Exposure

by Susan Andersen

  Elvis set to work on his room. Since his desire was to keep his and the Sandses' relocation from becoming common knowledge, he didn't think it would be a stellar idea to carry everything he and Emma owned down to their respective cars in broad daylight. He packed up all of his belongings in preparation for the move, but only transported the bare essentials down to the Suburban, where he stashed them under a tarp in the back. Loping back up the stairs to Emma's room he cautioned her to do the same when he saw that she was nearly ready. Informed as to where her daughter was, he promised to return for Emma shortly, so they could pick her up. Showing himself publicly in the cafe, he bought a cup of coffee, left through the cafe's front door, and crossed the square, where he checked into work for a while to discuss strategy with his two deputies.

  It was shortly after one when he and Emma walked into Mackey's General Store. They found Gracie back at the fountain, seated upon a stack of telephone books on one of the stools. Someone had tied a dishtowel around her neck to keep her outfit clean, and it was liberally spread with mustard and relish from the hot dog she was polishing off. Swallowing the last bite, she reached with both hands for her glass of milk.

  Emma slid onto the stool next to her. "Hi, angel pie. Miss me?"

  "Maman!" Gracie lowered her glass and, milky mustache and all, smiled dazzlingly at her mother.

  "Mistoo Mackey gibbed me a hot dawg for lunch!"

  "I can see that, bebe. Thank you, Sam," she said softly to the man crouched nearby stocking a lower shelf. Her hand reached out to gently fingercomb her daughter's hair, disengaging soft strands that stuck to the three wiry stitches in her forehead.

  Sam finished his chore and surged to his feet. Fingers pressed into his lower back, he stretched out his spine. "We were glad to help, Emma. I'm sorry Gracie was hurt last night. Fred," he said to the boy behind the counter. "Lunch rush seems to be over. Why don't you go ahead and take your own meal break now."

  "Yes, I'll take over," Clare offered, coming up. She paused at Emma's side to slide an arm around her shoulders and give her a brief hug. "How you holding up?"

  "I'm fine. Elvis is—" She broke off to grimace significantly in Gracie's direction. "Are you all done, angel?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Well, let's get you cleaned up and then maybe you can go check out the toy section for a few minutes." Emma pulled several napkins out of the dispenser and dipped them in her daughter's water glass. Efficiently, she erased all signs of lunch from Gracie s face and hands.

  Gracie bobbed in place, impatient to get down. "Can I get sumpin to take home, Mommy?"

  "We'll see. You have to be a good girl and stay out of the customers' way."

  "I will!"

  Elvis lifted her off the stack of books and blew a raspberry against her neck before setting her down. Giggling, she trotted off. He turned back to the Mackeys and told them about the new living arrangements.

  "Excellent," Clare said crisply when he had finished explaining. "That's exactly what's needed—to place the target out of this idiot's range. And it definitely calls for a house-warming. Just me, Sam, and Ruby," she added hastily at the horrified expression on Elvis' face. "For pity's sake, E, what did you think I meant, an island-wide invitation? Give me a little credit. I'm talking about tossing a few steaks on the grill and throwing together a salad and some baked potatoes. We've even got an old barbecue grill you can have." She grinned. "Think of it as a cheapskate's housewarming present. We'll throw in a bag of charcoal, won't we, Sam?" And somehow, without Elvis having much opportunity to say anything about it one way or another, it was arranged. He shrugged, accepting that he'd been outgunned, and pulled Sam aside.

  * * * * *

  "Where we goin', Maman?" Gracie strained against the shoulder strap in her car seat. She stared at the back of the department Suburban they were following along the country highway. "Where's Shewiff Elbis goin'? How come we don't wide with him? We's goin' the same way."

  "You'll see when we get there, chere."

  "But, Mommy—"

  "I can't tell you more than that, Grace Melina. It's a surprise."

  Luckily, it wasn't too much longer before the Suburban's blinker went on and they turned off the highway onto a secondary road and then a short distance later turned into a private driveway. Gravel crunched beneath their tires as they passed beneath the towering evergreens that screened the property from the road. Emma pulled the Chevy in next to Elvis' vehicle on an apron of concrete in front of a detached two-car garage.

  "What is this place, Maman?" Gracie demanded. She looked at her mother hopefully. "Is there a little girl for me to play with?"

  Emma's heart clenched. "No, angel, I'm sorry. This is our new house. You, me, and Elvis are goin' to be livin' here."

  Gracie's already large eyes grew enormous. "Weally?" She drummed her heels restively when her mother got out of the car, impatient with the rules that decreed she had to wait to be let out of her seat. But she didn't have long to wait; Elvis got there before her maman could round the car. He opened the door and unhooked her safety harness. His proffered hook was ignored as she scrambled down unassisted.

  "We gonna lib here, Elbis!" she screeched and ran into the yard. "We gonna . . . Oh, lookit! Lookit! Issa swing!" She made a beeline for a homemade rope and plank contraption that hung from a sturdy branch of a gnarled old apple tree. Flinging herself stomach first onto the seat, she set the swing in motion. It wobbled gently back and forth.

  "Well, she's a hard sell," Emma commented dryly as she stood at Elvis' side and watched her daughter.

  He put an arm around her and hugged her to his side. "I just love a low-maintenance woman," he said. Then he called to Gracie to come see the house.

  "It's small," he apologized as he walked them through the living room, dining room, kitchen, and bath. "And I know the furnishings aren't anything to write home about—"

  "It's fine." Emma assured him. It was true the furniture owed more to durability than it did to fashion. The most it had going for it was that it could be described as inoffensively nondescript. Still . . . "With some pretty curtains on that window and the one in the kitchen, and maybe some slipcovers for the couch and chair—why, I think it could be real attractive, cher. And as for its size, there's certainly more space here than either of us had at the boardin' house."

  "Yeah." Relieved by her upbeat attitude, he gave her a crooked smile. "That's true enough." When he'd walked through the kitchen door and seen the kind of shabbiness he'd grown up with—

  He gave himself a mental shake. Well. Never mind that. It didn't matter now, because Emma saw the possibilities. And none of them, thank God, seemed to include a single painted black velvet portrait of the King.

  "I like these built-in bookcases," Emma said, and smiled at Elvis over her shoulder. "How did you ever find a place that was furnished?"

  "George and Brandy Sperano originally bought this place to rent to their youngest daughter. She wanted her independence, and they wanted her near by. That sort of started a tradition. This has been the first home away from home for a lot of kids on the island. You and I are probably the oldest renters the Speranos have ever had." He laughed. "Gracie girl," he said and threw open a door off the little hallway, "this is your new bedroom, sweetheart."

  Gracie raced in. She dashed enthusiastically from one feature to the next. Coming back to her mother, she grabbed Emma's hand and danced in place. "Look, Mommy! Is our new bedwoom!" Transferring her big, brown-eyed gaze to Elvis, she asked innocently, "Where you gonna sleep, Elbis?"

  Chapter 17

  Elvis was there to greet Sam and Clare when the car drove into the yard. He was leaning through the driver's window practically before the car stopped rolling. "I'm glad you're here," he said to Sam. "Did you bring what I asked for?"

  "And hello to you, too, Clare," Clare murmured to herself. "Nice to see you. You're lookin' good."

  Elvis gave her a pained smile. "Sorry. Hi. Nice to see you. And you are lookin' good." Immediate
ly he turned back to Sam. "Well?"

  "Yeah, it's in the trunk." Sam gave Elvis a perplexed look. "What the hell's going on?"

  "Nothin'. Pop the trunk. This baby's gonna save my bacon." He rolled his shoulders. "I hope."

  "How the hell is a trike going to save your bacon," Sam wanted to know as he popped the trunk and climbed out of the car. He exchanged a look with Clare across the roof of the vehicle and then shrugged.

  "Well, maybe save my bacon is the wrong term. I'm hoping it's gonna buy me some affection," Elvis amended. "The kid hates my guts."

  "Gracie?" Sam said incredulously. "Get outta here. Kid's crazy about you."

  "That was before. She hates my guts now that she's discovered Emma's going to be sleeping in my room instead of hers."

  * * * * *

  "Oh, hates his guts, my fanny," Emma said a few minutes later when Clare was relating the story to her and Ruby in the kitchen. She laughed. "Gracie and I have been sharing one room or another since we lit out from home, and she threw a fit when Elvis told her I was sleeping in the bigger room with him. Instead of telling her to knock it the heck off and get over it, he tried the Progressive-Parenting-explain-all-your-reasons-in-detail approach." All three women rolled their eyes. "With a three-year-old," Emma said with an expressive snort. "Right. So, anyhow, she's naturally milking it for all it's worth because it's pretty neat to have an adult practically pleading for her forgiveness and understanding." She smiled and shook her head. "Gawd, he's such a pushover with her."

  "I heard that," Elvis said, opening the screen door. "And I am not. Here"—he handed her a six pack of Clausthaler's—"Sam brought this."

  "Thank you, Sam." Emma took the beer and put it in the fridge. "Sure you are," she said, going back to their argument. "You're gettin' all set to reward Gracie's bratty behavior with a trike, aren't you?"

  "Hey, I asked Sam to bring the trike before any of this ever came up," Elvis protested virtuously. "Besides, she wasn't a brat, Em; she was upset. She's accustomed to sleeping with you."

  "Oh, well then, perhaps we'd better not disappoint her," Emma said smoothly. She pulled silverware out of the drawer and plopped it into a cup, which she handed to Ruby. "Maybe I had better sleep in her room."

  Every head in the kitchen swung around to catch Elvis' reaction to the suggestion.

  "With that little brat?" he demanded incredulously. "The hell you say." He gave her a crooked grin. "Okay, okay, I get your point. So how am I supposed to treat her when she gets like this?"

  "The same way you'd treat someone if this were a professional situation, cher."

  "Slap her little baby butt in jail?"

  "Oh, now you're bein' deliberately obtuse," she said. Handing the stack of plates to Clare, she then turned, hands on hips, to face him. "C'mon, Elvis. When I was fixin' Mrs. Steadman's car, she couldn't stop ravin' about the way you'd handled her boys when they unloaded that junk they were supposed to be haulin' to the dump. You were firm but fair. You didn't let them get away with what they'd done, but neither did you make the punishment excessive to the crime. You gotta do the same thing with Gracie, cher. Otherwise you're goin' to have a little monster on your hands. Hand," she amended.

  Then she shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. "Hand and hook—whatever. You know what I mean."

  "Okay, I'll put the trike in the garage until she straightens up."

  "Good."

  Just then, the screen door swung open and Gracie raced across the linoleum. "Mommy, Mommy, there's a box out there with a pitchoo of a twike on it!"

  "Um-hmm," Emma agreed. "That belongs to Elvis."

  "Weally?" Gracie swung around to face him, her eyes alight. Elvis stared back at her in an agony of indecision. "Is it a twike, Elbis? Who's it fo'? Is it fo' me? "

  "Well, yeah, originally I got it for you, but your momma said I couldn't—" He broke off as three females separately smacked, poked, or pinched him on the closest available body part. "Uh, that is, you don't like me anymore," he said and then drew himself up to his full, imposing height, adding firmly, "so I guess I'll just have to have Sam take it back to the store."

  "No! I yike you."

  "You don't."

  "Uh-huh!"

  "I don't think so, Gracie. You've been treating me like dirt all afternoon."

  Tears welled up in her eyes. "But you want my mommy to seep in yo' woom."

  "Yeah, I do." He stooped down to scoop her up and then squatted down while he cuddled her. "I know you're going to miss her at first, but that's just the way it is, Gracie girl. Kids are supposed to have one room, and adults are supposed to have another. You were lucky to have her all to yourself for a while, but now it's time things get back to normal. And anyhow, sweetheart, she's just gonna be one door down. It's not like I'm moving her to another house. That's when you'd have room to complain."

  She stared at him solemnly for a moment while she thought it over. Finally, she gave an uncertain nod and said, " 'Kay," in a little voice. She obviously wasn't thrilled with the idea, but she nevertheless consented.

  "Okay, then," Elvis agreed and laughed, his teeth flashing whitely in his weathered face. He tightened his grip on her and surged to his full height. "Whataya say, Sam?" He looked across the small kitchen at his friend. "You wanna help Gracie girl and me get that trike out of the box?"

  "Why not?" Sam agreed. "I can't smoke, so I might as well keep my hands busy doing something productive."

  Elvis stopped dead in the doorway. "You quit smoking?" he said incredulously. "When the hell did this happen?"

  "Hell this happen?" Gracie demanded in a little echo that was a perfect imitation right down to the last intonation, and Elvis grimaced, meeting Emma's eyes over her daughter's head.

  "Sorry, Em," he said, and then turned his full attention on Gracie. "I can swear," he said austerely, looking down at her in disapproval. "You cannot. Not until you're twenty-one, kid; you got that?"

  "Uh-huh."

  He continued to stare at her sternly, and she ducked her head and blew a conciliatory little raspberry against his throat to get back into his good graces. He rubbed her back approvingly and looked at Clare over her head. "He quit smokin', huh?"

  She blushed, and a slow grin spread across his face. That was pretty much what he thought it meant. Then he laughed out loud. And he'd asked her if she'd lost weight. "Well, congratulations, Sam," he said cheerfully, shouldering the screen door open. "This really is a reason to celebrate."

  * * * * *

  "Maman," Gracie called from her new bedroom. "I'm thoosty."

  Emma rolled her eyes and climbed off Elvis' lap.

  "This is going to go on all night, isn't it?" he said in resignation, watching Emma's long-legged stride carry her into the kitchen where he heard the faucet run.

  " 'Fraid so." She appeared in the doorway, a half-filled glass of water in her hand. Giving him a lopsided smile, she said, "Sorry, cher. It's a new place and a new situation, in as much as she doesn't have me in the same room while she's acclimating to it." Emma ran her free hand through Elvis' hair as she passed behind his chair. "On the plus side, she's adaptable. She'll be fine by tomorrow."

  "Maman!"

  "You hold your horses, Grace Melina," Emma called back firmly. "I'll be there in a moment." Under her breath she added, "Dieu, what d'ya think this is—your great white hotel?"

  Elvis shoved to his feet. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, he gave her a quick, hard kiss. "I should go in to work anyway. We've got a minisurveillance going on at Ruby's, and it's about time I relieved one of my men."

  "You have a surveillance?" Emma's breath stilled as she stared up at him. "To catch my troublemaker?"

  "Yeah." He rubbed his thumb up and down her nape. "I'm gonna enjoy slamming this guy's butt in jail, Em."

  She gave him a speculative look and then smiled. "Of course. That's why you wanted the Chevy's cover, isn't it?"

  "Yep. Ben's got an old beater about the same size he's been fixing up in his spare
time. With your cover over it, parked in the Chevy's usual spot, it's impossible to tell it's not the same car unless you get right up under the cover. Anyone does that, he's gonna have one of us breathing down his neck."

  "Well, you be careful, cher," she urged him. "After the rock-throwin' episode you can't be certain what sort of person you're dealin' with here."

  Elvis grinned at her. He'd never had anyone expend much energy worrying about his safety before.

  "I will be," he promised. Then he kissed her again and reluctantly turned her loose. "Damn. I'd better go. Don't wait up."

  Emma waited until the door closed behind his back and then took the water into Gracie's room. Gracie took two tiny sips and handed the glass back to her mother, confirming Emma's suspicion that requesting it had been no more than a ruse. "How come Elbis didn't gib it to me?" she wanted to know.

  "Because you asked me to bring it."

  "Well, maybe he wants to wead me a stowy."

  "I'm sure he'd love to, bebe, but he had to go back to work."

  Gracie's mouth dropped open in surprise, and indignation darkened her eyes. "But he hassa kiss me good night!"

  "He kissed you good night when you first went to bed, Grace Melina. And after the trip to the bathroom, too, as I recall. And, let's see, what about when you called us both in to tell us—again—all about the swing and the trike?" She looked at her daughter's scarlet cheeks and exhausted eyes, recognized the tantrum struggling to build as Gracie fought to stay awake. Sliding onto the bed next to her, Emma gathered Gracie into her arms, where she rocked her and murmured soothing words of affection.