Free The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing by Rhea Rhodan Page A

with her questions about his “background” and wanting to meet his parents.
    He’d thought he was doing a good job putting her off with vague excuses. Then she did an end run around him by sneaking the number off his cell and calling his mother, who had promptly invited them both to dinner. In a desperate effort to procrastinate the event until he was successful enough to buy them a new home, he’d offered to take everyone to dinner at Chez Louis on the premise of celebrating his contract with J. Milton.
    It had seemed the perfect solution then. Not so much now. Less so by the minute.
    Darcy’s moods, fickle at best, hadn’t been improved by the day’s events. They’d originally planned to go to the parade in Springfield, then drive to Boston together to meet his parents for an early dinner. Instead, she drove back to Boston alone to shower and change because her outfit was ruined, a fact she had reminded him of pretty much non-stop since he picked her up twenty minutes ago, after keeping him waiting in the lobby of her apartment building for three quarters of an hour.
    His parents were already seated. Of course they were, since he and Darcy were arriving—he checked his watch—shit, almost half an hour late. They’d be even later if he hadn’t built in the extra time he’d learned was necessary when making reservations involving Darcy. His mom and dad whispered to each other in low tones, unaware he and Darcy had entered the dining room.
    Dad wore the ancient suit Clint recognized from his first communion photo. That it still fit his father’s wiry frame was a testament to how hard he worked. That he still wore it, evidence of how little he earned.
    Clint didn’t have to hear the words Mom spoke. He could tell by the way she leaned toward his dad, the tilt of her head, the hand she laid on his arm, that she was trying to reassure him. She was wearing her good blue dress, the same blue dress she’d worn on special occasions for as long as he could remember. Unlike Dad’s suit, it didn’t fit her small rounded figure quite as well as it once had. But her straight spine told him she still wore it with pride. In every one of Clint’s memories of her in that blue dress, she was proud: of him, of her husband, and yes, of herself.
    He knew Darcy had followed his line of sight when he heard the slow intake of her breath. She exhaled an “Oh.”
    Seeing them through Darcy’s eyes was like getting hit by a two-by-four. Of all of the times in his life he’d felt ashamed, whether of his scrawniness, his secondhand clothes, the neighborhood in which he’d lived, or the house he’d grown up in, he’d never felt that way about his parents until tonight.
    His ring finger itched. His head throbbed. His heart ached. With a forced smile, but a sincere apology in his voice, he said, “Hi Mom, Dad. I’m so sorry we’re late. We ran into a little trouble at the May Day parade in Springfield.”
    Wasn’t that the truth. He shoved his mental image of Cayden back with the rest of them. There wasn’t any room for her in his head, or his life. “This is Darcy. Darcy, this is my mother, Moira, and my father, Lewis.”
    Both his parents rose. His father extended his hand. “So this is the mystery woman your mother has been wondering about. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Darcy.”
    “It’s, um, nice to meet you too.” Darcy barely touched his hand before dropping gracefully into the chair Clint had pulled out for her.
    His parents followed suit more slowly. His mother said, “Your dress is lovely, Darcy.” Her lips were pressed together as she glanced down at her own.
    “Thank you. I bought it last week. I was so happy to find shoes and a bag that went with it in the same shop. You know, sometimes it takes forever to find the perfect accessories.”
    His mother’s response was a brave smile. Clint didn’t have to look to know that her “good” shoes were as old as her dress and didn’t match her purse. His own