His mom took them from her. “It’s our pleasure. I hear you’re a very talented artist. Come in and meet everyone.”
In the homey kitchen, where everyone had gathered, she met Rebel’s brother, his brother’s wife, and his sister’s husband.
“Where’s Rebecca?” Rebel asked.
“Right behind you,” a woman replied.
Brit and Rebel turned. Brit came face to face with her primary care physician, Dr. Rebecca Fenton.
Whoa, small world.
It took a few seconds before Rebecca’s face split into a smile. “Britain, what are you doing with this wild one?”
“I have no good answer, Dr. Fenton,” she said with a smile.
Rebel threw his arm over Brit’s shoulder. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s crazy about me.”
His sister hugged her. “Call me Rebecca.”
Brit’s butterflies settled down. Rebel’s mom poured the wine, glasses were passed around, and the conversations continued.
Brit loved watching Rebel with his family. He was completely present for each of them, taking time to find out how everyone was, what they’d been up to since he saw them last.
Before eating dinner around the large kitchen table, additional leaves were brought in to expand the length. Chairs appeared, the table was set, and a line formed along the counters to fill plates.
She loved the noise, the laughter, everyone talking over everyone else. As she made her way through the line, she wondered how different her life might have been had Liliana never left.
But Lilianawasback, with a daughter and a husband in tow. And Brit was investigating them for murder.
How freaking ironic.
After they finished eating and playing a few board games with the kids, the family started to leave. The house grew quiet once Rebel’s siblings and their families left.
Rebel was talking with his mom, so Brit wandered into the family room to look at the framed photos. There were pictures of the grandchildren, pictures of Rebecca and her family, along with Rebel’s brother and his family. In the living room, more framed photos rested on the baby grand. These were of Rebel and his siblings when they were young. There was one picture with a very young Rebel sitting on a motorcycle with a man. Both were grinning so big.
“Oh, wow.” She pulled the frame off the piano and stared at it.
Rebel and his mom moseyed in. When her mom saw the picture, a rueful smile touched her eyes. “That’s Rebel’s dad.”
“I can’t believe how much Rebel looks like him.”
“Clark used to call Joaquin his mini-me,” his mom said. “They looked alike, they talked alike, they acted alike. Clark would even dress them alike. They played tennis together, rode bikes. When Joaquin was young, his dad coached all his sports.”
“They even had similar haircuts,” Brit said.
“Do you like his long hair?” his mom asked.
“It’s beautiful. Do you like it?”
“I like it shortandlong,” his mom replied.
Rebel had been staring out the picture window at the falling snow. “I think we’re gonna take off.”
Sadness touched his mom’s eyes, but she quickly covered with a smile. “Hopefully the roads were salted. Just drive slowly.”
He kissed her cheek. “No worries.”
She laughed. “Sure, no problem.”