Chapter 16 Cosi #2
She wasn’t going anywhere, but if she needed to believe she’d find another place to stay, I’d let her think that tonight.
I grabbed her suitcase, then motioned for the door. “I’ll bring the rest of your stuff in after a bit. Come on.”
With my hand on the small of her back, a constant touch I couldn’t seem to stop, I walked at her side along the sidewalk to the house.
The scents of garlic and tomatoes and onion greeted me as I pushed through the door. Oh, shit. The smell of dinner meant we had company.
My mother appeared in the opening between the living room and kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand and an oven mitt covering the other.
Not once in my adult life had I ever been disappointed to come home and find Mom in the kitchen and smell her spaghetti. But tonight, I wished she would have called me first.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi.” She took off the mitt as she walked through the living room. “You must be Ilsa. Spencer told me all about you. I’m Linda Raynes. It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Ilsa smiled as she shook Mom’s hand, doing her best to hide the exhaustion in her eyes.
But Mom wasn’t the type to miss much. “Long day?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Mom had spent plenty of evenings and nights in this house, watching Spencer during the times when I got called in. I’d come home on more than one occasion to find her in the recliner, knitting as she waited up.
Over the years, we’d developed an unspoken sort of language to convey just how bad things were. A sad look. A shake of my head. A shrug of my shoulder. This wasn’t a fatal accident or an emergency that had ended at the hospital, but yeah, it had been a long day.
Mom studied my face for a heartbeat and nodded. “Then you don’t need me here when you’re trying to wind down. But I wanted to make you dinner.”
And meet Ilsa.
Word that I had a houseguest was already spreading around town. Pamela had come into my office this morning to let me know she’d heard about the fire. Apparently, Ilsa staying here had been a topic of conversation at yesterday’s quilting club after church.
Mom was in that quilting club.
I should have called to talk to her first. And I should have expected this spaghetti dinner and warned Ilsa about it on the drive home.
“The noodles need another five minutes, then I’ll skedaddle.”
“Please don’t feel like you need to leave,” Ilsa said. “I’ll get out of your hair, and let you enjoy a family dinner.”
“No one is skedaddling or getting out of anyone’s hair. We can all eat together.” I brushed a kiss to Mom’s cheek, then sidestepped past her to carry Ilsa’s suitcase to the guest bedroom.
When I returned to the entryway to lose my coat, Mom was in the kitchen, but Ilsa was still right where I’d left her.
“I’m intruding,” she said, voice low so Mom wouldn’t hear.
I took off my coat, hanging it on a hook. Then I unzipped hers, stripping it off her shoulders, putting it up beside mine.
“Cosi.” She frowned. “I should go.”
With my hand on her elbow, I steered her away from the door and through the living room, straight for the table in the kitchen where I pulled out a chair.
She was still frowning but took the seat.
I went to the cabinet where I kept my whisky, taking out the bottle. Then I grabbed two tumblers, filling each with a shot.
“Not just a long day,” Mom said from her spot in front of the stove, eyeing the glasses.
“No. Not just a long day.”
“Sorry.”
“Me too.” I sighed, then brought Ilsa her glass, setting it on the table as I took the chair across from hers.
Mom turned down the burner on the stove and wiped her hands on a towel. “I washed a load of Spencer’s laundry. I’ll go stick it in the dryer, then we’ll be about ready to eat whenever he gets home from practice.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She patted my shoulder as she walked toward the hall.
Ilsa lifted the tumbler to her nose, taking a sniff. “Promise when you catch the person who did this, they’ll pay.”
It was another promise I had no business making. But I did it anyway. “Promise.”
“Good.” She tossed the whisky back, downing every drop. She grimaced as she swallowed and set the glass on the table. “Eww. I don’t know what that was, but it’s not for me.”
“Noted.” I chuckled, taking a sip as the front door opened.
Spencer walked into the kitchen a moment later, still wearing his coat with his backpack over a shoulder.
His cheeks were flushed from the walk home.
The longer strands of his hair were damp beneath the band of his hat, either sweat from basketball or he’d actually taken a shower in the locker room.
“Hey, pal,” I said.
“Hey, Dad. Hi, Miss Poe.”
Ilsa’s smile wasn’t as tired when she looked up at my son. “Hi.”
“Is Grandma here?” he asked.
“Yeah. She’s doing your laundry.”
“Really?” Spencer’s eyebrows rose.
I nodded to Ilsa.
“Oh.” Realization dawned on his face. “Right.”
Mom hadn’t done his laundry in over a year.
The day after he’d turned thirteen, she’d spent an hour teaching him how to do it himself because any teenager should know how to wash their own clothes.
And while it wasn’t uncommon for her to cook us dinner, this was definitely an excuse. Mom had come here for Ilsa, not us.
Spencer plopped down in the seat beside Ilsa, dropping his backpack to the floor. “Good thing you decided to stay. Grandma’s spaghetti is the best.”
“It’s just for tonight,” she said.
Spencer’s gaze shifted to mine. Worry flashed in his hazel eyes.
I winked.
He relaxed.
Yesterday, I’d pulled him aside to give him the abbreviated version of the situation. That I wasn’t sure the cabin was safe for Ilsa, and that she needed a place to stay.
My kid—my wonderful, protective kid—hadn’t even blinked. He’d nodded and promised to keep his bathroom clean.
Whatever had happened on Saturday, Ilsa had won him over. Entirely.
“How was school?” I asked.
“School.” He shrugged. “Want to watch something on TV later?”
“Sure,” I said, taking another sip. “Do you have homework?”
“Yeah.” He gave Ilsa a sheepish smile. “Think you could help me?”
“Spence—”
“Yes.” This time, Ilsa’s smile reached her eyes. “I’d like that.”