she said that.

And Haley smiled back. Her front teeth were starting to grow in, and she was beginning to get that Bucky Beaver look to her that all kids got at one point or another.

“I think that’s a very comforting thing to know,” Momma said.

Clay chuckled. “Just don’t get any ideas and start posting those nak*d baby photos on Facebook and tagging me, okay?”

“Just you wait, Clay, your baby will have a nak*d butt picture, too,” Momma said.

Jane giggled, and Clay shook his head. “Never in a million years,” he said.

Stone headed back to the kitchen with Tulane for another beer while the oohs and aahs and embarrassing moments continued unabated in the living room.

“Lark’s not so bad, you know,” Tulane said, popping the top on another beer.

“Don’t. She’s here because Momma invited her and because she wants to scatter her father’s ashes on the eighteenth hole. Daddy’s not going to relent on that topic, but Momma is waging one of her little wars. And as usual, I’m stuck right in the middle.”

Tulane slapped him on the back. “Cheer up, Stony, the holidays will be over before you know it, and you won’t have to put up with all this merrymaking.” His brother sauntered back into the living room and leaned over the back of the sofa while he gave his wife’s shoulder a little squeeze.

Stone watched from the doorway for the next thirty minutes as older albums were brought out and thumbed through, until the family was looking at photos of Momma and Daddy when they were young.

“Holy sh—” Lark said, cutting off the profanity before she embarrassed herself. “It’s Pop. How could that be?” She leaned over the photo album, a frown folding between her eyebrows.

“Oh, my, I forgot about that picture,” Momma said. “That’s Zeke, Bert’s daddy, right there.” Momma pointed to the photograph, and Stone took a few steps into the room so he could look at the photo over Momma’s shoulder.

“Is that Nita Wills with them?” Rocky asked. “She looks so young and happy.”

“They all look happy,” Lark whispered.

“They’re on the eighteenth hole,” Sarah said. “Look, there, right behind them, it’s the statue of Jesus. I wonder who took the picture?”

Momma lifted the corner of the photo out of its little tabs and looked on the back. “I remember now. This was one of the pictures in Zeke’s camera when he died.”

“Did Daddy take that picture?” Tulane asked.

Momma shook her head. “No, Bert and I weren’t here when Zeke died. Bert was up in Washington in Walter Reed hospital, and I was up there with him. He’d just gotten back from Vietnam. That was before any of you were born.” Momma looked across the room at Daddy. Daddy was in a broody mood. He wasn’t happy about Lark being there either.

“Honestly, Bert, how long are you going to hang on to your theory that Lark’s daddy was responsible for Zeke’s death?” Momma asked

Lark visibly tensed, looking from Momma to Daddy and back again.

“Well, he meddled in things, and that made trouble. And my daddy always managed to get himself in the middle of trouble,” Daddy said. It was clear that Momma was winning this particular battle. Momma was a hell of a campaigner.

“Honestly, Bert,” Momma said, moving in for the kill, “it’s time to let go. It all happened a long time ago. And looking down at this picture, I’m pretty sure that your daddy wouldn’t want you blaming Abe Chaikin. They look like they’re friends. Why would anyone have even taken this picture if they weren’t friends?”

Daddy got up and walked out into the backyard. Stone knew exactly what was going on in Daddy’s mind. Zeke had died too young. And when he died, Daddy’s life changed forever.

None of them ever discussed this out loud, but everyone in the family feared there was a kernel of truth to the tale that the Rhodes craziness was handed down from father to oldest son.

It had happened that way with Daddy. One day he was recovering from physical wounds, and the next he was seeing angels. They said it was PTSD, but Daddy never believed that. And the only thing that had changed was that Granddaddy had passed.

There had been a time when Ezekiel Rhodes had been a respected war veteran himself and a lawyer living up in Atlanta. But when his own daddy passed, something snapped inside his head. He left his life in Atlanta and came back to Last Chance to build the golf course on some family land.

Stone didn’t believe in angels. Except down in the places of his psyche where he was afraid to go.

“You know,” Momma said into the silence that settled in the wake of Daddy’s departure, “I’ll bet Zeke took that picture himself. He was always messing around with his camera. I didn’t know it was your daddy in the picture when I put it in this album, but I saved it because it was the last picture ever made of Zeke.”

Lark gave Momma a weak smile. “I’m glad you had it developed. Seeing Pop standing on the eighteenth hole makes it real somehow. I really need to talk to Nita Wills about what happened. She’s supposed to be back in town tomorrow.”

Momma patted her hand. “It’s all right, honey. Whether we like it or not, fate brought your family and our family together forty years ago.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. Pop wants to be laid to rest in the spot where that photograph was taken. And I suddenly have more questions than answers. I don’t think I ever saw my father smile like he’s smiling in that photo. He was happy here.”

She sounded shaken.

“Well, I think we need to find you some answers,” Momma said, casting her motherly gaze at Stone and beyond him where Daddy was brooding and smoking a cigar out on the back porch. “And maybe when we do, Bert will let go of the past and give you his permission to lay your daddy to rest. Looking at this picture, I can understand why a person might want to go back to a place and time where they were happy. But life moves forward, not backward.”

Momma’s gaze riveted Stone to the floorboards. She was sending messages. And he wanted to hear them for once. But he had no clue how to get going.

Lark gave Momma the tiniest of smiles. It didn’t last very long, and before it faded from her face, she was pushing up from the couch. “Thanks, Mrs. Rhodes. I really appreciate you inviting me for dinner tonight. It’s hard when you lose a loved one, and you made me feel right at home. But I need to get going.”

Stone put his beer down on the coffee table. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Lark gave him a funny look. “It’s just a couple of blocks away, in front of the Kountry Kitchen.”

“I know where it is, and I’d feel better escorting you.”

By the bunching of muscles along her jaw, he could tell she didn’t think she needed an escort. But he didn’t care.

“Take your time,” Rocky called as he followed Lark through the front door, “we’ve pretty much eaten all the pie.”

“I grew up in New York. I think I can find my car without help,” Lark said as she raised the collar of her coat against the evening chill.

“Looks like winter may make an appearance, after all,” Stone said in his deep, rumbling drawl, obviously ignoring the bait she’d just tossed in his direction.