People milled about, rearranging the crowd. Finally he spotted Stacy. She had moved to the family room and was now cornered by his younger brother, Tyrell. Her short brown hair glistened, her expressive eyes crinkled as her mouth curved up in a smile. A response to some smart comment from Tyrell, Paul was sure.
With a proprietary grin, he sauntered over to claim her.
“Up for a game of pool?” His other brother, Derk, caught him by the arm as he passed.
Paul looked over to Stacy and Tyrell, now joined by his aunt Grace. He stopped, knowing exactly what she would be bringing up—each childhood prank, misdemeanor and his frequent brushes with the RCMP. He didn’t feel like rehashing old crimes.
“If we can get the rug rats away from the table, I’m game.” Paul followed Derk downstairs, shutting the door on the buzz of conversation, ensuring a break from further inquisitions from family. They were greeted by a louder burst of music as they reached the bottom of the stairs and the open recreation room dominated by a pool table.
“Shut that thing off,” Derk shouted to nobody in particular. And of course nobody listened.
Grumbling, he walked over to the shelf stereo that practically shook and turned it off.
“That’s my favorite song,” cried a young girl sticking her head out of a bedroom.
“It isn’t mine.” Derk took a pool cue and handed one to Paul.
“But Derk, it’s ‘Jars of Clay,”’ complained another, as if that explained everything.
“Well, I’m surprised they haven’t shattered by now,” he called back.
Paul laughed at the aggrieved look of his younger cousin and winked at her. “When we’re done you can deafen yourselves again, Tiffany.”
She looked back at him, frowning, then recognition dawned. “Oh, it’s you, Paul.”
“Oh, c’mon, it hasn’t been that long,” he complained, feeling her hesitation wounding him with a gentle pain.
She shrugged as if unable to spare the time to answer. Tiffany and another girl Paul didn’t recognize ducked back into a bedroom, shutting the door behind them.
“It has been a while, big brother,” Derk said, racking up the balls. “What was the last family do you came for?”
“Not you, too,” Paul complained, chalking his cue. “You know I was up for Christa and George’s wedding.”
“Did you know they’re having a real hard time toilet training their oldest child?”
“Right,” Paul said dryly.
“Who did you bring to that?” Derk frowned, his eyes unfocused as if reaching far back in his memory. “Christine?”
Paul wrapped his hands around his cue, resting his chin on them, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Juanita.”
“She the one with the black hair in those freaky triangle curls?”
“That was Jennifer. Juanita had short blond hair.”
Derk bent over, squinting down his cue at the white ball. “Then who did you bring to Aunt Grace and Uncle Siebren’s anniversary?”
Paul hesitated, realizing how bad this all sounded. “Pearl.”
Derk reached back and with a quick movement broke the balls, sending them scattering over the table with a satisfying snick. “Where does Stacy fit in the lineup?”
Paul walked to the other side of the table, giving his brother room to shoot. “Why do you need to know?” he asked peevishly, disgruntled with the turn of the conversation.
Derk dropped another ball into the corner pocket. “Because Tyrell and I have a bet going to see if you hit ten women before Mom and Dad’s fortieth wedding anniversary.”
“That’s sick.” Paul shouldered his grinning brother aside and lined up his own ball. He gave it a vicious hit and the ball caromed off the side, missing the pocket completely. “I haven’t gone out with ten girls, and you know it.”
“No, you haven’t,” said Derk, thoughtfully leaning over and sinking another ball. “Stacy’s only number eight.”
“I don’t keep track of the number of girlfriends. It’s not gentlemanly.” Paul stood back while his brother worked his way around the table, annoyed with the prim sound of his own words. He sounded like Aunty Triss.
“I would say going out with eight girls is not gentlemanly.” Derk straightened and flashed his brother a grin, taking the sting out of his words.
Paul merely shrugged and took his turn, uncomfortable with his brother’s comments, even though he knew they were made in fun.
“Don’t look so glum, bro. I was just kidding.” Derk elbowed Paul, causing him to miss a shot.
“Just for that I get two penalty shots.”
“Take all the penalty shots you need. You are getting so beat, it’s sad. All that carousing around Vancouver is taking the edge off your game.”
Paul shot Derk a warning glance. Catching the hint, Derk changed the subject.
The door above the stairs opened again and their father, Fred Henderson, came down the stairs, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired young man. Paul recognized Amy’s fiancé, Tim Enders.
Aunts and cousins had pointed out this wonderful man with indiscreet nudges and winks as if to show Paul he wasn’t such a big deal in Amy’s life. As if he didn’t know that already.
“Can Tim and I join?” Fred asked.
Paul only shrugged. Derk nodded.
“Have you already met Tim?” Fred directed his question to Paul. Paul shook his head, reaching past his brother to shake Tim’s hand, then stood back assessing him.
Tim’s finely sculpted features were set off by dark wavy hair. He was the same height as Paul, almost the same breadth. Handsome if you like the sulky model look, thought Paul, knowing he was being judgmental. He blamed it on the mood his brother had put him in. All evening he had been hearing Tim’s praises sung and his own shortcomings brought forward. And now he was faced with this paragon of virtue, and he didn’t think he liked him very much even though he couldn’t think why not.
They racked up the balls and soon were involved in an excruciatingly polite game of pool. Ten minutes into the game, the door opened again. This time a pair of slim, jeans-clad legs showed themselves at the top of the stairs, paused a moment, then Amy descended.
Paul watched as Amy looked around the room, her eyes flitting with disinterest over everyone there, including him. It wasn’t hard to see the moment she spotted her fiancé. Her soft mouth parted in a gentle smile. She walked around the pool table to lean against Tim, gazing up at him with the same adoring look that once had been directed at him.
And Paul didn’t like it.
“Are you sure you want to go home now?” Tim dug through the jumble of coats on the freezer. He pulled Amy’s out and handed it to her.
Amy nodded, the pain in her shoulder making it difficult to ease the coat on. “I feel bad that Dad and Rick left early,” she said. But that was only a small part of the reason. She felt like the day had started twenty-four hours ago, instead of eighteen. It had been an enjoyable evening, but tiring.
The porch door opened, and Elizabeth burst through it. “There you are!” she exclaimed, stopping short as she saw Amy putting on her coat. “You aren’t leaving yet? Fred, tell her to stay awhile.” Elizabeth turned to her husband, who only shook his head, winking at Amy in understanding.
“I’m tired, Mom. And my dad’s already home.” Amy smiled up at Elizabeth and Fred, reaching out to both of them. “I was just going to go looking for you to thank you for this