Chapter 3- Wound Up
Helen had only been home for two days and thus far, it felt like a month of Sundays.
The arrival of the Explorer and the weird coffee date with a certified villain, and now, her husband informed her they were having guests.
She knew it was coming, and after the holidays, she was due back at Passion Fruit's for three weeks.
She had a good sixteen days, two of which were already gone before having to report to St. Paul to start training with Sour Grapes.
For some reason, she wasn't looking forward to it in the least. Now this.
“Okay, who are we expecting, Michael and Abigail and the kids?” she asked.
“No, not yet,” he said, “Abi is not ready to travel with the baby and Naomi. Mom and Dad want to come for a day or so this weekend.”
“No problem. I can talk to her about the wedding, finding a location for the reception, catering, and the likes,” she said. “How much do you think I need to give her to have money for deposits and stuff like securing caterers?”
“I have no idea, but we can do a pre-paid credit card to start,” he said, looking at her side eyed.
“Jay, what are you leaving out?” she asked, watching his face. Over the last few months, she had really been learning to read his body language as well as his eyes. The look said there was more.
“My former handler, Belial, he's going to be in the area and wants to come through next week,” he said softly, waiting her to say, do, think...for what, he was uncertain.
“Does he have a hotel, or does he want to stay with us?” she asked.
“He wanted to spend the night hanging out,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched. “You taking the day off to 'hang out' with this man?”
“The day off?”
Her hand went to her narrow hip. “The day off, Jay?
Or are you planning to leave me home alone with some man I don't know, considering my opinion of men in general because if you leave him here and he looks at me funny, you may come home from work to find his cut-body parts all over the house,” she said, suddenly feeling tense.
“Good grief,” he said, looking at her with fresh eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't think about how having a man you don't know in the house would impact you mentally. My apologies. Yes, I will take a day off or make sure he leaves when I do.”
“Thank you, and I'm sorry, but that is how I feel,” she said. “I can be alone with Michael or your Dad in the home, but anyone else, I would question.”
“I shall keep that in mind going forward,” he said softly. He reached for her, noticing she was physically shaking. “I got you, Helen. I have you. You're safe, sweetheart.”
She didn't feel safe. Suddenly, fears, emotions, and intrusive thoughts entered her head, and she was a wound-up bundle of nerves.
Helen had spent time alone in the home with Bad Apple, but she didn't consider him a threat.
She had spent time alone with Mr. Yield doing an assignment, but she had quickly summed him up and neutralized him with a reference to his children.
A man, powerful like an Archangel, in their home alone with her, wasn't a risk she was willing to take.
Even when she'd interacted with Gabriel at her home in Kentucky, it had been outside, and she’d known Slow was watching from his back window.
Ruefully and truthfully, she knew she wasn't fully healed from her ordeal.
Therapy had helped her through the childhood traumas suffered at the hand of a man who caught her home alone as a teen.
She wasn't about to suffer any new traumas from a person invited into their home, her safe haven, the place where she finally felt free.
“Thank you,” was all she said, pulling away to find a notebook to get started on the nasty little house.
*****
THE WEEK BECAME A HUSTLE when a garbage dumpster arrived.
Helen set to work in boots, gloves, and overalls and began tearing out the yuck in the nasty little house, starting with the moldy carpet, peeling wallpaper, and cabinetry that required a bit of man muscle.
By Thursday, she was pretty pleased with how much had been done.
If she continued at that pace, the basic work could be completed, and the contractors would only need to do the flooring, bath, and cabinet installation versus the tear out.
“This is impressive, Helen. Those little skinny arms have more muscles than I thought,” Mustang said, laughing.
“The verbal sparring is not going to work on me today,” she said. “I'm hungry; can we go out tonight since we have your folks coming tomorrow? I have food stores and all the things I think Ruth will like to do, but once I tell her the planned wedding date, she's going to lose her mind.”
“Yeah, we can go out and possibly get her a 2025-2026 planner to get to work on the planning,” he said, “I mean, it will be a small wedding.”
“Probably not,” she said.
“What do you mean,” he asked absently, not understanding the breadth and scope of how his wife's mind worked. The following day, he sat at the table with his parents, stunned, but first, he was more surprised at his parents’ perception of his new home.
****
RUTH NEARY ARRIVED with a basket loaded with freshly baked bread, a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies from her new recipe stash, and a pound cake with a freshly sliced berry compote.
Snazzily dressed in embroidered jeans and a matching cardigan, along with her strand of pearls, she climbed the stairs to stand on the deck overlooking the land.
Mark stood there as well, enjoying the deck, although it was colder than a witch's left nipple, making him shudder at the shift in temperatures.
“Come on inside, the fireplace is going, Helen has a cheeseboard ready, along with a fresh pot of wassail, and I also have coffee and tea, whichever you'd like,” Mustang said, ushering his parents inside.
Mark Neary said nothing as he stood in the kitchen, taking in the details.
His eyes went to the dishtowels hanging from the stove which read Neary.
He moved to the fireplace, looking over all the photos on the mantel.
His eyes watered at the image of him and his sons around the grill laughing.
The image was captured by a photographer he hadn’t known was watching.
“You will be staying in this room down the hall,” Helen announced as Ruth followed behind her, stopping in the hallway to view the frames and portraits hung on the wall. Mark stopped as well. Then suddenly, they embraced each other and began to weep.
“Whoa,” Mustang said. “What's wrong? What's with the tears?”
“This is just so...nice,” Ruth said.
“Your home is lovely,” Mark replied. “The pictures. You live here, Jay. You have a life here with Helen. I can feel you in this home.”
Helen smiled at them both. “Well, enough of the weepy willies. Ruth, we have set a wedding date of either June 14, after Mark's birthday, or June 21st, four days before Jay's.”
Ruth's eyes grew wide as she swatted away her tears. She had a new focus. The excitement on her face was evident. “We have a wedding date! Your colors?”
“Trooper blue and blush,” Helen said.
“Okay, wedding party size?” Ruth asked.
“Let's plan for 100,” Helen said to everyone's shocked face.
“Helen, do we know 100 people?” Mustang asked. “Who the hell are you planning to invite?”
“First, let's get you guys settled, and then Ruth and I will have some wassail, get out notebooks, and start getting some items on paper.”
“Yeah, I want to see this list of 100 people,” Mark said, looking at his son.
Twenty minutes later, Mark, Ruth, and Mustang sat staring mutherfuckingly at Helen as if she'd lost her rabid ass mind.
“What?” Mustang said when he finally caught his breath.
Helen didn't bat an eye, “Immediate family is 19, with Joe and Mary, their kids, and grands. Rebekah, Michael, Abi, and Naomi. Naomi and Michelle as the flower girls, yes is about nineteen people.”
She continued with her list, “I have to invite the Fruits of the Great Lakes, Bad Apple, and the boys with Ricky.
Then there is Lemon, Jared, and the girls, plus Pear, and I have to include Bryan, who will be Passion Fruit's plus one, which makes that roughly about sixteen if I factor in a plus one for Sour Grapes.”
“Tracking,” Mustang said, “but what about the rest of these hundred people?”
“Considering your history at the Summer Camps with Reverend Johnson,” she said, looking at her notes, “The Directions should be invited. Yield asked to be your best man, so if you invite one, you'd better invite them all to avoid any hurt feelings, and their kids, which is about thirty-one, if I’m counting correctly.”
Mustang was still staring at her. Helen continued, “Oh, The Archangels, since Gabriel and Azrael will be there, Belial will want an invite, considering your history with him. So, why leave out Moloch, Arial, and Jesús?”
Mustang leaned forward. “Jesús? You're inviting Jesús?”
“Well, when I met him, he bore down on me, and I nearly severed his carotid, so yeah, why not,” she said. “Then my Mom and Waldo, he's a cretin, but she likes him. My father and Aunt Stephanie, who is Abi's mom, and I'm not looking forward to that shit in the least.”
Mark was staring even harder when she said the next part.
“The person who wanted to meet with me earlier in the week at the coffee shop was Kurtzwilde,” she said.
“He wants me to wave my magic fairy wand and get his kids to a table where they can meet and have dinner and cake.
So, let's add Elm, Morgan, and Thunder at the table with Passion Fruit.
Ruth, the label I want for the table is ‘The Stray Bullets.’
Mark held up his hand as he swallowed hard and blinked three times in disbelief. “Hold on, you had coffee with Michael Kurtzwilde?”
Helen shrugged and said, “That's nothing, I made breakfast for the Fer de Lance, and we also need to send an invite to him and his wife, the Bushmaster and his assassin bodyguard Alita. I think that's it.”