“You’re late.”
My brother filled the entryway to his house, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at me.
I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t specify a time,” I reminded him.
Sage rolled his eyes right back. “I did, too. I said Violet gets home at three.”
“It’s two forty-four,” I shot back, checking my watch. Then I held it right in front of his nose so he could see.
He pushed my arm out of his face. “You were supposed to be here well before then so that the adults could catch up. You know once she gets home she’s going to monopolize your time.”
I did indeed know that, which is why I’d timed this visit so carefully. I wanted to surprise my niece by being here when she got home. I’d even given myself a margin of error in case the school bus got here early.
But I also wanted to avoid what would no doubt be an hour or two of grilling by my loving, well-meaning – but annoying – family. “Catching up” meant they’d ask me eight million questions, give me pitying looks, and use the word “feelings” way too liberally. They’d want to know how I was “holding up.”
Fuck that noise.
“Yeah, sorry,” I drawled, not at all sorry.
Sage grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “butthole.” Naturally, I stuck my tongue out at him in response. Because there was just something about siblings that made you revert to the immature antics of a ten-year-old when you were around each other.
Meanwhile, he was still standing in the doorway, blocking me from coming inside, where it was warm and brightly lit and not about to rain any second. I nudged his shoulder, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Move, dingus.”
When he obstinately shook his head, I put my hands on his chest and pushed. He didn’t even have the decency to sway. He just stood there, glowering at me.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on with the guy.”
I gave him a what-the-fuck kind of look. Because I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
“What guy?”
He gave me his best bad cop face, the one he used in interrogations. You know, with all the hardened criminals in South Bay. “The guy you ran off with the other day, right after I caught you breaking into the shop.”
I growled in frustration. For one, I did not want to talk about Graham with my brother. Especially not when I wasn’t even sure myself what was going on with him.
And for another: “For fuck’s sake. I did not break into the shop. I had the alarm code.”
I’d been hounded about this for the last two days. Apparently, even though my brother and his partner hadn’t filed a report – even though there was no actual crime committed – the town of South Bay had been abuzz with the scandal all weekend.
My aunt Louise, Krista’s mom, had stopped by Sunday night, shortly after Graham had dropped me off. She offered me some of the aloe vera cream she made, telling me it was great for all kinds of skin injuries: sun damage, blisters, scars. Pepper spray burns.
Then, yesterday morning, the checkout girl at the Stop and Shop had snickered and asked me if I was out on bail.
And of course, my favorite neighbor, Phillip, had knocked on my now boarded-up front door shortly after dinnertime, his wife and their stupid little mop of a dog right beside him. I’d been forced to open the living room window just to ask them what the hell they wanted. Bitty Lowenthal had looked me straight in the eye and asked me whether I’d robbed my own business because the mystery man I’d escaped with had turned me on to cocaine. She asked me if I needed cash to support my habit.
Me being me, I’d asked her if she was offering. She made a horrified little squeak, turning purple as she clutched her dog to her chest, like she was afraid I was going to steal him and sell him on the black market. You know, to fund my coke habit.
They left quickly after that.
Suffice it to say, I was not in the mood for my brother’s shit just then.
“And besides, Kristi was the one who caught me.”
He nodded, his serious, slightly pissed-off expression never wavering. “I know. I keep trying to get her to give me the security cam footage.”
I frowned. “I thought you said there wouldn’t be an investigation.”
He shook his head. “Not for official business. I just want to see you get maced.” Then he burst into laughter.
I punched him in the shoulder. “Asshole.”
“You actually hit me?” He tried to look outraged, but he was still laughing. “Dad, she hit me!” Then he gave me a smug grin, sure that our dad would yell at me.
Like I said. Couple of ten-year-olds.
“You probably deserved it!” Dad’s voice called from inside the house. I could just picture him sitting on his recliner in front of the TV, probably watching the NatGeo channel.
“But she hit me!”
“Because you were making fun of me!”
“Stop making fun of your sister!” Dad yelled.
“Stop taking her side!” Sage groaned.
I just gave him a smug smile of my own. We both knew I was Dad’s baby. He would always take my side.
“And let her in, for God’s sake,” another voice called. My sister-in-law, Jenny, appeared a moment later, peeking her face over my brother’s shoulder. “It’s like fifty degrees out, you jerk.”
“Am I or am I not the man of this house?” Sage asked of no one in particular.
His wife ignored him, giving me a warm smile. “Hey, Lark.”
I smiled in return, but it still felt far too stiff and uncomfortable. I’d been practicing the whole ‘trying to get better’ thing the last couple of days. But it was slow going.
“Hey, Jen.” I nodded to the asshole still blocking the doorway. “Maybe you can get Officer Crankypants here to move?”
He scowled at me. “Not until you tell me what the deal is with the beanstalk.”
Jenny laughed. “Don’t you mean beanpole?”
I shook my head. “Nah, beanstalk is more accurate.” Graham was way too solid to be a beanpole.
Not to mention he was most definitely climbable.
Jenny gave me a grin, her dark eyes alight with mischief. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh?”
“Like what?” Dad asked from the living room.
“Like Larkin has a crush on the getaway driver,” Jenny replied, turning her head to be heard.
“Like hell she does,” Sage barked.
I groaned. It was bad enough having all these inconveniently lusty thoughts about my new friend. I did not need my family giving me shit for it, too.
“All this bullshit, and I’m not even through the door yet.”
Luckily, before anyone could embarrass me further, the rumble of a school bus engine sounded behind me. I turned just as it stopped, and I watched my niece bounce off the bus, waving to the driver. Then she started skipping up the front walk, but she stopped when she saw me. Her whole face lit up, and she raced up the path, waving furiously.
I didn’t have to force my smile this time. I crouched, holding my arms out in wait. And of course she didn’t disappoint. She jumped right into them, and I hugged her tight, burying my face in her silky black hair and inhaling the scent of peanut butter and crayons and coconut shampoo.
God, I loved this kid. I blinked back tears, hating myself for staying away so long. Hating that I’d let my emotional paralysis keep me from hugging this amazing little human.
She squirmed, and I let her go, knowing she was eager to talk to me.
I missed you, Auntie, she signed.
I missed you, too, I signed back.
You didn’t come for a while, she accused, her lower lip wobbling, just like mine did when I was about to cry.
I sighed, piling that guilt onto all the rest.
I know, I signed. I’m sorry.
You’re sad. She paused. Because of Uncle Daniel, she carefully signed, spelling out ‘Daniel’ correctly.
For years, when she signed for ‘Daniel,’ she’d simply made a letter D and then a guitar, because he loved music. So I clapped for her now, signing that I was proud of her for learning how to spell his name. But inside I died a little. He’d never get to see her sign his name. He’d never get to see the perfect person she was becoming. He’d never get to meet the new baby and learn about all the little things that would make him or her perfect, too.
We’d never give them any cousins.
Violet put a hand up, wiping my tears. She made the sign for sad again.
I nodded. I am. I’ve been very sad.
You miss him.
I could only nod again. God, I missed him so much.
I miss him too, she signed. And you stopped coming over when he died. She gave me a glare, and I almost laughed. It was a carbon copy of her dad’s favorite expression.
I know. I’m sorry. I swallowed roughly, trying to smile. But I’m happy to see you now.
Violet smiled, proving that kids have a higher capacity for forgiveness, not to mention a greater resiliency, than the jaded adults around them.
I’m happy you’re here too. It’s taco Tuesday!
And with that she skipped into the house.
My brother, of course, stepped aside to let her in without further ado. I managed to squeak in after her, sighing in appreciation when I realized there was a fire going in the living room. Then I gave Sage a scowl that told him I did not appreciate him keeping me outside in the cold just to interrogate me about unfounded rumors.
And he gave me an answering scowl that told me he wasn’t finished with said interrogations. We glared at each other, silently arguing for a bit. It was mostly in the eyebrows, really.
Jenny chuckled and shook her head. “You two,” she muttered, giving me a squeeze on the shoulders that told me she was glad to see me. She wasn’t much of a hugger.
Sage gave me one more dirty look, then turned and headed to the back of the house. I watched his retreating form, debating for a moment or two whether to follow, or whether to turn around and go home. On the one hand, I’d have to fend off all their questions about the state of my emotional well-being (or lack thereof). And now there would be the added headache of talking about Graham.
On the other hand, tacos. And Violet.
Mind made up, I headed into the house.
“Hey, Dad,” I called out, poking my head into the living room, where he was indeed sitting in his ancient La-Z-Boy, watching a documentary on climate change. I smiled at the familiar sight. The TV might be newer, but I’d seen the old man in this same position, in this same room, in that same chair, countless times during my childhood.
My brother and sister-in-law had bought the little bungalow I’d grown up in when they moved back to South Bay a few years ago. Sage decided not to re-enlist at around the same time my dad retired from the SBPD. Violet was three, Jenny was tired of moving around from base to base, and Sage was just plain homesick. So Dad sold them the house, then moved into the basement apartment. Jenny restored the original woodwork and redecorated the house – with the notable exception of Dad’s recliner – and Sage went to work for the police force.
Time marched on, much the same as it always did, inexorable and cruel.
“Hey, honey.” He gave me a warm smile and heaved himself up, limping over to me.
I frowned. “Hip bothering you again?”
He waved a hand, like it was no big deal. “Just getting old.” Then he folded me into a dad hug.
And ugh, the goddamn tears started again. So much was wrapped up in that one hug. Sadness over Daniel, and an older, lingering sadness for my mother. Reproach for having stayed away so long. Love for his only daughter. So much love.
My dad gave the best hugs, the kind that could cure cancer and rescue stray puppies and tell you everything he was feeling, all in one squeeze of his arms.
“Missed you, little bird,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head.
“Missed you, too,” I sniffed.
But before the waterworks could start for real, a little hand tugged my arm, and I pulled away, looking down at my niece.
You have to help me make the beans, she signed, bouncing impatiently. Then she took hold of my hand, dragging me into the kitchen, where Sage was leaning against the fridge, still frowning at me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “Sing me a new one, will ya?”
I could hear Jenny’s laugh filtering in from the laundry room, which was on the other side of the kitchen. “He doesn’t know any others.”
“Nothing wrong with this one anyway,” he growled. “Gets results.”
I stuck my tongue out, which made Violet giggle. Then she tugged my hand again.
I’m making dinner tonight, she signed.
I nodded seriously. Makes sense. You’re a big girl now.
She nodded her own little head proudly. You can help. But then she frowned. You have to. Mommy can’t do it. She says the smell of cooking makes her tummy hurt.
“That it does,” Sage agreed, watching our conversation. “Morning sickness is kicking her ass this time around.”
I swallowed a wave of bitterness, trying not to let my jealousy show on my face. It was not Jenny’s fault that kids were just another one of the futures stolen from me by Daniel’s much-too-early death.
But try telling that to my fucking heart.
“Are you okay to eat, Jen?” I called.
She poked her head in the kitchen. “I’ll eat when it’s cold. It doesn’t smell as bad then.”
I frowned. “You’ll be able to smell it cooking from the living room,” I pointed out.
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m going to work in a few minutes. I won’t get home until eight.” She gave her husband a pointed look. “As long as Sage does the dishes and opens the kitchen window, I should be fine.”
“I guess I can,” he grumbled, though everyone knew he would do it or suffer the wrath of his pregnant wife.
“Won’t the smells in the shop bother you, though?” I asked.
My Aunt Louise had a shop right down the street from Soundtrax, where she sold all kinds of beauty products that she made herself in the shop, using natural, organic ingredients. Jenny worked there part time, and she always came home smelling like the French countryside.
“Louise has this ginger tea that works miracles. I’m actually going to bring some home. Sage switches to nights next week, so I need to be able to cook for Violet.”
I nodded. “Hope it works.”
“Me too.” She gave me a smile before she disappeared into the laundry room again.
Sage opened his mouth to say something, but Violet tugged on my arm once more, saving me from his nosy questions.
I can smash the garlic by myself, Auntie. But you have to cut the onion because I’m not allowed to use the knife. Then we add the spices and the beans and some water and cook them…
She continued to give me the instructions, but I knew the recipe by heart. I bit my lip to keep it from wobbling. We were making frijoles from scratch, using my father-in-law’s recipe. Daniel and I had made them at least once a week for years. He ate refried beans with almost everything, even when it wasn’t a Mexican meal. His dad’s frijoles were his favorite thing to eat in the whole world.
Violet skipped over to the pantry to grab the bag of pinto beans. As I watched her go, Sage caught my eye, giving me a challenging look, as if to say, can you do this?
I took a deep breath, nodding at him. Yes, I could. I could make my husband’s favorite food and not lose my shit. For Violet, I could do just about anything.
But more than that, I could do this for myself.