Reunion Beach, Elin Hilderbrand [novel books to read txt] 📗

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As soon as I hear the spin of gravel on the driveway, I shut down my computer with a smile. I tease Bram that I’m as excited about seeing his grandbaby as he is. My step-granddaughter! The way things look now with my kids, young professionals not ready to start a family, little Adeline O’Connor may be as close as I get. I stop by the bathroom to smooth down my hair and put on a touch of lip gloss. “They’re here, Bram,” I call out from the stairway leading up to his office. Because Michael and Missy have so much baby paraphernalia, they rented a car at the airport. I hear car doors slamming but wait for Bram before going down to play hostess.

During the past week, Bram and I had declared a truce. He apologized for not being honest about his ex but clammed up on further discussion. Why couldn’t I just be happy that he and I found each other when we did, he’d demanded? If he’d wanted to get back with his ex, he wouldn’t have pursued me. Which was such a potent argument that I let it go. I was too busy for much else. In order to take a week off, I’d put in extra days at work, then got home exhausted. Bram put aside writing the memoir to plan for the filming. As in the original special, it’d start with an opening shot of the family playing on the beach, but the hour-long show would focus mostly on Bram in the kitchen preparing Lowcountry-themed dishes for the family dinner. The final scene would show everyone gathered around the dining room table. All the cast of characters had to do was as Bram said: stuff our faces and fake having a good time.

Bram and I stand helplessly aside as Michael and Missy haul baby Adeline and a mountain of baggage out of the car. When we try to help, Michael waves us off and loads himself down like a pack horse. Eight months ago, when Adeline was born, Bram flew to DC, where Michael works as a congressional aide, to meet her. After a brief visit he returned a bit despondent. He’d looked forward to preparing healthy meals for them to freeze for later, only to find her parents there with a private chef in tow. This time it’s Jocasta who’s playing fairy godmother, bringing with her a nanny from an exclusive service in Charleston. This we learned when I emailed Michael and offered to line up a sitter for the filming. Nellie Bee hooted at my assumption that three grandparents and a great-aunt would’ve been enough help. “Honey, you’ve got a lot to learn about how the other half lives,” she teased.

Bram gives his son and daughter-in-law awkward half-hugs and offers to carry the baby, whom Missy’s toting in a big car seat contraption. With a weary smile of gratitude, Missy hands the car seat over. After my welcome to the young couple, I stop Bram so I can see the sleeping baby. She’s small and delicate, with a fuzz of pale hair and long lashes resting on pink cheeks. “Oh, look how precious she is!” I coo and gush like a pure fool until Bram shoulders past me in exasperation.

Chagrined, I hurry to hold the basement door open as everyone files in. Next to the golf cart parking is the newly renovated basement area. It’d been one large game room for TV viewing, a pool table, and bunk beds until recently, when I’d talked Bram into converting it into private quarters for guests and future grandchildren. Neither Michael nor Missy have seen the final results and I watch anxiously for their reaction.

“Wow. Nice,” Michael says, looking around with a grin, and even Missy (who’s obviously used to the best) seems pleased. She’s a perky little thing with dimples and a beguiling smile. Nellie Bee dismisses her as an entitled princess, but she seems sweet enough to me. “Oh, Papa O’Connor—this is wonderful,” she cries. “It was so dark and dreary before.”

“You can thank Christina.” Bram shrugs. “I thought it fine the way it was.”

“You would, Dad,” Michael says, but his tone’s light. He’s a preppy young man with his mother’s blond coloring and slender build. The only thing he got from his father was Bram’s rich, melodious voice, minus the hint of Irish brogue. Because they’re so different, Bram seems baffled by his son, whose main interests are tennis and politics. When I asked Bram if Michael planned to run for office one day, he merely shrugged. The few times I’ve observed them together, they appear ill at ease. But so much better than Michael’s teen years, Bram told me. He’d take awkwardness over anger any day.

Missy tucks the baby in the new crib to finish her nap, and I point out other additions to the refurbished rooms. I can’t help but wink at Bram when Missy exclaims over the kitchenette area I’d pushed for. Bram had argued it was unnecessary with his enormous kitchen, while I’d countered that guests might prefer some private meals. When I show them how I’ve stocked the fridge and pantry, I’m inordinately pleased by their gratitude.

It’s later before we have the first indication of how things could go wrong. After the baby wakes up and is playing on a quilt, I suggest to Missy that they take a dip in the ocean before dinner. Seeing Adeline at ease with Bram and me, off they go. When I get on the floor to join Adeline at play, Bram plops down beside me. “Look at Grandma,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I should have a talk with your kids. Doesn’t look like they’ve figured out where babies come from.”

I laugh as I roll a musical ball to Adeline, and she laughs with me, clapping her chubby little hands. “Aww . . . look, Bram! What a happy baby. Does she remind you of Michael at this age?” As