“Then we’ll tell them to come back next week,” he said. “Don’t worry; they probably heard the news. They’ll figure it out.”
“And I e-mailed an updated version of the ad to the Caerphilly Clarion, asking them to run it again this Friday,” I said, drawing a line through the item in my notebook. “And also an updated announcement to the college radio station. Can you think of anything else we need to do?”
“Nothing we need to do tonight,” he said. “Let’s worry about it tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to worry abut anything tomorrow,” I said. “I just want to sleep late tomorrow. In fact, never mind late. I just want to sleep.”
“Sounds fine.”
“And then do nothing for the rest of the week.”
“Also fine,” he said. “Or maybe we could do something fun.”
I nodded. I was shutting down the laptop. I hadn’t thought of anything urgent that needed doing, and sleep was becoming really appealing.
“Maybe before your parents leave town we could go out to that antique mall with your mother and—”
“Do we have to do that this week?” I asked. “Shopping isn’t usually something I do for fun, especially shopping with Mother, and right now the idea sounds only slightly less horrible than taking a bus tour of the lower three circles of hell.”
“But your mother—”
“Will live if she has to go antiquing by herself.”
“Fine,” he said. He sounded irritated. “Just blow her off.”
“Michael—”
“Couldn’t you at least take an hour or two to look at what she’s found?” he asked. “I only spent the whole past week hauling her around town, and listening patiently to every crazy idea she came up with and then trying to talk her out of them all without hurting her feelings. And trying to explain what we wanted instead.”
“It never occurred to you just to tell her that what we want is to be left alone to do things ourselves?”
“She’s your mother, dammit,” he said. “I was trying to be nice to her.”
“Can’t we be nice to her, and also tell her nicely that we don’t need a decorator right now?”
“Have you even looked at her drawings? The latest ones—the ones she’s done this week, based on what I’ve been telling her?”
“No; she hasn’t mentioned any drawings.”
“She probably figures you’ll reject them without even looking at them. Why do you have to be so negative? She’s only trying to help.”
“Oh, and that’s supposed to make me feel better? That she’s only trying to help; she doesn’t actually set out to drive me crazy?”
“Forget it,” he said, turning and striding out of the room. Something about his tone scared me.
“All right,” I called after him. “If it’s so damned important, I’ll look at them!”
“Don’t put yourself out on my account,” Michael snapped back. His steps clattered down the stairway, and then I heard the front door slam.
I walked out into the hall, and then noticed that several of the visiting relatives were peering out of the doors of their rooms, and Mrs. Fenniman had crept halfway down the staircase from the third floor.
I ducked back into the room and closed the door before any of them could ask what was wrong, where was Michael going, and had we had a fight. I hoped my relatives wouldn’t come knocking on my door, trying to cheer me up by sympathizing with me and reviling Michael. Or telling me Michael was right and I was a fool for arguing with him. Worst of all, some might take Michael’s side and some mine, and we could end up with an all-night debate up and down the hallway. Which, knowing my family, is probably what would have happened if it hadn’t been past two A.M. already.
Should I go after Michael? Not until I was sure I had my own temper firmly under control, or I’d only make it worse. Luckily, I hadn’t heard his car start. I went over to the window. He wasn’t in the driveway. Maybe he’d just gone out to the barn to cool off.
I took a deep breath and decided I was calm enough to cope, so I opened my door and peered out. The lurking relatives had vanished. I emerged and went downstairs to the kitchen. I peered out the kitchen window, but I couldn’t see anyone out back. More to the point, I didn’t hear the inevitable noise Michael would have made, trying to find his way through the remaining clutter to the barn.
Then I spotted something on the door-turned-table, near the leftover pizza and the now-empty cash box. One of Mother’s design notebooks.
I could feel my temper heating up again. But my curiosity kicked in, too. I walked over and opened it.