Vice(38)

"Closing early and scampering off to go sniffing around some woman isn't  how you run a business." Mr. Hansom paused for a beat too long before  saying, "No offense, Ms. Jackson."

"Oh, none taken. I've been called worse by better." I beamed at him,  pretending not to hear his wife's shocked gasp. "Really, though, I'm  more offended at the way you're treating your son than anything else, so  if you want to apologize for that, I'm willing to listen."

"The way I'm treating...." Mr. Hansom trailed off, the lines of his face  deepening as he frowned. "Now see here, girl, you've got no call to go  around interfering in family affairs."

"First, my name isn't ‘girl', something you know damn good and well  since you've been calling me ‘Ms. Jackson' for the last hour." I ignored  Abraham when he reached over and squeezed my knee, instead resting my  hand on his and patting it gently. "Second, seeing as how I'm involved  with your son, I think I've got plenty of call to interfere when his  father starts being a dick." I smiled wider. "No offense, of course, Mr.  Hansom."

"I won't have such talk at my table." The fact Mrs. Hansom seemed more  scandalized by my language than by the fact her husband was obviously  gearing up to rip their son a new one did nothing to endear her to me.  She set her fork down on the edge of her plate with a loud clank and  said, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"If they leave, so do I." Abraham's hand shook under mine and I squeezed  him tight, willing some of my strength in to him. He cleared his throat  and said, "I'm sorry someone felt it was appropriate to call you and  bother you but I'm not sorry I closed the bar. It's my business, not  yours, and what I decide to do with it is my concern."

"Boy, don't you go forgetting I was the one who gave you the money for  that... business of yours." Mr. Hansom threw his fork down, the heavy,  ornate silver bouncing off his plate and on to the table, flecks of  gravy splattering over the glossy wood surface. Everybody at the table  flinched, something which only pissed me off that much more. Fisting one  hand on the arm of his wheelchair and shifting to the side, he pointed  at Abraham and said, "I gave you the land and the money. You wouldn't  have a damn thing without me and you'd do well to remember it."

"You sold me the land and you released my inheritance to keep quiet  about what happened in the car wreck." Abraham turned his hand over,  lacing his fingers with mine and squeezing hard. I bit back a wince, not  having the heart to tell him that was the same hand his father had  tried to crush earlier. "You didn't ‘give' me anything."

"I've told you before, boy, I don't care how old you are, when you're in  my house, you'll show me respect." Mr. Hansom shoved away from the  table, the wheels of his chair squealing on the hardwood floor. Quicker  than I would have thought possible, he adjusted the angle of the chair  and started rolling forward. "I don't care if there's company or not, I  won't have it."

Abraham and I stood at the same time and it was a tossup as to who was  more shocked when I stepped between him and his father-me, Abraham, or  Mr. Hansom. Without taking my gaze off the older man, I said, "Abraham,  would you take the kids to the car? I'll be outside in a moment."

"Jeannie-."

"Your father and I need to have a real quick conversation and then we  can leave." I squeezed his hand once before slipping mine free, crossing  my arms and glaring down at Mr. Hansom, who was still staring at me as  if I'd grown a second head. "Kids, go with Abraham."

"No." Conway climbed out of his chair, snagging his doll from Tammy's  lap before reaching up and taking Abraham's hand. "We'll wait."         

     



 

Neither of the girls argued although to be honest I didn't expect  otherwise. One thing I'd learned about my nephew-besides his near  fanatical devotion to his doll-was that when he put his foot down, it  would take nothing short of an act of God to get him to change his mind  and I had my doubts about that. Instead, Tammy set her silverware down  and covered her plate with her napkin before rising, gesturing for Dolly  to do the same.

"You want to tell me how to raise my child and you can't get a handle on  your own." Mr. Hansom flicked his tongue over his lips and sneered.  "Although what else would you expect from trailer trash?"

"Again, I've been called worse by better so if you think I'm going to  break down in tears and go running out of here with my tail between my  legs, you're in for a helluva disappointment." I leaned over, bracing my  hands on the arms of his chair and moving in until our faces were an  inch apart. This close, the lines and wrinkles were more obvious, along  with the faint beginnings of liver spots and the red eyes of a man who'd  drank more than his fair share of alcohol over the years. "And maybe  it's escaped your notice but Abraham is far from a child and despite the  abysmal job you've done as a parent, he's turned out to be a wonderful,  amazing, successful, and caring individual. Now, you don't know me so  I'll understand you not knowing what I mean when I say this, but Abraham  is mine and I'll be damned if I let anybody mistreat someone who's  mine."

"This is absolutely outrageous." Mrs. Hansom tossed her napkin on the  table and stood, the pitch of her voice rising to almost  glass-shattering levels. Drawing herself up to her full height, she  flung her arm toward the arched entrance and said, "I demand you leave,  right this instant. Abraham, you'll stay and apologize to your father."

"The hell he will." I shifted my gaze from Mr. Hansom long enough to  shoot his wife a hard-eyed glare before turning my attention back to the  older man. Leaning closer, I lowered my voice to just above a whisper,  making sure he was the only one who heard my next words. "I don't know  what happened in your accident but something tells me the police didn't  get the whole story. You cause Abraham one more ounce of trouble and  I'll dig up enough dirt to bury you six feet under." Straightening, I  stared down at him, satisfied at the pallor in his cheeks and the faint  trembling of his hands. "I trust we understand each other now."

"What did you say to him?" Mrs. Hansom all but screeched out the  question, rushing over and kneeling next to her husband, showing far  more concern over him than she apparently di over her son's mental  health. Her hands fluttered helplessly around him, the color draining  for her face and leaving her nearly as pale as him. "Nora! Nora, Marcus  needs his medicine!"

"And that's our cue to exit." I stepped back, motioning for the girls to  move toward the hall as Abraham picked up Conway. "I'd thank you for a  lovely meal but if I was being honest, the peas were overcooked, the  potatoes were dry, and the chicken was bland."

Two minutes later, we were all buckled in the car, speeding down the  driveway toward the main road. Turning around, I glanced at the kids in  turn and said, "You guys okay?"

"I'm hungry." Dolly crossed her arms and wrinkled her nose. "And I hate peas."

"Duly noted." Lifting my brows, I looked at Conway. "What about you?"

"I'm hungry." He propped his doll in his lap, smoothing out her dress. "And so is Becky."

"I'm not hungry but I wouldn't say ‘no' to ice cream." Tammy wrinkled  her nose much the same as her sister, pursing her lips as if she'd been  sucking on lemons. "Anything to get the taste of those horrible people  out of mouth."

"Can't really argue with you there." I shifted until I was facing  Abraham, noting the death grip on the steering wheel and the starkly  white knuckles. "How do you think the crowd is at the steakhouse right  now? Do you think we'll have to wait a long time for a table?"

Instead of answering, he spun the car out on to the main highway only to  jerk the wheel and swing the car to the shoulder, throwing it in to  park. He yanked off his seatbelt and flung the door open, stepping out  and slamming it shut, stalking around the front of the car to wrench my  door open, pulling me out by one elbow. Slamming that door shut as well,  he marched me a few feet away, whirling me to face him. "Did you mean  it?"         

     



 

"About the steakhouse?" I frowned, not sure why he was so angry. "No, if  there's some other place you want to eat, it's fine, as long as they  have ice cream. I'm pretty sure the kids are set on ice cream."

He stared at me, a small muscle in his left cheek twitching almost  rhythmically. After a long, tense moment, he said, "You really have no  idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Uh, no." I cocked my head. "It's not ice cream, is it?"