The Valentine Grinch (5 page)

With a doubtful expression, Grandma turned her back
on her frowning fiancée and stomped through the snow toward another
part of the cemetery. “How about over there, George?”

Grandpa pushed himself to his feet, brushed flakes
of snow off his front and followed her, muttering, “Humph, first
words she’s said to me since she started to date that bastard
Morty.”

Amanda met Dane’s gaze. He raised one eyebrow in
question, then gave her a crooked smile. It was a friend’s smile, a
familiar smile, the kind of smile that made her feel warm and fuzzy
inside, and hinted at the length of time they’d known each other.
Since grade school or earlier. Hadn’t her mom once said they’d
played together in the crib?

It was a long time to be friends and she wondered
why he’d never found her attractive enough to make a move on
her.

She cocked her head to the side and looked up at
him. “What will your grandpa do if she decides not to give up the
urn?”

“He understands what your grandma needs.” He took
her by the elbow and urged her after the older couple. “And that,
your grinchness, is what true love is all about.”

Chapter Four

True love.

Amanda didn’t think she’d recognize it if it hit her
square between the eyes. Of course, there was her parents’
relationship to consider. They’d been together forever and judging
by what she’d seen in the garage that morning...

No, she was so not going there.

At the moment, she would have preferred to avoid
them, but when she returned home from the cemetery with Grandma,
she encountered her mom in the kitchen.

Dora grabbed an empty wine glass, filled it to the
top and refused to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry about what you
saw.”

“Forget about it, Mom.”

“We should at least talk. It’s natural for two
people to—”

“Seriously, Mom. We had this talk when I was
thirteen.” Hoping to distract the older woman, she gestured toward
the stove. “Is there something I can help with?”

Her mom raised the glass to her lips and chugged
half of it down before wiping the back of her wrist across her
mouth. “Your dad is embarrassed.”

Not nearly enough to never do it again, she was
sure. “Next time, since I can safely assume there’ll be a next
time, perhaps you should hang a sock on the door. Or a sign. Your
Parents Are Making Whoopee. That’ll keep me out.”

With a nod of agreement, her mom proceeded to gulp
down the rest of her wine. As she set the glass on the counter,
Amanda noticed the amount of food cooking on the stove and in the
oven. “This isn’t all for me, is it?”

“Dane and Morty are coming for supper.” Tottering on
her tiptoes, her mom reached into the highest cupboard for a bowl.
“Just because they’re almost family doesn’t mean you shouldn’t
dress up a little.”

She glanced down at her Christmas green sweater and
blue jeans. They were clean, no holes, fairly fashionable. “What’s
wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Her mom handed her the bowl and pointed to the
potatoes on the stove. “It never hurts to look attractive, honey.
You never know who might be looking at you as a potential ... well,
you know.”

“Mr. Weatherby is already taken. And Dane is—”
Amanda wondered what Dane would think if she showed up for supper
in a slinky, low cut dress. Would his eyes light with appreciation?
Or would he laugh at her attempt to be sexy? “Dane and I are just
good friends.”

“You could be more.” Her mom glanced her way, then
turned her attention back to the gravy bubbling on the stove. “Or
not.”

“Let’s go with the
or not
.” Setting the
bowl on the countertop, Amanda grabbed the pot and spooned the
potatoes into the bowl. The front doorbell rang, and down the
hallway she heard her dad’s voice as he greeted the new arrivals.
Dane was here. Should she be excited or go with the
or not
? Her stomach
tumbled and stumbled, giving her the answer. “Mom, can I ask you a
question?”

“Sure, honey, anything.”

Scooping the last of the potatoes into the bowl, she
set the pot in the sink and turned on the hot water tap. “Was Dad
your first love?”

“Of course not. I had other boyfriends. Lot of
boyfriends. Lots and lots and lots of boyfriends. I was a
cheerleader, you know.” Her mom jumped up and flopped her arms in
the air in a vague imitation. “Rah, rah, rah and all that.”

Amanda sighed. Getting a straight answer from her
mom was more difficult than dealing with her grandpa. “Focus, Mom.
Was Dad the first man you loved?”

“Honey, what’s this about?”

“Just curious.” She turned off the tap, went to
stand beside the stove and watched her mom stir the gravy. “How did
you know that he was the one?”

Her mom peered at her, then turned her attention
back to the bubbling gravy and gave the mixture a stir. “I always
knew Dad was the one for me. Right from the moment I laid eyes on
him.”

The deep rumble of Dane’s voice drifted into the
kitchen and Amanda felt her stomach dip, then rebalance. The image
of him towering over her when he’d caught her as she’d tumbled from
the car, broad shouldered and strong, crawled into her thoughts and
stayed. “You’re not answering my question. I mean, how am I
supposed to know when I meet the man I’m meant to spend the rest of
my life with?”

“You want specifics?”

“Uh huh.”

“You and Stephanie. You both think relationships are
complicated and they shouldn’t be.” Dora took Amanda’s wrist, set
the spoon in her hand, and headed to the fridge where she pulled
out salad and cheese. When she straightened, a bowl in each hand,
her expression was thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think I can name
one or two specific things. Dad just knows me. He gets me. He
understands what I want or need, sometimes even before I’ve figured
it out myself.”

“Not helping, Mom.”

“Okay, here’s an example.” She set down the bowls,
glanced over her shoulder toward the living room and crossed the
room to stand at Amanda’s side. “Last night when we climbed into
bed—”

“Stop.”

“I thought you wanted an example.”

“And I thought I made it perfectly
clear by the
oh yuck
that I didn’t want to hear about your sex life.”

Her mom appeared startled, then laughed and took the
spoon from Amanda. “You have your grandpa’s sense of humor.”

“I’m serious, Mom.”

“What I was going to say,” she said as she turned
off the burner, lifted the pot and poured the gravy into a bowl,
“was that your dad gave me a neck massage and said goodnight. He
knew I was too tired last night to have all of that great sex you
seem to think we have.” She stopped pouring and met Amanda’s gaze.
Humor and affection mingled together in her blue eyes. “Why don’t
you call everyone to the table, honey? I think we’re all ready to
eat.”

Amanda picked up the gravy bowl, grabbed the salad
and cheese on her way past the fridge, and carried it all into the
dining room to set on the table. “Supper’s ready.”

Her dad glanced her way. His cheeks turned ruddy and
he directed his attention to seating everyone at the table. Her mom
came out of the kitchen, balancing bowls and platters of food with
her arms and hands like a professional server.

All too soon, Amanda found herself seated next to
Dane. For some strange reason, she didn’t want to look at him,
didn’t want to meet his knowing gaze, didn’t want to acknowledge
the fact that he knew her better than anyone else.

But God, he smelled good. She wanted to lean toward
him and press her nose against his neck and maybe stay there for an
hour or three.

He bumped her shoulder with his and whispered, “I
composed a special Valentine’s note for you.”

She looked up into his eyes and experienced a
longing that was heightened by his hand on her knee, warm and firm
and familiar. And when she looked down, he was sliding the note up
her thigh, sending a rush of breath-stealing tingles toward the
center of her body.

“Stop that,” she hissed. She grabbed his wrist,
tugged the note from his hand and met his gaze again, the ever
present laughter twinkling in his eyes.

Grandma shuffled into the room, interrupting the
moment. As Morty stood up and held out her chair, the elderly woman
leaned across the table, pushed aside the Valentine centerpiece,
and began to set the urn down in the middle of the table. Amanda
grabbed the bowl of potatoes out of the way and heard her mom
sigh.

“Elvira, can’t you leave Dad’s ashes in your room
for just one meal?”

Grandma caressed the urn, then sat down. “Morty and
I had a long talk today. Even though we’ve found a lovely spot for
George to spend eternity, we’ve agreed to wait till after the
wedding to put George to rest.”

Grandpa’s image popped up behind Grandma and Morty,
startling Amanda into nearly dropping the bowl. “Putting me out
with the trash, she means. Look how she fusses over the
bastard.”

Amanda watched Grandma stab a slice of ham with her
fork, set it on Morty’s plate, then proceed to cut it up for him.
The older woman froze and sniffed the air. “There it is again.
Who’s wearing George’s aftershave?”

When all three men answered in the negative, Grandma
resumed cutting Morty’s food, her concentration fierce.

“Used to cut my meat for me. Thought it was because
she loved me.” Grandpa folded his arms over his chest and glared at
the back of Morty’s head. “Fricking bastard, fricking bastard,
fricking bastard.”

Dane elbowed Amanda in the ribs, regaining her
attention. “Are you gonna to keep those potatoes all to yourself or
share them with the rest of us?”

She shoved the bowl into his hands, remembered the
note he’d given her and started to open it. But across the table,
while Morty grinned at Elvira and she gave him a weak smile back,
Grandpa slid Morty’s unused knife off the table and held it behind
the other man’s back. “Make her stop or I swear, I’ll stab the
bastard in the back.”

Amanda jumped to her feet, crushing Dane’s note in
her hand. “Don’t!”

The table went silent and everyone stared at her,
while Grandpa mimed stabbing Morty in the back before he floated
away with the knife still in his hand. He plopped onto a chair in
the corner and proceeded to sulk.

Grandma set down the utensils, leaned forward and
glared at her. “What’s the matter with you?”

Amanda sat back down, Dane’s note crushed in her
fist, embarrassed and annoyed and worried about her grandpa.
“Doesn’t Mr. Weatherby know how to cut his own meat?”

“Of course he does, girl, but it makes me feel
useful again.”

“Well, stop it, Grandma. Grandpa doesn’t like it and
he’s getting angry.” She slumped on her chair, miserable, saddened
by the sorrowful expression she’d put on her grandma’s face when
all she’d wanted to do was keep Grandpa from stabbing Morty. “I’m
sorry, Grandma, but he thought you cut his meat because you loved
him.”

With her expression set in stone, Grandma pushed
back her chair, grabbed the urn, and hugged it to her chest.
“You’re just being ugly and I won’t stand for it.”

As Grandma stomped away, Amanda turned her attention
to Morty. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Weatherby. I had to do something or
you would’ve been hurt.”

He slid back his chair and stood up. “You’re
mother’s right, Amanda. I’ve been patient about Elvira’s attachment
to George’s ashes, but we’re getting married the day after
tomorrow. It’s time I talked to her, set down some rules.”

As he left the room, Grandpa floated out after him,
thankfully without the knife in his hand.

Her mom pushed back her chair, the legs scraping
against the hardwood floor, and stood. “Well, I guess supper is
over. Tom, help me clear off the dishes.”

“Mom, Gramps was going to—”

Her mom stamped her foot. “Enough of your nonsense.
I understand Grandma getting married must be difficult for you. You
loved your Grandpa George and never thought he’d be replaced. But
whether you like it or not, the wedding is happening.”

As Dora stomped out to the kitchen, Amanda’s dad
poked at a piece of ham with his fork. Finally, he sighed, pushed
to his feet and started to gather plates. “A man could starve in
this joint.”

And like her mom, he stomped out to the kitchen.

Silence enveloped the dining room, until Amanda
found the nerve to look at Dane. “I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes
because she knew her apologies were worthless. Shoring up her
nerve, she opened her eyes again. “I think it’s wonderful that
Grandma’s marrying your grandpa.”

Dane folded his arms across his chest,
disappointment radiating from every inch of his big body. “Then
what was that all about?”

Amanda turned her gaze back to the crumpled note in
her hand.

How could she tell him about her
grandpa?
Hey Dane, Gramps is a ghost and
he wants Morty to die a long, slow, ugly death. So if you don’t
want that to happen, you better help me stop the
wedding.

He wouldn’t believe her.

“I’ve got nothing.” She slumped back on the chair,
smoothed the crumpled note against the tabletop and forced cheer
into her voice. “By the way, thanks for the note.”

With a snort, he pushed back his chair and stood up,
shuttering his gaze with a sweep of his lashes. “I’m leaving. Thank
your mom for supper, will you?”

Amanda crushed the note in her hand and jumped to
her feet. “But you haven’t even touched your plate.”

“Like everyone else, I’ve lost my appetite.”

She followed him into the living room and while he
continued on to the front porch, she kneeled on her dad’s favorite
chair. A bright red Valentine shaped pillow sat on the arm, and she
picked it up and hugged it to her chest.