“Dear, you should read about what conditions are like for sugarcane workers,” she said, finally addressing me. “Well, that’s condescending of me. Perhaps you already know.”
“I don’t,” I admitted, suppressing a sigh.
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” she murmured. “Most Americans don’t.” Strike 10,006 against Callie/Cassie … she put sugar in her coffee, the ignorant, disgusting American.
And then … and then we heard a little chirp. For a second, I didn’t realize what it was … not until my sister’s voice boomed into our lovely evening.
“Callie! Guess what! I just had sex! It was amazing!”
“Excuse me!” I lunged from the table. Shit! Earlier today, I’d used the push to talk feature, as the walkie-talkie method tended to work better out here by the lake. Alas … oh, alas! … I’d forgotten to turn it off.
“I mean, sure,” Hester continued, “I’ve, you know, felt things. I own a vibrator, after all. But this was much better than anything you can buy online, you know?”
Where was my purse, dammit all to hell? Counter? No. Desk? No! Ah, right, over there by the back door. Hester’s thunderous voice continued to detonate from the depths of my vast orange bag. “Seriously! I thought I was going to end up clinging to the ceiling by my fingernails! I know you said you were doing the vet, and he does seem hot, but listen … I hope he’s half as good as Louis.”
“Holy crap!” I blurted. I jerked open my purse and shoveled through the debris for my phone. Tampon, paperback, picture of Bronte and Josephine, wallet. No phone. Come on!
“Callie? You there? Well, anyway, just wanted to share the big news. I’m screwing a mortician and yes, it really is true. They do it stiffer.” My hand closed around the phone. “Gotta go. I think I’m up for round two! Bye!”
I stabbed the off button. The quiet was deafening … not that I could hear anyway, the way my pulse was roaring in my ears. I returned the phone to my purse and took a breath.
“Guess what?” I said. “My sister has a boyfriend.”
Neither of them said a word. Angie, however, wagged her plumy tail. I was grateful.
Back to the table I went, face flaming. Finished off that glass of wine, oh, yes I did. It was the only friendly thing at the table. “Sorry about that,” I muttered.
“What a lovely family you must have,” Jane said, raising her eyebrow.
“You know what?” I snapped. “They are lovely. I have a great family. We love each other, we accept each other, we don’t sit around once a year talking about how disappointed we are in each other.”
“Callie,” Ian said in a low voice.
I ignored him. “My sister may be a little, well … weird, but she’s a great mother to both her kids. She’d never try to make them feel like they’d let her down.”
“Callie,” Ian said again.
Jane, however, simply looked amused. “Oh, no, speak your mind, dear.”
I swallowed and unclenched my fists. “I just think maybe … maybe you should stop telling Ian what he should do with his life. He lost his parents when he was little—”
“She knows what happened, Callie,” Ian said quietly.
“—and maybe you should stop trying to convert him to your mission and just back off.”
Ian closed his eyes briefly. The kitchen clock ticked. Angie sighed.
“Well,” Jane said, unfazed. “I guess we know where Cassie stands.”
I waited for Ian to correct her. He didn’t.
“Okay,” I said, standing. My hip bumped the table, sloshing my untouched, sugary coffee. “Um, I have to run. It was good to meet you, Dr. McFarland. Have a safe trip back. Ian …” My heart was thudding so hard I thought I might barf, and not because I’d eaten beet ravioli (though surely that didn’t help matters). “See you soon, I’m sure.”
He cut his eyes to me, and for the first time since I met him, I saw that he was angry. My chest tightened. How could he be mad at me? I defended him! I thought he was pretty damn wonderful.
“Actually, I’m the one who should go,” Jane said calmly, rising from the table. “I’m heading to Manchester Airport. That’s not too far, is it?”
“I’ll get you directions,” Ian said. “Come in the den, Jane.” He glanced over at me, his eyes still hot, and led his aunt into the other room.
Was I supposed to stay? It didn’t seem right to just walk out right now, while they were looking up directions on Google. Because I wasn’t sure what else to do, I cleared the table, tossing Jane’s untouched cake into the trash with more force than was necessary. Loaded the dishwasher. Ian always put all the forks in one quadrant of the silverware holder, all the spoons in another, the knives in a third … you know what? I mixed them all up. So there. Swallowed against the sharp lump of tears in my throat. Listened to them talking in Spanish. Point taken. We don’t want you to know what we’re talking about.
They came back into the great room a few minutes later. “Well, it’s certainly been interesting meeting you, Callie,” Ian’s aunt said matter-of-factly.
“Same here,” I said. Interesting didn’t come close.
“Thank you for cooking, dear.” She didn’t seem to be making fun of me.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll walk you to the car, Jane.” Ian held the door, and out they went. I took a deep breath, felt the tears sting my eyes. Figured emotional diarrhea was just around the corner.
From the light over Ian’s garage, I could see the two of them, Ian a good eight or ten inches taller than his aunt. They talked for a minute or two, then Ian gave her a hug, picking her up a little as he did. Jane reached up and tousled his hair, then got into her rental car and backed around, her tires crunching on the gravel driveway.
Ian was very quiet when he came back in. His dog, sensing her master’s mood, slunk into the den. I wished I could follow.
“So,” I said, swallowing.
He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor, practically burning a hole in it. “Was I somehow unclear when I asked you not to … campaign for me, Calliope?” he asked, not looking up.
Crap. Things were never good when my full name was used. “Nope. Not unclear.”
“But you did anyway.”
I took a shaky breath. “Well, Ian, I’m sorry, but I just felt she should be … proud. Of you. Is that such a bad thing?”
“She’s not going to be proud, Callie. I don’t need her to be. And I don’t need her to approve of you. What really bothers me about tonight is that you didn’t respect the fact that perhaps I know more about my family than you do.”
“Well, don’t we sound all Jane Austen,” I said. “Although it’s funny, you and Mr. Darcy have a lot in common.”
Ian failed to appreciate the comparison. “I’m also a little uncomfortable with your view of me as a tragic orphan. Jane did her best with a child she didn’t expect or want. That was more than anyone else was offering.”
My eyes filled. Poor Ian! Of course, he’d smite me for thinking that, but come on!
He wasn’t done. “I think tonight had more to do with your need for people to adore you than with my