Going Through the Notions(73)

“Don’t trip on the carpet,” I whispered back, seeing the slight indentations she made in the smooth pile as she paraded around.

After I hung up with Martha, I called Betty to offer her a ride. I also made a few calls to some other store owners I knew in Millbury and Sheepville to ask for their help with the country fair.

After the show ended, we played games for a while until Claire yawned and rubbed her eyes, so I told her to put on her pajamas and brush her teeth. I lay down on the twin bed with its purple butterfly comforter next to her and read our favorite stories until I almost fell asleep myself. I glanced over at the other twin bed, Patsy’s, and again thought how much she would appreciate having her own bedroom someday. I hoped the Backsteads could find a way to keep her on at the auction house, even when Angus came home.

As Claire’s breathing evened, I crept upstairs and took a mystery novel out of my tote bag and settled down to read.

Around 11:30 p.m., Patsy and Sarah returned, pink-cheeked and laughing.

“So I gather you guys had a good time?” I asked them.

“Hell, yeah!” They both said it at the same time and collapsed in laughter again. It was a good thing Claire was sound asleep in the basement.

On the way home in the car, Sarah chatted to me nonstop. “Wow. I haven’t danced that much in a long time. It was a great band, Mom. I couldn’t believe it.”

I smiled. She sounded like a teenager again, full of bubbling enthusiasm.

“But, man, that other diner waitress that Patsy works with—Carla? She’s going to get herself in trouble one day with the way she carries on. Patsy’s no angel either, but I mean, this girl’s really crazy.”

I gripped the wheel. Pregnant and drinking? I’d need to have a little chat with Carla.

“Her jealous ex-boyfriend showed up while she was literally dancing on the bar. He was freaking out. It was like free entertainment in addition to the band.”

My cell rang.

“Hi, babe.” It was Joe. He hadn’t called me that in a while.

“What’s going on?”

“Well, let’s see, there’s a nice young man here who showed up looking for Sarah. Says you gave him the address?”

Oh, boy.

Here we go again. One step forward, two steps back in my relationship with my daughter.

“Okay,” I said as casually as I could, “thanks for letting me know.”

“What’s the matter, Mom?”

“Nothing,” I said as we pulled up in front of the house. She jumped out and I trailed after her toward the front door. Toward my doom.

At the end of the wide entry hallway, behind the plastic sheet hanging over the kitchen archway, came the unmistakable murmur of male voices.

“Do you know anything about cabinet installation, young man?”

“Not really, sir.”

“Well, get ready for a lesson.”

“What the—” Sarah ran toward the sound and whipped back the plastic to reveal Joe standing next to an extremely good-looking man with dark hair and blue eyes.

“Hi, Sarah,” he said.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” I managed to choke out. I hadn’t taken a full breath since I’d walked into the house and my chest was on fire. “I just thought he needed our address to send flowers.”

She turned and stared at me. I turned and glared at Peter, who spread his hands wide.

“I apologize, Mrs. Buchanan, but I had to see her. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

There was a moment of silence where we held our collective breath.

Suddenly Sarah burst out laughing. “This is so surreal.”

I exhaled slowly.

Joe stepped forward. “How about you take this nice young fella down to the basement and pick out a bottle of wine, daughter? Think we could all use a drink.”

“Okay, Daddy.” She led a willing Peter downstairs.

Joe grinned at me. “Come here, Judas.” He put an arm around my shoulders and I leaned into the embrace, grateful for his calm strength.

“There’s also an open bottle of a rather nice Shiraz on the counter,” I said, and felt Joe’s chuckle rumble through his body.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that, wife.”

Sarah and Peter reappeared after a few minutes, and I hunted around for wineglasses and rinsed them out. Joe motioned for us to sit down at the butcher block table. Jasper picked a spot on the floor next to me and I stroked his head.

“He looks a lot calmer,” Peter commented. “I mean, I heard he ate the linoleum and all, but still . . .”

“He’s a good dog,” I said.

“Looks like you have quite the project going on here, sir,” Peter said, clearing his throat.