doing here so early? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
I laugh, and I can tell he doesn’t like it one bit. I stand up and collect our plates. “I have grading to do. I was gonna borrow your back porch swing to do it.
He bats a hand toward the back door. “Well, get to it then. The last thing I need is you grinnin’ at me like some simpleton.”
I clean up the kitchen and give my uncle some peace. His porch swing is the one thing of his I envy. One day, I need to add on to the tiny porch of my tiny house so I can fit one of my own. His swing is wrought iron and as heavy-duty as a chariot. When I sit back and set it swinging, the creaking of the chains makes a welcome music to accompany my grading. I plough through one set of exams and get up only to fill a glass with iced tea before settling in to grade the next.
The afternoon slips by. The four o’clock ballroom class is a piece of cake, and it energizes me for the last push of grading back on Nonc’s porch swing. And before I realize the time, Iris Adams’s black Range Rover is crunching through gravel in the back drive. I look up from the stack of exams in my lap, but I can make out nothing behind the tinted windows.
Does she really need tinted windows? Sure, people recognized her at the hospital last night, but they didn’t mob her.
And then I remember the junkie. Okay, he did kind of mob her.
Still, tinted windows spell pretentious.
The driver’s side door opens, and her PA Ramon steps out. The guy goes to the back seat door, and he opens it like a chauffeur. Like a frickin’ chauffeur. I watch Iris Adams place her hand in his and slip out of the vehicle.
Pretentious? Make that insufferable.
Two months. I can get through two months, I tell myself, straightening my papers and getting to my feet.
Instead of heading my way, Iris turns and leans back into the SUV. She comes out with a giant basket and hooks it on her arm. Even from here, I hear Ramon offer to take it. She shakes her head and sets off across the drive.
But the basket’s half as big as she is, and as she hoists it up the steps, I drop my exams and move in to help.
“Here, let me get that.”
“No, thank you,” she says, tugging back when my hand meets the wicker handle. “I’ve got it.”
I step back, but not before getting a sense of the basket’s weight, which has got to be forty pounds. The thing is bursting with parcels wrapped in blue gingham and twine.
Ramon gets the door, and Iris steps inside. But she’s panting, and her arms strain as she hefts the basket up onto Nonc’s kitchen table. I follow bemused.
Clearly winded, she turns to me, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Hi, Beau,” she pants. “Is your uncle here?” She dabs her wrist against invisible sweat on her forehead and something about the gesture tempts my smile, but I keep it in check.
“I think he’s upstairs.”
“Oh.” Her chest rises and falls again. She gestures to the mammoth basket. “I brought him a few things.”
This time my smile breaks free. “I see that.” I guess she’s the kind of person who needs recognition for everything she does. But then again, she’s got to be used to people watching her all the time. When she’s around, it’s hard to look anywhere else. As a matter of fact, Ramon and Iris’s friend Sally followed us inside, but I barely register their presence.
Iris’s slender brows knit together. “How’s he doing? Is he okay?” If I didn’t know she was an actress, I’d say that was real worry in her eyes.
“He’s okay.” I give her a half-shrug. “He’s having surgery Friday, and then hopefully the worst will be behind him.”
Her eyes do this quick-flutter thing before they widen. “Surgery?” Surprise and distress hang in her voice, and I pause. Maybe this isn’t acting. I frown.
“Yeah, it wasn’t a clean break, but the orthopedist says that with PT following the surgery he should be alright.”
“Oh man,” she moans, looking sick.
“Stop scaring her,” Nonc barks, filling the doorway. “I’m gonna be fine.”
Iris whirls around to face him. “Oh, Mr. Hebert. Look at that cast. Oh crap, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” Her words run into each