Not Quite Forever
Page 32

Walt’s mother smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
She hates me.
Brenda offered a sympathetic look from across the table and lifted her wine to her lips. Dakota mimicked her.
“So what is it you do that has you traveling through Colorado?” The question came from Larry.
For the first time in a long time, Dakota actually debated omitting her profession. She wasn’t ashamed of what she did for a living, but the subsequent conversation with this conservative crowd might push the Eddys past the point of comfort about her presence.
Dakota waited a beat, and Walt answered for her. “Dakota is an author.”
A hush went around the table.
“Published?” Brenda asked.
Dakota found her pride, sat tall as she picked up her spoon. “Yes.”
“What do you write? Maybe one of us has read your book.” JoAnne’s words might have held little malice, but her tone minimized the accomplishment. Every book was full of blood, sweat, and tears . . . not to mention weeks if not months of neglect of her personal life.
“I doubt that,” Dakota managed.
The entire table was now staring.
JoAnne moved her attention to her soup. “Well, don’t be discouraged. Many authors write books that aren’t read.”
Dakota clasped her left hand in her lap and bit her tongue.
“You might want to back up that boat, Mom,” Walt said.
Dakota glanced at him, saw the devious grin on his lips. She shook her head and left her spoon in her soup before placing her hand on his thigh.
“I’m just saying that authors are often like any other artist . . . they work for years and never really find their audience.”
“Mom.”
“I’m trying to be encouraging, Walt.”
“Dakota doesn’t need your encouragement. Trust me.”
Walt’s hand now caressed her thigh and they were both smiling and sharing a private thought.
“What have you written?” Brenda asked.
Speaking to no one other than Walt’s sister, Dakota leaned forward. “I write romance novels.”
JoAnne laughed out loud.
Walt scowled.
“Brenda loves those.”
Dakota waited . . .
The reaction came from Lily . . . “Wait! You’re Dakota Laurens?”
Lily’s stiff exterior shifted and her smile became genuine for the first time that night.
Brenda dropped her spoon with a loud clank. “You’re that Dakota?”
After-dinner drinks at the boathouse were just as entertaining as before-dinner drinks at the guesthouse. Dakota wondered if Dr. Eddy and his wife knew how much fun their children were having outside of their home.
“I thought Mom was going to keel over right there.”
Larry’s cheeks were flushed, just as Dakota thought hers were. Lord knew she’d drunk more that night than she had in many months.
“I’m not sure who was more shocked, Phelps or Dad, when Lily kept asking for details about your ability to research your characters’ sexual habits. Tell me that doesn’t happen all the time?” Brenda asked.
“The research question comes up in nearly every interview. I’m used to it.” Dakota was tucked beside Walt, his hand rested intimately on her thigh. The comfort in his touch kept a smile on her lips the entire night. Once it became apparent that Lily, as gorgeous as she was, was more interested in Dakota than in Walt, she relaxed and enjoyed the rest of the evening. It helped that Walt’s father didn’t have a stick as firmly up his backside as JoAnne did.
Brenda picked up a pillow and lobbed it at her brother. “Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was famous?”
After deflecting the pillow, Walt’s eyes met Dakota’s. He offered a half smile and didn’t correct his sister about her girlfriend status.
“I’m not dating her for her fame.”
Dakota dropped her gaze, and before tilting back her drink, said, “He’s dating me for the sexual research.”
Larry choked on his drink and Brenda roared with laughter.
An hour later, Dakota was removing her makeup in the boathouse and talking to Walt, who was stretched out on the bed.
“Can I be honest with you?” she asked.
“I don’t like lies.”
“Your mom hates me. I’m not sure if it’s on principle or if it’s me.”
“I never understood what ‘on principle’ meant.”
Dakota leaned closer to the mirror, caught some leftover mascara that didn’t want to let go of her lashes.
“She didn’t invite me and you didn’t tell her I was coming. She’ll feel like an idiot with all the young, single women she invited with the sole interest in setting you up. JoAnne hates me, but I don’t really care.”
“She’s not that bad.”
Dakota paused, looked behind her, but knew Walt couldn’t see her from the angle of the door. Perhaps a white lie would prove best to save his concerns. “Maybe she just needs to get to know me.”
The springs on the bed let loose a squeak and Dakota continued. “Your dad was quiet most of the night. Is that normal?”
“It’s . . . no, actually, he’s usually more like my mom.”
Was that concern in Walt’s voice?
She leaned back, caught a glimpse of Walt sitting beside the bed, his head in his hand. “Do you think everything is OK with him?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t really talked in years. Not since . . .”