A Good Day for Chardonnay (Sunshine Vicram #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,130
He spit out the last swallow and proceeded to cough for the next five minutes. His face turned a sickly shade of purple and he gagged—a lot—repeating one sound over and over that reminded Sun of someone trying to start a chainsaw.
Clearly, she was on to something.
Her mother rushed over and took the opportunity to beat him senseless, asking if he needed water. Or CPR. Or Vicks VapoRub.
After another couple of minutes where he had to wave off all the expressions of concern surrounding him, he looked Sun square in the face, and said as calmly as a windless summer day, “No. Why do you ask?”
She blinked at him.
Her mother beat him on the back again for good measure.
He blinked at Sun.
“Okay, then,” she said. “We’ll circle back to that. For now, I’m going to go see if Levi wants to have sex with me.”
It was her mother’s turn to cough, only she coughed more delicately, and her gag sounded less like a chainsaw and more like the plumbing had backed up.
On the bright side, her dad got to beat her mom for a bit. Good times.
She pulled the tin box close to her chest, proof that this precious thing called life could be taken away with the snap of a finger. It was too short, and Sun had too many things she wanted to accomplish before her journey came to an end.
Having copious amounts of sex with the man of her dreams had been at the top of her bucket list for decades, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Anything more would be pushing her luck, as they’d never really been on the same page about these things, but she would not go to her grave without having at least tried to have sex—real sex—with the man.
After her mother recovered, she cleared her throat, and said, “Thank God.” She looked at her husband. “We can cancel that idiot Johnson boy.”
“What idiot Johnson boy?”
Her mother opened her bag, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to her.
Quincy, apparently having finished organizing Mrs. Fairborn’s celebration of life, sat beside her and read over her shoulder. It was a list of names with the three at the top crossed out. Jay Johnson was next.
“You have a list?” she asked appalled. “You’re just going down a list?”
“I like to be organized.”
Quincy leaned over and pointed to a name.
“Joshua Ravinder?” she screeched. “You were going to set me up with Levi’s cousin?”
Her mother pressed her mouth together. “It’s a small town, honey. Our choices are limited.”
Her dad patted her hand. “We didn’t know how else to make you see the light.”
“And what light would that be? The red one? Because you guys clearly shop at Pimps-R-Us.”
Her mother pinched her lips tighter. “Don’t be dramatic, dear. We had to make you realize that nobody else was right for you.”
“Nobody else? You mean other than a hired assassin?”
“You’re never going to let us live that down, are you?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Quincy put an arm around her shoulders and rocked her as she went through three of the five stages of grief.
27
Caller reported the little boy across the street
must’ve heard something he shouldn’t have.
He keeps licking whipped cream off her cat.
—DEL SOL POLICE BLOTTER
“You’re going to see Levi?” Auri asked when Sun called to check in on her way home. They had taken Cruz for some tests, and she was all alone in her hospital room. “He’s been here all afternoon, but he left a little bit ago. He should be at his house in about fifteen.”
“He was with you?”
“What do you smell like?”
“Tacos and disappointment.”
“Mom.”
“Cheesecake and loneliness.”
“Mother.”
“Xanax and the cold dark abyss of utter failure.”
“Muh-ther. Men have a very strong sense of smell. He’ll like you more if you smell good.”
“Please. He’s been sniffing moonshine his whole life. How good can his sense of smell be?” Just in case, she lifted her collar and took a whiff. Not bad. Could be worse. “Maybe I should shower first,” she said, doubting herself now. “Even though,” she added, recovering in the nick of time, “I am just going over there to go over what happened in the mine. We’re being deposed in the morning.”
“You have to get your stories straight?”
“There’s nothing to get straight, sweetie.”
“Yeah. Right. Okay. Wear pink.”
“Auri.”
“Guys like pink.”
“I’ll be at the hospital in a couple of hours. Quincy is on his way now. And your grandparents are getting a hotel.”
“They’re still sneaking around? The whole town knows about them.”