. “That’s a golf shirt!” This was deeply disturbing, as Rose did not play golf. But Charley did.
“Why, yes.” Rose smoothed down the front of the shirt, her augmented breasts shifting with the motion. “I thought I’d take it up again. I’ve always played a little,” she said, “over at the club.”
June eyed her, suspicious. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning that.”
“Well.” Rose appeared to check her lipstick in the foil cover of the casserole. “Perhaps you’re losing your memory.” Looking up, she blinked her cat eyes. “Getting old can be a bitch.”
“You can say that again,” June muttered.
“It’s been lovely chatting with you, but I am actually here to pay a visit to your neighbor. I believe he lives . . .” Rose made a big deal out of scanning the magnificent brownstones, before pointing at the one right next to June’s. “There.” She gave a happy sigh. “What a lovely home.”
With that, Rose swept away in a cloud of perfume. As she pranced up Charley’s steps, her legs perfectly tanned and varicose free, June leaned against her broom like Cinderella.
June watched as Charley answered the door. Silver hair shining, he listened closely to Rose. Throwing one last sly look at June, Rose slipped through Charley’s front door.
June’s heart sunk. “It is truly unbelievable,” she said, picking up the broom, “that someone over seventy could be such a complete and total hussy.”
Chloe studied June. “Interesting. Very, very interesting.”
“What?” June did not like the way her granddaughter was looking at her. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing.” Chloe shrugged. “I’m not saying anything at all.”
Eleven
“I hate you!” Mary Beth Gable screamed.
Chloe closed her eyes and counted to ten. Even though she loved her job at Tiny Tumblers, the kid’s gym, there were days when she just wanted to rip out her hair. Today was one of those days.
“Mary Beth,” she sighed, getting down on one knee. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt Asher. But when you hurt someone, you don’t laugh. You apologize. So, please say you’re sorry.”
Asher, pale and nervous by nature, let out a sniffle. Chloe put her hand on his back. The poor thing would be traumatized for life, all thanks to Mary Beth. The four-year-old hellion had decided it would be a great idea to leap off the monkey bars and use Asher as a landing pad.
Chloe was across the room when it happened, sanitizing the mats. The moment was awful, like watching a cheetah taking down a gazelle. Poor Asher had screamed in fear and promptly wet his pants. After tracking down dry clothes for Asher and giving him an ice-cream bar, Chloe was doing her best to get Mary Beth to apologize, but the little girl refused.
“Mary Beth.” Chloe kept her voice low and calm. “Please say you’re sorry.”
Mary Beth put her hands on her hips, debating. She was dressed in purple leggings and a pink and purple T-shirt that read, My dad can beat up your dad. Chloe doubted that the little girl would indeed be so confident if she actually did meet Chloe’s father.
“No.” Mary Beth stomped her feet. With each stomp, her tennis shoes lit up. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” Then the little girl made a move to kick Chloe in the shins.
“Hey!” Chloe jumped back just in time.
Shaking her head, she wondered at the textbook aggression. Mary Beth was obviously from a broken home. Chloe would love to get a look at her father, just to see who was raising such a monster. Of course, he was never there. Mary Beth was dropped off at Tiny Tumblers by nannies and rarely the same one.
Since this particular approach to getting an apology wasn’t working, Chloe decided to switch tactics. “Asher.” She turned to the little boy. “Do you want an apology for what happened?”
Asher squinted through his tears. Mary Beth narrowed her eyes.
He shook his head. “No.”
Chloe looked at him in surprise. “Asher, you can’t let women walk all over you.” The sentiment reminded her of a similar speech she’d made, back when Ben was in the fifth grade. “You need to stand up for yourself. Say, Mary Beth, I want you to apolo—”
“What the hell is going on here?”
Chloe leapt to her feet. To her absolute horror, Dr. Gable was standing on the red, blue and yellow mats, his hands on his hips. He wore yet another tweed jacket, as well as a light blue shirt. This time, his stupid ascot was pink and patterned with light blue