“See, Mother?” Brittany tugged her over the threshold, delicate diamond bangles jingling on her arm. “Brooke is here after all.”
Her mother swayed in the archway between the living room and the hall with a crystal tumbler that could have been iced tea. Not that it ever turned out to be something so innocuous.
Her normally perfectly coiffed black hair fluffed in disarray around her face, the streaks of gray more visible than usual. For years, Lissette had helped Bonita keep up at least an air of togetherness. Apparently even their housekeeper couldn’t withstand Bonita’s binges that seemed to grow longer each month since her husband’s death.
“Well, daughter dear, better late than never. Where were you and your … What are we supposed to call him? You’re not engaged, and boyfriend doesn’t sound right.” She stumbled forward to lean on Brittany, her fingers clenching the glass and showing off a chipped manicure. “Isn’t the current phrase baby daddy? Or do I have that backward, Brooke? You’re the baby mama.”
Jordan slid an arm around Brooke’s waist, his jaw tight as he ushered her into the hallway. “Mrs. Garrison, Brooke and I are the parents of your grandchild.”
“Of course I know that.” She waved her drink in the air, sloshing some over the side to spill on the marble floor. “All of South Beach knows, thanks to that horrible media sensationalizing having children out of wedlock.”
Bonita was in full form tonight. Even Jordan winced over the last comment.
Her siblings trickled from the living room into the hall with wary steps, all but Parker who plowed forward. “Mother, I think perhaps it’s time for us to call it a night—”
Bonita passed her glass to her son. “Fine, here. Take it. This one’s tepid anyway.” She stumbled toward the stairs.
Brooke heaved a sigh of relief she heard echoed by everyone else.
Then Bonita turned, her eyes surprisingly lucid—and venomous. “It’s not that I blame you, Brooke. You simply followed the pattern set by your father. Your siblings already proved that. Brittany has always run wild. And Stephen didn’t even know he had a child until she was three.”
Stephen parted through the press of siblings and joined Parker. “Mother, you’re going too far tonight.” He advanced toward his brother’s side, both men grasping one of Bonita’s arms to escort her with a practiced synchronicity that stung Brooke clean through. “Parker and I will help you up the stairs, and Lissette can settle you into bed.”
Bonita slapped his arm away and took a step toward Brooke. “Watch yourself, young lady, or the genes will win out.”
Brooke tried to force words free to stop the poison spewing from her mother’s mouth, but it was all she could do to stay steady on her feet. It was mortifying enough to have Jordan view her family’s awful secret, much less live it. She wouldn’t disgrace herself by calling for a chair and footstool right now.
Brooke inhaled slowly, exhaled through her lips. She’d read in those pregnancy books about relaxation techniques. She found a focal point—the custom-made jeweled star topping the Christmas tree. She stared and breathed, and slowly her mother’s diatribe faded to a dull blob of sounds.
Distantly she heard Jordan’s voice, low, steady, with a steely edge of anger. Brooke wanted to tell her mother she would be wise to heed that steel. But the focal point wasn’t staying still anymore. The darn thing was rising, and the room was growing dark.
In a brief moment of clarity, Brooke realized she was passing out just as she heard Jordan shout and felt the solid comfort of his arms catching her before she hit the floor.
So this was what fear felt like.
Jordan Jefferies had never experienced it before now, but sitting in the hospital waiting area, not knowing what was wrong with Brooke and their child, scared the hell out of him. Brooke had regained consciousness quickly enough in the car, but stayed groggy during the interminable drive to the E.R. to meet up with her obstetrician.
At least the Garrison crowd had gone stone silent since they’d all arrived at the hospital. Smart move.
Her siblings and their significant others sat along the sofas. Bonita occupied a chair by a coffeepot. The alcohol would have to work its way out of her system. For now, they had a wide-awake drunk on their hands, who at least had enough sense to shut her foul mouth.
He restrained his anger for the upset she’d caused Brooke. One look at her sent his blood simmering. How dare she talk to Brooke the way she had?
Brooke was a strong, confident force in the work world. He’d seen that in action when the Garrisons had rolled out their Sands Condominium Development project. She’d turned it into the most successful South Beach property that year, selling every last unit for record-breaking prices. He found it hard to reconcile the strength of her obvious business acumen with the softer side she gave her family.