Scarred Beautiful (17 page)

“Okay, so what am I going to wear tonight?” I start pulling clothes off hangers and hurling them onto the bed. With a loud groan, I fling myself on top of the pile. “I don’t like any of these things. I’m not going.”

Peyton hits me hard with a silk scarf, my face reeling from the abrupt sting. “Are you psychotic? One minute you’re excited about going, and now you’re not going.” She gets up from the bed and walks into the closet. “Let’s see what we have here,” she says, as her slender fingers roll over each dress, stopping on one in particular. “This is perfect. Stunning and sexy, revealing with a little bit of mystery.”

I stare at the black, knee-length jersey dress that I know fits me like a glove. It has a plunging neckline, highlighting my breasts, and the rest of it molds to my curves. It’s actually my favorite one. “Sold,” I call out, before yanking it from her hands and sauntering to the bathroom. I take off my skirt and blouse and ease into the dress, the material smooth against my skin where little beads of excitement are popping up all over the place. I rub my arms and embrace the feeling. I haven’t felt this excited since…well, in a long time. I’m not going back there. I’m moving forward and smiling at the thought.

“Come on, hot stuff,” Peyton says, and I promenade out of the bathroom doing my best runway model impression, swinging my arms and swaying my hips. It reminds me of when Gabby and I played dress up in eighth grade, trying on her mother’s fancy high-heeled shoes and strutting around the house.

She makes a whistling sound through her teeth. “Shit, Fran. Wait until Matt sees you. You look gorgeous, but we need to do hair and makeup. Let’s go.”

By the time Peyton’s finished, my eyes are smoked out, my skin is bronzed, and my lips are a crimson red, a stunning contrast against the dark backdrop of waves she’s created with the help of a trusty round brush and a little styling gel.

“Wow!” I exclaim, “I don’t remember the last time I looked this good.”

“You’re welcome,” she says with a haughty smile. “I do good work. Oh, and for the shoes, might I suggest the black Louboutins.”

“Thanks, Peyton. I really appreciate it. Honestly, I…this means a lot to me.”

She pushes my hair back over my shoulders, spinning me around to face the mirror. “You’re gorgeous, Fran. I can’t wait to see the look on Matt’s face when he sees you.”

Neither can I.

“Mom, Dad,” Caleb calls out as we walk through the front door of the house. His mom comes bolting out of the kitchen in her bare feet, her honey brown shoulder-length hair tossing about, her tawny-colored eyes filled with adoration. A white apron with the words “
Kiss the Cook
” graces her petite frame.

“My boys are here!” she screams excitedly, hugging Caleb first and then engulfing me in a warm embrace. She ruffles her fingers through my hair and kisses my cheek. “We missed you last Friday for dinner, Matty. I even made your favorite dessert, chocolate cream pie.”

“I’m sorry, Ma.” It’s always been hard to call Mrs. Brody “Mom” because I felt like I was dishonoring mine in some way, even before the cancer took her from me. When I was in middle school, though, I started calling her “Ma” and it stuck.

“I ended up having to work late on a new project. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Well, lucky for you”—she winks and nods her head toward the kitchen—“I just finished one up. Go on ahead in the living room and I’ll bring it out. Grumpy’s sitting on the couch, glued to the TV.”

“He’s still grumpy?” Caleb replies, kicking off his shoes and leaving them by the front door.

“He’s extra grumpy,” his mom yells from the kitchen. She pokes her head out. “
You know
, with his hip, he’s not getting any.” Like mother, like son, I think to myself and chuckle.

“Mom!” Caleb scolds, rolling his eyes in my direction and shaking off his mom’s off-color remark. “Is that
really
necessary for us to know?”

“Caleb, you have five brothers and sisters. I think you know that your dad and I quite enjoy our
time
together,” she says, waggling her eyebrows, a smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

Caleb cranes his neck out to the living room and motions to his dad. “Okay, then. I’m going to say hi to Dad.”

I follow behind him, pausing to take a look at all the family pictures lining the wall, my face in so many of them it tugs at my heart. “Hey, Pops,” I say, walking over to the couch and bending down to give him a hug. With his thick salt ‘n’ pepper hair, Duke sweatshirt, and matching sweatpants, Mr. Brody looks nowhere near fifty-five years old. “How’s the old man doing?”

Caleb slaps his dad on the back and sinks down beside him. “Yeah, how’s my old man doing?”

His dad presses a button on the remote and tosses it on the coffee table. “Let’s see, I’m stuck on the couch and your mom’s withholding sex from me, other than that I’m great.”

Caleb leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “Oh no, not you, too.”

“A man’s got needs, son,” his dad says, and we all bust out laughing until he finally directs his attention at me. “What’s that in your hand, Matt?”

“Your favorite apple pie. I thought maybe it could help bring you out of your foul mood.” I set the box on the table. “Do you want a piece?”

“I’m afraid there’s only one thing that’s gonna bring me out of my foul mood.” He chuckles and slaps his knee. “I’ll have one later, thanks for bringing it by. So what’s up with you boys? How’s the conference going?” He rests his legs on the coffee table, folding his hands in his lap.

I take a seat on the recliner across from the sofa. “It’s going well. I’m giving a presentation tomorrow so that should be interesting.”

Caleb tucks his hands behind his head with a fiendish grin. “Matt missed the entire first day. He got stuck in an elevator and then went out gallivanting…with a hot brunette.”

“Now
that
sounds like a story I want to hear.” He winks, elbowing Caleb in the side.

My mind wanders to Fran and a smile inhabits my mouth, one that’s pretty hard to get rid of, and I glance at my watch to check the time. “There’s not much to tell. We ended up on the elevator for a while. It was pretty uneventful.” If you don’t count the warmth of her skin as I was massaging it with my finger or the calm I felt by having her so close to me.

Caleb’s mom comes out with plates of pie and hands one to each of us, taking a seat next to Caleb on the sofa.

“So? What did I miss?” she asks, eating a bite of pie and closing her eyes, clearly enjoying the taste. “I can’t deny how good this is. I do make a mean chocolate cream pie.”

“Matt’s hot after his future sister-in-law’s best friend,” Caleb says, laughing, and I nearly stab him with my fork.

“It’s about time,” his mom and dad say at the same time, then look at each other and smile. “It’s about time you find a nice girl, Matt.” His mom clears her throat, glaring at Caleb. “We’re waiting on you too, Caleb.”

“Mom. We just had this conversation. You’re gonna be waiting a while. Been there, done that. It didn’t work out all that well for me.”

“Well,” she says, taking our plates and wandering back into the kitchen, Mr. Brody’s eyes never leaving the subtle movement of her hips, “there are plenty of fish in the deep blue sea.” He continues to stare at her and it never ceases to amaze me. Even after more than thirty-five years of marriage, he still can’t take his eyes off of her.

“Speaking of fish,” Caleb’s dad pipes in, finally tearing his gaze away, “do you remember that time we went fishing out on Achorn Lake and you and Matt had to grab hold of that fishing line to reel in that ten pounder? Now
that
was a fish.” He points his finger to a picture of Caleb and me when we were twelve years old, holding the trout with pride, the head of it almost bigger than the two of us combined.

My eyes move from the picture to my watch and I tap it in a subtle attempt to get Caleb’s attention, motioning to the door when he looks my way.

“Well, we should probably get going,” he announces, pushing himself up off the couch.

“Already?” his mom asks coming out of the kitchen, her chin down, a glint of disappointment in her eyes.

“Yeah, Mom,” Caleb says, giving a quick hug to his dad and putting his arm around his mom. “We’ll be over next Friday for dinner.” He glances over at me. “Right, Matt?”

“Absolutely. Also, give Tracy a hug for me.”

I say goodbye to Caleb’s dad and his mom walks us to the door, a genuine smile spread clear across her face. My own smile grows wider knowing just how happy this visit has made her. I give her a hug and a kiss before we head out.

“Love you!” she yells as we traipse down the driveway.

“Oh man, dude, your parents crack me up.” I chuckle as I climb into the driver’s seat. “Even
I
have to admit, it’s sweet.”

“Yeah, real sweet.” Caleb laughs. “You’re not the one who had to hear them going at it through the walls at least three times a week growing up.”

I edge onto the highway that’s now lined with rush hour traffic. “My mom and dad were a lot like that, too, remember…before she got sick. They were so affectionate with one another. I often wonder how different things would’ve been if she’d lived, you know?”

Caleb stares out the window and a moment of silence passes between us, both of us lost in thought. “Do you think you’ll ever speak to your dad again?”

I scratch my chin, pondering his question. It’s not an easy one to answer. “I don’t know. I’m not the one who cut off contact. Do I think about him? Sure. Wonder what he’s doing? Yeah. But he left us emotionally after Mom passed and then physically after Clara died. I wouldn’t even know how to find him at this point. Last I knew he was in Wyoming.”

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says with the utmost sincerity. “I wish things could’ve been different for you.”

“You know what, Caleb?” I smile warmly, keeping my eyes on the road. “Ever since I can remember, your family has felt like home to me, and for that I’m not sorry at all. You have an amazing family and a mom and dad who love you. I hope you know how lucky you are.”

“I do,” he replies, knocking his head back against the seat. “As crazy as they are, I do.”

The remainder of the ride back to the hotel is quiet. Thoughts of Dad, Mom, and Clara taking up residence in my mind. Dad wasn’t the only one who changed. I changed, too. I lost my faith and became obsessed with making sure things were perfect in my life, but it dawns on me now just how far from perfect they really are.

“What do you want to drink?” I ask Caleb as he heads off to grab us a table.

“I’ll just have a beer, man, thanks.”

I squeeze through the crowd at the bar and while I’m waiting to catch the bartender’s attention, I pull out my cell phone and text Fran.

Hey. We’re downstairs in the bar. Waiting on you.

I was about to type “
Can’t wait to see you
” but something held me back.

A second later my phone dings.

Be right down
.

And just like that my chest feels lighter, my breathing steadier. I may not be able to voice it out loud, but my head is screaming that I can’t wait to see her.

I order two beers and scan the crowd, drumming my fingers against the bar to keep busy. Something catches my attention near the entrance and I turn my head just in time to see Fran and Peyton. It’s almost as if I could sense her presence, the hairs on my skin letting me know she was close.

“Wow.” I know I said
that
out loud. She’s exquisite, wearing a black dress that hugs every curve, her hair cascading over her shoulders in sleek, dark waves. Even from here I can glean the sparkle in the green of her eyes. She’s stolen all of my breath and maybe even a sliver of my heart. I quickly take a swig of the beer set down before me, my throat dry as I watch her make her way toward me. I can’t move or breathe, and when she’s finally standing in front of me, I can barely speak. “Hey,” I manage, unable to pry my eyes from hers.

“Hey, yourself,” she replies, and a huge grin breaks out across my face.

I vaguely hear Peyton coughing to make her presence known and I shift. “Hi, Peyton.”