“Thank you, but anyone would have done the same.”
“No, not anyone, Ash. Not everyone is like us.” She smiled. “Do you want to come over for Thanksgiving? Bring Melanie. I like her.”
“I love your parties, but Melanie is taking me to meet her parents. They live in Houston. I’m nervous.”
“They’ll love you.”
“I hope so.”
“They will.”
“I need to stay to process the scene,” he said, “but because I’m working all weekend, I get two extra days off for Thanksgiving, which is unheard of. I’m usually stuck working holidays because I don’t have a family.”
“Take advantage of it,” Lucy said, thinking about Patrick and Elle and wishing she could do something … anything … to get them to San Antonio for Thanksgiving.
“I am.”
She watched Ash suit up and direct his team to process both where Carl Chavez had been shooting at them, and the foyer where Faith Parker Monroe still lay dead. One team member had already photographed the scene and had covered her body.
Ricky Albright would see his grandparents for the first time in three years. He would need counseling and support, but he was finally going to have peace. Lucy found Nate talking to SAPD. “You need to clean up,” he said.
“I do. And while I do that, go to Saint Catherine’s and tell Ricky what happened. Tell him he’s safe.”
Nate nodded, squeezed her arm, and said, “We did good, Kincaid.”
“Yes, we did.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
THANKSGIVING DAY
Max hadn’t wanted to go home for Thanksgiving, because traveling wasn’t fun on crutches, even in first class. But her grandmother Eleanor hadn’t been well these last few months, and Max feared her health was worse than just not getting over a cold quickly. Eleanor Sterling Revere was a proud, strong woman who both infuriated Max and presented an amazing role model. And though they’d had their differences over the years—many, many differences—Max loved her.
Max didn’t need the blessing of her family for anything—not what she did or who she loved. She’d already caught heat from the family trust board of directors about Eve—as Martha’s daughter, Eve was entitled to a trust fund. Max was willing to fight all the way to court if she had to, not because Eve wanted the money—the concept of having a trust fund when she’d been raised so frugally seemed to terrify the teenager—but because it was the right thing to do. It was her legacy, and damn if Max was going to let the family turn their back on Eve. Max had been shunned—mostly by her mother’s brother Brooks—because she was the illegitimate child of the wild Martha Revere and no one knew who her father was. But Max didn’t care (she had, as a child; today she enjoyed tormenting her uncle). Her grandparents accepted her fully, and Max wasn’t surprised that Eleanor fully accepted Eve.
It wasn’t Eleanor who had demanded the DNA test; it was Brooks.
Of course Eve passed; Max didn’t need the proof that she was her sister, but it was nice to have it in her back pocket.
The reason why Max was nervous was because she was bringing Ryan into the family circle. She never brought any of her boyfriends home to meet her family—not since she was a teenager and living at home. But deep down she wanted Eleanor to meet Ryan. Deep down, in a place she didn’t like to explore, she wanted Eleanor’s blessing.
Because Ryan was important to her. In a million different ways.
Maybe part of it was because she wanted Ryan to understand her. He said he did, but she had her doubts. She’d been raised wholly different than he had been. She was judgmental and independent and headstrong. She had no intention of changing, and Ryan said he didn’t want to change her, which seemed odd. Every man she’d ever dated had found her flawed and tried to mold her into what they wanted.
Ryan was the first man who was happy with Max exactly how she was.
She still marveled at it. Expected it to end. Anticipated him finding a flaw he couldn’t live with.
Eve came into the kitchen where Max was sitting at the table slicing apples for a pie. They were eating at Brooks’s house for Thanksgiving; Max was not happy about it, but she wasn’t going to force the point when Eleanor was in no shape to entertain.
“Where’s Ryan?”
“Making Grandma laugh.”
Eve called Eleanor Grandma. It was cute, endearing, and foreign to Max, who had always called her Grandmother or Eleanor.
Eve ate an apple slice as she sat next to Max. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
Eve snorted. “What happened to your pledge never to lie to me?”
“You’ve become a brat.”
“Did you actually think Grandma wouldn’t like Ryan? Everyone loves Ryan.”
“That’s true.” She slid the apples into a clear bowl and tossed in sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon. “I suppose I thought all this would be overwhelming for Ryan.”
“Hardly. He’s happy eating hamburgers in a diner or a five-course meal at a fancy hotel. He fits in everywhere.”
“You’re a brat and smart.”
“Grandma said I’m just like you were without attitude or sarcasm.”
“We can thank Gabriel for your upbringing then.” She shouldn’t have said that. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. It’s okay. I miss him a lot. But I’m okay.” She put her hand on Max’s arm. “Really, I’m okay.”
Ryan walked in, all smiles. “Eleanor is a hoot.”
“A hoot,” Max said, then burst out laughing. Never in a million years would a normal person call her regal grandmother a hoot.
“I see why you admire her so much. She’s smart, savvy, with exquisite taste in art.”
“That is true.”
“And a wicked sense of humor.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You do.” Ryan kissed her.
Max poured the apple mixture into the two piecrusts she’d prepared earlier, then instructed Eve to put the pies in the preheated oven. “Forty minutes, then it’s off to the morgue.”
“Excuse me?”
“My uncle Brooks. And trust me, he’s nothing like my grandmother.”
Ryan handed Max her crutches and helped her up. “Eve, I’m taking your sister outside for a minute.”
“I’ll see if Grandma needs any help getting ready.”
“It’s cold.”
“It’s beautiful.”
They stepped out into the rose garden, where the rosebushes had been trimmed and gone dormant for the winter. Still, the calendulas and pansies were thriving in the mild, moist Northern California weather. Eleanor loved her rose garden, but she wanted flowers year round and paid well for a gardener to tend to them. Max sat on the bench that her grandmother had imported from France. It fit here, among the roses.
“You’ve been apprehensive about this trip,” Ryan said, taking her crutches and sitting next to her. “Why? You’re not embarrassed to show me off to your family? Tell them we’re living together?”
“Of course not.”
“Then?”