Holly walked to the huge side-by-side refrigerator and attached the turkey to its surface with magnets. To make room, she had to take down the previous month’s construction-paper pumpkin. “No matter,” she said. “I like this bird. He has character. Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” the little boy exclaimed, and there was a scuffling sound as he made a place for himself at the paper-and-book-littered table.
Holly plundered the refrigerator for lunch meat, sliced cheese, lettuce and mustard. She thought ruefully that another trip to the supermarket was in order.
Carrying the armload of sandwich supplies over to the counter, Holly set everything down to open the old-fashioned wooden bread box.
“We’re still going to Skyler’s place tomorrow, right?” Toby asked without looking at her.
Holly was closing the bread sack, tucking it back into its nook. She sighed. “Not exactly. We’re going to his parents’ house, remember? They live in the country.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t like Skyler very much, do you, Toby?” she ventured, buttering a slice of bread, adding cheese and lunch meat and a lettuce leaf.
“Are you going to marry him?” the child countered, watching Holly with pensive eyes.
It was a fair question, but since Holly didn’t know the answer herself, she could hardly offer one to Toby. “I don’t know. I like Skyler.”
“A lot?”
Holly thought. “Yeah. I like him a lot.”
“Do you love him?”
Holly’s knife clattered in the mustard jar. “Well—”
“You’re supposed to love somebody if you’re going to marry them. The way Elaine loves Roy. She’s always kissing him and when he says something, she looks at him like every word is real important.”
Holly paused, feeling oddly shaken, and gave her nephew a lopsided grin. “You’ve been watching Dr. Phil again,” she teased.
Toby looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“Never mind. How was school today?”
The little boy sighed. “I didn’t get any orange paper.”
“I remember,” Holly replied, putting the finished sandwich on a plate and carrying it to the table. “How come that happened, anyway? Were you late for art class or something?”
Toby was gathering up the sandwich in eager hands. “I had to talk to the principal.”
“Toby Llewellyn! Did you get into trouble?”
“No,” Toby said through a mouthful. “He wanted me to talk about the new president next week at assembly.”
A jolt of mingled alarm and fury raced through Holly; she had to take a deep breath before she could speak calmly. “What? How did he know—”
Toby shrugged. “Maybe there was something in the paper. Mr. Richardson was pretty disappointed when I told him I didn’t know the president.”
Holly was pacing the floor, her hands tucked into the hip pockets of her jeans. The celebrity of being a cookbook author was one thing—only a select group of people cared one way or the other, of course—but this shirttail relationship to the future president could get to be a real problem. Suppose reporters started taking an interest? Suppose what Craig had done got talked about? Toby could be hurt or even put in real danger!
“Did you see any newspaper people, Toby? Did anybody ask you questions?”
Toby shook his head. “Can I watch TV?”
Holly nodded somewhat impatiently. “You’ll tell me if anyone you don’t know tries to talk to you, won’t you, Toby?”
“Sure. Is there any lemonade?”
Agitated, Holly forced herself to stop pacing. There was no reason to panic, no reason. After all, she and Craig were only distantly related to the new president.
“Mom?”
“Cocoa. I’ll make you a cup of cocoa. It’s too cold for lemonade.”
“Okay,” Toby agreed amiably, on his way out of the kitchen. A moment later, as she searched the cupboard for a saucepan in which to prepare the cocoa, Holly heard the television set in the next room blaring. Her hands trembled as she collected the milk, salt, sugar and chocolate.
Oh, my God, she thought. Craig, what have you done to us? What have you done to all of us?
She reflected on her brother’s problems as she made the cocoa and carried it into the family room to Toby. The telephone shrilled and Holly jumped, startled out of her skin. She raced back into the kitchen and grabbed up the receiver. “H-hello?”
“Hello, kitten,” said the familiar masculine voice on the other end.
Holly sank into the chair at her small desk, her knees wobbly. Skyler. It was only Skyler. She was so glad that she didn’t even ask him not to call her by that silly, condescending nickname. “Hi,” she said.
Skyler cleared his throat. Skyler always cleared his throat when he was about to suggest something he expected Holly to oppose. “Listen, Holl, I was wondering—why don’t you and I and the kid just drive up to my folks’ place tonight, instead of waiting until tomorrow? I could close the shop early.”
Holly bit her lower lip, considering. She hated the way Skyler always referred to Toby as “the kid,” as though he didn’t have a name. But confronting him about it had about as much effect as asking him not to call her “kitten.” Which was none at all.
“Holly?” Skyler prompted when the silence grew too long. “Are you still there?”
“I was just—I was just thinking.”
“Is it that hard to decide?” he snapped, impatient now.
Holly drew a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. “No, Skyler, of course not. But, well—”
Skyler made an exasperated sound. “I suppose you’re afraid I’ll want you to sleep with me. In my parents’ house, Holly? Give me some credit, will you?”
He was being unusually defensive, Holly thought, but then sex was an issue between them. While Holly was certainly no innocent, she wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy, not with Skyler Hollis at any rate. “Sky.”
“Well? That is what you were thinking, isn’t it?”
Holly sighed as she rubbed her aching temples with a thumb and forefinger. “Yes. And I refuse to discuss it over the telephone.”
Skyler’s struggle for equanimity was almost audible. “Right,” he said presently. “Do I pick you up tonight or not, Holly?”
“What time would we leave?”
“I can be ready in about an hour and a half. We could eat dinner on the way if you’d like.”
Holly found herself smiling in spite of the odd tension Skyler always managed to inspire in her. “That sounds like a good idea. I really don’t feel like cooking.”
Skyler chuckled. “Little wonder.”
“On the other hand, I’ve got a freezer full of experimental ka-bobs. Test run from yesterday.”
“I’m in no mood to be a guinea pig,” Skyler retorted quickly, and there was a disturbing note of conviction in his voice. “I’ll see you at—” he paused and Holly could imagine him looking at his thin gold watch “—six-thirty.”
“Six-thirty,” Holly confirmed, and after a few perfunctory words of parting, they both hung