and she would show them respect, give them a little of the slack they didn’t appear to be giving her.
And besides, who was to say she hadn’t read them all wrong? Maybe staring and glaring was just Robert Atwood’s way of coping with feeling like an outsider.
When she reached their table, Joleen scooped Sam up into her arms. “Well, how are you two holdin’ up?”
“We are fine,” said Robert.
“Yes,” Antonia agreed in that wispy little voice of hers, staring at Sam with misty eyes. “Just fine. Very nice.”
Joleen felt a tug of sympathy for the woman. A few weeks ago, when the Atwoods had finally agreed to come to her house and meet Sam, Antonia had shown her one of Bobby’s baby pictures. The resemblance to Sam was extraordinary.
What must it be like, to see their lost child every time they looked at Sam?
All the tender goodwill Joleen had felt toward them when she saw the newspaper photos of them at Bobby’s funeral came flooding back, filling her with new determination to do all in her power to see that they came to know their only grandson, that they found their rightful place in his life.
“Mind if Sam and I sit down a minute?”
“Please,” said Antonia, heartbreakingly eager, grabbing the chair on her right side and pulling it out.
Joleen put Sam in it. He sat back and laid his baby hands on the molded plastic arms. “I sit,” he declared with great pride.
Antonia made a small, adoring sound low in her throat.
Joleen took the other free chair at the table. As she scooped her satin skirt smooth beneath her, Robert Atwood spoke again.
“Ahem. Joleen. We really must be leaving soon.”
Protestations would have felt a little too phony, so Joleen replied, “Well, I am pleased that you could come and I hope you had a good time.”
Robert nodded, his face a cool mask. Antonia seemed too absorbed in watching Sam to make conversation.
Robert said, “I would like a few words with you, before we leave. In private.”
That got Antonia’s attention. A look of alarm crossed her delicate face. She actually stopped staring at Sam. “Robert, I don’t think it’s really the time to—”
“I do,” her husband interrupted, his voice flat. Final.
Antonia blinked. And said nothing more.
Joleen felt suspicious all over again—not to mention apprehensive. What was the man up to? She honestly wanted to meet these two halfway. But they—Robert, especially—made that so difficult.
She tried to keep her voice light. “Well, if you need to talk to me about something important, today is not the day, I’m afraid. I think I told you, this party is my doing. I’m the one who has to keep things moving along. There’s still the cake to cut. And the toasts to be made. Then there will be—”
“I think you could spare us a few minutes, don’t you? In the next hour or so?”
“No, I don’t think that I—”
“Joleen. It is only a few minutes. I know you can manage it.”
Joleen stared into those hard gray eyes. She found herself thinking of Bobby, understanding him a little better, maybe. Even forgiving him some for being so much less than the man she had dreamed him to be. Joleen doubted that Robert Atwood knew how to show love, how to teach a child the true meaning of right and wrong. He would communicate his will—and his sense that he and his were special, above the rules that regular folks had to live by. And his son would grow up as Bobby had. Charming and so handsome. Well dressed, well educated and well mannered. At first glance, a real “catch.” A man among men.
But inside, just emptiness. A lack where substance mattered the most.
“Joleen,” Bobby had said when she’d told him she was pregnant. “I have zero interest in being a father.” The statement had been cool and matter-of-fact, the same kind of tone he might have used to tell her that he didn’t feel up to eating Chinese that night. “If you are having a baby, I’m afraid you will be having it on your own.”
She’d been so shocked and hurt, she’d reacted on pure pride. “Fine,” she had cried. “Get out of my life. I don’t want to see you. Ever again.”
And Bobby had given her exactly what she’d asked for. He’d walked out of her life—and his unborn child’s—and never looked back.
She thought again of Dekker’s warnings.
Forget the Atwoods. They have too much money and too much power and given the kind of son they raised, I’d say they’re way too likely to abuse both.…
She rose from her chair. “Come on, Sam. We’ve got to get busy here.”
Robert Atwood just wouldn’t give it up. “A few minutes. Please.”
Sam slid off the chair and grabbed her thumb. “We go. I hep.” He granted Antonia a shy little smile.
“Joleen,” Robert said, making a command out of the sound of her name.
Lord, give me strength, Joleen prayed to her maker. She reminded herself of her original goal here: to develop a reasonably friendly relationship with Sam’s daddy’s parents. “All right. Let me get through the cutting of the cake. And the toasts. Then we can talk.”
“Thank you.”
“But only for a few minutes.”
“I do understand.”
* * *
Joleen kept Sam with her, while DeDe and Wayne cut the cake and after, as the guests took turns proposing toasts to the happy couple. Then she handed Sam back to her sister, who was now clad comfortably in her favorite black jeans.
By then it was a little past seven, and growing dark. The breeze had kept up, and the temperature had dropped about ten degrees. It was the next thing to pleasant now, in the backyard. Joleen went around the side of the house and plugged in the paper lanterns that she and a couple of cousins had spent the day before stringing from tree to tree.
There were “oohs” and “aahs” and a smattering of applause as the glow of the lanterns lit up the deepening night. Joleen felt a glow of her own inside. She had done a good job for her sister. In spite of more than one near disaster, it was stacking up to be a fine wedding, after all.
Camilla had a decent stereo system in the house. And yesterday, after the lantern stringing, Joleen and her cousins had wired up extra speakers and set them out on the patio. So they had good, clear music for dancing. DeDe and Wayne were already swaying beneath the lanterns, held close in each other’s arms. So were Aunt LeeAnne and her husband, Uncle Foley, and a number of other couples as well—including Joleen’s mother. Camilla moved gracefully in the embrace of yet another middle-aged admirer.
“You did good, Jo.” Dekker had come up beside her.
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.” He was staring out at the backyard, his eyes on the dancers.
Joleen thought of Los Angeles again, wondered what had happened there. She was just about to make another effort at prying some information out of him when she remembered the Atwoods.
She supposed she’d better go looking for them.
Dekker sensed her shift in mood. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothin’. Much. I have to say goodbye to the Atwoods.”
His brows had drawn together. “I don’t like the way you said that. What’s going on?”
Teasingly, she bumped his arm with her elbow. “You are such a suspicious man.”
“When