Chapter 10
Elias
“Soooo,” Jessi says, grinning as she snips at my beard, “Mom told me Goldie’s granddaughter is a hottie. Do tell.”
I roll my eyes and she playfully smacks my shoulder. This makes me grunt and her children giggle with amusement. Thrilled to be the entertainment.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I grumble. “And don’t hit me. I’ll tell Mom.”
Her lips curl into a devious smirk. “She’s not the boss of me anymore, brat.”
“Oh yeah?” I taunt as if we’re teens and not in our thirties. “Want to test that theory out?”
“Hush.” She snips more of my beard off. “Tell me about this girl. Don’t make me beat it out of you. I’ll take a tongue lashing from Mom if it gets me what I want.”
Having an older sister can be maddening sometimes. Jessi thinks she’s privileged to all my secrets. Corbin could care less. He’s not nosy like our sister.
“Leave him alone,” Warren says as he strides into their kitchen. I can always count on my brother-in-law to save me from his wife.
“Finally,” I say in faux exasperation as I hold my fist out for him to bump.
“Stay still,” Jessi complains, “or I’ll accidentally cut your tongue off.”
This sends the kids into another fit of giggles. Warren chuckles as he pecks Jessi on the lips and then snatches up each kid to give them hugs as well.
“Rough day at the office?” I ask, glad to have a distraction from my distraction at home.
“Lots of folks pulling on their HELOCs,” Warren says, tugging at the knot on his tie. “BudgieFest keeps growing every year and people are trying to keep up with demand with food, wares, stuff like that.”
We chat about BudgieFest for a bit. When Warren steps away to change out of his “big banker man” suit, Jessi strikes like the information viper she is.
“Your referee is gone,” she says wickedly. “Spill.”
She’s relentless. I’ll never hear the end of it unless I give her something. So, I give her the truth.
“She’s attractive,” I admit, ignoring her annoying squeal, “but she’s not a good person.”
She stops snipping to come around to face me. “Mom didn’t mention that.”
“I have,” I grit out. “For the past year. Does anyone ever listen to anything I say?”
“Not usually, no,” Jessi teases.
“Nora never came around to check on her grandma. She wasn’t bothered to even show up at the funeral.”
“Ouch. Not a good person at all.” Then, she sighs. “Well, poo. I really thought we had something juicy here. I thought it was denial, but turns out, it’s your usual grumpiness plus stating facts. She sucks.”
“Exactly,” I say with animation. “Run interference with our mother. Otherwise, she’ll make it her life’s mission to put us together. I don’t want to be with her, Jessi.”
She holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. I get it. Now let me finish this haircut so you can get back to Nora.”
I don’t like how she says her name. Like it’s still a maybe.
It’s definitely not.
By the time I get back home, I’m feeling guilty. Nora isn’t as bad as I originally thought. However, playing up her villain card will get my family off my back.
I shut off my truck and amble my way up to my house. It’s getting dark now so the lightning bugs flash all around me, signaling their presence. Crickets try to out trill the frogs, but nothing can out-sing the wind chimes dancing in the warm evening air.
The door is locked when I turn the knob and I grunt in confusion. I never lock the door to my house.
“Oh, coming!” a voice chirps from inside. “Sorry about that.”
Nora wrenches open the door, wearing a troubled expression. It immediately puts me on guard. I step inside and close the door behind me, eyes tracking her as she hurries to the kitchen. When I round the corner, she’s holding an enormous knife.
“Did I miss something?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and frowning. “Get spooked?”
The stress fades away as a smile tugs at her lips. “By the lasagna? Totally. I’m about to slice it up so it won’t spook me again.”
I stifle a laugh. “Why’d you lock the door then, smart Alec?”
“Why wouldn’t I lock the door?” Her nose scrunches in confusion. “I’m not being sarcastic. It’s night time. I’m a woman all alone at home.”
At home?
This is my house.
I let it slide this time.
“Fair,” I say with a nod as I make my way over to the fridge to grab a couple of sodas. “But you’re not in New York City. You’re in Budgie Bay. The most crime we have is during BudgieFest when a couple of drunks start slinging insults and then punches.”
“You live all the way out here on the outskirts of town,” she counters, plating up the lasagna for us. “Creeps could sneak up and…”
I set the cans down at the kitchen table. “And do what?”
She shrugs, thrusting a plate my way. “I don’t know. Creepy stuff.”
“Creepy stuff,” I parrot as I make my back over to the table. “The only creeps I know are the Harkers. Mainly Wayne.”
“See,” she says with enthusiasm. “I knew it. He’s probably peeking in the windows right now.”
“He’s pushing ninety.” I drag my chair across the floor, making a scraping sound that has Clo hollering from the guest room. “Is Clo being punished?”
She gestures to where the hot lasagna pan sits on top of the stove. “He can’t be trusted not to dive-bomb the lasagna.”
I’m not going to lie. She’s quick like Goldie. That’s one of the things I enjoyed about the old lady. Verbally sparring with me was her favorite sport.
We’re quiet for a bit as we dig into my lasagna.
Nora moans and groans as if she’s never had real food in her life.
Who knows, maybe that’s true. At least her adult life.
For someone always on the run to and fro in a busy city, she probably ate endless amounts of takeout.
I like eating out as much as the next guy, but not every day, and certainly not multiple times a day.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” I ask once we’ve demolished our food.
Nora’s easy demeanor deflates at the mention of it. “I was just about to make a list.”
“Better get on it then.”
While she disappears to find something to write on, I clear the table and put the food away. When she returns, with Clo on her shoulder, she has one of her grandma’s notebooks in hand.
Clo squawks angrily at me.
“I didn’t lock you up,” I remind him, glad not to be the bad guy for once. “And don’t you remember what I said?”
He chirps a whole lot of nonsense as if he’s actually reciting my own words back to me, but we both know he doesn’t listen.
“That’s right,” I say to my bird friend. “Birds cannot eat Italian food.”
Nora laughs softly. My chest tightens because it makes me think of Goldie. She was the one who always laughed at my Clo teasing.
I clear my throat and wash up the dishes, keeping my mind on things that don’t make me want to bawl like a little kid. Like sailboats. Or football. The BudgieFest seasonal coffee menu at Baked & Brewed. Anything other than the loss of my elderly friend.
“I have a good list going,” Nora says, the earlier dread gone from her voice. “What do you think?”
I wipe my hands on a dish towel and saunter over to where she’s perched at the bar like a little bird. Clo, the nosy critter, is running back and forth across the countertop in front of her notebook, pecking at the edges of the paper.
“Don’t be a menace, Clo.”
He sings a pretty song, completely ignoring my grumbling. Nora laughs again. Another stab at my heart. I swallow hard and come to stand behind her so I can look over her shoulder. Even her handwriting reminds me of Goldie’s. Same curly swoops. Minus the shaky lines.
I skim over the list. It’s surprisingly detailed and long. There are items on there I don’t expect like:
Clean Grandma’s teacups and carefully box up.
For someone heartless, and who didn’t care enough to go to her grandmother’s funeral, that’s an awfully personal item on her to-do list.
“It’s ambitious,” I say instead of giving her the credit for being human.
“That’s why it’s a ta-da list, not a to-do list.”
She glances over her shoulder at me, a mischievous grin on her pink lips. This close to her, I can see freckles I hadn’t noticed before. Just a small smattering across her nose. Her big bright eyes glitter like the deep blues of the bay.
“What’s a ta-da list?” I ask, taking a necessary step back, because up close I notice way too many things about her that I have no business noticing.
“For one,” she says breezily as she draws a few stars around “ta-da” at the top of her paper, “it’s way more fun. Not boring at all. When you have to do something, it sucks the fun out. But, when you reframe it as something exciting, you’re eager to say, ‘ta-da’ each time you cross something off.”
I lift an eyebrow. “I’m not saying ‘ta-da’ after list number nine.”
“Scraping all the old paint off the porch railings is a total ‘ta-da’ moment, Elias. Don’t be such a grump.”
Clo chitters as if to agree. Traitor.
“I’ll leave all the ‘ta-da’ moments for you to handle,” I say as I pluck up the pen and notebook. “I have some stuff to add.”
In my own section of the paper, I clearly write “to-do” and then scribble down my own list of things that need doing.
Mostly, it’s a bunch of clearing crap out of the house, boxing things up, and giving it a good scrub down.
Dad will have his own detailed list of the contractor side of it when actual repairs will be made.
As I write, Nora drums her manicured nails on the countertop and Clo runs over to her hand to inspect what she’s doing.
“Your haircut looks nice,” Nora says softly.
The compliment makes me bristle for some reason. I drop the notebook and pen on the countertop like they’re on fire. I’m not sure what it is about this woman, but she leaves me unsettled.
“Most people just say thanks.” She scowls at me. “I’ve met your parents so you can’t blame it on your upbringing.”
A flash of irritation burns hot through me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Clo flaps his wings angrily at me like I’m the problem here.
“You’re rude,” she says, matter of fact. “Every time I try to be nice, you get weird.”
I cross my arms over my chest to glower at her. “Rude or weird? Which is it?”
“Both!”
Her eyes flood with tears and she blinks them back. With a huff, she snatches up the notebook and pen, storming away from me.
“Where are you going?” I ask with a sigh.
Clo takes off after her.
“To bed,” Nora calls out. “Getting up stupid early in the morning has left me drained. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Seconds later, the door to her room shuts hard. Not quite a slam, but not exactly softly either. Gritting my teeth, I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling.
“Goldie, your granddaughter is so difficult. Apparently, I’m rude and weird. I thought I was being hospitable letting her stay here and feeding her my food and allowing her to drink my coffee. Don’t even get me started on how she’s turned my bird against me.”
She doesn’t respond from beyond the grave. All I can hear is the hammering of my eardrums beating in tandem with my racing heart.
“Living with a woman is hard,” I mutter to myself. “Especially an Everhart.”
And that’s the truth. Because as much as I like to put Goldie on a pedestal, she had her moments. Clearly, it’s a family trait.
Regardless, I vow again to do better tomorrow.
Maybe this time I’ll actually follow through.