Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

soon as I say it, I cringe at my insensitivity. Bram doesn’t respond, but he looks at his granddaughter with such longing it almost breaks my heart. I’ve seen him watching her, eyes aglow, but he’s kept his distance. Finally he nods.

“Aye, she’s a bonnie wee lass,” he says, laying on the exaggerated brogue to hide the catch in his voice. Suddenly he stands and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Since Grandma’s got this covered, I’ll go do some prepping for dinner.”

I start to protest but catch myself, thinking he needs some time to himself. He spent a lot of time and effort fussing over a meal of Michael’s favorite dishes. I think back to what Nellie Bee said, that this reunion could either bring Bram and his son closer, or tear them apart again. I know he has to be anxious, though of course he’ll act otherwise. And deny it vehemently if I prod. Or worse, sneer at my tactics. It’s an occupational hazard; a simple inquiry on my part can put others on the defensive. Even Joe, mild-mannered as he was, would bristle if he thought I was analyzing him.

I hear the golf cart roll in, then the kids squealing in the outdoor shower, where the temperature fluctuates wildly. They come in wrapped in towels and looking sun-kissed and happy. Adeline regards her parents with interest but keeps playing. “Adeline’s such a little angel,” I tell Michael. Missy had announced she needed the bathroom first so she could feed the baby. Beaming, Michael kneels beside his daughter as she gnaws on a toy. “She’s got my disposition,” he says.

“So you were a good baby, huh?” I ask, studying him.

Without meeting my eye he says, “You’re a child psychologist, right?” When I nod, somewhat wary, his mouth tightens. “You’ll have a heyday in this family.”

“Michael, if you ever need to talk—” I begin, but Missy appears, donned out in a bright sundress, to call, “Bathroom’s ready!” Michael heads off and she scoops Adeline up, taking her to the kitchenette area. Without asking, I place the new high chair by the little pull-down table I’d designed, pull a chair around for Missy, then plop down in the other one. “Thanks, Christina,” Missy chirps. A hand flying to her mouth in a childish gesture, she gasps, “Oh! Is it okay if I call you that?”

“Of course. Or Chris. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Brow furrowed, she microwaves a couple of little food pouches then squeezes the contents into a sectioned baby plate. Pulling herself closer to the high chair, she says, “My mom wants Adeline to call her Mimi, and Michael’s mother likes Jo-Jo. But I haven’t thought about you since you’re not really her grandmother. Guess she can call you Christina, too.” Like a hungry little bird, Adeline opens her mouth eagerly each time Missy brings the spoon her way.

I don’t let Missy see how her remark stings. New to the role of stepmother, I’ve been foolish to assume I’d be treated otherwise, or that Adeline will think of me as anything except some old lady who lives with her grandfather. For the briefest of moments, I have an inkling of how Michael’s rejection hurt Bram. It makes you feel devalued, I realize. Oblivious, Missy feeds the baby and chatters about how rough the waves were and how the undertow terrified her.

Michael, changed to shorts and a polo shirt, has just come to the kitchenette to grab a water bottle from the fridge when Bram comes in the door. He takes in the scene with a playful grin. “I trust that’s gourmet food you’re feeding my granddaughter, Missy.”

Missy preens but before she can answer, Michael snorts. “It better be, considering what it costs.”

His wife makes a face at him. “Oh, hush. You know it was one of Mommy and Daddy’s gifts to us. The best present ever!”

Bram stands with his hands on his hips to watch Adeline finish her supper. “Glad to see she’s got a healthy appetite.”

“Tell Papa O’Connor that you’re Mommy’s little piggie,” Missy coos as she wipes off the baby’s face. Adeline’s lower lip quivers and she lets out a wail when she realizes the meal’s over. Missy wags a finger at her. “Now, now. That’s all for tonight. You may eat like a little piggie but Mommy can’t let you look like one.” To Michael she says, “Daddy? Would you fix her bottle?”

I note Bram’s frown but he keeps quiet. He’s asked me if I think Missy’s anorexic, as little as she eats. My reassurances that most young women her age are obsessed with their weight failed to satisfy him. A typical chef, Bram loves feeding people and doesn’t take kindly to the unappreciative. If he’d been feeding Adeline, she’d still be eating. I dare not say so, but her portions seem pretty meager to me, too. Maybe I’ll find a tactful way to suggest that an increase won’t make her overweight, as tiny as she is.

“So,” Bram says, turning his attention to Michael. “Chris and I have our wine about this time, then I finish fixing dinner. Sound good to you two? I’m making some of your favorites tonight.”

Michael takes the baby’s bottle from the microwave and looks at Missy expectantly. When she takes the baby out of the high chair, I blurt out, “May I feed her?” To my surprise, she hands her over. I take the baby and bottle to the rocker quickly before she changes her mind. When I position Adeline in the crook of my arm and hold the bottle for her, I see that it’s less than half full.

Missy turns to Bram with a pleading look, her hands clasped in front of her. “Poor Papa O’Connor! I know you’ve worked hard on dinner, but Michael and I are going to pass tonight. We’ve had a long day and—”

“Pass on dinner?” Bram thunders, and Missy flinches. But with her chin held high, she doesn’t waver.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, but please excuse us