Purely Relative (The P.U.R.E.)

by Claire Gillian

  With a sigh that not so subtly proclaimed ‘No, I didn’t forget your stinkin’ beer, but I hoped you had,’ Jenny walked off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Scott watched her leave with a smug grin on his face. If Jon ever did that to me, we’d have to have a serious sit-down.

  Jon’s father sauntered over and extended his hand.

  “Jack Cripps. And you are Gayle, of course.”

  I shook and said, “I am,” sharing what I hoped was my brightest smile.

  Jon’s father exuded a stern and professorial air, with deep intellect conveyed in the set of his jaw and the unruly hedgerow of his brows. His eyes were much lighter than his children’s, as was his hair color. The few similarities to Jon I could discern gravitated toward voice and physique, though Jon packed more muscle on his lean frame.

  “Welcome, welcome. You need a drink? We have mulled cider, iced tea, soda or if you want something a little stronger, there’s beer or perhaps a glass of wine—”

  “No wine!” No need for Jon to explain his interjection, not to me anyway. I had a low tolerance for alcohol that had gotten me in trouble on a few occasions.

  “That cider sounds great,” I said.

  Jon nodded at his father. “I’ll get it.”

  Jack smirked at his son. “Like you weren’t already. What do I look like? Your servant?” He grabbed Jon in a chokehold and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Just so you know, you’re not getting your old room back. Your mother got rid of your furniture and turned it into a reading room. You’d better hope the employment gods smile upon you soon or you’ll be sleeping at the mission!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jon said as he moved in the direction of the kitchen, leaving me alone with his father and Scott.

  Jack grinned and wrinkled his nose. Nudging me in the arm, he said, “You sure you wanna date a deadbeat like that?”

  I giggled. “What? You know something I don’t?”

  Leaning in, he said in a hushed voice, “Let’s just say I have pictures.” He paused as if to check for eavesdroppers. “Embarrassing pictures.”

  I did the same. “I’d like to see those some day. Maybe one of him missing some baby teeth or sportin’ a bad haircut?”

  He laughed. “I hope you brought your appetite, Gayle, because Julie won’t let you leave until you’re nearly ready to pop a gut.”

  “Not to worry. I brought my appetite, and a couple of its friends—gluttony and excess—might have stowed away as well.”

  As we continued to banter, Scott looked on with amusement, but didn’t say much. Every so often he would glance in the direction Jenny had taken, hands thrust into his pockets as if bereft without a longneck to clutch.

  Jon returned with two mugs in hand. “One for you. Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Where’s mine?” his father asked, arms crossed at his chest.

  “What do I look like? A servant?” Jon gave his father a smirk.

  When Jenny finally emerged with a beer for Scott and a glass of wine for herself, Jack excused himself and rejoined Alex and Sophia Milano.

  “What took you so long?” Scott muttered.

  “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. I wasn’t gone that long,” she said with a scowl.

  Thinking a change of topic best, I asked what everyone was reading.

  “The latest thriller by Baldacci,” Jon said.

  Ha! Liar! I knew for a fact Jon was reading some wacky science fiction story. (Number twenty-two in the series he was on his second pass through.) He was such a geek about some things, a very cute geek, my geek.

  “An anthology of paranormal love stories featuring mythical sea creatures like sirens, mermaids, and water sprites. I found it on my last flight to Houston,” Jenny volunteered. “People leave books on planes all the time. It’s a mile-high library.”

  Scott adopted a grave expression. “The Bible keeps me enthralled. There is no other book I need.”

  Jenny shifted her glass from one hand to the other. “Scott’s a born again Christian.” Jenny raised her glass to take a sip of her wine but as she did uttered, “And I’m a born again virgin until the wedding.”

  Eyes wide, I glanced at Jon for guidance as to what I should say, but a blinking cursor on a black screen conveyed more. “So have you two set a date?”

  The tiniest hint of trouble writhed beneath the surface of the tight smile he gave Jenny before he said, “Not yet.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was at a blank place. No one else spoke. Everyone took sips of their drinks in the pendulous unease that cloaked us. Everyone except Jon, who winked at me for reasons unknown.

  “And what are you reading?” Scott asked.

  “She’s reading that latest bestseller about BDSM everyone’s been talking about,” Jon volunteered. “Whips and chains and spankings, oh my!”

  Why Jon chose then to speak up on my behalf when his normal M.O. was Mr. Stoic I’d never understand. But he did, leaving me to answer for my prurient reading tastes, never mind I’d finished the aforementioned sexy novel and had moved on to a Stephen King horror classic. I’d have never brought up the topic of reading were I still wading in the sexy.

  Scott coughed and Jenny giggled into her drink before muttering, “Good for you.”

  How odd they’d done a complete one-eighty on my initial impressions of them. Jenny the prude, whom I’d scandalized upon first meeting, was the kindred spirit, whereas Scott the lecher wore the mantle of chastity. What the hell kind of family did Jon come from and would I ever want to buy into it? My own familial brand of dysfunction seemed pedestrian in comparison.

  Jon excused himself, leaving me alone to carry on with Jenny and Scott. I did okay, I guess, chatting about Jon’s and my old firm, Anderson Blakely. Everyone wondered what would happen given the insider trading scandal that had tainted its reputation, if it survived the mounting lawsuits. Most of my friends at Anderson Blakely were actively seeking new jobs or had already resigned, not wanting to be associated with an insider-trading ring.

  Jon returned after a lengthy absence in time to join in the final bits of speculation. At no time did he mention being an FBI agent, and he had requested I keep that knowledge to myself for the time being. He seemed fine with everyone believing he was unemployed like me. I was the only one truly scared witless about being out of work with limited savings. Fortunately, I’d lined up a couple of interviews for the following week, one of which was with a temp agency. Temping didn’t pay well, so I’d be cutting it close financially if I had to go that route. I hoped I didn’t, but it would be better than nothing.

  “Dinner is ready. Everyone take your seats,” Jon’s mother announced. “Jon, you and Gayle sit on this side across from Jenny and Scott, who will be right here. Sophia, you and Alex take the seats next to Gayle and Scott. Jack and I will take the ends. We’ll leave this spot for Jason.” She glanced at her watch. “He said he’d be a little late but not to wait for him, so we won’t.”

  “Where is he, anyway,” Jon’s father asked gruffly.

  Julie placed a basket of steaming yeast rolls on the table. “At a friend’s, he said.”

  We all moved to our assigned seats, Jon on my left and Thalia’s mother on my right, Scott directly across from me.

  Scott insisted on delivering a long-winded prayer itemizing all we were thankful for, including friends, family, and new acquaintances. I peeped at him through my eyelashes and caught him watching me as he spoke. We repeated, “Amen” and started passing around the dishes.

  All the food moved in a clockwise fashion, I discovered, when the corn I attempted to pass counter-clockwise smashed into the gravy boat Sophia held. The viscous sauce sloshed over the edge and onto her hand, then to the tablecloth. A large tan Rorschach blot took shape. It looked like an uncircumcised penis or the Washington Monument, one or the other. What did that say about me other than I was a G-man’s klutzy nympho?

  Chapter 3

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, st
aring in horror at the mess I’d made.

  “To the left, cara, to the left,” Sophia said. “We always pass to the left, clockwise.”

  “Oh, sorry. Let me just wipe this up—”

  “Do not trouble yourself. I shall do it.” Sophia said as she wiped the gravy off her hand. “Giuliana, do you still keep the washcloths in the drawer on the left?”

  Jon’s mother glanced first at me, her eyes hooded, mouth drooping. “Yes. Same place,” was all she said. She watched Sophia leave then shifted her eyes back to me.

  “I’m very sorry. I made a little mess,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry another second about it. Just enjoy.”

  I forced a shaky smile into place. Jon patted my thigh.

  Once Sophia finished meticulously dabbing the gravy spot from the tablecloth, rubbing in some peroxide, and resumed eating, I relaxed and dug in.

  The food was wonderful and my appetite had been primed for some serious gourmand demonstrations.

  “She is a good cook, isn’t she?” Sophia asked me in a conspiratorial tone. Around us, the voices grew louder and more animated, forcing us to lean closer to hear the other. Maybe she didn’t hate me after all. Maybe everyone had already given up on Jon and Thalia as a couple and were relieved to be able to end the “when are you getting married” nagging.

  “Oh yes! Everything is delicious!”

  “You are lucky to have the metabolism of youth,” she said setting her fork down. “Thalia too! I don’t know how she got so lucky because all her weight goes straight to her breasts. To her hips? Just enough to add the curves the men like but none of the ugly padding.” She snickered softly and winked at Jon.

  Okay, foolish hopes on my part. I shifted uncomfortably on my own mattresslike padding. Food smears covered every inch of my plate. Sophia had barely filled hers, let alone touched what she had partaken.

  “Gayle, how did you and Jon meet?” Jon’s mother asked, dabbing her napkin to her mouth.

  A quick glance at Jon yielded no hints or warnings, so I plowed ahead. “We met at work. Both of us were green newbies assigned a series of boring tasks.”

  Jon piped in. “I don’t think we were quite as productive as we should have been. Gayle kept me laughing most of the time.”

  Sophia sniffed. “Youth today! They fall in love so easily, so quickly. It is much harder to make it last.”

  “Jon says one of your brothers works at NASA?” Jon’s father speared me with an inquisitive regard.

  I had never been so happy for a change in subject in my life. “Yes, my oldest brother, Ian. He just finished working on the Mars landing.”

  Jack Cripps straightened in his chair, eyes at full mast. “Wow! Really? So, he’s in Houston?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ian Lindley? Lives in Houston and flies to Florida a lot?” Jenny asked, her eyes even wider than her father’s.

  “Yes. About twice a month,” I replied. I pushed my plate forward, my belly uncomfortably full and a burp clawing like an alien to burst out of me.

  “I know your brother,” she said with a wide grin. “He’s one of my regulars. Surfer-blond streaks, big, broad-shouldered guy with Caribbean blue eyes? Devilish sense of humor with a crooked smile?”

  I laughed at her Harlequin romance description of my brother. “I suppose to a non–family member, that would be an accurate description. I just think of him as a goofy lunkhead. I’m picking him up at the airport tomorrow, as a matter of fact. He’s paying me a short holiday visit.”

  Jenny laughed. “Really? He’s coming to Dallas? He’s so funny. He always has us in stitches when he’s on our Houston to Orlando flight. All the single—and married—flight attendants, male and female, practically fall over themselves trying to wait on him.”

  “Small world,” Scott interjected, his tone as dry as the Sahara.

  A chilly, unspoken message passed between him and Jenny.

  Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between them before meeting mine. He shrugged. I returned the gesture, but let the topic drop.

  “Do you cook, Gayle?” Jon’s mother asked.

  “Oh, yes, cooking! All the daughters of Italy are good cooks,” Sophia interjected. She wore a cunning smile and the gloves were peeling off. I’d have rather been stuck in an elevator with Thalia than engage in further conversation with her mother.

  “I’m afraid I’m more a daughter of the Norsemen, preferring to pillage food lovingly prepared by others rather than to make it myself,” I said.

  To my relief, Jon’s mother laughed, not just a polite titter, but a full belly-laugh. Jon’s father joined her. Jenny and Jon smiled at each other. Life was good.

  In the distance a door shut as if it had been kicked. “Hello? Did you start without me?” A male voice accompanied its owner into the dining room. A younger, fairer model of Jon loped into sight. “I hope you saved me some.”

  “Jason! We’d almost given up on you, son.” Jon’s father jumped up from his chair and gathered the young man in a huge bear hug.

  “Dad. Dad! Easy on the PDA.” Jon’s brother, Jason, wriggled out of his father’s embrace and sought his mother in one as heartfelt as his father’s. A mama’s boy. Aww. “Ma! Smells great! Am I too late?”

  “Nonsense,” she said extricating herself. “Have a seat. I’ll reheat it for you.” She swung past the empty place setting, grabbing his plate. After heaping it with turkey, potatoes, and a wide variety of the other hot dishes, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Jason pulled out the chair to sit, but stopped and moved my way. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t get up.” He approached me with his hand extended. “Hi. I’m Jason.”

  We shook, but before I could give my name, Jon said, “This is my girlfriend, Gayle.”

  Jason stopped shaking my hand but didn’t release it. Eyes full of curiosity bored into mine, so like his brother’s—brown and earnest. “Ooo-kay. Nice to meet you, Gayle.” He shot a highly charged, questioning glance Jon’s way. He obviously had not been told about me.

  Sophia filled in the gap. “Another one who didn’t know. Jon and Thalia are no longer engaged, Jason. I see you are as shocked as I was.”

  Tia-Sophia-screw-mia was totally beginning to piss me off.

  Jon’s mother emerged from the kitchen, Jason’s plate in hand. I wasn’t the only one who released a breath at her timely interruption.

  Alex Milano cleared his throat. “Now that everyone is finally here, I’d like to propose a toast.” He stood and raised his glass. “Thank you for friends—both old and new—who are as close as family and loved just as much. May the upcoming holiday season bring you all joy.”

  “Hear, hear, Uncle Alex,” Jenny said.

  Everyone clinked glasses and an awkward lull fell over the table.

  “Who’s going shopping on Black Friday tomorrow?” Jenny asked.

  “I wish I could, but Ian’s thrown a monkey wrench in my plans!” I said, happy to move on to innocuous topics.

  “Not me,” Sophia said. “I’ve already finished my Christmas shopping.”

  “You have?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. Where was the fun in that, shopping so early, your purchases barely felt like gifts?

  Jon’s mother leaned forward. “Sophia starts the day after Christmas and is usually finished by June 30th, isn’t that right?”

  “Si. I cannot help it that I like to take my time to find the perfect gift. I buy the birthday gifts then too.” She beamed as she rattled off her shopping timetable and rules for acquisition.

  “You won’t catch me within five miles of any of the malls or block stores for the next four weeks. That’s what the Internet is for,” Jon’s father said.

  Jon nodded, as did Scott.

  “I still need to get one other special gift,” Jon said in the pause that followed. He cut his eyes in my direction, supplying the necessary clue I needed to understand he meant me.

  “Aww, you’re sweet,” I said, giving him one of my best smile
s.

  He squeezed my knee in response, stroking the flesh with his thumb. Someone was already warming up for dessert. He flashed his sharklike smile, no doubt picturing me as the cherry on top. With a home-cooked meal in his belly, his reserves fully charged, the evening promised to be quite energetic once the turkey drugs wore off. My giblets warmed at the thought of a warm and sated Jon stretched out in my bed, that same predatory smile affixed to his face. If only I didn’t have to pee like a racehorse on steroids.

  “Which way is the bathroom,” I asked Jon in a whisper.

  He nodded his head back over his shoulder. “Down the hall toward the front door, last door on your left.”

  “Excuse me a second,” I mumbled for politeness. No one really noticed. The ladies were engaged in Black Friday plans while the men discussed bowl games for the remainder of Thanksgiving and into Friday.

  I squeezed my feet back into my high heels and tottered in the direction Jon mentioned. But did he say last door on the right or the left? I paused. Both doors were shut. I checked the doorknob on the right. It turned freely and I cracked it open enough to peer inside. A home office complete with a massive twelve-point buck head stuffed and mounted on the wall and an old Texas flag framed and hanging near that. Oops. Must have been the left one then.

  I piddled, in no hurry to return, reapplied the lipstick I’d stashed in my pocket, and fluffed my hair. Yes, I peeked in the tiny cabinet mounted over the toilet. Finding nothing more exciting than a crossword puzzle magazine and pen clipped to the cover (yikes! a pro!), a supply of small towels, soap, and toilet paper, I concluded the powder room was intended for incidental day-visitor usage only. Before I could shut the cabinet doors, however, the puzzle book slid forward and sent a stack of washcloths hurtling toward the toilet. I caught them all with the skill of a juggler. As I raised my arms with a pounding heart to restore them to rights, the crossword puzzle magazine fluttered past yelling, “Cannonball!”

  Chapter 4

  “Shhhhit!” I reached in to the toilet to pluck out the magazine and pen. They were sopping wet and left a watery trail from toilet to sink where I tossed them. Crap, crap, crap. Well, good thing I’d already flushed, but toilet water was still pretty gross. Who keeps facecloths in a main level powder room anyway?