“She’s right there,” Jacob calls out, pointing as he comes out of the bathroom in the fresh clothes.
Grace joins in with a laugh. “I’m right here, Uncle CJ!”
“Oh, there she is!” I boop her nose and then glance up to the women. Luna and Elena are amused, smiling warmly, but Claire is staring dead-eyed. If her eyebrows moved, I think she’d have one up by her hairline and one scrunched down toward her nose. As it is, they’re completely frozen in perfect arches. Hard sell, I guess, but I’ll persevere as always.
Either that or the Botox has done its job a bit too well.
“Not that I ain’t pleased as punch to see you, but I thought you were doing that big showing this weekend?” Elena asks, looking worried.
“I was,” Claire answers reassuringly, “but when I called to chat, Stanley said you were entertaining visitors.” Still talking to Elena but looking at me, she warns, “I wanted to check in on you.”
I understand her cold shoulder reception now. She thinks I’m one of the gold-digging weasels who prey on widows and widowers during a time of vulnerability. Protecting her aunt is her responsibility and honor. “That’s very kind of you.”
“She’s good like that,” Elena agrees. “I’m fine, Claire. But you look like you need some lunch. Come on, Nelda’s probably got a spread all ready.”
She doesn’t wait for Claire’s agreement. She marches off toward the kitchen with Jacob’s hand in hers on one side and Grace’s on the other. “I bet she made us a treat. She’s good like that. Nelda knows this old girl likes a sweet tea and a cookie every afternoon. You two probably eat healthy stuff like carrots and don’t like cookies at all, right?”
Jacob and Grace shout nearly in unison, “Yes, I do!” Jacob then commences bouncing like a kangaroo and yelling, “Cook-ie! Cook-ie!” Each syllable is a hop with an ever-increasing volume. “Cook-ie! Cook-ie! Cook-ie!”
Rather than be annoyed by it, Elena hops with him, though her hops are less sure-footed. Grace gets into it too, hopping along. Thankfully, she doesn’t add to the cacophony Jacob is creating all on his own. Cameron would love it if I brought Grace back with that new habit.
In the kitchen, Elena leads Jacob and Grace to hop up into chairs at the counter as she points to the table for us. I hold out Luna’s chair for her and then wait for Claire and Elena to sit before sitting myself. In the melee, Peanut Butter scoots under the kids’ feet and lies down, knowing where he’s most likely to be fed, intentionally or accidentally.
Elena was right. Nelda has laid out quite a well-appointed charcuterie board. And yes, there are cookies. Following Elena’s lead, I make a plate of small bites for Grace. When both kids have been served, I make another plate for myself.
“Mr. Harrington, what’s your business here?” Claire asks coldly.
“Claire!” Elena scolds.
I hold out a staying hand to Elena. “It’s okay.” After nodding respectfully to Claire, I add, “I came to meet with your aunt on business matters and stayed for the sweatpants and cookies.”
I grin impishly, hoping to garner at least the tilt of a smile, but Claire’s lips stay perfectly flat. If anything, they press together. “Cute. I’m sure that works for you quite often,” she says snidely. “However, I’m disturbed that you think charming wit will prove effective in allaying my concerns, rather than simply being transparent.”
“Me-oww,” Luna mutters under her breath, so quiet that only I can hear her.
Elena is more upfront. “Claire, don’t be such a Rude Rhonda. Carter’s been a perfect gentleman, not some high-pressure used car salesman.”
“That’s not what I hear.” She looks me up and down with a frown of disgust.
Luna lets out a squeak at the obvious entendre, her chin dropping and her cheeks flushing instantly. I place my hand on her thigh without thinking, needing to make sure she’s okay. She looks at me desperately, a plea in their brown depths.
“I’m sorry if we were a bit . . .” I glance to the children and then back to Claire. “Exuberant?” I don’t know what else to call it. Luna and I were obnoxiously loud last night. It started in an attempt to sell the marriage farce, but it turned into out-of-control fun, something I haven’t had in too long. “We were—”
“Newlyweds,” Luna blurts out.
“What?” Claire asks, giving Luna her attention for the first time.
“We’re newlyweds,” Luna repeats. “It’s hard to . . . I mean, difficult to not . . .” She’s stumbling over her words, but her gaze is strong as she gives Claire her full focus. Finally, she gives up, sort of flailing her hands together. “You know?”
Elena pats Claire’s hand. “Dear, I think what she’s saying is . . . have you seen this fine specimen of a young man? And this beautiful, sweet woman? They’re in love, and that means a little lovin’。” Her eyes go soft, and she stares up toward the light over the table. “I remember when Thomas and I were newlyweds. Why, there wasn’t a flat surface in our house we didn’t christen. Tables, beds, floors . . . walls.” She confides to Luna, “Thomas was strong and I was a wee thing like you back in those days.”
Luna shifts uncomfortably, and I squeeze her thigh beneath my palm, stilling her with the punishing pressure.
“Aunt Elena, I don’t think anyone wants to hear about you and Uncle Thomas’ sex life!” Claire mouths the last bit more than speaks it, glancing at the kids.
“Hmph, well I’m not the one gossiping with Stanley about guests' activities after they’ve retired to their private spaces for the night, now am I?” Elena pops a cube of cheese in her mouth, having gotten the last word. “Besides, it’s how we all got here on this planet, ain’t it?”
Claire’s eyes narrow, but she does stop talking about sex, at least. Mine and Elena’s.
“Nutbuster, get your butt down! You’re smashing my balls!” Jacob shouts, pushing at Peanut Butter, who’s stood up and placed his feet on Jacob’s thigh, at an apparently sensitive location, to beg for food.
“Eh-eh.” I make the disapproving noise Kyle has used for Peanut Butter since he was a puppy, and the dog looks my way instantly. “Down.”
I point to the floor, and the dog settles back under the kids’ chairs.
“Jacob! What did you say?” Claire demands in a high-pitched voice, clearly more upset about the words than the dog.
Jacob looks over his shoulder to his mom, sensing that he’s in trouble. “Uh, she said it first.”
He points at Grace, throwing her in harm’s way without remorse to deflect trouble from himself. I damn near hear the sound of the bus rolling by as he does.
“She did?” Claire turns a mom-glare on Grace, but no one gives Grace shit on my watch except me.
Leaning to the side to interrupt Claire’s visual warpath, I ask calmly, “What’s the issue?”
“That language!” Claire exclaims. “Obviously.”
She’s reacting as though Jacob dropped some F-bombs over his crackers and pepperoni slices. Her hand is literally on her chest, grasping for invisible pearls, and her mouth is gaping like someone’s going to throw in a three-pointer with a cheese cube.