A Light in the Dark Page 10

  I put a hand over Gina’s mouth. “Shhh, matey. If your daddy hears you talk like that, he won’t let you rock out with me ever again!”

  “Hear you talk like what?”

  I clapped a hand over my own mouth and stared wide-eyed at Gina in exaggerated trepidation before turning to face Ben. “Like a well-behaved young lady,” I assured him, winking conspiratorially at my niece.

  “Like a lady, Daddy,” Gina echoed, nodding her head.

  “Yeah, right.” Ben stuck out a hand toward Sebastian. “I’m Ben. Tish’s oldest brother. I see you’ve already met my daughter.”

  Sebastian shook Ben’s hand firmly. “Sebastian Jeffries. Yes. Gina the sparkly rock star. We’ve met.”

  “What did Tish teach you to say, Princess?” Ben asked, his eyes still on Sebastian.

  “Nothin’ Daddy.” Gina giggled gleefully behind my hand, eyeing her father as coquettishly as a little girl could. “But maybe you sould go take a long walk on a sort plank, ye wormy, bug-chewin’ clump of compost!” And with that, she doubled over in a fit of giggles.

  I crossed my arms and looked down at her. “Um, no. I did not teach you that.” I said to Ben, “You can’t blame me for that one.”

  Gina lifted her head, still snickering into her cupped hands. “Gramma taught me how to say ‘Go take a walk on a sort plank, ye wormy, bug-chewin’ clump of compost.’ It’s her favorite!”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Compost. I should’ve known.” He shoved his hands in his pocket and called over his shoulder at the group of people talking over each other on the other side of the room. “Mom!”

  “Yes, I know,” Mom called back, blissfully clueless. “Everyone is hungry. And the food is getting cold, people, so let’s sit down!”

  Within moments, we had all found a place around the huge table we’d had as long as I could remember, Sebastian between me and Gina.

  “Let’s pray, shall we?” Dad grinned, his eyes darting around the table. He seemed to enjoy the full seats as much as Mom did. All around our circle, people took each other’s hands. I reached for Sebastian’s, even though he had it resting on his lap, and on his other side, Gina did the same, burrowing her balled fist into his.

  “We hold hands when we pray,” I whispered by way of explanation, trying to put him at ease. He was clearly unprepared for this. “Don’t make eye-contact with my dad or he’ll ask you to say the blessing,” I teased, trying to ease his tension by making a joke.

  Dad chuckled at the head of the table. “I heard that, young lady. Guess it’s your turn this morning.”

  I rolled my eyes, but without preamble, bowed my head and said a few simple statements about being thankful for the food Mom had prepared, the people gathered, including all our guests, and the love they brought to the table with them. “And thank you, especially, God, for creating pirates. Epic, epic pirates. Amen.”

  “Epic, epic piwates,” came a reverent little whisper from Sebastian’s other side.

  Heads lifted, hands were released, and as though a switch had been thrown, the bucket-brigade of food began as the dishes, platters, and condiments were passed from diner to diner in organized chaos.

  I noticed Tom caught Sebastian’s eye and smiled. “It’s always a madhouse around here. You’ll get used to it,” Tom assured him, passing a basket of biscuits to his left.

  Glancing at Sebastian, I could tell he had his doubts about that.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I covertly watched Sebastian taking us all in. I knew we were a little much for some people, but if he was going to be a part of my band, that meant he would also become a part of my family. He’d be in and out of this house all the time, so I didn’t feel any reservations about giving him both barrels up front. If he couldn’t handle it, then it was better to find that out now.

  On his other side, Gina glowered at a short stack of pancakes on her plate. More specifically, at the anemic drizzle of syrup her mother had topped them with. As I watched, the moment Marilyn turned to Little Ben to cut up the food on the tray in front of him, Gina snagged a syrup carafe that sat providentially in front of her, and began dousing her plate. Generously.

  Without thinking, I put a hand on Sebastian’s arm, and when he glanced over at me, I dipped my head toward Gina. There was no way I could stop her from where I sat without causing a scene, but I didn’t want her to get in trouble for adding a little more syrup, either. To my delight, without a word, Sebastian reached over and covered the little girl’s hand with his own, adroitly removing the carafe and setting it on the table between him and me. Gina, the little barnacle, smiled brightly at him, her big eyes wide with feigned innocence.

  “Oh, hi there! Nice day for pancakes, isn’t it?”

  Across the table, Jordan guffawed, and elbowed Tom, echoing Gina’s chipper tone. “Nice day for pancakes, right, Campbell?”

  Tom grinned at my brother, and then at me, and bumped his foot against mine under the table companionably. But there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, too, and I found myself inwardly cringing, just the tiniest bit. I didn’t know if I could handle another six weeks of his resigned smiles, his wistful eyes, the whole tragic hero thing. Especially now that things seemed to be blossoming so quickly between me and Sebastian, as fickle as that made me sound.

  In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it started to bug me. One of the things I loved about Tom was his sense of self. He carried himself with dignity and quiet confidence. On stage, his wild side came out to play, but in the normal, everyday stuff, he was everything a best friend should be. Steady. Generous. Patient. And he had a good head on his shoulders when it came time to pick his battles. We liked to argue, but it was never really serious. I knew if he dug in his heels about something, it was for a good reason, and argue though I might, I’d give in to him eventually because I trusted him to make the right decision for us.

  Maybe that was it. I trusted him. I trusted him to choose the right thing. I trusted him to be secure in himself and in his decisions.

  And this hang-dog look in his eyes didn’t line up with the Tom I knew and trusted.

  But how much did I owe him in the name of friendship? Did I owe it to him to let him stare longingly at me, without checking him on it? To let him kiss me whenever he wanted to? Did I owe it to him to pretend that I wasn’t at all attracted to Sebastian until after Tom had moved? Because I was. And I had been for a long time. Just sitting beside Sebastian had all my senses heightened. My hand still tingled from holding his while we prayed, the tips of my fingertips buzzed from brushing his arm to get his attention a moment before. What if Sebastian asked me out before Tom left town? Did I have to say ‘no’ to him?

  “Whoa, girl! Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” Nothing like heading off to the races.

  I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until Sebastian shifted to look at me. Thank goodness I had a naturally quiet mutter.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Talking to myself.” Heat rose in my cheeks and I prayed Tom wasn’t still watching me. I was beginning to feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

  Beneath the table, Tom nudged my foot again, trying to get my attention. I took a large bite of egg casserole and lifted my gaze to meet his. “You going to practice more today?” he asked, looking back and forth between me and Sebastian.

  I nodded, my mouth full. Actually, I just assumed we were, but I hadn’t asked Sebastian how long he could stay. When I invited him over to jam, I hadn’t planned on our time being shared with the whole gang and heaping piles of food. But before I could swallow my bite, Ben spoke up.

  “So, Sebastian. What do you think of our little sister?”

  I rolled my eyes and swallowed quickly. “Wow, Ben. Nothing like a little pressure-free conversation to break the ice.” I knew what he was doing. Of all my brothers, Ben was the most parental. Twelve years older than I was, he took his birth order pretty seriously and was the self-appointed leader of the Ransome pack
. Most of the time, I was little more than a camp follower to my brothers, but by golly, I was their camp follower, and they would know the intentions of any who might have designs on their territory.

  Ben was thirty-three, or “weally, weally ode” according to Gina. He and his wife, Marilyn, had been married almost ten years, and with Gina and Little Ben, they were a perfect family picture. Marilyn and Ben were good for each other, and they made marriage look good. She kept him organized, and he reminded her how to have fun. Of my four brothers, only Jordan still lived in town, but Ben and his family lived several miles up the freeway and were close enough to visit at least once a week.

  Eric had just turned twenty-nine last month, and lived in Texas. He was an airplane mechanic for Southwest Airlines. We saw him several times a year, since one of the perks of his job was free hopper tickets when seats were available and deep discounts if he had to buy a ticket. He’d been dating the same flight attendant for almost a year now, the longest he’d ever been with a woman, and we were pretty sure we’d all be flying to Houston for a wedding soon. Honestly, though, I thought she was as stereotypical as they came, and I dreaded having to spend the next thousand years sharing holidays, birthdays, and vacations with her. But Eric had always had a weakness for women who didn’t like to think for themselves. It was probably a good thing they didn’t live close. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my thoughts behind my teeth if I had to spend much more than a few days at a time with her.

  Kyle, who was still in school to be a Physical Therapist, was only fifteen months older than Jordan, and Mom liked to tell me that she’d decided she was done when Jordan came so soon after Kyle. “But God had other plans,” she’d say with a tired laugh. It used to make me feel just the slightest twinge of guilt, but now I only had the deepest appreciation for the woman who poured so much of herself into raising the five of us.

  They named me Titia, which meant “joy,” because I’d been born just after sunrise after a very long and difficult labor.

  “Weeping may endure for a night,” Mom quoted. “But joy comes in the morning.” She claimed the verse from the Psalms flashed across her mind when the doctor held me up and said, “You have a beautiful baby girl.”

  I was glad it did. They’d been so sure they were having another boy, and the only name they’d picked out for me was Elijah Logan. Not a name that could easily be tweaked for a girl. Well, Logan might have been a cool name for a girl; I was still considering it for my own daughter. Someday. In the far, far future.

  Ben had his eyes fixed on Sebastian, and turning to Jordan, I silently pleaded for him to step in. Jordan just grinned and shrugged, leaving me—and Sebastian—to our own devices.

  “Nice, Ben. How is he supposed to answer so vague, yet so loaded a question? At least ask him something more specific. Like what he thinks of my band, or my clothes, or my freckles.” I’d grown to embrace the liberal smattering across the pale skin of my nose and cheeks, but old habits died hard, and I couldn’t help wondering what other people thought of them. I nudged Sebastian with my knee. “You’re not obligated to respond to anything, by the way. He’s just showing his big brother colors.”

  “Actually,” Sebastian interjected before I could protest more. “I think Tish is extremely gifted. Pretty amazing. She has far more talent in her little finger than anyone else I know.” He shot me a quick half-smile, and then turned back to Ben. “And more specifically, I really like her band and I’m honored to get to be a part of it.” He held up a hand and began ticking things off my list on his fingers. “I think she dresses pretty cool, and the freckles?” His half-smile became a full-on, teasing grin. “They make me want to break out a black marker and connect the dots.”

  I had just taken a drink, and the gulp I inhaled had me coughing and spluttering beside him. Everyone around us was laughing—except for Tom-of-the-Sad-Smiles—and Sebastian grabbed my glass before I spilled it. Gina scrambled from her seat and began pounding on my back with both fists.

  “Heimwich Mover! Heimwich Mover!” she cried out gleefully.

  Little Ben banged encouragingly on his highchair tray with an open palm, sending bits and pieces of egg and pancake scattering. My mom, sitting on the other side of him, grabbed his wrists and began clapping his hands together instead, effectively distracting him from making an even bigger mess.

  Which was a good thing, because Marilyn had lurched out of her own seat and scooped up Gina, tucking her back into her chair with orders to stay put until Grandpa excused her from the table.

  “But I was saving Tiss’ life!” she declared, making it clear to all by her expression that she was deeply offended about her heroic efforts being aborted.

  “You did save my life, Gina,” I gasped, leaning forward to give her a grateful smile around Sebastian. “I might be dead if it weren’t for you and your quick thinking.”

  Gina grinned, exonerated, and dug into her soggy pancakes with gusto.

  Sebastian, I noticed, looked a little taken aback by the upheaval. He grimaced at me—I think it was supposed to be a smile—apology warm in his eyes. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was trying not to laugh, or trying not to cry. “Thanks to Gina, yes. But you, mister,” I punched him in the bicep. “You are going to pay for this.”

  Sebastian clutched at his arm and frowned a little, but the smile returned quickly. “Then you’re not firing me today?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The rest of the meal went fairly smoothly, even taking into account Gina spilling the last of her orange juice down the front of her Marauders T-shirt, followed by the spilling of buckets of tears. I took her upstairs to my room to find something “extra piratey” to wear. We returned shortly, decked out in matching Jolly Roger shirts—below the flag on Gina’s shirt were the words, “The beatings will continue until morale improves”—and bandannas tied pirate-style around our hair. Gina wore bright red lipstick as well, barely moving her lips when she spoke, lest it rub off.

  When we sat back down on either side of Sebastian, he grinned over at me. Was that relief in his eyes? Glancing around the table, I realized Marilyn and Mom had their heads together about cooking or child care or some form of domestic duty. Dad, my brothers, and Tom conversed enthusiastically over a fishing trip they were planning over the Thanksgiving holiday, a father and son tradition they did every year. Tom always tagged along. His father had been killed in Afghanistan not long after 9/11, and he’d been absorbed into the Ransome brotherhood.

  “Do you go on these fishing trips?” Sebastian asked, dipping his head toward the guys.

  “Nope. I can’t stand fish. I don’t like fishing either. Not patient enough. And I really, really don’t like cleaning and gutting fish, or cooking them, for that matter, and that’s part of the experience.”

  “That’s right, Sebastian. Tish is not a fisherman. Do you know Ani, Tish’s friend across the street?” Dad interjected. As laid back as the man might appear on the outside, he was completely aware of what was going on where his baby girl was concerned. I smiled sweetly at him, hoping he wouldn’t launch into any embarrassing stories from my childhood.

  “I haven’t met her yet, sir.”

  “Ah. Well, if you’re sticking around, you will.”

  “My bestie,” I explained to Sebastian. I was pretty sure he’d at least talked to Ani at one of our shows, but I didn’t correct him. He’d probably make the connection once I introduced the two of them.

  “Ani’s father, George,” Dad continued, “is also an avid fisherman. Almost as good as I am, but not quite. Several years ago, the two of us took our girls on their first official fishing trip together. You know, quality time with our daughters, right?”

  Sebastian nodded. “Right.”

  “Well, son, suffice it to say there were tears.”

  “And funerals,” I added. The fishing story was pretty funny and not embarrassing at all.

  Sebastian cocked his head toward me. “Funerals?”


  “Funerals. As thrilled as they were to feel that hit on the line, to reel their catches in, neither of them were quite as excited about the slaughter that followed.” Dad chuckled ruefully. “We held lakeside funerals for those two fish, complete with eulogies and tombstones. We did not have freshly-grilled trout that night, and we dads were glared at with disdain and distrust for weeks after.”

  “Until Tish decided she wanted a new pair of Chuck Taylors. Then suddenly she was Daddy’s girl again.” Ben shook his head and eyed his own daughter. “I know how you feel, Dad. I know how you feel.”

  I laughed and blew a kiss at my daddy, but when I turned to Sebastian, his expression gave me pause. He looked ill-at-ease, and I sensed a growing disquiet in his demeanor as he ate the last few bites of pancake on his plate. In fact, he seemed to almost choke them down.

  I tucked my napkin under the side of my plate. Maybe he’d had enough; we could be pretty overwhelming. I looked from Sebastian to Tom and pushed back my chair. “Well, boys? Ready?” I stood, picked up my plate, and reached for Sebastian’s. “Mom, can we help with clean up?”

  “No, no, Titia. You kids go practice. Your dad and I can take care of this.” We thanked her on our way out and I heard Gina begging, without success, to be allowed to “rock out” with us. I loved that little girl, but she could be pretty demanding of my time, and I was always glad when her parents stepped in and relieved me of my auntie duties.

  We got right down to business, thank goodness. The guys seemed to have all but forgotten the tension from earlier, the silence following Tom’s kiss, and my awkward too-loud suggestion that we go check on breakfast. And although it lingered at the back of my mind, by the time we’d worked our way through several Marauders songs, we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

  The music came easily to Sebastian. It was almost like he knew our stuff on some visceral level, like he could anticipate where a song would go according to my chord progression. Tom’s solid rhythm kept me moving, flowing, making it so easy to bring out the best in Chanticlaire. We’d always worked well together, but as I listened to Tom feed Sebastian prompts in plenty of time to adjust to key changes, pattern, or tempo changes, I realized what he and I had together musically might just be because he played for me, not with me. He laid a foundation custom built to give me the freedom to stretch and soar, and now he was showing Sebastian how to do the same.