“Gretchen,” I smirk, “is that a pimple forming?”
My sister gasps, pressing her hand to her chin, and then she quickly runs it over her face. I can’t wipe the grin off my face; it gets her every single time. When she realizes there’s no awful growth forming on her flawless skin, she scowls at me, throwing her hands onto her curvy hips. Her brown hair falls around her face in perfect curls. She always looks perfect.
“Why do you have to be so childish, Grace?” she mutters.
I flash her a grin. “Because you’re so entertaining.”
She studies me and frowns. “What happened to your hair?”
“It’s raining outside,” I say, waving to the pounding rain on the window. “It happens.”
“I don’t know how we’re related,” she says, curling her upper lip at me. “I’d never been seen with hair that looked like that.”
“Don’t be jealous, sister—one day you’ll be as cool as me.”
She scoffs just as my mother enters the room, looking equally perfect. “Grace.” She smiles, walking over and wrapping me in a hug that feels as cold as it is empty. Typical. Wouldn’t want to ruin her makeup. She steps back, looking down at me. She has the same dark hair as me, but my eyes are all Dad’s. She and my two sisters have dull blue eyes.
“Sweetheart,” she says, scowling like Gretchen. “What happened to your hair?”
“I got electrocuted,” I say in a deadpan voice.
“Don’t play with me, Grace. Would it hurt you to pretend to feminine? I mean, it’s bad enough you work in a man’s role and hang around with men every day. The least you could do is act like a lady when you’re not there.”
I gasp, cupping my cheeks. “I’m not acting like a lady? Why didn’t you say so?”
She narrows her pretty eyes at me. “Grace—”
“No,” I say, licking my hand and running it over my hair. I silently thank Cole for the move. Turns out he was good for something after all. Who knew. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Mom. Is that better? Does it look better? Wait, maybe it’s my skin.” I lick my hand again, running it down my cheek. They both gasp. “There, how do I look now?”
“I’m not sure how you turned out like this.” My mother scoffs. “I raised you better.”
“No, Mom, you tried to raise beauty queens, and unlucky for you, you only got two. I take after Dad.”
I flash her a smile and walk off through the kitchen and out to the shed in the backyard, where my father spends all his time. I don’t know how he puts up with them, but his heart seems big enough to accept them, even as they are. I love him for that. When I reach the large space, I push the door open and find him flicking through some woodcrafting books.
“Going to make me a bed, Dad?”
He turns around, and his face splits into a massive grin. I rush over and he throws his arms around me, holding me close. He loves my mom and sisters, I know that, but I’m his happy place, a place where he feels slightly normal in a world of chaos. “Gracie,” he murmurs into my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Hi, Dad.” I smile, pulling back.
He touches my cheek. “You look—”
“Like a drowned rat?”
He smirks. “I was going to be a little kinder than that.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, Mom and Gretchen have already informed me what a shameful child I am.”
He rolls his eyes. “And I bet you took that well.”
I grin. “You know me too well. I think Mom was ready to throttle me when I licked my hand and fixed my hair.”
He bites his lip to stop his laughter. “You’re my daughter, through and through.”
“That I am,” I say, turning to his book. “So what are you building?”
“I’m trying to build a porch swing. Your mother wants one.”
Of course she does. “And how’s that going for you?”
He groans, slapping the book shut. “She won’t notice if I go and buy it and pretend I built it, right?”
I laugh some more. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He wraps me in another hug. “I’m glad you came to visit, Gracie.”
Me, too.
* * *
“So, how’s your newest case going?” Dad asks as we all sit around drinking cocoa later that night.
“It’s good, I think.”
“You think?” he asks.
I sigh. “He’s proving somewhat difficult, but I’ll bring him in.”
“How exactly,” my other sister, Stacy, mumbles, “do you bring a fully grown man in?”
“Why, Stacy,” I say, “with my charm and good looks, of course.”
Gretchen snorts. “Charm and good looks? He must be blind.”
“Gretchen,” Dad warns.
“Sorry, Daddy, but I just don’t understand her and her job.”
“Gracie is good at what she does,” Dad says, defending me like he always does. “Maybe you should try being proud of her.”
Gretchen huffs and crosses her arms.
“Anyway,” I say, feeling the tension building. “I should get home. I have a lot of work to do.”
I stand, and Dad stands with me. After three awkward hugs, we walk out to his car.
“You don’t have to take me home,” I say.
“You’re not catching a cab tonight.”
I don’t argue.
I get in his car and he takes me home. When there, he turns to me. “I know they don’t always make you feel like what you’re doing is good, Gracie, but I want you to know I’m proud of you.”
I smile, reaching over and taking his hand. “Thank you, Dad.”
“Call me with updates, let me know how this case goes.”
“I promise.”
“Night, Gracie.”
“Night, Dad.”