They rode in silence to Paul and Tammie Lee’s house, a respectable two-story near Kirkland with a nice view of Lake Washington. Smoke spiraled from the backyard and Jacqueline suspected they’d already put on the meat. Good! The sooner this family gathering was over the better.
Reese rang the doorbell and together they stood on the steps and waited. Tammie Lee opened the door in bare feet, frayed jean shorts and a maternity top, looking like she’d stepped out of the 1960s television series Petticoat Junction.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she drawled, reaching for Jacqueline’s hands and practically dragging her into the house.
“Mom. Dad.” Paul was directly behind his wife. He shook hands with his father and briefly hugged Jacqueline.
Jacqueline didn’t mean to start the afternoon off on a negative note, but she didn’t think it was a good idea for Tammie Lee to be traipsing around the house barefoot. God knows what she could step on or where she might slip.
“I hesitate to mention this, but shouldn’t you be wearing shoes?” She’d asked out of genuine concern for the girl, but Jacqueline could see from the way Paul’s mouth thinned that he was annoyed with her.
“I know you’re right,” Tammie Lee said, leading everyone through the house and into the freshly mowed backyard. “Bless his heart, Paul keeps telling me the same thing, but I just can’t make myself wear shoes. I kick ‘em off the minute I walk in the door. Then last week I made the mistake of walking around the yard in my bare feet and I stepped on a slug.”
Jacqueline cringed.
“I started screaming like the Holy Spirit had come down upon me.”
Paul chuckled. “I’ve never run so fast in my life. I thought she’d been attacked by a swarm of bees or something.”
The patio table was already set and Tammie Lee held up two pitchers of iced tea. “Sweetened or unsweetened?” she asked.
In Jacqueline’s view, iced tea should be served only one way and that was unsweetened. Anyone who wanted to add sugar could do so at the time it was served.
“Unsweetened,” she said and took her place at the table.
“I’ll have the same,” Reese said.
Tammie Lee poured the tea and handed a glass to Jacqueline, who frowned at the green leaf floating on top. “There seems to be something in my tea,” she said, picking up her spoon to remove it.
“That’s a mint leaf,” Tammie Lee said. “My mama wouldn’t let me serve iced tea without fresh mint and lemon slices.”
Feeling like a fool, Jacqueline leaned back in her chair, determined not to say another word. Of course it was mint—she should’ve recognized it—but with Tammie Lee one never knew what to expect.
“This is very pleasant. It was nice of you to invite us over,” Reese said.
Jacqueline stared daggers at him. Nothing about this day was pleasant and he damn well knew it.
“Actually it was Tammie Lee’s idea,” Paul said, standing in front of the barbecue. To her relief, whatever he was cooking smelled divine. The meat sizzled and Paul coated it liberally with some garlicky kind of sauce.
“Yes,” Tammie Lee said, returning to the patio with a notebook and pen. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with Jacqueline and Reese. She opened her notebook to a clean page. “I wanted to ask you about family traditions,” she said eagerly. “It’s just so important for Paul and me to start some family traditions, and I wanted to include yours as much as possible.”
“Traditions?” Jacqueline repeated as if she’d never heard the word before.
“Yes, you know. Like Derby Day?”
Jacqueline exchanged a quizzical look with her husband.
“The Kentucky Derby,” Tammie Lee explained, glancing from one to the other as if expecting them to smile and nod and exclaim “of course.”
“My daddy and all my uncles would wear their white suits and Panama hats, and Mama and my aunts would cook for days.”
“We don’t feel as strongly about the Kentucky Derby here in Seattle as your family does, sweetheart,” Paul said, joining them at the round patio table. He shared a smile with his father. “Tell her about Christmas, Mom.”
“Christmas,” Jacqueline repeated. “What about it?”
“How you used to hang my stockings on the fireplace mantel every Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, but I haven’t done that in years.”
“What about football?” Tammie Lee said excitedly. “Y’all enjoy football here, don’t you?” Her drawl had thickened as she grew more enthusiastic.
“Oh, yes.” It was Paul who answered this time. “Both Dad and I are Husky fans.”
“That’s wonderful! We’ll do tailgate parties. Mama says tailgate parties are a lot like church. All the women dress up in their Sunday best and cook up a tornado. Then we spend hours praying for a miracle.”
Both Paul and Reese laughed but Jacqueline didn’t see the humor in it. “Why would you pray?”
Tammie Lee grinned. “So our team would win.”
Jacqueline managed a tight smile.
As it turned out, the barbecue wasn’t as bad as Jacqueline had feared. She’d had visions of her daughter-in-law’s centerpiece being prepared by a taxidermist, but Tammie Lee had set out a lovely floral arrangement.
All in all, the afternoon was reasonably pleasant—to use Reese’s word—despite Jacqueline’s dire predictions. Dinner consisted of a delightful guacamole and blue corn chips, grilled brisket and potato salad, which was surprisingly good. The jalapeno cornbread was a bit spicy, but Jacqueline had a small piece. Reese raved about the meal, and Tammie Lee beamed with pleasure at his endless compliments. Now that she’d reduced her work hours, her daughter-in-law had time to lavish on meals to please her husband. As a young married woman, Jacqueline had done the same thing. These days, her interest in cooking was nil.
On the drive home, Reese and Jacqueline were silent. Most of the dinner conversation had revolved around family traditions. Apparently Tammie Lee’s family had quite a few, and she happily described each one in lengthy detail, frequently mentioning Aunt Thelma and Aunt Frieda, as well as “Mama” and “Daddy.” Jacqueline had begun to wonder if the girl was homesick.
Well, if she was, Tammie Lee could pack her bags and go visit her mama. With his wife out of the house, perhaps Paul would come to his senses.
“We didn’t have a lot of traditions with Paul, did we?” Reese said as they pulled out onto the freeway entrance.
“Of course we did,” she countered, although she’d been hard-pressed to think of any over dinner. “We made gingerbread houses with him every Christmas, remember?”
“Yes, but that was years ago, when he was a kid.”
“And there was always the Easter Egg hunt at the country club.”
“Yes, and Paul and I used to bring you breakfast in bed every Mother’s Day.”
“That’s right,” Jacqueline said, instantly feeling a sense of relief. She hadn’t failed completely as a mother. “Just because we didn’t dress up in those dreadful white seersucker suits and Panama hats to watch the Kentucky Derby doesn’t mean we didn’t have meaningful traditions with our son.”
Reese took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. “Do you remember the year Paul insisted on making you Eggs Benedict?”
“Oh, my goodness,