Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,17

knees aren’t quite touching, but close. “What are they like?”

I shrug. “Gracie’s real cute. Smart too. Isobel’s kind of a brat, but I’m not sure how much of it’s just for show.”

“Well, you won’t get to know them if you’re hiding out here. Let’s go see what Ma made for supper.” He stands and pulls me to my feet. I grab my sundress and yank it back over my head.

We walk up to the house and into the kitchen, where Luisa is stirring marinara sauce. Spaghetti bubbles on the stove, and the scent of meatballs—hamburger and oregano and onion—wafts out from the oven. My stomach rumbles.

Alex tries to grab a slice of garlic bread, and Luisa slaps his hand. “Stop that,” she says, then turns to me. “How you holding up, baby?”

“Okay.” I accept her hug, leaning down because I’m a good eight inches taller. Luisa’s brown hair is graying at the temples, there are laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, and she’s always saying she’d like to lose twenty pounds. But to me, she’s beautiful. She smells like garlic and butter and home.

“Hang in there, Ivy. Will you two set the dining room table? For five,” she clarifies, and my shoulders slump. I thought for sure she and Alex would be joining us. She notes my reaction. “Sorry, honey. Just family tonight.”

I take out five dinner plates, and she hands me a pile of napkins. She gives Alex a stack of salad plates with silverware piled on top. “I’m not even eating here!” he protests, but he follows me down the hall and into the dining room.

We hardly ever eat in here. Only when there’s more company than will fit at the kitchen table. That’s what Erica and Isobel and Gracie feel like to me: company, not family.

Light streams in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, which open onto the wraparound porch. The effect should be airy and lovely, but it’s ruined by two of Grandmother’s sinister paintings. In one, gulls are caught in an updraft above savage, dark waves. In the other, the Bay has flooded its banks and filled our backyard after some big storm.

For the billionth time, I wonder why Granddad doesn’t sell these. When he looks at them, does he still see Grandmother’s talent instead of her sickness? How?

“Sorry I can’t stay for supper,” Alex says.

“It’s stupid. You are too family. More than they are.”

He hip checks me as we move around the table. “Not really.”

“Technically, no. But you know me.” I fold the napkins into swans. It’s a catering trick Abby taught me. I bet Gracie will get a kick out of it. “They’re strangers. And they don’t like me.”

“They don’t know you yet. Once they get to know you, they’ll love you.” Alex arranges the last couple of forks. “You kinda have that effect on people.”

On people in general? Or on him? Does Alex mean he loves me?

The thought sends a wave of panic rolling through me.

I mean, of course he loves me. I love him too. He’s my best friend. That’s all he means, right? So much is changing this summer; I need Alex and me to stay the same as we’ve always been.

Luisa bustles in, carrying a big glass pitcher of sweet tea. Granddad follows with the basket of garlic bread. Just as the grandfather clock in the corner begins to chime six, Gracie runs down the stairs. Erica and Isobel follow her, and we all stand clustered in the front hall, surrounded by pictures of Dorothea.

“This is Luisa Garcia, our housekeeper, and her son, Alex,” Granddad says. “Luisa, Alex, this is my daughter Erica, and my granddaughters, Gracie and Isobel.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Luisa smiles. “I’m going for groceries tomorrow. If there’s anything special you’d like, let me know and I’ll pick it up for you. If you have any food allergies—”

“We’re not fancy,” Erica interrupts, her lipstick a slash of red in her unsmiling face. “No special requests. We’re used to cooking and cleaning up after ourselves like normal people do.”

“It’s really no trouble.” Luisa smiles, but I can tell she’s flustered as she runs a hand over the apple-print apron I gave her a few years ago for Mother’s Day.

I look at Alex, embarrassed that my mom is so awful, and he moves closer, his shoulder knocking into mine. His navy-blue Cecil Warriors Baseball T-shirt is soft against my bare arm.

“Luisa started taking care of us when Ivy was little.” When you left, Granddad might as well