Page 71 of Sweet Passions at Bayside
His father looked down at her hand so long she didn’t think he was going to shake it.
Dean’s glare told of his disapproval, and in the next second, his father lifted his drink in a feigned toast and his lips curved up in a wry smile as he shook her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emery.”
There wasn’t enough alcohol on the planet to ease this situation. Luckily, an announcement came over the loudspeaker for the guests to find their tables, and Dean swept her away from the Big Bad Wolf.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you anywhere near him,” he said as he guided her toward their table.
“I’m fine,” she said, although she was notfine. Hearing about his father was one thing, but experiencing him in person? She was barely holding her tongue, despite the initial softening she’d felt. The muscles in Dean’s jaw jumped repeatedly as he visually tracked his father up to the podium.
Dean had enough worries tonight. He didn’t need to be put in a position to stick up for her, or feel as though he was to blame for the way his father had treated her. She reached up and cupped his jaw, drawing his gaze back to hers. “I’m here for you, not for your father.”
“I still shouldn’t have exposed you to him.”
They took their seats, and Emery caught sight of his mother heading toward their table. “I didn’t realize Rose was your grandmother,” she said quietly. “She was my first client at LOCAL. Is she here?”
“My grandmother?” A smile lifted his lips. “She and my father don’t get along. She hasn’t attended these dinners for quite some time. But my aunt Patty is with her tonight. She took her out for a nice dinner.”
The tightening in her chest eased. She was glad Rose hadn’t witnessed what had just happened. “I love Rose, and her friends Magdeline and Arlin. I met your father the first time I went to see her, but of course I had no idea he was your father.” She explained what had transpired between them.
“I’m going to murder him,” Dean said between gritted teeth.
“No, you’re not. Rose said he wasn’t always like this, that he buried his emotions in work after your grandfather died. I kind of feel bad for him. Not enough to think the way he treated me, or the things he says to you, are okay but enough to make me hold my tongue. Besides, he’s your father, Dean, and you don’t need to add my big mouth to the list of trouble between you two.”
His father tapped the microphone, and a hush fell over the room. Tension rolled off Dean like the winter wind, cold and insistent, as his mother slid into the seat beside Emery and whispered, “Did my husband behave himself?”
“He was fine,” Emery lied, wondering why such a lovely woman would put up with a man like him. There was no sense in upsetting her. The evening would be over soon enough.
Dean’s father’s authoritative voice brought all eyes forward, as he thanked everyone for attending and talked proudly about his father, Douglas Masters Sr., and his father’s reasons for establishing the Pediatric Neurology Foundation. He went on to detail the strides that have taken place in the field and how proud he was to carry on in his father’s footsteps by having taken over his pediatric neurosurgery practice. He spoke eloquently, injecting humor amid the technical details of the collaborative center that was the heart of the foundation. As Emery listened to him describe how the foundation served pediatric patients through advocacy, education, research, and support initiatives, she understood just how important the foundation was, and in turn, how vital his father’s medical prowess had been for the industry.
It became clear that both the prideandirritation in Dean’s eyes were well earned, and the more his father spoke, the more she realized just how much pressure he was probably under. It didn’t make his actions or his attitude forgivable, but it gave her a little better understanding of the man behind them.
Emery reached over and squeezed Dean’s hand.
He draped an arm around her shoulder and scooted his chair closer. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, making the ordeal with his father worth every uncomfortable second.
After his father’s speech and a round of applause that shook the ballroom, his father made his way toward their table, stopping at least a dozen times to shake the hands of appreciative people along the way. Emery watched him with interest. He was unassumingly charming, kissing the cheeks of women and patting the backs of men, as if they were all his closest friends. A stab of hurt slid through her. If he had greeted her with that smile, things would be very different right now.
When he arrived at the table and took his seat, the easygoing air he’d carried only seconds earlier disappeared with a weary exhalation.
It had to be exhausting carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Didn’t he realize he had a family who could help him find some relief and happiness amid the pressure? Something as easy to share as a smile like he gave the others would go a long way for Dean and probably Jett and Doug, too. If only she could convince him to allow her to show him how to relax. But it would be a cold day in Hades before that man reached out to ayoga girl.
His piercing blue eyes moved slowly around the table, lingering on Dean for so long, Emery found herself holding her breath.
Some sort of silent, stressful message passed between father and son before his father said, “Thank you both for attending tonight. It’s nice to see family here.”
Dean nodded curtly, his fingers curling around Emery’s shoulder.
Thankfully, dinner was served quickly, and they ate while carrying on strained conversation about nothing of importance. The only saving grace were the stories Dean’s mother shared of when he was young and how much he enjoyed the beach, the water, and helping his grandmother in the gardens. Emery had wanted to tell her about her sessions with Rose, but she feared it might elicit another nasty comment from his father.
“Dean was always very precocious,” Sherry explained. “While Jett couldn’t be bothered with slowing down enough to read a book and Doug was too busy reading everything he could get his hands on to want anyone else to read to him, Dean’s favorite bedtime stories were ones his father told about his patients. I remember Douglas coming home exhausted and Dean, as a young boy, pleading forone more story. He would tell Dean one story after another, until they both fell asleep right there in Dean’s twin bed.” She squeezed her husband’s arm, smiling warmly.
“I can’t imagine it,” Emery said before she could catch herself. “I mean, Dean wanting to hear so many stories.”
Dean and his father exchanged another glance she couldn’t read, but oh, how she could feel this one. It was markedly different from the tension that had been hovering around them like buzzards. This was warm, and it brought a smile to both of them, but those smiles disappeared just as quickly as they’d come, taking a piece of Emery’s heart with them.
“When the boys were teenagers, they’d drive me crazy, playing catch out back in the dark.” Sherry smiled at Dean’s father and said, “Remember when the boys would toss you a baseball mitt the minute you came in the door and bug you until you finally put down your work and threw the ball with them? Dean must have been twelve? Thirteen?”
