Ten #3
“No,” Tatum assured him, leaning against me and wrapping her arms around my waist. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I rasped, grinning at Luke.
We went downstairs with Griff leading the way, and when we all reached the dining room, the three people sitting at the table stood up.
“Mom, Dad, Quinn,” Luke said, hand on the small of my back as he steered me forward, “this is Nash Miller, who takes care of us.”
Luke’s father, John, had a strong handshake, and his mother, Viola, gave me a hug.
When Quinn took my hand, I noted her narrowed eyes.
She was not missing how close Luke was standing, his hand on my bicep, or how, when we all took seats at the table, he was right there to my left, leaning against me.
“So, Nash,” John began, leaning forward in his chair, regarding me. “Who are you, exactly? I heard a lot about you from my granddaughter as we were shopping.”
Which meant Quinn had probably been strolling the aisles with Luke.
I leaned forward as well, meeting John’s gaze. “I’m a fixer, sir, and I was hired by Abel Roarke, Caitlyn’s brother, to watch over your son and the kids as she prepares to testify.”
“You’re in danger because of that woman?” John barked at his son.
“Dad, we don’t know what exact?—”
“What does that woman mean?” Griff asked his grandfather.
Silence at the table.
John cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have phrased it that way. I was just surprised. Your mother has made some very poor choices and?—”
“That’s fine,” Griff said with a lifted hand. “And I get that you’d be mad about how she treated Dad, but please never call her that again. She’s my mom, and I really hope to see her again someday.”
It was quiet then, and when Griff turned to Luke, Luke smiled at him.
“Was that okay?”
“Yes,” he assured his son. “You advocated for yourself without being combative. Good job. Dr. Marlowe will be pleased when you tell her.”
“Thanks,” he said softly, then got up, and when he reached me, leaned down into my arms, squeezing me. “Thanks for making it okay to talk about her.”
I could hear the wobble in his voice, so I hugged him tight. “It was an easy change.”
“No,” he said, easing back to look at me. “It wasn’t.”
“Well, it’s all good now,” I said, hands on his face, using my thumbs to wipe away his tears. “You especially.”
He nodded, and when I let him go, I noticed Quinn. Her chin was in the palm of her hand, her fingers curled against her cheek, and was regarding me with a bemused expression.
“Quinn?”
“Nash,” she murmured, smiling at me.
“You all right?”
“Just fine,” she said, her eyes flicking to Luke and then back to me. “I’m good.”
I had no idea what that meant.
“You talk about your mother now?” Viola asked Griff.
“Yeah. We’ve normalized it.”
“Had to be done,” Tatum assured her grandmother, bumping Griff’s shoulder. “Plus, we have a therapist now, Dr. Marlowe, as you heard, so we’re all getting better.”
John and Viola were visibly stunned.
“I’m hungry,” Griff announced to the table. “Who wants some kolachkes with cream cheese and sausage?”
Tatum raised her hand. “Oh, me. Yes, please.”
He got up then, and an open-mouthed Viola watched him leave the table and go to the kitchen, where he preheated the oven.
“He cooks?” she asked Luke.
“He does. He loves it, and it’s been great,” he replied, smiling at her. “If you could let him help you make the turkey and everything for Thanksgiving, that would be appreciated.”
“Of course I will. I would love to show—” She turned to me then. “This is your influence, isn’t it.”
I made a face. “It’s him mostly, ma’am, working hard, making changes.”
“Yes, but there’s always a catalyst, and that had to be you. I mean, look at this place,” she said, gesturing toward the living room. “It’s marvelous.”
“It is,” Quinn agreed, and when I glanced at her, she sat up from her slouched position and gave me a wry smile. “Truly.”
“Thank you,” I said to her, then refocused on Viola. “And thank you, ma’am. The kids have done great with all the changes.”
“Yes, they have, and don’t call me ma’am, call me Viola.” She got up and joined Griff in the kitchen, standing close but with her hands behind her back so he’d know she was solely there to observe.
“You’re not a bodyguard, then?” John asked, returning my attention to him.
“Nash is a fixer,” Luke explained. “It’s not the same as a bodyguard. He works to create an entirely new environment. Protection is only a minor part of his mandate.”
“Oh no,” I groaned. “You’ve been reading the website.”
“And quite an impressive website it is,” he teased, shoulder-checking me gently. “That mission statement alone is worth the price of admission.”
“Why?”
“To learn more about Torus Intercession, of course,” he replied cheerfully. “I’m interested in you, so why wouldn’t I look up the company you work for?”
“It’s so pretentious when you read it, though.”
“Lots of really big words,” he said, chuckling, pressing into my side. “Very fancy.”
“I’ve told Owen a hundred times that he needs to put his thesaurus down .”
“What was interesting to read about, though,” he began, his breath warm on my ear and down the side of my neck, “was that all the things your boss says his fixers do, you’ve done since you’ve been here.
The description may have way too many ten-dollar words, but it certainly does not oversell what fixers do.
It’s very impressive. You save people and whole families. ”
“It’s actually not that?—”
“It is,” he murmured. “You know it is.”
If I turned to him, we’d be nose to nose, so I gave my attention to Quinn across the table from me instead. “Would you like something to drink?”
“You’re too late,” she said, pointing to the glass of strawberry ice tea in front of her. “Tatum already served me.”
“You made how much at the yard sale?” John was asking Darwin, probably because he got tired of waiting for me to answer his question about what exactly I did. I was making a great impression all around because Luke was so distracting. “I don’t know what you think a lot of?—”
“Over a thousand dollars,” Tatum chimed in. “And now we?—”
“That’s a terrible habit, young lady,” John scolded his granddaughter. “You should never interrupt someone when they’re speaking.”
She tipped her head. “But you interrupted Darwin first, then me.”
“Yes, but I’m an adult, and you’re a child.”
“So I have less rights than you?” she asked. “That doesn’t seem correct.”
“I know better, yes, so I need to guide you over what’s right and wrong.”
“Oh, okay, then,” Tatum said with a roll of her eyes.
“Young lady,” he snapped at her. “You will not treat me with that kind of disrespect.”
“I’m sorry,” she rushed out. “I was playing, but I can see how, if I put myself in your place, rolling my eyes was not very nice.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly.
“But so you know, about the money, we’re all using it now and have to write down whatever we use it for and how much we took out.”
“Where are you keeping all this cold hard cash?” Viola inquired.
“In the kitchen,” Darwin told her, then got up and darted to where she and Griff were. He opened the cabinet under the sink, pulled out the glass quart-size jar with the pencil, the piece of paper, and the wads of cash, then placed it gently on the counter. “Here it is.”
“It was mostly Mom’s crystal collection,” Tatum informed her grandmother, leaning into my side. “But there was other stuff too. If you wanna buy something, you just have to write it down and do the math so we know what’s in there.”
Viola smiled at her. “This is outstanding.”
“There was more money in there, but I wanted more glitter pens, Griff wanted that light thing that’s in his room that makes it look like he’s underwater, and Darwin wanted these dumb?—”
Luke cleared his throat.
“I mean, Darwin wanted these blocks that help you memorize the periodic table.”
“I see,” Viola said, returning the jar to its place and closing the cupboard. “Blocks sound more expensive than pens.”
“The money should go in the bank,” John commented, sounding grouchy.
“Not today, Satan,” Tatum said playfully, and Darwin laughed.
That fast, John reached across the table and would have smacked Tatum’s cheek, but his wrist was in my grip before he could complete the action. He gasped and tried to yank his hand away, but I tightened my hold, and he couldn’t move.
“We’re not hitters in this house, Mr. Duchesne,” I explained before letting him go.
“I wasn’t going to hit her, just give her a correction.”
“We don’t do that here,” Luke apprised his father. “Ever.”
“There is a big difference between spanking, disciplining, and whatever you’re thinking,” he told his son. “And you know it.”
“I don’t, though,” Luke assured him. “And I’ve never hit any of my kids.”
“I didn’t hit you,” he groused.
“No, that’s true,” Luke said, chuckling. “You beat the crap outta me.”
“You did, he’s not wrong,” Quinn chimed in.
John threw up his hands in disgust. “Those were spankings, Luke, big difference between that and beating the crap out of you. Don’t be dramatic in front of other people.”
“I had to go to the hospital once, as you recall.”
“That was an accident,” John barked defensively. “You fell off the porch.” He turned to Viola. “Remind him what happened.”
“You raised your hand to slap him, he flinched, lost his balance, and fell five feet off our unfinished back deck and broke his right wrist. That’s precisely what happened, Jonathan Edward Duchesne.”
“It wasn’t a slap, Vi,” John insisted, but I heard the regret in his voice as he got up and walked into the living room and lay down on the floor like a starfish.
After a moment of all of us staring at him, Luke addressed his mother. “What’s happening?”
“The fact of the matter is, you all are not the only ones seeing a therapist.”
“Nooo,” Luke said, drawing out the word, grinning crazily.
“Oh yes.”
Luke gestured at his father. “Tell us. Please.”