“Let’s do the parent thing first. Then I’ll really want alcohol.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
“Pat, I haven’t been home for a birthday, holiday, or even a Sunday in four years. You know it won’t be good.”
He almost felt guilty for feeling excited to see his family, since Jo was experiencing the exact opposite. “We’ll do your family first to get it over with.”
He wondered when Julie would be coming to town. “Have you heard from your sister?”
Jo gave him the look. “No.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror, checking his reflection and wondering if Julie would notice a change in him. He’d filled out over the last few years and finally found a decent hair stylist who could do something passable with his red waves. His new glasses helped a lot, too. He no longer looked like a kid from a 1950’s comic strip. Plus, he was a doctor. Women supposedly liked that.
“Oh, God.” Jo moaned as he pulled into the driveway behind her mother’s Chrysler. It was the same van she drove when they were in high school. “How does everything else change, yet this place looks exactly the same?”
He shut off the engine, and they sat in silence, staring at the dated siding and faded lawn ornaments. Dee Cook didn’t care for frills or fancy things, but she loved her some tacky lawn décor. He counted at least a dozen plastic geese.
“Are we getting out?”
“No.” Jo’s hands gripped the upholstered seat outside of her thighs. “Let’s go back.”
The front door opened, and Rodger Cook glowered at the car. “You didn’t tell them you were coming, did you?”
“Now, why would I do that when surprising them is so much fun?”
He sighed and opened the door. “Hey, Mr. Cook.”
“Patrick?”
“Yeah, it’s me. And I brought a stowaway.”
Mr. Cook scowled at the passenger door as Jo climbed out.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“Josephine? What did you do to your hair? Your mother won’t be happy about that.”
“Good to see you, too.” She glanced at Pat and gave him a panicked look, the same expression a hostage would make when they need to be rescued but couldn’t speak without consequence.
“Well, are you coming in the house or just planning on standing in the driveway all day?”
“I hate you,” she mumbled at Pat, then slammed the door. “We’re coming.”
Pat followed her into the unfashionable living room where dated school photos filled a variety of mismatched frames. In the back room, where the Cooks typically watched television—mostly televised church services—they found Mrs. Cook.
“Our daughter’s home,” Mr. Cook announced.
“Julie?” Mrs. Cook’s expression lifted, then twisted with disappointment, when she saw Jo. “What have you done to your beautiful hair?”
“Hi, Mom.” Jo leaned down and kissed her mother’s gaping face.
“It’s so short. You look like a boy!”
“How are you, Mrs. Cook?” Pat asked, trying to take some of the attention off Jo. “Is that a new afghan you’re working on?”
She glanced down at her crochet needle and yarn. “They’re place mats. I’m making them for your brother and Maggie as a wedding present.”
They were hideous. “I hope I can be there when you give them to him.”
“I suppose.” She turned her cold stare back to Jo. “I hope you brought something decent to wear to the wedding. Jeans are unacceptable.” Her gaze dropped to the tattered pair only slightly covering Jo’s legs. “Did you at least have the courtesy to tell them you were coming?”
The front door opened, and Pat turned, grinning widely at the sight of Jo’s two brothers. “Hey, Garret. Smith.”
Smith, Jo’s younger brother, waved and dashed up the steps, hardly acknowledging his sister or parents. Garret shook his hand. “Clooney, good to see you. I heard you’re all done school now.”
“Finished my residency this week.”
“That’s great, man.” He turned his attention to his sister. “And who is this bombshell? This couldn’t possibly be my baby sister.”
“Hey, Garret.” Her entire demeanor had been tense since they arrived, but Garret wasn’t having any of it.
He swept her up in a back cracking hug and shook her, until she laughed and begged to be put down. “Welcome home, sis.”
“Thanks, but we can’t stay long.”
Her mother tsked. “You just got here.”
“Pat hasn’t seen his family yet.”
“So, let him go. You’re not connected at the hip. Besides, I want you to give that Tobin a call—”
“Tobin Wiseman?” Garret asked, repeating Pat’s look of concern from the day before. “What’s she gotta call him for?”
“Garret, you stay out of it. Your sister’s been single too long. It’s beginning to look suspicious—”
“Mom, I’m not calling Tobin—”
“Don’t sass me, Josephine. You need a date for the wedding.”
That wasn’t at all true, but Mrs. Cook always had her own weird book of rules she seemed to follow.
“Actually…” Pat cleared his throat. “Jo’s going to the wedding with me.”
“You?” Mrs. Cook’s response was a bit of an ego crusher. “That won’t work at all. She needs to go with an actual date.”