Rainshadow Road(51)
“Why don’t you use the mixer?”
“Mark didn’t tell you?” Maggie scrunched up her face adorably, and hung her head in shame. “I burned up the mixer motor last week. I promise, I’ll replace it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, still whisking. “We’re used to kitchen disasters around here. Except that Mark and I are usually the cause. How did you burn up the motor?”
“I was trying to make whole wheat pizza dough, and it got too heavy and stiff, and then there was a burning smell and the mixer started smoking.”
Sam grinned, using the tip of the whisk to test the whipped cream, which was holding its shape. “Maggie, sweetheart, pizza is not something you cook at home. Pizza is what you get when you don’t feel like cooking at home.”
“I was trying to make a healthy version.”
“Pizza’s not supposed to be healthy. It’s pizza.” He handed the bowl to her, and she proceeded to cover it with plastic wrap and put it into the fridge.
After closing the Sub-Zero, which had been camouflaged with cream-painted cabinet doors to blend in with the rest of the kitchen, Maggie went to the stockpot on the stove and stirred the soup. “How is your friend?” she asked. “Lucy, right?”
“Yeah. She’ll be fine.”
Maggie sent him a perceptive sideways glance. “How about you?”
“Great,” he said, a shade too quickly.
She began to ladle the steaming soup into bowls. “Should I fix a dinner tray for her?”
“No, she’s down for the count.” Sam went to an already-opened bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.
“So you’ve brought Lucy here to recuperate,” Maggie remarked. “And you’re going to take care of her. She must be someone special.”
“No big deal.” Sam kept his tone scrupulously offhand. “We’re friends.”
“Just friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there a chance of anything more developing?”
“No.” Again, his response was a little too fast. He scowled as he saw Maggie’s knowing smile. “She doesn’t want my kind of relationship.”
“What kind is that? Sex with random beautiful women with no chance of commitment?”
“Exactly.”
“If you find the right woman, you may want to try something a little more long-term.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t do long-term.” He set the table and went in search of Mark and Holly to tell them that dinner was ready. Finding them in the living room, he paused at the broad threshold, where a superfluous wall had been knocked out to allow for a more open floor plan.
Mark and Holly were seated close together on the sofa, a boatlike antique that Maggie had found and convinced Mark to buy. In its original condition, the sofa had been a monstrosity, all scarred and moth-eaten. But after the carved rosewood had been stripped and refinished, and it had been upholstered in acres of sage-green velvet, the settee possessed a whimsical grandiosity that suited the house.
Holly’s legs dangled from the sofa. She swung her feet idly while Mark made notes in the family planner spread out on the coffee table.
“… so when you’re at the dentist’s, and he asks how often you floss,” Mark said, “what are you going to say?”
“I’ll say, ‘What’s floss?’” Holly giggled as Mark goosed her in the side and kissed the top of her head.
Not for the first time, Sam was struck by the fatherly quality in Mark’s attachment to her. In the past, it hadn’t been a role that Mark had seemed particularly suited for … but he had grown into it with lightning speed when Holly had come into their lives.
Mark leaned over to scribble something in the family planner. “Did Maggie order those ballet shoes for your dance class yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her.”
“Uncle Mark?”
“Mmmm-hmm?”
“The baby’s going to be my cousin, isn’t he?”
The pen stopped moving. Mark set it down carefully and looked into the child’s solemn face. “Technically, yes. But I imagine…” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I imagine it will feel like the baby is your brother or sister. Because you’ll be growing up together.”
“Some kids in my class think you’re my dad. You even look like a dad.”
Sam, who had been about to say something from the threshold, closed his mouth. He didn’t dare disrupt the moment by leaving or intruding. He could only stand there, frozen in the understanding that something important was happening.