Strangely Normal - By Tess Oliver Page 0,14

stool and hopped up onto it. “So, anyhow, Eden,” she spoke to me but looked Jude’s way, “as I was saying,” she winked at me, “we used to have a really great chef.”

“Shut the hell up, Doolittle.” Jude raised the carton in the air and swallowed back the contents.

“But last week, Tanya, the chef,” she spoke loudly enough to be sure that Jude heard every word over the sound of the television, “crept into Jude’s room, took off her clothes, and climbed into bed with him.” Finley was trying hard to suppress laughter, and I wasn’t completely sure I wanted her to finish the story.

“Shut the fuck up, Freak Show.” He lifted the remote and turned up the volume.

She laughed once and continued. “Well, Jude told her to get out. The next morning he came in to breakfast, and she was spitting in his scrambled eggs.”

“Ooh, gross. I take it that was the end of her employment.”

“Yep.” She glanced over at Jude. “I told Dad what happened. He said it is your job to hire a new chef.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He held the carton up in the air. “Empty.”

This guy was beyond arrogant, and I wanted to slap him. I only hoped that like Finley had said, he’d be gone once the ankle monitor came off. Finley was about to push off the stool, but I put my hand on her arm. “Allow me. I’m used to waiting on two baby sisters.” This time I spoke loudly enough for him to hear.

I tromped up behind him and reached for the carton, but he moved it out of my reach. Refusing to give in to his teasing, I walked around to the front of the couch. He was focused on the television as I reached for the carton. My fingers grazed his. They were unexpectedly calloused. His grip on the empty container had not loosened. His hardened gaze shifted to me, and he stared at me for a few long seconds before releasing it.

I returned to the kitchen and Finley pointed out the trash. We carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them. The dishwasher was also camouflaged in a cupboard. “This dishwashing thing is going to get old real quick,” Finley quipped.

“Unfortunately, I’m rather skilled at it. Years of practice. And yes, it gets old.” Especially without a dishwasher I thought but didn’t add.

Jude turned off the T.V., pushed up from the couch, and left the room.

Finley had grown uncharacteristically quiet. “You know, Eden,” she said quietly, “I haven’t left the estate in nine months.”

“Your aunt mentioned something about it.” Her change of tone made my throat tighten.

“But I’m not a freak.”

“I know.” I paused a second before speaking. “Why don’t you tell him to stop calling you that?”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it. He just worries about me.” It was amazing how she stuck up for her brother. He was obviously a jerk. Then her face brightened and her tone changed completely as if a switch had been turned off and on again. “Do you want to take a tour of the grounds? We’ve got a great pool area.”

“Sure.” I was slightly taken aback by her abrupt mood change, but something told me I was going to have to get used to it.

“Wait here and I’ll run up and change shoes.” She opened a cupboard and threw a box of cookies on the counter. “These are delish.” She walked out of the room, and Some Pig trotted behind her.

I sat munching on a cookie looking around at the unbelievable décor when both dogs lifted their heads again. The side door to the kitchen opened, and a guy walked in wearing a motocross shirt and pants that were completely splattered in hardened mud. Dirt crusted goggles hung around his neck. The skin around his hazel eyes was the only area not covered with mud.

He looked at me and nodded. “How’s it going?” One of his hands was covered in a motorcycle glove. He fished in a drawer, pulled out some long scissors, and began sawing at the leather glove. It was a futile attempt. “Yeah, I didn’t think that was going to work.” He looked up at me again. “Do you think you could help me? I just need you to pull off the glove.”

I stood from the stool. “Sure.” It definitely seemed like a task I could manage. I took hold of several fingers.

“Wait a second,” he said. He grasped the edge of the counter