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Drizzled with Death(58)

By:Jessie Crockett


Celadon pursed her lips so tightly it was like they were a star beginning to implode. “Maybe it is better if you don’t come home for a while. Perhaps you will begin to appreciate what you have that way.” Celadon slammed the door behind her so hard the leopard print lampshade on the ceiling fixture swayed like there was a sudden storm. I huddled beneath the blanket again and thought about my options.

I didn’t want to go home and I didn’t want to face the family until we all had an opportunity to calm down. I could stay at Piper’s most likely for at least a couple of days, but no matter how angry and hurt I was, it would just get worse if I had to explain why I hadn’t done my fair share of the work to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. And not being at the actual event was unthinkable. As hurt as I was, there was no way I could do that to myself, or the rest of the family.

I fixed myself some cheese and crackers from Piper’s cupboard and had settled in with a book I found in her bathroom on weird New Hampshire history, witches, and strange phenomenon when Piper was at the door, tugging Dean into the RV behind her. They were giggling and pawing at each other in a way I was sure they wouldn’t be if they were aware they had an audience. For the second time that day I was an unwelcomed presence in an otherwise romantic interlude. Piper asked me what was wrong and encouraged me to stay but I told her it was just holiday craziness at the house and that I was refreshed and ready to leave. I’m not sure I convinced her, but Dean seemed pleased to see me leave so at least I had made someone happy.

• • •

I was deep in thought about my love life or lack thereof and all the rest of the things Celadon had said. Maybe I wasn’t as mature as the average person my age. After all, I was almost twenty-seven and still had no marriage prospects, no thought of children besides a vague idea that someday I might like to have a couple of my own. I wondered if I looked as unsuccessful as I felt. Was public pressure finally going to wear me down and cause me to marry Knowlton and mother a troupe of taxidermy-loving children? I rounded the corner to where I had left my car and spotted Graham plucking his laundry off the makeshift line. He caught sight of me and waved.

I waved back with as little enthusiasm as possible to still not count as ignoring someone and trotted to my car as fast as I could manage. Unfortunately, Graham moved even faster. It must have been his long, lean legs and decently muscled back end that gave him the advantage. Not that I noticed much about his back end, but I was human after all. He tapped on the window, all professional, like a cop. Did I mention I am no longer interested in cops? I didn’t roll down the window.

“Yes?” I asked through the glass.

“I just wanted to thank you for the invitation to Thanksgiving.”

“I didn’t invite you so there is no need to thank me.”

“But you will need to put up with me at the dinner, and I think maybe I left things a bit rough round the edges the last time we spoke.”

“If my family invited you, it is no business of mine. They do whatever they are going to without consulting me.” I hadn’t intended to share that much but it just slipped out. I must have been more stressed out than I had realized.

“Are you sure you’re safe to drive? You look a little crazed. Distracted and not quite yourself.” I rolled down the window so I could be sure he could hear how indignant I sounded when I came up with a snappy retort.

“Every time I run into you, you think I’m crazy. Is it just me or is it women in general?”

“It’s just you. I can’t remember any other woman ever making the sort of impression on me that you seem to.” That knocked me off balance. I wasn’t sure if he was flirting with me or insulting me again.

“If you think I’m crazy, you’re going to enjoy meeting my mother on Thursday.”

“Does she see imaginary animals, too?”

“She sees auras, ghosts, and spirit guides.” Last week, she had tried to get me to join her for a sacred cleanse session in preparation for the toxins we would be experiencing over the holidays. It involved drinking algae shakes and standing knee-deep, naked as jay birds, in a stream at the edge of the property under the glow of the full moon. I had declined, citing the ill effects of frostbite on my already too tiny bustline. “And for the record, I may have more proof about the mountain lion that was anything but imaginary.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really. The same night I called you, another woman in town had something break into her goat enclosure.”

“What makes you think that means it was a mountain lion? Lots of things could have done that.”