47. Zee
After driving me over to the Bar 9 on his ATV, Callan hovers only as long as it takes for me to clamber off the back before departing for the Seven Cs.
We have a code—I text him and he’ll pick me up. Later, I’ll show him how I keep beating him at Driveclub.
Mostly, I went with the ‘code’ option because I knew if I drove myself over here, I’d end up leaving early and the day after tomorrow’s the family BBQ that Colt insisted on hosting despite the situation with Lydia.
I want to make sure they’re all coming. Even if I have to drag them there.
If Colton’s kid brother will suffer through a family get-together on his birthday, then my grand-mère can attend too.
When I step into the house, I can hear arguing in the kitchen—my family does a lot of that. And Tee wasn’t exactly quiet. It’s why it’s pleasant at the Korhonens. Silence isn’t a rare commodity.
I head that way, past a mountain of crap in the hall, taking note of the state of the den which makes me think my brothers took over when Grand-mère fired our housekeeper to cut costs. Grimacing at the state of the place, I find the triplets all in different levels of undress in the kitchen.
Calder’s wearing boxer briefs, Colby’s in jeans, and Carson’s?—
“Carson, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
My answer is probably on the floor—the pile of laundry makes the Rockies look small.
His head whips around. “Zee? What the hell are you doing here?”
Thankfully, he keeps his ass facing me.
“I’m going to wrestle Grand-mère into attending the BBQ.”
Colby snickers. “Like she’s a steer? I’m coming to watch the show. It’ll be fun.”
I stride over to him. “Walker and I weren’t allowed to walk around in pj’s after ten but you three get to be butt naked in the kitchen? What’s that about?”
“We wore her down,” Colby jokes.
“Exhausted her,” Carson agrees.
Calder shrugs. “She doesn’t leave her quarters that much anymore. We have free run of the house.”
My brow puckers at that news. “Doesn’t she go on the range?”
“She’s ninety-two, Zee,” Calder tells me like I’m an idiot.
“I mean, I know. But I thought she’d die on a horse is all.”
“Oh, she rides. Just doesn’t do any work on the property. She goes over to the hot springs sometimes on horseback. Says it helps the arthritis in her hips,” Colby explains as he hauls me in for a hug. “About time you came home.” He’s already over six feet so I’m pretty much in his shadow. Annoying. Especially when he rubs his knuckles over my hair. “I thought you’d forgotten all about us.” His bottom lip mock-quivers. “Our big sis doesn’t care about us.”
“I care enough to keep a roof over your heads,” is my flat reply, despite the fact I know he’s teasing.
They all wince at my words.
And I can’t be sorry.
Not when they know why I’m home.
Not when they know how I’m treated here.
Just because I’ve processed that BS doesn’t make it right.
“I figured you were assimilating to your new circumstances,” Calder reasons.
“Barely left the ranch until the other week.”
Colby’s hold on me tightens. “Heard about that.”
“I wish they’d let up on you,” Carson agrees, but this time, he’s grabbed a dish towel and he’s using it to cover his junk as he side-walks to the kitchen table.
“Hell’ll freeze over first. It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” Calder retorts. “I’m glad Colt stuck up for you. It’s all anyone can talk about. Folks’ noses have been out of joint so the kids at school are gossiping.”
“Gossip. What Pigeon Creek was founded on. Just goes to show that they’ll believe anything of the McAllisters.”
Colby nods. “Everyone’s crossing the street whenever we show up in town.”
“Assholes.” I huff. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you too. I need you three on your best behavior at the Seven Cs?—”
“Duh,” Colby grumbles.
“I mean with Callan.”
Carson’s nose crinkles. “Why? He’s an asshole.”
“He’s sweet.”
“Asshole,” Calder confirms.
“He’s not!”
“He thinks he’s so much better than everyone.” Colby yawns. “Plus, he’s a real bore.”
“I like him so don’t give him any crap.”
Carson frowns. “So, you’ve been spending time with Colton’s little brother and not your own? Nice, sis. Nice.”
“You could have come and seen me too,” I say unrepentantly. “The road isn’t blocked on either end.”
Calder shakes his head. “Bet you’d have shifted your ass for Walker.”
Colby grunts. “Don’t go there, Cald. Jeez. Walker would never have let us get into this mess in the first place, so we don’t need to be in a pissing competition with our dead brother.”
I arch a brow at Colby. “When did you get so wise?”
“While you were in New York.”
“Burn.” I cringe. “But no denying it’s the truth.”
“Couldn’t be helped. Can still sting though.” Colby nudges me. “You think Callan is cool. Might be nice if you thought the same about your actual siblings…”
My gaze flicks between them and I notice that no one is arguing with him.
Because they’ve been straight up with me, I admit, “I hate this house. With every fiber of my being.”
“Better than hating us, I suppose,” Carson mumbles.
“Never hated you. If I did, I’d have lost your numbers while I was in New York. Just, this place has a lot of bad memories for me.” I decide to go for broke. “And you guys remind me of Dad something fierce. It hurts?—”
“We’re like him?” Calder rasps, startled but happy…?
“Yes. Especially to look at. My grief’s still raw but that isn’t your fault.” I bite my lip. “I’m sorry.”
Carson asks, “How are we like him?”
“Your nature… It’s all him. I wish you’d had the chance to know him.” Awkwardly, I give Colby a one-armed hug. “I’m going to be sticking around though. That’s kind of why I’d like you to get along with Callan.”
Calder scowls. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“I figured you could come to the Seven Cs and we could hang out there.” I clear my throat. “Colt already said that was fine, but I don’t feel comfortable forcing you guys on Callan in his own home if you hate one another.”
Calder snags his coffee cup and eyes me over it. “Sounds like you came here with ulterior motives.”
“It hurts that you doubt the strength of my cynical nature, Calder.”
“We’ll be nice to the dweeb if it means we can go over there and hang out with you.”
“My heart feels full.” My tone’s sarcastic but I mean it.
“It should. He’s a real know-it-all,” Carson drawls.
“It’s the curse of being clever. I’m used to it with Tee.”
“I’ll tell her you said that,” Calder warns.
“You can tell her at the BBQ. She arrives the day of. Has to perform at a wedding the night before. You know she’ll agree with me.” I grab the coffee cup Colby hands me and, as I sip it, take a second to appreciate that Colt knows how my coffee should taste.
A pounding sounds overhead.
“What’s that?” I ask, peering at it and grimacing when dust motes dance into my cup.
“Mamie.”
I don’t care that I spray out a mouthful of coffee or that Colby cries, “Eww!” when some of it drips onto him.
I gape at my brother. “MAMIE? She lets you call her that?”
Carson snorts. “Didn’t have a choice. Calder wouldn’t call her anything else. Then we all joined in.”
With a mocking grin, Calder studies his nails. “It worked.”
“What have you done to our grandmother?” I tease, though I can’t deny, I dig it.
“Like Colby said—worn her down.” Carson pulls a face. “Though age might have done that.”
“And the cancer scare last year,” Calder points out.
I stagger into the kitchen table. “Cancer scare?”
“You’ve been away.” Colby pats my shoulder. “And she’s proud. She’s bound to keep stuff from you. We know because we drive her to the hospital appointments. She hid it from us when she had those polyps removed from her throat. We only found out when she couldn’t yell at us for three months solid.”
Carson coos, “Three months of silence. Bliss.”
Yeah, she’s a yeller.
Still, she’s always been a force to be reckoned with. The notion of her being sick and not telling me doesn’t sit right.
Distance leaches responsibility in a way I didn’t anticipate. But it doesn’t absolve me of it either.
Of course, there’s barely any distance between us now and I still haven’t shown my face around this place.
“Did you hear about her telling Reilly she saw Clyde in our truck the day Lydia died?”
“Yes. Colt was there when she showed up.” My brow furrows. “Do you think she was lying?”
“Who knows with her?” Calder shrugs. “Either way, Clyde’s in deep shinola which is exactly where Mamie likes him.”
She’s not the only one.
“I’d best go and see her.”
“She’s not that bad, Zee,” Colby assures me. “Aside from the arranged marriage stuff.”
“So reassuring, dude.” I shove the coffee cup at him. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Tear off the Band-Aid,” Calder agrees.
“Pour salt in the wound,” Carson concurs.
“Sounds more like it.” With one foot out of the kitchen door, I ask, “You will be nice to Callan, won’t you?”
Carson sighs. “We will.”
I turn to look over my shoulder. “They have a home theater room. You could come and hang out sometime this week if you want?”
“Will Callan be there?” he asks warily.
“Nah. He’ll stay in his room. But I don’t think it’s fair to…”
“I get it. I’d probably pour a whole thing of sugar in your coffee if you brought him here.”
“Wow, Calder. Thanks for the death threat.”
He smirks behind his coffee cup. “You’re welcome. And we’ll text you when we have a free night.”
“Our social calendar’s pretty full,” Colby declares. “But for you, we’ll make some room.”
“Now I do feel loved.”
“So you should,” Carson calls out as I head into the hall.
The second I’m gone, they bicker like they were when I came in.
I never got to hear Walker like that. It was him and me for a long while with the triplets too young to do little other than be annoying with such a big age gap between us.
And Walker was quiet.
More so than me.
We always got along well too. There was no back-and-forth like with the triplets. We could sit in the living room, him working on one of his projects, me reading or studying, not a word uttered but both of us quietly content.
God, I miss those moments.
When I shuffle past Walker’s room, I press a hand to the door.
The grief never stops. The tears diminish. The anger fades. But the longing never goes away. It’s a lingering ache that I know I’ll feel until I die.
Because I don’t want to make things worse, I don’t open his door. But I do open Mom and Dad’s. It’s exactly how it was that last day…
Even the sheets are mussed because after Dad died, she stopped making the bed in the morning.
Gaze flickering from one picture frame to another, I feel emotions clog my throat. The air’s musty. Dingy, to be honest. But I like it. It’s a shrine. Just as Walker’s room is. Though it’s a lot less dusty in here than I imagined.
For the first time since she passed, I breach the entrance.
I pause at her vanity and lift the bottle of perfume on there. It smells faintly of her, but not. Less fruity somehow.
I spray some on my wrists, disappointed by the slightly alcoholic tint to it that’s more prevalent once it’s been exposed to the air.
Pulling open the drawers, I smile when I find the makeup I used to play dress-up with.
The gold tube of lipstick doesn’t gleam thanks to the myriad fingerprints covering it and there’s powder everywhere—Mom was many things, but not a great housekeeper.
I take a seat on the cushioned stool and stare at my face in the mirror.
I’d been a kid the last time I sat here. She’d stood behind me. Shaking her head as I managed to spread mauve eyeshadow over my face and spill my glass of orange juice everywhere.
My fingers trail over the gold ridge that edges the table. It was probably an heirloom. That it was spared from the cull that happens whenever we run out of cash and sell off our antiques tells me how important this shrine is to Grand-mère—it will never be touched.
Not as long as she lives.
My gaze turns distant until I find a slight ridge that doesn’t fit in somehow. I peer at the table, applying pressure to it, thinking it needs to be moved back into place. But as I do, it depresses entirely and a soft clicking motion sounds.
My lips part as a drawer opens, a small one.
Inside, there’s a book. Nothing more. Just that.
It’s black. Thin. Like an old-fashioned address book.
Hesitantly, I reach for it.
A faint musty smell permeates the air as I crack a spine that hasn’t been touched for years.
At first, I’m not entirely sure what I’m seeing aside from a bunch of numbers and letters… Then, when my mind shifts away from surprise and begins to function, I pick apart what I’m reading.
It’s not a diary, more a ledger, one that tallies the household budget for weeks at a time. Each page is filled with months’ worth of numbers as if she were conserving space, but it means the book is filled with years of records.
She notes the cost of groceries, the price of clothes—a ‘W’ for Walker, an ‘S’ for me, and ‘Cs’ for the triplets. At the side, Mom wrote a ‘+/-’ sign to keep a running total and that number would have been bleak were it not for the four hundred dollars added to the budget every four days.
And I mean every four days.
For years.
It’s the ‘CK’ that’s at the side of it that has me slamming the book shut.
Because I’d prefer to argue with Grand-mère than think about what that means, I slip it into my pocket, head for her room, and knock when I finally make it there.
“Entrez.”
I roll my eyes at that and immediately, my mind shifts away from the ledger.
God, she’s so pretentious.
“C’est moi,” I greet as I pop my head around the door.
What I’m faced with takes me aback. Her hair is worn loose around her shoulders and she’s still in her nightgown. She isn’t wearing any makeup either.
Not for the first time, I’m coming face-to-face with the realization that my indomitable Grand-mère is getting old.
And fragile.
She’s the kind of woman who still wears a hat with a pin and gloves when she leaves the ranch so not once have I seen her nightwear. I haven’t witnessed her hair out of a tight bun or her face without minimal makeup until now.
It’s disconcerting and I don’t like it.
“Are you just going to stare, child?” Her mouth pinches as if she smells something bad. I’ve always felt like I’m the perennial source of that stench. “You’re letting in the cold air.”
“It’s warm out,” I reason, but I step inside.
“I feel the cold more. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought the Bar 9 was beneath you.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Beneath me? No. Home? Also no.”
She winces but doesn’t argue with me.
So I don’t perpetuate the argument.
“I came to ask a favor of you.”
“A favor? I never did manage to teach diplomacy to you and Walker. I tried with the triplets though. They were better students.”
Calder’s antics downstairs are either proof of that or the direct opposite.
At least Colby and Carson appeared to have listened.
Aside from Carson being naked in the kitchen…
“I’m sure they were. Mamie.”
She cringes again. “God, don’t you start with that horrific diminutive. Do I look like a Mamie?”
From where I’m standing, perhaps.
I don’t say that though. She’s not so right about my diplomacy skills.
“What do you want?”
“The day after tomorrow, we’re holding a family BBQ at the Seven Cs.”
“I’ve already heard all about it.”
“I know. The triplets implied you weren’t coming.”
“I don’t eat food items that can be abbreviated.”
Pressing my back to the door, I shove a hand into a pocket, fully aware that she hates it when I do that. “Chicken isn’t an abbreviation. Anyway, I want you there.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my family.”
I can tell she wants to snipe at me.
I know it makes me petty, but I run a hand through my hair. Aware that my ring finger will glint in the light.
Her jaw clenches at the sight.
Zee - 1. Grand-mère - 0.
“What time does this atrocity start?”
“One PM.”
“Will that hockey player be there?”
She says hockey player like she does lawyer.
“They all will.”
“Mon Dieu.”
“Why do you think I want you to be there? If nothing else, the fact that it will make the right impression should encourage you to attend.”
Sniffing, she retorts, “Is Calder making my coffee?”
“If he is, then I pity you. Would you like some that doesn’t taste of pond water?”
“S’il te pla?t.”
“You’ll come?”
“If I must,” she dismisses, turning her head to the side so she can look out onto the ranch.
If the words weren’t a dismissal, then that is.
Sighing, I turn toward the door but I pause to ask, “Did you see Clyde in our truck?”
“Do you think I’m in the habit of lying to the authorities, child?”
A nonanswer if I ever heard one.
My marriage is the only time the matriarch of the Bar 9 and the patriarch of the Seven Cs have ever worked together as a team…
That makes her statement to the RCMP questionable.
Are they taking her seriously? Or filing it as a petty grievance between long-held enemies?
Pursing my lips, I return to the kitchen.
“That was fast,” Colby remarks when he spies me.
Thankfully, Carson is still sitting at the table, shielding me from his junk.
“She wants me to make her a coffee.”
“As payment for attending the BBQ?”
“No, Calder.” I flash my ring at him. “This did the talking for me.”
“Where can I get me one of those?”
“Did you come out and I missed that announcement? Anyway, as far as I know, the Korhonens are all straight.”
His nose crinkles as he clicks his fingers. “My plans are foiled.”
“They’re certainly something.”
An hour after I drop off Grand-mère’s coffee in the French press she likes and with some of the cookies I know she prefers, she makes an appearance downstairs.
That’s when I’m shown another side entirely to my stalwart grandmother.
The triplets rib her. And she lets them.
Walker was grounded for talking back and I was never allowed to sit at the kitchen table with my elbows on it, but Carson’s still embracing his naturist self and Calder never lets her get away with anything yet doesn’t earn so much as a harrumph.
But, as I watch their interactions, their byplay, I can’t help but be grateful that their relationship with her is different.
They didn’t have Mom and Dad around like Walker and I did. They were our light in the shadows. It’s only right that she softened that harsh exterior to let them in because if she hadn’t, they’d have had no one.
For that and that alone, I can be thankful.
I can also feel guilty because clearly, I’ve sucked as a big sister more than I even realized.
So, when Callan comes and picks me up after receiving our code, I kiss her on the cheek in silent gratitude because if it weren’t for her, the boys would have been orphans for real. And if it weren’t for her, I’d never have been able to escape Pigeon Creek to mature in NYC…
She might be a pain in the ass, but she’s our pain in the ass.
I don’t suppose I can ask for anything else.