Joe and Jimbo were supposed to build arches over which we would drape ivy and grapevines, and tuck roses into the lattice work. I sighed, making a note to ask Jimbo what kind of help he would need now that Joe wouldn’t be able to lift a hammer. Maybe my father could help him slap them together. Or maybe we’d have to buy them ready-made.
Randa came racing down the stairs. In an hour, she was due at the house belonging to the president of her astronomy club. The club was making a field trip to Bellingham to visit the new astronomy museum that had opened up. More of a gallery than a real museum, it was sponsored by the Skies & Scopes shop.
She screeched to a halt in front of the fridge. “Mom, do you know where my backpack is?”
At least some things were running on track. “Try the laundry room. You left it there yesterday. Have you had breakfast yet? And did Kip feed the cats?”
“I’m not hungry, and yeah, Kip fed them,” she said, peeking into the pantry where the washer and dryer were located.
“Hold on there, chickie. Make time for breakfast. I want to see something going into your stomach and it better not just be sugar.” The light blinked on my espresso machine, indicating that it was ready. I flipped the switch and watched as four shots of pure black gold poured into the glass decanter. I stirred it into a tall glass, along with raspberry and chocolate syrups, milk, and ice. Randa leaned against the counter, a snarky grin on her face.
“And what is that, if not pure sugar?” She pointed to my glass. “Face it, Mom, you’re a junkie. You couldn’t go a day without caffeine if you tried.” A smile tweaked the corner of her lip and I knew she was teasing.
“All right, all right, I’ll eat something, too. Let’s see, what do we have?” I opened the refrigerator and peered at the food-laden shelves. Since Joe had moved in, we never were without plenty of groceries. He kept the larder stocked a lot better than I had. Feeling just a tinge inadequate, I glanced at the clock. “I have to call the hospital in a few minutes to find out when I can pick up Joe.”
“Do you know who shot him yet?” Kip asked, entering the kitchen. “He’s gonna be okay, isn’t he?”
Kip was lugging a book almost as big as he was. He’d maintained his love of computers from the school year and had progressed to the intermediate class at computer camp, which made me both proud and a little worried. Considering Kip’s predilection for getting in trouble, I still had concerns that I might be raising a hacker, but at least he’d found a passion other than the folk magic that Nanna had taught me. I had no problem passing on my magical training, but more than once, Kip had proved himself too emotionally immature to cope with the responsibility. I had told him that we were going to wait until he was thirteen before starting training again.
“Joe’s going to be fine, and no, we don’t know who shot him,” I said. “Okay, I’m making breakfast, and everybody’s eating. Got that, Randa?” She nodded. “Good. How about ham and cheese sandwiches? Quick, nutritious, and they won’t dirty up any pans.” Anything for freedom from dirty dishes.
As I opened the bread, Randa handed me a knife and three plates, while Kip foraged through the fridge for ham, cheese, mayonnaise, mustard, tomatoes, and lettuce. I spread the bread with the mayo and mustard while Randa sliced cheese and tomatoes, then Kip layered ham and lettuce on the bread.
We worked in silent unison, immersed in the rhythm that ran through our family. Joe had managed to slip into that rhythm, never breaking it. He flowed right into the stream that had become our lives since we first moved to Chiqetaw. The kids accepted him, edging over gently to allow him space next to me. And I’d grown comfortable with sharing my life with another adult. I finally knew what it meant to be partners with someone, rather than just “the wife.”
When we finished, the kids carried the food over to the table, along with glasses of milk and what was left of my mocha. I picked up the phone. Not quite time to call about Joe, but I needed to touch base with the shop.
It felt odd—being away from the Chintz ’n China for so long. I wouldn’t be returning until July—another two weeks—and I was already fussing about how things were going. But I tried to rein in my fretting. My finances would show a crunch, but I wanted to enjoy every moment of my wedding and honeymoon.
“Chintz ’n China Tea Room, how may I help you?” Cinnamon answered. She’d just graduated with her Associate of Arts degree in accounting. I had the feeling she would be moving on soon; she was a smart girl with children to feed, and I couldn’t pay her what she deserved. I was reluctantly awaiting the day when she handed me her resignation and had already informed her that if she needed time off for an interview, she should just ask.
“It’s me, Cinnamon. How’s it going?”
“Almost ready to open the doors. Lana’s going to be a little late, but since it’s Sunday, the rush won’t come until later. If you have the time, though, you need to sign off on a few checks. Several invoices came in yesterday.”
Since Cinnamon had her accounting degree, I figured she might as well learn the back end of the business and had handed her some of the easier paperwork to deal with. “I’ll try to drop by this afternoon. This weekend’s been insane—”
“I saw the paper,” she said, her voice tentative. “I wasn’t sure whether or not you wanted to talk about it, so I wasn’t going to bring it up until you did.”
A chill ran up my back. Paper? What paper? “Bring what up? What are you talking about?” I asked, knowing full well I wasn’t going to want to hear the answer.
She hesitated. I was known for throwing tantrums over the local media, with whom I had tenuous and stressful connections, but I never directed my anger toward the messengers unless they were directly involved.
“Go on. I’m not going to bite you, you know.”
“Okay. Ingrid ran a huge article in the Chiqetaw Town Crier about Roy being thrown out of the party the other night. She followed it up with an expose on Joe being shot and is linking the two stories by inference. Since the paper said Joe’s going to be all right, I decided to wait until you mentioned it.”
“Holy hell. If something like this happens again, tell me right away. I haven’t been out to pick up the paper—it’s still in the yard. So, the shop’s fine?”
“Yeah, everything’s okay here.” I could hear relief in her voice.
“Okay, then. I’m going to go look at that article. I’ll drop by a little later today to sign the checks and glance over the invoices.”
I dropped the receiver back in the cradle and made a dash out to the front yard. For once, the boy had gotten the newspaper near the porch. Joe was meticulous about keeping the lawn in order, and Kip had taken on a new diligence in his chores, wanting to impress his older buddy. A light film of dew still shimmered on the blades, but a glimpse of sunlight through the clouds promised to burn off the moisture before noon.
I snatched up the paper and returned to the kitchen, where I slipped into my chair. Randa, almost done with her breakfast, glanced at the paper, then at me, and winced. My fact-oriented daughter had developed a strong distaste for the Chiqetaw Town Crier’s cavalier attitude toward the difference between reality and speculation.
“They have something on you in there?” she asked, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. She drained her milk and wiped her mouth. Kip had already polished off his ham and cheese and was digging through the pastry basket for a doughnut.