Ethan pours a swish of red wine into the skillet, which hisses in response, releasing an enormous puff of steam. “To tell you the truth, it’s nice having a bit of company.”
Tova nods. She knows what he means. It’s been nice having Cameron down at the aquarium, too. “Yes, I should say so.”
“D’you know, I came from a family of fourteen. Eleven brothers and sisters. When I was a wee lad, I always imagined my adult self in a house bursting at the seams.”
Tova permits herself a smile. “I thought it was the Irish who were known for big families.”
“Eh, we Scots can hold our own.” He flashes her a grin, scraping mushroom sauce over two plump chicken breasts, one on each plate. To Tova’s astonishment, her mouth waters. How long has it been since anyone prepared such a lovely meal for her?
THEY’RE SAVORING THEIR last bites when a screen door bangs. A moment later, Cameron whirls into the room, darkness shadowing his face. The glower lifts briefly, replaced by a confused look when he sees Tova sitting there with Ethan at his kitchen table.
After a moment, the glare returns, although it’s pointed exclusively at Ethan. “Hey, man. Can I talk to you for a sec?” It sounds like his teeth are clenched.
“A’course. Shoot,” Ethan says.
“I was hanging out down at the paddle shop, and Tanner, that kid that works at your store, came in with his buddies. Do you know what they happened to mention?” Cameron’s tone is cool. “Said you were talking about my—”
“Right, then.” Ethan vaults from his seat. He gives Cameron a pointed look as he guides the boy toward the living room. Over his shoulder, he excuses himself and insists Tova keep enjoying her meal, what’s left of it, anyway, and that he’ll only be a quick minute. The two of them vanish through the small house, presumably into some back bedroom, well out of earshot.
What would be wrong with the boy? A twinge of guilt tugs at her. Perhaps she would know, if she hadn’t missed their last two cleaning sessions.
The “quick minute” drags on. Tova decides the least she can do is to start cleaning up the cooking mess. It’s something to do. And what a post-cooking disaster this kitchen is. Head feeling somewhat lighter than usual, thanks to the wine, she searches for a sponge, and clicks her tongue when she fails to find one anywhere in the proximity of the kitchen sink. What does Ethan wash his dishes with? There isn’t a sponge or a dishcloth anywhere in sight.
The drawer next to the sink seems like a logical place to look. But it seems to be a junk drawer. She opens the next one over, but it’s also an assortment of papers, tools, oddities. Tova lets out a sigh. Why must men do this? If Will had had his way, he’d have allowed every bureau in their house to slip into junk-drawer status. She lets out a soft chuckle, thinking of Marcellus and his collection of oddities, stashed under the gravel in his den. Apparently, this tendency of males to assemble useless dross transcends species.
Under the sink, there ought to be something to use on the dishes, but as Tova swings open the cabinet, she’s greeted with boxes of cereal and stacks of those microwavable instant-rice cups. Her jaw drops open.
Who keeps a pantry under the sink?
Adrenaline rushes through her head, making her dizzy. There’s much she could do here. Reorganize the entire kitchen. Wipe down the interior cabinets and drawers. Does Ethan have any idea how much he needs someone like her?
She closes her eyes and takes a grounding breath. For now, she ought to focus on the dishes.
Inspecting the cupboard under the sink again, she spots a rag. Upon further inspection, it’s an old T-shirt, white with faded print. Clearly a rag. Perfect for cleaning.
When the last dish has been nestled on the drying rack, she uses the shirt to wipe down the counters, swiping over a puddle of Cab Franc that had splashed on the counter with Ethan’s haphazard pouring. Wine seeps into the soggy cotton, the stain fading into a shade of muted violet when she rinses and wrings it in the sink. Pride swells within her as she surveys the sparkling kitchen, and as if on cue, voices drift from the other room. The boys are coming back. Perhaps they’ve smoothed over their spat.
Cameron won’t meet her eye before he ducks back out the rear door. A moment later, the camper’s grizzly ignition sputters to life.
“Tova, love,” Ethan says. His voice is tight.
“Are you all all right?” Tova ventures, taking a step toward him.
“I should tell you something.” He shifts on his feet. It seems he hasn’t even noticed that Tova cleaned the entire kitchen.