French Roast (The French Twist Series Book 4) Read online

  Dad had managed to show us that we would get through this—by sticking together and by focusing on the joy in front of us. Not bad for a wise-cracking old man.

  Mom would have absolutely loved it.

  Chapter Ten

  “To Mom.”

  Charlie, Kate and I raised our glasses, clinking them gently over the heads of our sleeping children. The service had ended hours ago and the reception had dwindled to the members of our inner circle. Charlie had scouted a private corner filled with cozy couches, giving us the chance to gather strength before venturing back to what was now known simply as “Dad’s house.”

  Kate absently swirled the champagne in her glass. “It was a great idea to bring our favorite photos of Mom for the reception, Syd.”

  I nodded, glancing through the array of frames we had spread throughout the room. “We have so many wonderful memories to share.”

  “Some more respectable than others.”

  I whacked my brother as forcefully as possible without spilling my club soda. “You’re the one who came the closest to getting arrested.”

  “Well, if you’re going to get technical…”

  Kate carefully extracted herself from her dozing brood and scooted closer to me on the couch. “He did get caught in a few compromising situations.”

  We both turned to her with raised eyebrows. It was most unlike Kate to bring up matters of such ill repute.

  She took a large gulp from her glass and grinned before tweaking Charlie’s nose. “I mean, really, take a little time to plan a proper escape route.”

  My brother leaned over and whispered in my ear, “When’s the last time you saw your flawless sister drunk?”

  “She’s not drunk, she’s…tipsy.”

  “Riiiiight.”

  After draining her glass, Kate put it on the table and began to sing, “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” while drumming the beat on the hem of her meticulously pressed black dress.

  “Sticking to your theory, huh, Syd?”

  “If anyone’s allowed, it’s her.” I stated firmly. “It takes an enormous amount of energy to maintain such a high level of perfection.”

  As if to second my point, Luc snorted in his sleep and rolled over, nuzzling further into my lap. Charlie and I chuckled, clearly amused by my son’s impeccable timing.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I felt my eyes pool with tears. “Sad.”

  Charlie squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Syd. I took that much for granted. I think we’re all going to feel shell-shocked for the foreseeable future. I meant, how are you feeling in terms of your pregnancy?”

  I was dumbstruck. I had momentarily forgotten about the human being growing inside me. Unbelievable! There seemed to be no end to the malfunctioning of my brain. Although, losing one of the most important people in your life could easily do that to you…

  I slapped my hand to my forehead. “I forgot.”

  Charlie’s mouth fell open. “Pardon me?”

  “I actually forgot I was pregnant.”

  We stared at each other in awe, with Kate’s air guitar solo raging in the background.

  My emotions hovered on the precipice between complete misery and hysterical incredulity.

  I began to slide down toward hysteria, giggles spilling out of my mouth as I asked, “What the hell is the matter with me?”

  Charlie was desperately trying to control his laughter. “You’ve been through a very traumatic experience—the most traumatic experience any of us has ever been through. It was bound to take a toll on your, um, fragile psyche.”

  Suddenly, all the stress and emotional turmoil of the last few days came raining down on me and the last of my inhibitions were shattered. Full-on cackling ensued, complete with flailing hands, heaving chest and the dreaded snorting.

  Louis chose this precise moment to wander over to our haven. A cursory glance told him his wife was up to no good, taking her poor unsuspecting brother along for the ride. Thankfully, I couldn’t be blamed for Kate’s current state, as she had given herself quite the head start with her rapid rate of alcohol consumption.

  Louis examined each of us carefully, waiting for someone to provide a modicum of information as to the source of our antics.

  “She forgot about your child,” Charlie spluttered.

  “I did,” I whisper-shrieked, hoping not to add waking exhausted children to my list of sins.

  Completely oblivious to our absurd conversation topic, Kate declared, “I’m taking requests!” She paused briefly to give us a sample of her lap-drumming prowess before asking, “What are you in the mood for, Louis?”

  “Do you know any Rage Against the Machine?” Louis deadpanned. “Or perhaps Korn?”

  Kate nodded excitedly and began humming the opening bars of “Word Up!” while tapping out the drum beat on the coffee table in front of her. (Apparently her lap no longer held her interest.) It seemed the fear of rousing her children had left the building, along with her Emily Post-inspired decorum.

  “Please, Bluey!” I panted. “You have to stop! I’m laughing so hard, I just might pee.”

  “Ewww! Way to kill the mood, Syd.”

  I rolled my eyes at my brother. “Your wife was pregnant! You’ve been behind the curtain.”

  Charlie shuddered. “As much as I would love to continue this enlightening discussion, it’s time to head back to the house.”

  The announcement of our plans removed any remaining levity from the room. The bubble of distraction had been shattered, returning us to the next in our series of impossible tasks: sorting through our mother’s belongings.

  Reality must have made it as far as Kate’s foggy mind, as her shining eyes swiftly turned dull and her musical antics came to crashing halt. One by one, we exchanged trepidatious glances. None of us had any idea how we were going to handle the enormity of the undertaking ahead of us. (Although, judging by the bottle of wine poking out of her purse, Kate may have had a small clue.)

  The clock struck six as we entered the house, the once cheery tones of my father’s Muppet cuckoo clock (a tongue-in-cheek gift we had given him for his last birthday) making us wince with its frivolity. Devon and Louis ushered the children into living room for pizza and a movie, while the Bennett siblings settled in the sunporch to hatch a plan of attack. I rubbed my belly, still trying to assuage the guilt I felt for momentarily forgetting its current tenant. As I wondered what my mother would have made of my monumental blunder, my eyes fell upon her sneakers, hastily kicked off next to the door the morning of her accident. She had probably rushed in from Zumba class, already behind for her next appointment. She was forever overscheduling herself, unable to say no to even the slightest request.

  I then noticed the rolls of wrapping paper and the cluster of gifts labeled with different color Post-its for each grandchild. There was a pad of paper on the table next to me on which she had written the final items to pick up for Christmas dinner. Desperate for more evidence of my mother’s existence, I got up and walked to her desk. I smiled as I rifled through articles she had cut out for each of us (complete with lists of questions to discuss at a later date), a list of books she wanted Kate and I to read and finally, her pottery sketchbook. No longer satisfied with simply painting pottery, she had begun taking classes at the local college to form and glaze pieces of her very own. She left the firing to the experts—most decidedly not my father. As I perused her drawings, I felt a pang of guilt that these beautiful creations would never come to fruition.

  I couldn’t decide if studying the environment in which my mother spent her last few hours would help or hurt me, but it was too late to turn back now. I knew without even checking that the usual holiday favorites were sitting on top of the TV, just waiting to be viewed. Mom had suckered us into watching The Sound of Music when we were mere wee ones and we had never looked back. Our imaginations had been captured by those adorable Von Trapp kids and the zany, yet lovable, Maria. (I had always felt a kinship with her. Shocking, I kn
ow.)

  Dad’s choice was True Lies. He was all about the full package—action, intrigue, comedy, romance and a whole lot of swearing. The hilarious dialogue, thrilling combat sequences and stellar cast left us all in high spirits every time. Of course, then Kate and I brought everyone’s spirits back down with our choice of Steel Magnolias. Sure, there were a ton of memorable lines, and you will laugh your, um, butt off, but your heart will be broken in the process. We sure knew how to pick ‘em.

  Closer examination of the stack of movies revealed a last minute addition. Apparently, Mom was really planning to push it this year, because Murphy’s Romance was peeking out from the bottom of the stack. Perhaps she thought my pregnancy hormones might make me a bit more nostalgic? Was it possible the impending arrival of another grandchild was making her remember the past with even more fondness? My heart felt a little heavier when I realized we would never know.

  We would never know anything new about her again.

  I felt someone come up behind me and lay a hand on my shoulder.

  “Syd?”

  Without looking up, I murmured, “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I stared at the room before me. “It’s frozen, Charlie.”

  “Do you want me to turn the heat up?”

  “No,” I faltered. “It’s…frozen in here. Look around; you can see everything she was in the middle of doing. It’s like she’s going to walk back in at any moment.”

  “Like she’s just around the corner,” Kate whispered.

  I nodded, happy someone understood what I had been trying to say. My powers of articulation were never very good, but in my current state of grief, they were pretty damn abysmal. It was a good thing Kate spoke fluent Sydney.

  Charlie returned to the couch and sat down with a heavy thud. “But she’s not. She won’t ever walk through the door again.”

  “But she’ll always be in your hearts.”

  We turned at the sound of our father’s voice.

  “It’s not the same,” I mumbled.

  He sighed as he carefully lowered himself into his favorite armchair. “Of course it isn’t, but it’s all we have. And as we all know, life isn’t fair.” He carefully surveyed the room for underage ears. “In fact, life can be pretty fuckin’ shitty. You’ve seen that in spades over the last week.”

  “But why? Why did this have to happen?” Kate cried. “She was a good person—despite everything life had thrown at her. She did everything right.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Kate,” Dad said softly. “I wish it did, but it doesn’t.”

  “So we just have to move on?” Charlie hesitated. “Keep going like everything is fine?”

  “We have no choice,” I reasoned. “Our kids are depending on us. And, as much as it sucks, it’s what she would have wanted us to do.”

  My dad smiled. “When did you get so wise, Duck?”

  An excellent question.

  I shrugged. “I guess I was paying attention all those years.”

  He straightened his shoulders. “I’m glad I was able to teach you something.” He paused. “You never did get a decent grasp of physics.”

  “Nice try, Dad.” Kate cracked.

  “Yeah, Dad,” Charlie chuckled. “You were getting lessons from her right alongside us.”

  “As if!”

  Silence permeated the room as we all digested Dad’s Clueless reference. It was a tad disconcerting to see how much of an influence we had had on him with our film preferences.

  “Shocking movie line recitations aside, the point is…” I searched for the right words to explain how I felt. “…we need to keep going. We need to keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep loving our kids, keep loving each other, keep pursuing our careers…” I threw my hands in the air for the big finish. “…keep striving for greatness.”

  “When did we start striving for greatness?” Charlie joked. “Well, anyone other than Kate…”

  She giggled. “You may catch up someday, big brother.”

  “I meant, we need to continue to be the people she raised us to be.” I sighed. “She wouldn’t want our lives to stop because of her.”

  Charlie kissed the top of my head. “Point taken.”

  I knew they were already well aware of everything I had said, but I felt the need to say it anyway. It seemed like something my mother would have done.

  “Not to be a party pooper, but—”

  Charlie, Dad and I burst out laughing. Kate was always the one to put a damper on our fun. Granted, she had been on hiatus for the past few hours due to the unprecedented—for her—amount of alcohol she had consumed, but we knew her triumphant return couldn’t be far away.

  The withering glare she shot us silenced our silliness in a second.

  “We need to come up with a plan.” She turned to me. “We have to go back home in a few days, Syd. We can’t leave them with the bulk of the work.”

  I wondered how much of this statement referenced not wanting them to have to go through such a difficult task without our help and how much of it pertained to her worry that the boys would “do everything wrong.”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  She opened her purse and pulled out a pad of paper, a stack of Post-its—in a variety of sizes and colors—and an assortment of markers. I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. (Kate was the mom who actually had everything but the kitchen sink in her purse.)

  I glanced helplessly from my dad to my brother. They seemed completely nonplussed. Clearly they had known Kate and I would do all the heavy lifting.

  “Where do you want to—”

  Before I could finish my question, she handed me the pad, pointing out her classification system, complete with categories, subcategories, item numbers and, bizarrely enough, photographs.

  My mouth remained open in shock as I examined her work.

  “When did you have time to do this?”

  Her gaze dropped to her lap. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

  Overwhelmed by her vulnerability, I pulled her into my arms. “We’re going to get through this.”

  “Together,” she agreed.

  Dad made a series of grumbling noises. “What does a father have to do to get a little attention?”

  Following our requisite eye rolls, Kate and I got up and perched on either side of his arm chair. We leaned in and hugged him, giving him an extra squeeze for his histrionics.

  “Much better.” He beamed.

  Once we settled back onto the couch, I took a serious look at Kate’s plans. They were efficient, detailed and fair. Exactly what you would hope for under the circumstances. It was hard enough mourning the loss of a parent without getting into petty arguments about what she left behind.

  “Wait,” I double checked her coding system before proceeding, “you must have made a mistake.”

  Kate frowned. She didn’t make mistakes.

  I pointed to the section in question.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t. I think that makes the most sense.”

  To say I was shocked would be a gross understatement.

  “Kate,” I stammered, “you can’t possibly mean to let me have her pendant.”

  When we were kids, Kate and I had gone fifteen rounds over who would get our mother’s diamond pendant and who would get the matching earrings. (The thought of it fills me with disgust now, but it was a completely abstract concept then. Neither one of us thought about the fact that our mother would be dead for this decision to be relevant.) We both wanted the pendant—it was really big and sparkly, breathtaking really—and I was convinced she would get it, since a) she was older, b) she was perfect and c) she always got what she wanted.

  “She would have wanted you to have it.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “No. She would have wanted you to have it.” Kate was the better choice. Whatever the question, Kate was always the better choice.

  She smiled softly. “You’ve spent most of y
our life thinking you weren’t good enough, Syd. You could never see the infinite kindness in your heart, the depth of your intelligence or the lengths you would go to for the people you love. You are a truly incredible person, Sydney Julia Bennett Durand. And you’ve always been the perfect little sister to me.”

  That was it. The floodgates opened and tears flowed freely down my cheeks. My mind was overrun with emotion—the pain of a devastating loss, the gratitude for my sister’s candor and generosity and the fear of facing the future.

  I had no idea how we were going to put our lives back together, but I knew we had to give it our best effort. Somewhere out there, my mother was counting on us.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shortly after the new year began, we said goodbye to my father, leaving him in Charlie and Zoe’s capable hands. Though they wouldn’t be able to visit him every day, we all had peace of mind in knowing he had the best neighbors in the world looking out for him. Don was quite possibly the smartest man I had ever met. (He even gave Louis a run for his money.) His well-practiced deadpan stare and dry sense of humor gave me the willies as a child, but as I matured I was able to appreciate him for the generous soul that he was. His wife, Connie, was the bossiest woman I had ever met. She was also intelligent, kind and one of my mother’s closest friends.

  Don promised they would look out for my dad—as best they could under the circumstances—but reminded me it would be a hard road for him, just as it would be for us. My heart ached for my father, unable to fathom how he would make it from day to day. I could imagine the pain he felt, given my own heart had been shattered, but knew it wasn’t quite the same. He had lost his partner, his opponent (they had enjoyed many rousing debates over the years ranging from politics to pottery) and his one true love. He would spend the rest of his days missing her, the most immediate of which would be spent in the home she built with him.