The petite blonde breathed in the sweet, woodsy scent of Nag Champa lingering through the house. She chewed her lip and debated her options. She decided not to dash up the stairs and change out of her riding apparel. She strode to the door as her brown eyes flashed towards the sign plastered on the frame.
PLEASE ENTER QUIETLY – RECORDING IN LIVING ROOM. Thank you – The Management.
She listened to the drum beat that seemed to be in rhythm with her heartbeat, the steady thump of the bass, and an occasional guitar riff. She didn't recognize the music, and she'd heard every demo for months. She let her fingers hover over the doorknob and glanced at the sign with a sly smirk curling over her lips. She would take the quickest route, always favoring the fastest way since patience wasn't her greatest virtue. The girl turned the knob, bounding into the room. "Daddy!" She ignored her father's grumblings as the drumbeat abruptly halted, waving and grinning at the other men in the room.
He felt like slamming his head onto the soundboard. Lindsey cursed himself for the brilliant idea of making an album at home. He had spent hours trying to record one song and should have known it wouldn't be a good day to make music when the dogs began barking as soon as Mick's sticks pounded the drums. The men had given up a half hour ago on recording. He set his guitar aside, turning in his chair and folding his arms over his chest as he peered at his daughter. "Emalie, we were recording."
"No, you weren't. You were dicking around."
His eyes widened at her choice of words. "Emalie Reese," he hissed disapprovingly, glaring at John as the man snickered and lit a cigarette.
"That's what mama says," she replied innocently.
Lindsey propped his elbows on the soundboard, dragging his palm over his face. He shook his head. Most days, he wasn't sure if Stevie or the miniature version of her caused the gray hairs on his head. "You don't have to repeat everything your mother says, Em."
She shrugged her shoulders and stepped towards him. "Daddy," she spoke softly.
He recognized the hesitant, saccharine tone and saw how her eyes glistened with hope. He heard that tone whenever his girls wanted something and needed his permission. Lindsey didn't know why two out of the three bothered to ask considering the blondes usually did what they wanted regardless of what he said. "No."
"Daddy, you don't even know what I was going to say. Well, ask," Emalie clarified.
"I don't need to know," he told her and swiveled in his chair.
"But Daddy!" she pleaded and closed the distance between them. Emalie wheeled the chair around, smiling as she came face to face with him. "Hear me out, please," she requested sweetly and climbed into his lap. "Please, daddy," she whispered. Emalie put her head against his shoulder and batted her long lashes as she gazed up at him. "Please."
Lindsey smirked as his little girl's efforts to butter him up. He knew the act backwards and forwards. He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "The answer is no, Emalie," he solemnly told her.
She pursed her lips into a scowl and scrambled out of his lap. "Fine! I'll ask mama!" she cried and heard her brother's laughter. Emalie glared at Seth and stomped out of the room.
"Mama's making tea," Seth informed his sister.
Emalie muttered her appreciation and maneuvered through the maze of equipment. She heard her mother's assistant's laughter coming from the kitchen and stepped in. "Mama, are you busy?" she asked, sliding over to her mother.
"No, baby. I'm done for the day." Stevie glanced down at Emalie. "Karen was telling me about your morning and how you tried to get a soy vanilla latte before going to the barn."
"She wouldn't let me," Emalie mumbled and tightened her pony tail. "She ordered hot chocolate with extra whip like that would make it better," she finished, blowing out a sigh.
"Do not roll your eyes at Karen, young lady. You don't need the caffeine," she said. Emalie didn't need an extra boost. She was a rocket ready to launch at a moment's notice. If Stevie had an eighth of her youngest daughter's energy, she'd churn out albums twice a year and tour the world. Stevie turned, pressing her back into the countertop and surveying Emalie's attire. She hadn't changed out of her khaki jodhpurs, polo, and boots. "You didn't track anything into this house...did you?" Stevie inquired as she focused on the dirty riding boots.
"I didn't. Mama, I gotta talk to you." Her patience was wearing thin. "I tried to ask daddy a question. He wouldn't even let me ask. He just told me no. Will you listen to me?"
Stevie took the kettle off the stove and poured hot water into a mug, dropping a bag of green tea in and hiding the amused smirk tugging on her lips. Emalie always ran to her father first if she wanted anything because he usually crumbled. Stevie knew why Lindsey hadn't indulged her. She pushed the tea bag around with her spoon and turned to face Emalie. "I'm listening, Em. I always have time for my baby."
Emalie let out a sigh of relief and grinned. She wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, hugging her. "I know. I love you."
The older blonde knowingly dipped her head and cupped her girl's cheek, stroking her face. "I love you so much. Now, let's get to business. What's your question?"
The girl grinned excitedly and pulled out of the embrace. She pulled out a stool and climbed up. "Okay. Well, you know earlier when Karen took me to the stables and wouldn't let me get coffee from Starbucks," she paused and glanced to her mother to make sure she had her undivided attention. "Gemma was there. I was surprised to see her because I thought her and her family were still in the Bahamas. She was saddling Trickster. I was bummed because that's my favorite horse. Everybody knows he's my favorite. I had to ride Harley. She's okay, but she's not Trick."
"Baby," Stevie interrupted. "You're getting off track."
"Let me talk, mama," Emalie responded and continued her story.
With a sigh, Stevie took the bag out of her tea, tossing it into the sink. She wondered if she'd caused as much frustration with getting to the point when she retold events as Emalie caused. The universe paid her back for all the years she wished Elisabeth shared more of her traits. Emalie was her mirror. She pulled out a chair and sat down, tuning out the long winded summary of her daughter's morning as she sipped her hot tea.
"And that's when Gemma asked if I could spend the weekend with her. Can I? Mama, can I?"
"No, Em. Another weekend."
"Why not?"
"You're grounded. You keep conveniently forgetting about that."
"Why am I still grounded? It's been...how long has it been?"
"A day," Karen chimed in. Karen thought Stevie was being more than gracious by letting Emalie attend her riding lessons.
"So it's not over?" Emalie inquired, turning her head and expectantly staring at her mother.
"No, it's not over. You have four days left."
"What?" she gasped. "Mama, I don't think what I did was really that bad," she confessed.
"Emalie Reese, you killed the family computer."
Emalie blew out a frustrated breath and drummed her fingers on the counter. "But I don't think that's completely my fault. Like how was I supposed to know that would happen? I can't see the future."
Stevie rolled her eyes. "Andrew warned you about downloading music."
"Well, yeah...but I didn't know I was downloading a virus. I thought I was downloading Avril Lavigne's album."
"You did not," Seth broke into the conversation as he strolled to the refrigerator. "You were downloading My Neck, My Back," he divulged and grabbed a bottle of water.
Stevie shifted in her seat, turning and staring at her little rule breaker. Her mind didn't fully wrap around Emalie's fascination with rap and hip hop music, especially considering most of the words were too explicit for her young ears. Stevie couldn't bring herself to screen a song Emalie asked to download, and it had become one of Karen's jobs. My Neck, My Back was one of the many songs on a long list of forbidden tunes. "Emalie Reese Buckingham," Stevie scolded, watching as the girl's shoulders slumped.
Emalie wanted the floor to swallow her. She glanced at Seth and narrowed her eyes at him, wanting to knock the satisfied smirk off his face. She should have known he would have told on her. He had been begging to use the computer while she downloaded the song.
"Two more days added, Emalie."
Her eyes widened at the revelation of being grounded for the total of a week. "What? Why?"
"You know why."
"Mama, technically..."
"There is no technically, Emalie."
"But there is. I didn't listen to the song."
"Fifteen seconds of it," Seth added. "Then the screen went black. You cursed like a sailor, and I thought you were going to break your finger pressing the button to reboot it."
"Jesus Christ! Seth, shut up!" she barked. Her eyes darted across the counter for anything she could throw at him. She eyed the keys to the Lincoln Navigator until her mother's hand came over them. The ten-year-old huffed and folded her arms across her chest, refocusing her attention to her mother's stern face.
Stevie leaned in closely, staring into the eyes so much like her own. "Emalie, you will go to your room and get cleaned up. I want you to write an essay on why you should or should not be grounded for a week. Five thousand words or less. I do not want to see you before it's completed."
"Mama," Emalie whined but shushed as her mother's index finger came up.
"I expect the essay before dinner. If you're not finished before dinner, you will eat in your room."
"But mama, it's Friday, and," she started, pursing her lips as the slender finger pointed towards her again. She knew if her mother's finger came up for a third time that she'd wind up with a whole other week of being punished.
"I know what day of the week it is, Em, and I know what Friday and this weekend means. If you don't want to miss seeing your sister and having a good weekend with your family, I suggest you stop whining and get to work," she finished, watching her girl slide off the stool and trudge out of the kitchen. Stevie straightened and turned her head, flashing a knowing smile at her son. "As for you, young man, come here."
Seth walked over to his mother and stood in front of her. He combed his curls out of his eyes and leaned against the island. "I know what you're going to say."
"Oh, you do?" Stevie inquired, marveling at how much he looked like his father. Emalie Reese was her mirror, but Seth Fenton was her heart. He managed to inherit the best parts of Lindsey, and he always seemed to be in tune with her thoughts. Unlike his sister, Seth was on the quieter side. He possessed a charming quick wit and was always fully aware of the world around him, cautiously soaking it all in.
"I don't need to help Em with the essay."
Stevie chuckled to herself and nodded her head, slipping off the stool. "You're right, my mind reading baby boy," she whispered and wrapped her arms around him, smiling as he returned the hug. "It's going to break my heart when you're too cool to hug your mama, Seth," she spoke into his curls as she rested her chin on top of his head.
"Never, mama," he told her, squeezing her tighter and kissing her cheek. "I love you."
"I love you too," she returned. "So much." Stevie stroked his jaw and kissed his forehead, releasing him. "You get to decide what we have for dinner tonight. Make sure it's something everyone will like. Seth, no pizza," she added on her way out of the kitchen. She trailed into the recording area and breathed out a sigh of relief. Stevie observed John patting his pockets as he searched for his lighter. She giggled as Mick shouted from the entryway, hurrying his friend. Stevie picked up the lighter from under the coffee table, recognizing the silver Zippo as Christine's parting gift to him. She handed it to John. "Across the pond but always a call away," she murmured, reciting the words from the songbird's stationery.
John took the lighter, nonplussed that Stevie knew what Christine's note said when she left the band. "Calls make me miss her more," he admitted.
She dipped her head, squeezing his hand. She missed Christine's presence. Without her, she was surrounded and outnumbered by the boys. "I know. I miss her too. Leaving so soon?" she questioned, feigning surprise.
John chuckled at his bandmate. "We're outta here, and you can't fool me, Nicks. You're happy to see us go. See you Monday," he said with a wave and griped all the way to the door. Mick yelled his goodbye to Stevie and slammed the door shut.
Stevie dropped onto the sofa and waited for Lindsey. She propped her feet onto the coffee table, frowning at her toes. "Goddammit," she muttered at her chipped pedicure, making a mental note to get Karen to schedule one for the following week. "Where were you?" she asked as Lindsey came into the room.
"I was saying bye to the crew."
"Oh," she replied.
"Still regret that?" he asked, plopping beside her and pulling her into his arms. Lindsey wanted to pinch himself when she agreed to the making of the album being filmed for a documentary, but wasn't stunned at all when he received a lengthy list of her expectations and requirements for filming. Their arguments and the twins were strictly off limits to the cameras.
"Depends on the day," she answered honestly, curling into his side. "I think the crew respects the boundaries more since they've gotten to know us better."
"True," he agreed, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "It's quiet, Steves."
"Isn't it wonderful?" Stevie placed her head against his chest, relishing the silence. No dogs barking. Emalie and Seth weren't at each other's throats.
"It is, but I have the feeling that Em's up in her room stewing instead of churning out pages."
With a smirk on her face, she lifted her head and peered at him. "She will be absolutely, totally fine."
He snickered and met her eyes. Stevie hadn't witnessed the way Emalie stomped through the living room turned recording area or heard her hostile mutterings. He was surprised that her ears hadn't caught fire. "Miss Emalie doesn't think so."
"Well, I think the more that she writes that she'll see the error of her actions."
Lindsey snorted and winced from the impact of Stevie's palm smacking his chest. "Okay. Yeah. That's what will happen."
"Don't doubt me, Buckingham," Stevie warned.
He dutifully nodded his head. Lindsey rested his head against the cushion and closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet and hoping his better half was correct. Long ago, he had accepted the havoc that Emalie caused as she rolled through life. He much preferred her emptying an entire toy chest to find that one toy at the bottom instead of her murdering a computer. "I don't doubt you, but I think that Emalie will have plenty to discuss with a therapist later in life." He groaned as Stevie pushed her hand into his side, using his kidney as launching pad to get herself off the sofa. "It was a joke, Stevie. Don't leave. It was an honest joke," he assured and grabbed her hand.
"I know, Lindsey. I need a hot relaxing bubble bath. Time to myself. It'll be controlled chaos when everyone gets here for the weekend."
Lindsey scrubbed his hands over his face and blew out a breath. "I don't know about controlled. It's all out batshit crazy with the dogs, the kids, and," he paused as he heard his son's footsteps approach. "What's up?"
Seth shoved his hands into his jean pockets and let the sole of his sneaker scuff against the floor.
"Dad, do we have time to jam?" he asked, internally groaning as his father's brows furrowed in confusion. "I know I played with you, Mick, and John all afternoon, but I wanted to go over that one thing that you did. You said you did it when you first started playing, and you've always remembered it," he concluded, waggling an eyebrow towards his mother and hoping his father would catch on.
"Oh!" Lindsey cried as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. "That thing with the --- yeah, yeah," he said, dipping his head in understanding. "I know what you're talking about."
The boy let out a relieved sigh. "Cool. I don't think I have the hang of it."
"I bet you do, son," Lindsey spoke confidently. His heart swelled with pride every single time Seth picked up a guitar. He was certain that Seth didn't need his guidance. Without hearing a note, Lindsey figured his son's version would probably sound better than the original. He was curious about the song that Seth had chosen to master, especially since it was from Buckingham Nicks.
"What are you two working on?" Stevie questioned her boys. She was thrilled that Seth had musical talent, but she didn't want her son turning into a studio hermit like his father.
"Nothing," Seth answered quickly.
Stevie eyed them suspiciously as she rested her hands on her hips. She shrugged her shoulders and let her hands fall to her sides. It was a hopeless cause to try to tell the two not to work on music. "Do not let the time get away from the two of you," she instructed and left the room for upstairs.
A few hours later, the thirty-year-old crept through the doorway and carefully made her way up the stairs. She lightly knocked on the door and trailed into the master bedroom. She patted Sulamith on the head and grinned as her mother came out of the bathroom with rollers in her hair.
"Libba!" Stevie squealed, making a beeline to her oldest and wrapping her arms around her. "How long have you been here?"
"A few minutes," the brunette replied.
"Let me look at you," Stevie murmured and held her at arm's length. Her brown eyes scanned over her oldest. "You look good, baby," she complimented.
"I figured you'd like the dress since it's black."
"How's this one?" she asked, smoothing her hand over her daughter's six-month pregnant belly and smiling widely when she felt a kick.
"Perfect," Libba answered and eased down onto the king-sized bed. She reached over and stole a hair clip from the nightstand, twisting her hair and securing it with the clip. "Mama, why didn't you tell me how awful it is to be pregnant in the summer? It's so damn hot, and I'm at that point where I toss and turn all night."
"I'm sorry, honey. You know it's worth it in the end." Stevie moved to sit next to her. "Do we know yet? Did you find out?"
Elisabeth chuckled, nodding her head. "She finally stopped being stubborn."
Stevie's eyes lit up as her smile grew wider. "She? Another little girl. Oh, Libba," she gasped, embracing her daughter. "I knew it. Your father thought for sure this one would be a boy. He owes me fifty dollars."
"Oh my God, mama!" Elisabeth pulled away and gave her mother a judgmental look. "Why did the two of you place bets?"
"I told him to put his money where his mouth was if he was so sure that he was going to get a grandson," Stevie answered simply. "And he better cough up the money. If he thinks he can substitute the cash with going down on me..."
"Mama! Please, I do not want to know."
Stevie scoffed, waving her hand as her eyes gingerly rolled. "You're an adult, Libba."
"An adult that doesn't want to know about her parents' sex life."
"I'll change the subject. Did you work today?"
"Yes, I went in for an hour or two."
"Are you still enjoying it?"
Libba nodded her head. "I am." Elisabeth had been the creative director at a company in San Francisco for three years.
Her mother patted her knee. "Baby, I'm glad you proved all your aunts and uncles wrong that said you'd never find a decent job with an art degree. I knew you would," Stevie said, standing to her feet and stepping over to her vanity.
She placed her hand over her belly and cleared her throat softly. "Mama, I put in my two week notice today. I'm thinking about being unemployed for a while too. Not forever. Just to," she paused, trying to find the right words to explain herself.
"What?" Stevie spun around. "I thought you loved that job. A month or two ago, you were telling me about how you thought you'd be there for years."
"I know. That's what I thought, but things change."
Stevie gracelessly dropped into the chair at her vanity and tried to prepare herself for her daughter's news. "What changed?" she asked apprehensively. She didn't care for change lately. Stevie didn't care for the change of life she was going through; hot flashes were torture. She didn't care to be recording an album without Christine, and she dreaded touring without her. She lifted her eyes from the floor and stared at her daughter.
Elisabeth met her mother's worried and concerned eyes. "It's nothing bad. Andrew was offered a job," she revealed.
"Elisabeth Rhiannon!" her mother screeched and sprang to her feet. "You're moving. Where? Don't tell me New York or hell I don't know where tech cities in the country are. I thought the Bay Area was safe. Why can't he find a different or better job somewhere there? I'm going to spend every minute I can with my granddaughter this weekend. Will I even get to see my newest grandbaby? And your sister! She'll be crushed. She adores you. You better take her out for ice cream or somewhere this weekend. Dammit...she's grounded. Of all the times to move. Elisabeth, I can't believe this. When are you moving? Of all the times," she trailed off as she paced the master bedroom.
Libba's blue eyes drifted to the ceiling as she listened to her mother's tirade. She should have rehearsed the conversation in her head more. Elisabeth cleared her throat and shook her head, watching her mother's frantic pacing. She stood to her feet, stretching her lower back. "Mama, calm down. You didn't let me finish." She sat down in the arm chair near the balcony and rearranged the pillows behind her back, propping her feet on the ottoman.
"What? Jesus Christ, Libba! There's more? Don't tell me you're moving to London or something like that." Finally, Stevie took a breath and attempted to prepare herself for the worst.
"Here."
Stevie stopped in her tracks. Her cheeks blushed with embarrassment from her overreaction. "Here? To L.A.?"
"Yes."
"That's wonderful! You'll be closer!" Stevie clapped her hands together and grinned. "Why couldn't you have said that in the first place, Libba?"
Elisabeth smirked. "I planned on saying that right after telling you about Andrew's job, but someone got a bit carried away."
"I did. Didn't I?" Stevie blushed again and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. She sat down at her vanity and looked in the mirror. "This is exciting, Libba. We can make Friday dinners a weekly thing now. I can do more with Annalise and the baby when she gets here. Your father and I would be able to babysit more. Oh! I should pick out rooms for the girls. I haven't designed a nursery since the twins," she rambled as she started lightly applying foundation to her face. "Don't ever tell your father that he was right about this house," Stevie said. Lindsey had taken her to every neighborhood until he found a house that he was certain she'd fall in love with when the twins were three-years-old. He had been correct; she'd fallen in love with the Italian architecture inspired by Florentine villas and the complete privacy behind the large gates and hedges. "At first, I remember thinking how insane it was to have a home with so many bedrooms and bathrooms, but I guess Lindsey could see into the future," she mused, raising a brow at the noise of soft snoring. "Libba?" She turned in her chair and quietly padded to the chair. She pulled a blanket over Elisabeth, kissing her forehead and looking up as she heard a knock at the door. Stevie smiled at Seth and met her granddaughter's bright blue eyes. She brought her finger to her lips, signaling her granddaughter to be quiet.
"TeeDee!" Annalise shouted happily, nearly falling out of her uncle's arms to get to her grandmother.
Stevie smiled at the four-year-old and took her out of Seth's arms. "Hey baby," she whispered and kissed her cheeks. "We have to be quiet. Your mama's taking a nap."
"Okay," Annalise replied softly and nodded her head. "Very very quiet."
"Right...very very quiet. Thank Seth for bringing you up here to me."
"Thanks, Seth," she said with a grin, blowing him a kiss and waving bye as he backed out of the doorway.
"I missed my girl so much," Stevie told her and adjusted her hold on her granddaughter. "Want to help me finish getting ready?"
Annalise nodded her head as her feet hit the floor. She waited until her grandmother was sitting down until she scrambled into her lap. "Tee, I do lipstick," she stated and grabbed a gold tube.
"We'll see," Stevie replied, taking the tube of lipstick and putting it out of the child's reach. She frowned as her granddaughter's lips curled into a pout. "Don't. It's not time for lipstick, Lissy. You can do my eyeshadow. Sit here," Stevie instructed, patting the tabletop. She dipped the brush into the lightest shade of the palette, handing the brush to Annalise and closing her eyes. "Gentle, baby," she said and put her arms on either side of Annalise's thighs.
The child carefully dabbed the brush over her grandmother's eyelids. She put the brush down and clapped her hands together. "All done!" she shouted, forgetting all about being quiet.
Stevie glanced in the mirror and smiled. "Fabulous job, Lissy."
From her spot, Elisabeth watched her mother and daughter. Annalise soaked up every move her grandmother made and hung on her every word. Libba loved the bond the two had and was so glad she'd be moving closer to her parents. She laughed softly when Annalise begged to apply the lipstick. "If you're the reason she wants make-up for Christmas, I'm sending her to live with you," Libba teased as she sat up.
"That will be perfectly fine with me," Stevie replied and assisted Annalise with taking the gigantic pink rollers out of her hair. She grimaced as little fingers tugged a roller out too hard. "Have you seen Emalie yet?"
"I didn't know if I could since you have her writing an essay."
"Of course, you can see your sister."
"Mama, five thousand words or less...really?"
Stevie rolled her eyes. "Really, Libba. I wish she was as easy as you had been. I could look at you a certain way, and that was that. The first one is always so easy. It's a trick to make you have more."
"Thanks for telling me that now, mama," Libba responded with a smirk and glanced down at her round belly.
"You're welcome," Stevie replied sweetly, holding her arms out for Annalise. She lifted the little girl and stood to her feet. "Want me to French braid yours?" Stevie tucked an errant dark chocolate strand behind her granddaughter's ear, smiling as the girl nodded enthusiastically.
"Please! TeeDee, talk funny too."
Stevie smiled adoringly at the preschooler and carried her over to the sofa. "Of course, Lissy. Sit on the floor, and I'll get a brush, baby." She grabbed a brush off the vanity table and sat down. "When your mama was little like you, I spoke in an accent whenever I did her hair."
"Really?" Annalise inquired, looking over at her mother.
"She did even when I got older."
"Em too?"
"No, Em didn't like it," the matriarch answered as she took her granddaughter's ponytail down.
Elisabeth snickered, covering her mouth as soon as her mother shot her a look. "I'm sorry. Her not liking it is a severe understatement. As soon as you'd start, she'd slam her hand over your mouth. It was so funny."
Stevie's lipstick covered lips curled into a smirk. She didn't want to be reminded how as a toddler Emalie would slam her hand over her mouth and nearly knock her teeth out. "Weren't you going to see your darling, sweet little sister?"
"Weren't you going to start French braiding, Madame?" Libba quipped, pushing herself up and drifting out of the room. Her daughter's giggling over that thick French accent put a smile on her face as she walked down the hallway to Emalie's room. She leaned against the doorframe, watching the girl mumble and tap her pencil against the notebook. "How many words so far, Em?"
Emalie swiftly turned in her seat and squealed with delight at the sight of her sister. "Libba! You're here!"
Elisabeth smiled and walked over, sitting down on the bed. "How's it going?"
She shrugged her shoulders and closed the notebook. She moved to sit beside her sister, snuggling into her. "I hate this stupid essay. Seth ratted me out to mama. She knows I was listening to a song I shouldn't have been listening to. He can't ever shut up. What is that saying? Snitches get stitches."
"Easy, tiger," Libba placated, running her fingers through Em's blonde locks. She let the ten-year-old vent about her day and her punishment. "Well, Andrew warned you about downloading music, Em. As much as you don't like Seth being a tattletale, he does it because that's just how he is. He's not ruining your life by looking out for you."
"I know," she grumbled. "Why do you always have to be right?"
"It comes with age," Libba remarked and kissed her head. "Go into my room and look for my bag. You'll find something in there," she informed.
Emalie lifted her head from her sister's shoulder. "What is it?" she asked excitedly.
"Go see. Emalie, do not open it until you've come back in here."
The blonde raced to the guest room and found the wrapped present in her sister's Louis Vuitton duffel bag. She shook the small box gently and ran back to her room, diving onto the bed. She ripped into the floral wrapping paper and grinned from ear to ear. "An iPod?"
Elisabeth nodded. "Yes. I put music on there for you. You might hate it because it's what I listen to. Andrew too."
"Cool. I like old music."
"You are such a brat."
Emalie tilted her head and flashed her big sister a cheesy smile. "But you love me." She wouldn't reveal that she liked the music her older sister listened to; it was too much fun to tease Elisabeth about it being out of style. She turned on the music player and scrolled through the music. "Foo Fighters?" she questioned skeptically with a raised eyebrow.
"Andrew."
"Dave Grohl started that band," Andrew announced as he came into the room. "He was the drummer for Nirvana." He scrubbed his hand over his face at the clueless look washing over Emalie's features. "Nirvana was one of the best bands ever," he said, plopping onto the bed. "Lib and I saw them."
"Back in the day?" Emalie joked.
"Yes, back in the day."
"Before I existed?"
"You existed. You were in the five-star resort also known as Stevie's uterus," he faltered as the preteen socked him in his shoulder. "What? You were. It was December of 1991. We were third row center for Pearl Jam, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Nirvana. We had backstage passes too."
"Cool," Emalie piped up before Andrew could bore her to death with his reminiscing. "Thank you so much, but mama won't like it. I'll probably have to write a ten-thousand-word essay on the evils of an iPod," she lamented.
"You're welcome. I'll handle mama," Libba disclosed, watching Emalie put the headphones into her ears and figuring out easily how to use it. She assumed her mother would be pleased that another computer wouldn't be murdered from Emalie downloading music. She knew Stevie would be thrilled that there was no rap or hip-hop on that iPod either. She tugged the headphones from her sister's ears. "By the way, you're getting a niece."
"Thank God!"
Libba laughed and kissed her sister's forehead. "Get back to work, sis."
"I don't want to. I want to sit with you and talk."
"Em, we have all weekend. Finish the essay. I'll be downstairs."
She took Andrew's hand as he pulled her up to stand. On the way downstairs, she learned that he hadn't been able to save the computer. He had to bring in and set up the new computer he'd purchased a few days ago. He explained all the specifications to Lindsey and answered all his questions. He fell onto the sofa and put Libba's feet into his lap after she sat down. "Thanks," he spoke to his father-in-law as he placed a tumbler filled with bourbon in front of him. He took a sip and rested his arms on his wife's legs, absentmindedly rubbing her calf and listening to Seth play his guitar. "Hey. What are we having for dinner? Family decision or already decided?"
Lindsey sat down next to his son, picking up his guitar. "It was Seth's turn to choose."
Elisabeth groaned and looked at her brother. "For the love of God, tell me we are not having pizza, Seth." She didn't know how her brother hadn't turned into a pepperoni slice yet. The boy could eat pizza every day and not get sick of it.
Seth stopped playing and shot a look to his big sister. He hated being picked at about his love for pizza. "No. Mexican."
"Have you called it in?"
He simply nodded as he strummed his guitar.
"Seth, you didn't ask me what I wanted. Did you ask anyone?"
"No," he answered. "I didn't have to ask. I remember everyone's order from El Cholo," he rattled off each individual order. "For you, blue corn chicken enchiladas and tortilla soup."
Elisabeth smiled at her brother, marveling at him. She didn't know anyone more attentive than him. "You are the best. I love you so much."
He frowned as he looked at his sister, catching the mischievous glint in her eyes. "Libba, don't." He grumbled under his breath as she jumped up and bounded to him. He hastily put his instrument down before she plopped down in the chair, smushing him. She wrapped her arms around him and pecked kisses all over his face. "Libba," he whined. "Stop. Get off me," he pleaded, thinking about how much lipstick he'd have to wipe off. "Libba!"
"You are the best little brother. I don't care what Em says," she said, ruffling his curls and pinching his cheek.
"Dad!" Seth scowled and fixed his wild curls. He jerked away before Elisabeth could pinch his cheek a second time. "Make her stop."
Lindsey chuckled at his children. "You've tortured your little brother enough, Lib," he told her, trying his best not to laugh at Seth's unamused expression.
"But it's so much fun, daddy. Besides, I know he secretly loves it."
"Libba, get off me. You're heavy and crushing my hip," Seth complained.
"Excuse you!" She roughly shoved her hand into his shoulder. "I'm pregnant!" she huffed, standing up and hitting him in the head with a decorative pillow.
"Dad!"
"Son, there's your first lesson learned on things not to say to a pregnant woman."
"There's a lot more, but you'll learn later," Andrew added.
"I didn't even put all my weight on him," Elisabeth muttered, glaring at the men in the room.
"Great," Seth mumbled under his breath. He jumped up when he heard the buzzer for the gate. "I got it!" Seth shouted, dodging another pillow being thrown at him. "Dad! Make her stop!"
"I can't do anything with her, Seth. Here." Lindsey lifted his rear end from the chair and yanked his wallet from his back pocket, tossing it to his son. He shook his head, watching Seth run to the door after he caught the billfold. Lindsey caught the next pillow Libba threw. "I'm glad you didn't get your mom's aim."
Seth ran to the door and waited outside for the delivery, grateful to be away from his older sister's wrath. He paid for the food, gave the driver a generous tip, and took the numerous bags of food, passing by his father on his way to the dining room.
"Don't start until everyone is at the table, Seth," Lindsey warned. "Steves!" he called up the stairway, raising a brow as his grandchild hopped down the stairs. He couldn't figure out why she had an old pair of Stevie's reading glasses on. She jumped into her grandfather's arms, and he noticed the glasses didn't have lenses. "What's TeeDee doing?"
"Reading like this," Annalise answered, pulling the frames down on her tiny nose to imitate her grandmother.
"Oh," he sighed, hoping Stevie and Emalie wouldn't butt heads before dinner.
"Tee's cute, Buck."
Lindsey grinned. His heart swelled exponentially every time he heard that tiny, adorable voice say his name. He had no idea what Annalise would call him, and he did his best not to influence her. Emalie called him Buck one time around Annalise, and the moniker stuck like glue. He gave her a peck on the cheek. "That's right, Lissy. You always tell Stevie that she's beautiful. Go show your mama how you're being like grandma." Lindsey put Annalise down and watched her scamper off. He climbed the stairs, stopping halfway up as Stevie exited Emalie's bedroom. "Well?"
"Three thousand words on how I'm a tyrant for grounding her for a week, but she realized the error of her ways in the closing."
He looked at her with astonished eyes. "Oh really?"
Stevie made air quotes with her fingers. "In conclusion, I fully understand why my mother chose to ground me, but I still wholeheartedly believe that a week of being under house arrest is too harsh. I will not commit another act to be punished with such an intolerable number of days," Stevie finished with a dry chuckle. "She'll be down in a minute."
"Good." He slipped his arm around her waist, walking with her down the stairs. "I don't want to give anything away, but Seth has a surprise for you later. He's nervous."
She stopped, glancing at Lindsey sideways. She wasn't worried about a surprise from Seth. He was always her source of amazement. "He shouldn't be."
"He is though. If he gets his courage up, it'll be after dinner."
"Okay." Stevie dipped her head and walked with Lindsey into the dining room for dinner. She took her spot at the table to enjoy dinner with her family. The conversation and volume at the table wasn't dull. When no one could eat another bite, they drifted into the den. Stevie was piled on the couch, watching the twins and Annalise play Candy Land while Andrew and Lindsey snuck off. She shook her head, assuming Lindsey would get his son-in-law high. She was broken out of her thoughts as her oldest offered her a hot cup of coffee.
"Decaf." Libba curled up on the sofa, shifting until she was comfortable.
Stevie put her mug on the coaster, lifting the blanket and glancing at Libba. "Cuddle," she stated. She smiled as soon as Libba nestled into her side and began twirling her hair around her finger. "What's on your mind, angel?"
"Mama, I'd like you to name your granddaughter."
"Libba," Stevie gasped. "I'd love to name her." She placed her hand on her daughter's belly and felt the gentle kicks underneath her palm. "Are you and Andrew sure?"
"Yes."
"I don't know how I could choose. You chose such a wonderful name the first time."
"You are partial to that one," Libba commented.
"For good reason," Stevie murmured, resting her chin on top of her girl's head. "I'll only name my granddaughter if you and Andrew are absolutely sure."
"We are. I promise."
Stevie pulled away, looking down at her daughter's face and searching her eyes. She saw the certainty. "I can't even say how much that means to me, Elisabeth." She flinched as an enraged scream filled the room. A game piece went flying and landed close to the fireplace. Stevie's eyes immediately landed on her children and grandchild. She shook her head as the twins babbled their innocence in the preschooler's outburst.
"Stephanie Annalise, we do not throw things," Libba admonished her little girl, sitting up as Annalise ran towards her. The girl crawled into her lap. "What happened?" She could barely decipher the irate blathering. "Slow down. What's the matter?"
"Mean," she cried crocodile tears and pointed to her aunt before burying her face into her mother's shoulder.
"I wasn't mean to her. Libba, I swear I wasn't. She lost her turn," Emalie explained. She didn't want to experience Mama Bear Libba.
"Okay," she said to her sister as she rubbed her girl's back. "You're okay. Em wasn't being mean to you, baby. You lost your turn, so you just had to wait. That's all," she soothed.
"Em would be grounded for three weeks if she was mean to you, Lissy," Stevie added, leaning in and swiping her granddaughter's tears away.
"Mama!"
Stevie ignored her younger daughter and kissed Annalise's forehead. "Maybe a whole month."
Annalise shook her head fervently, sitting up and looking between her aunt and grandmother. "No, Tee. No. Don't be mean to Em," Annalise begged.
"Okay, baby. I won't. Go hug Emalie." She watched the two hug and took a sip of her coffee. "That's settled."
Libba chuckled and scooted back into the cushions, observing her daughter rub at her eyes. "Lissy, c'mere," she beckoned, holding her arms out. She held her close. "You can stay with me and Tee. Just watch Em and Seth play the game," she said, rubbing her back and kissing her head. She knew she'd be asleep within minutes if she didn't fight it. The quiet conversation between her two favorite women lulled her to sleep. Libba sighed softly and pressed her lips against Annalise's forehead. Her coffee was cold, and she felt the pins and needles in her arm from how the child was sleeping on her. She was relieved to see Andrew come back in and motioned him over to her. "Take her up."
"Is she okay? I thought I heard her scream, but Lindsey was playing a track so loud that I wasn't sure." He lifted Annalise into his arms and patted her back as she briefly woke up. "Go back to dreamland," he whispered to her.
"She doesn't like the rules of Candy Land," Stevie enlightened him. "Please tell me you and Lindsey hadn't smoked long enough to get any brilliant ideas like last time."
Andrew's cheeks blushed with embarrassment as the women began laughing at him. "We're never going to live that down...are we?" he asked sheepishly. At midnight, he and Lindsey decided to camp in the backyard. Lindsey cut his thumb while installing the tent poles, and Andrew busted his thumb while hammering the pegs into the ground. Their hard work and injuries prompted them to finish a bottle of whiskey and share another joint until fire ants joined the party. "How is it still so funny? It was Lindsey's idea."
"And he says it was your idea," Stevie replied as her laughter tapered off. She had never heard such screaming and yelling in her life since that night. A loud cackle escaped her throat as she thought of Lindsey bolting into the master bedroom, arms waving wildly, spinning around, and coming out of his clothes as he referred to the insects as crotch biting hell demons.
"I'm never doing that again. I had bites in places that...well," he trailed off, shuddering at the memory.
"Andrew, go upstairs," Libba told him, shaking her head.
"Okay. Okay. Are we going to bed?"
"Yes," Libba said matter of factly.
Stevie said goodnight to Andrew and stood, hugging her daughter. "Goodnight, baby. I hope you can get some rest."
"Me too. I love you, mama."
"I love you too," Stevie replied and picked up the mugs. She grimaced as she took a step, pain shooting through her hip. The blonde hated getting older. She bit into her bottom lip and ambled into the kitchen. She set Libba's mug into the sink and turned on the faucet. "What is it, Emalie?"
She slapped her forehead. She'd slipped into the kitchen before the door swung closed. "How'd you know—nevermind." She wouldn't bother asking how her mother knew she was in the room. Stevie would say she had eyes in the back of her head. Half the time, Emalie wished those eyes needed a strong prescription to see. "Leave those, mama. I'll wash them," she told her, hopping over to the sink and picking up a sponge.
Stevie eyed the little blonde as she scrubbed one of the coffee cups. "Em, I appreciate you so much for washing the dishes, but it won't knock off any days of you being grounded," Stevie informed her, smirking as the girl's shoulders slumped. "Nice try, sweetheart. Go to bed. Finish the rest in the morning."
"I can't put them in the dishwasher?" Emalie knitted her brows together.
"You said you'd wash the dishes."
Emalie wanted to slam her head into the cabinet. "Semantics," she rumbled and turned off the water, watching her mother stiffly trail to the coffeemaker to pour another cup of decaf. "Mama, are you okay?" she asked, voice laced with concern.
Stevie stirred cream and sugar into her coffee. "My hip hurts, but it's my own fault from wearing those boots for so many years. Baby, don't worry. It's nothing an alpaca-covered hot-water bottle won't help," she told her, hoping she'd ease Emalie's worrying. "Go to bed. I love you." She kissed and hugged her, shuffling back into the family room. She smiled tenderly at Seth as she reclaimed her spot on the sofa.
"Mama," Seth spoke softly, picking up his guitar and sitting down in front of her. "I want to play a song for you," he announced. "I learned it a couple of days ago," he added. He cleared his throat and wiped his palm on the thigh of his jeans.
Stevie could feel her son's jitters. He reminded her of Lindsey when he was anxious. She'd heard him play with his father plenty of times, but he had never played a song specifically for her. Stevie leaned forward, placing her hand over his and rubbing her thumb back and forth over his hand to calm his nerves. She felt his energy shift and met his blue eyes, wordlessly telling him to play. Stevie sat back, curling up on the couch and taking a sip of her coffee. Within seconds, she recognized the tune and smiled sweetly. She watched her boy's fingers pluck at the strings of the acoustic guitar and admired him. Tears formed in her eyes as she thought about how she'd almost lost him from complications after the open-heart surgery to close the hole in his heart. She carefully dabbed at her eyes and was thankful Seth was too focused on playing perfectly to notice the tears rolling down her face. She sniffled and clapped when he finished. "That was beautiful, honey," she praised and held out her arms for him.
Seth stood, propping his guitar against the sofa and leaning down to embrace his mother. He smiled as she hooked her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. "Did you really like it?"
"Seth, I loved it." She patted the spot next to her and pulled him to her, closing her arm around him. He snuggled up to his mother and rested his head against her shoulder. "When your father created that, he didn't know what to call it. I suggested Stephanie," she told him the decades old memory and ran her fingers through his mop of curls.
"Dad told me. He said that all he said was something like yes dear." Seth looked up at her, reaching up and swiping a stray tear away. "Why are you crying?"
"I was watching you and thinking about how lucky I am to have such an amazing, talented son," she whispered, smiling at him.
He returned the smile and kissed her face. "I love you, mama."
"I love you, Seth. You'll never know how much," she said, bidding him goodnight and watching him drift out of the den. She took another sip of coffee and noticed Lindsey lingering in the shadows. "I see you lurking, Buckingham."
Lindsey smirked mirthfully and shoved his hands into his pockets, striding over to her. "He's great. Isn't he? Steph, that was his third or fourth time playing it."
"Did you put him up to it?" she inquired and lifted the mug to her lips.
"No," he responded and dropped his hand on her thigh as he sat down. "He and Joseph went to that record store Joseph's brother works at, and he found a copy of the album."
Stevie nearly spit out her coffee and placed her half empty ceramic mug on the side table. "Seth saw the cover," she muttered, putting her hands over her mortified face. She didn't want to think about the questions her son might have after seeing the cover of Buckingham Nicks. She was practically topless.
He closed his hands around her wrists, tugging her hands down from her face. Lindsey looked into her eyes. "You always act like your whole tit's out on that cover," he acknowledged, laughing at how rosy her cheeks were. "I explained to him that it was art."
"Lindsey," she started, willing to argue how it was not art. She still remembered how much money she'd spent on the discarded blouse for that photo shoot and how self conscious she had been. Elisabeth wasn't even two-years-old, and she had to expose herself to a man other than Lindsey. She'd had a mild meltdown that day.
He held up his hand. "I don't want to hear it. Stevie, let's be appreciative of the fact that one of our children is interested in our music and enjoys playing it."
The blonde closed her mouth, accepting his point. Elisabeth was talented but not musically, and Emalie thought anything beyond 1990 was ancient. She sighed. "You're right."
Lindsey slipped his arm around her, grinning at her words. He didn't hear that phrase often from his better half. "You know what?"
She remained silent, waiting for a wiseass remark from him.
"I still remember that day like it was yesterday."
"It was nearly thirty years ago, Lindsey."
"We were babies, Steph. Let me sneak into Seth's room, and get the album."
She hooked her finger into the belt loop of his jeans and yanked him back onto the cushion. "You will not," she said sharply. "I do not want to see it, Linds. It's a reminder of how unkind gravity has been."
He looked into her gorgeous eyes and cupped her face, stroking her cheek. "You're more beautiful to me now than back then." He lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her lips.
"You're too sweet sometimes," she whispered. Stevie melted into him, sitting hip to hip and under his arm.
A comfortable silence fell over the couple. She drew in a deep breath and sighed contentedly, snuggling in. She loved their crazy, chaotic life, but she cherished the last hour of the day when it was just the two of them. She tangled her fingers with his and grazed her thumb over his gold wedding band. Her eyes drifted down to her matching ring. He had slipped that gold band, the same one he'd used to propose to her in the 70s, on her finger almost ten years ago. She shouldn't have fought being a married woman for so long; it had been another missing piece to her life, and that unpretentious ring meant more to her than any other piece of jewelry she owned. Her mind wandered as she thought about all they had been through together, especially the last decade. She felt his calloused fingers brushing across her cheek. Slowly, she looked up at him.
"You were a million miles away. Let's go up."
"Let's stay like this a while longer, please."
He dipped his head, happy to oblige her request. "What were you thinking about?" he asked.
"How we found the way back to each other," she answered. She put her head on his chest and listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart.