“I’m sure. The only thing your brother can plan—”
The doorbell cut her off.
“Oh, that’s my cue. I’m the official greeter.” I tapped my chest as if I wore a yellow vest with a name badge, like Wal-Mart greeters, saying, “My name is Lizzie. How can I help you?”
I swung the door open. “George. Gandhi. Welcome and merry Christmas.” George, with his shiny dome, looked somewhat dapper in a wrinkled suit and polka dot red bow tie. Gandhi, his Yorkie, sported a bow tie with green polka dots. George held Gandhi in his arms, and I patted the dog’s head. “Don’t you two look handsome?” I waved them in with a flourish of my arm.
After setting the dog down, George slipped out of his wool jacket, getting snow all over the oriental rug. Given the increasing amount pouring from the clouds, there wasn’t much that could be done about that. “Thank you so much for inviting us over. Now that Gladys is with the Lord, these days are…” He left the rest unsaid, his dull blue eyes drifting to the family room. “You know Gladys would have loved having daughters like you two. Children were never in God’s plan for us.”
Considering I had two children who I’d lay my life down for, I didn’t know how to respond.
George rolled on. “Have either of you considered getting married? I was quite the catch in my day. Had a good job. A full head of hair.” He leaned in. “Ya know, people love to gossip on Whipple Street. Two young ladies living alone—you get what I’m saying.”
I did, and I didn’t.
Was George proposing marriage in some roundabout way?
I didn’t think it was much of a secret on our street that Sarah and I were the token lesbian married couple with children. And George knew we were raising the twins together. He’d attended their one-year birthday bash last summer. I didn’t remember explicitly informing him that Sarah and I were legally married, but did I really have to considering we had children together? Perhaps his memory or grip on reality was slipping, which made his addition to tonight’s holiday bash precarious.
Honestly, what was it about Christmas that made everyone lose their goddamn mind?
George had recently become one of Sarah’s projects, and from what I gathered, everyone on the street was content to let her take on the elderly widower, who on his best days seemed like the eccentric, forgetful, and batshit crazy uncle most people skirted at family dinners. Sarah, though, had a heart of gold. And the mere thought of the old man rattling around alone in his big house—was just too much for her to bear. For as long as I’d known Sarah, she and her mom adopted a family who was struggling financially and provided all the gifts and food for Christmas dinner. George, really, was an extension of this.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked in hopes of ditching the you should marry me so the neighbors won’t talk conversation thread. Was it possible he was joking? Maddie loved to point out I was a tad socially inept. Maybe this was case in point.
“Got any whiskey? It’s a bit nipple-ly outside.”
I silently sucked in a deep breath. Would it be wrong to give George an extreme amount of whiskey on the off chance it’d make him sleepy? Maybe a large tumbler in front of the roaring fire with a cozy flannel blanket to help him drift off?
“You got it. Most everyone is in the living room.” I pointed the way, despite the fact it wasn’t the first time he’d been in our home for a celebration.
George undid Gandhi’s leash, and the dog immediately took off like a shot, more than likely hunting for Hank, our cat. I understood Sarah’s need to invite George. Mostly. What I didn’t understand was why the invitation extended to his dog, who enjoyed tormenting my loveable feline.
I tried to send a psychic message to our furball to be on the lookout for a demented Yorkie.
George toddled off into the din of Christmas celebrations, and from what I could hear, Tie hadn’t launched World War III quite yet. Regardless, I noticed Sarah had kicked up the music a notch or two. I bobbed my head along to “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” If only I could arrange that, since it seemed like the least disturbing event that could happen over the next twenty-four hours.
In the quiet of the library, the only light emanated from Maddie’s so-called Christmas tree that consisted of books stacked onto each other in the shape of the tree, with large white bulbs. I had to admit, even the Scrooge inside me appreciated the effort, and this was by far my favorite decoration in the house.
Standing at the bar, with George’s drink, I was tempted to take a shot of grappa—a drink I’d never tried until my first date with Sarah.
Come now, Lizzie.
Getting blitzed wouldn’t accomplish much.
My fingers traced the elongated neck of the bottle, which looked a lot like a beaker found in a science lab.
Again, my mind wandered back. On the date, we’d started at a coffee shop and then ended up having dinner in a quaint Italian bistro. That day had ushered in all of this. Her moving in. Buying this house. Having the twins. Had the grappa gotten the ball rolling on everything?
Sarah slipped into the room. “Are you hiding?”
“Maybe a little.”
Her eyes lingered on my hand still resting on the bottle.
“I was just thinking of our first date,” I confessed.
“When I got you drunk.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Very drunk. And I had to teach the next day.”
Sarah pressed against my side. “I don’t regret that at all.”
“I don’t want you to. What do you say? Shall we have a teeny-tiny nip for old time’s sake?” I tapped the top of the bottle.
Sarah grinned. “It may be the only way we survive the night.”
I uncorked the bottle and poured two shots into the vintage glasses Sarah had recently purchased.
We clinked glasses but didn’t take a sip right away. Our eyes locked on each other.
“Would it be wrong to take you here, right now?” I asked.
Sarah’s giggle wasn’t entirely innocent. “If we could and not risk getting caught by the likes of Tie, I’d bend you over your desk.” She shot her drink, and I followed suit.
“Ya know, maybe next Christmas, if we don’t have a little one yet or if you aren’t beached whale status,” I paused for the shoulder whacking I rightfully deserved, “I can take us on a holiday trip. Someplace relaxing.”
“Like Jamaica?”
“Sure.” I had been thinking of Breckenridge or Vail, but what the hell? If whisking the family away on a beach holiday saved us from Tie, Peter, and all the other bullshit swirling around, I’d launch us to Mars if I thought it possible to find a viable beach instead of instant incineration. “Maybe we can invite your mom to come along.”
“To babysit one or two of the evenings?” She pressed her forehead to mine, staring into my eyes.
“Exactly.” I sighed, remembering my purpose for being in the library. “I better get George his drink. He’s a strange man, and I’m about eighty-seven percent certain he proposed marriage to one of us.”
Sarah, pulling her head away, laughed. “Probably both. He seems like the type who’d be up for that. A harem of lesbians, although, two doesn’t really equate to that, but in his mind…” She let her voice drift off for effect.
I pinched my eyes shut. “Oh please. There’s already so much I wish I hadn’t seen or heard today. Don’t add that image to my already fragile mind.”
“Years ago, Lizzie, I truly believed you were absolutely clueless. Not so much anymore.” Sarah strutted out of the library with that extra twist of her hips that got my heart beating, making me regret not attempting to have my way with her moments ago.
In the living room, George was chatting with Maddie and Ethan. A quick survey of the room confirmed Tie was nowhere in sight. Had Sarah decided not to put someone else on Tie-phoon watch? Afraid that would only rile Tie more?
“Here you go, George.” I handed off the tumbler.
He took a swig. “Thanks, my dear. The hair of the dog is the bes
t way to start the day.”
Maddie cooed, wrapping her arm around his. “A man after my own heart. I said the same thing earlier today.”
It had been a crazy day and I’d lost count of the hours, but I was certain it wasn’t morning anymore, considering how tired I was and the simple fact the guests had arrived. Casually, though, my eyes found the clock on the mantle to confirm it was indeed evening.
George practically glowed, clearly enjoying Maddie’s touch.
“Late night?” Maddie nudged George’s shoulder in a conspiratorial way.
“Always. This old dog still has plenty of life.” He stepped closer to Maddie. “You know what you need?”
“What’s that George?” Maddie took a sip of her special eggnog concoction that had enough rum to strip paint off furniture.
“What Lizzie has with Sarah?”
“Marriage?” Maddie’s voice hardened, and her shoulders stiffened.
So, he did know we were married.
“Exactly! Back in my day, a woman like you would be banging down my door. And some still want to hop into my bed. For you, I’d offer the whole tamale, but don’t waste time. If you skip now, forever keep your trap shut.”
Funny. Ten minutes earlier he had been propositioning me as if I needed a man to offer me protection from the gossiping Whipple Street Club. Had he forgotten that? Or did sweet George use his elderly status to say and do whatever the fuck he wanted and I was only just noticing this habit of his? This freewheeling didn’t bode well for the rest of the evening, and he was the last guest we needed to add to our usual family gatherings from now on. My nerves couldn’t handle the likes of George, clueless or not.
Ethan, his eyes glazed and distorted behind his thick glasses, asked, “How long were you married, George?”
George scratched his unshaved chin. “Oh, a month shy of fifty years.”
Ethan whistled. “What was your secret for staying married so long?”
“Blackmail.”
Ethan and Maddie gawked at the man, but I wasn’t buying anything he said. Taking into account what I had learned about his ability to fabricate any scenario that suited his purposes, perhaps he wasn’t fibbing and wholeheartedly believed the words coming out of his mouth. Did that make him more dangerous? Humorous? Just another nut in the adopted Petrie family?
“Who blackmailed whom?” Maddie asked, much more interested in the old codger now.
George aped he was keeping his lips locked. “But to answer your question, my dear boy, the key is not to marry a bitch. My brother—God, his wife was horrible. Always nitpicking. Jealous as a hellcat. You can’t control a bitch.”
Maddie choked on her eggnog and nearly dropped her moose mug with delicate antlers that already made it difficult to drink from. Only Sarah would buy something so useless, and I never had the heart to ask how much she’d paid for them.
Maddie said, “You’re a naughty man, George.”
Some life replaced the dullness in the edges of his eyes. “We can go across the street for me to show you just how naughty.”
Ethan met my eyes as if inquiring if I’d heard that. Maybe he was wondering if he was hallucinating.
Unfortunately, I had absorbed every word, and I was certain I could have lived a long and fruitful life without witnessing an old man attempting to seduce one of my best friends.
“I’ll keep that in mind. It may be my best offer for the night.”
I swiveled my head to Maddie, wondering if she’d consumed an entire bottle of rum without the eggnog.
She hitched a shoulder.
“Are you the jealous type?” George asked.
Maddie cocked her head. “Uh, I guess it depends on the situation.”
I prayed she wasn’t going to bring up that Peter had cheated on her and then married one of the women who’d wrecked Maddie’s relationship. That woman stalked this party like a shark waiting for the first hint of blood.
“Because sometimes I love dick,” George said without much emotion in his tone or body language.
The three of us remained speechless as if wondering whether what we heard was what he had said. Or at least that was what I was trying to figure out.
No wonder the other neighbors who had known George longer never invited him over.
“What about you, my boy?” George swirled his drink in Ethan’s direction. “Do you know what I mean? We could make it a threesome.”
I blinked.
Maddie chewed her bottom lip.
Ethan paled.
In grad school, he’d had a difficult time, and one of the main reasons was many thinking he was gay. Not that he was homophobic, but it seemed to needle him more than he cared to let on to me for the obvious reason.
Tie flitted over and joined the fray, and it may have been the first time since meeting her that I appreciated her intrusive presence.
“Tie, do you remember our neighbor George?” I said.
Tie bared the most beguiling smile. “I do. You were at the twins’ birthday party.”
Odd.
Tie usually pretended not to remember anything.
“What about you, darling? Do you like dick?” George asked.
I genuinely had no idea how to handle this situation.
Given Maddie and Ethan’s horrified faces, neither did they.
Tie, though, grinned. “Oh my, finally some color to one of the Petrie parties.” She hooked her arm through George’s. “It looks like you need a refill, and I happen to know where Lizzie keeps the best whiskey.”
She led him into the library.
My library.
My sanctuary.
“Uh, is Tie going to fuck George in my library?” I asked.
Maddie bobbed her head side to side. “There’s a good chance she may.”
“I may never be able to go in there again, and it used to be my favorite place in the house.”
“I love you and Sarah, but these gatherings are getting weirder and weirder.” Ethan downed his eggnog. “I need more. Anyone?”
Maddie handed off her moose mug.
I shook my head.
“I should go check on… I don’t know. Something.” I fled the room for a brief respite. Where, though? Many of the guests had congregated in the kitchen, while Sarah and Rose prepped more of the meal. Casey and Allen were in the family room working on a puzzle and watching It’s a Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie with the kiddos.
Where was Peter?
Maybe he’d requested a helicopter to save him from another night with Tie. Was every day of his life like this? Of course, Peter had sown his own misery. I still didn’t have the brain power to contemplate whether or not he had another child on the way with someone other than his wife. Conversely, I remembered Courtney warning me that Tie was planning something big to bring Peter down. Was Tie telling the truth? I hadn’t been Peter’s biggest fan the majority of my life, but if Tie was setting him up, I truly felt sorry for my older brother. If she wasn’t fibbing, how would I take to the news, given the situation with my father?
Dad and Helen came downstairs, and my mind briefly flitted to figuring out why they had been upstairs. Nope, not going there.
I hummed along to “Feliz Navidad” as I opened the front door and stood outside for a breath of fresh air. The wind kicked up snow around me, and I wrapped my cardigan tighter around my chest. “What a fucking weird family.”
A massive snowflake landed on my nose.
I looked up into the whiteness, trying to figure out if that was a sign or not.
A crunching sound caught my attention. I craned my head around and spied a man, without a jacket, pacing the snow-packed drive.
“Peter?” I called out as a burst of wind struck my face.
The person didn’t turn.
I groaned. A minute or two out in the elements was what I wanted. Longer than that and I feared the elements. How, though, did I just go back inside and not check on who I was certain was my brother? He hadn’t been the best si
bling. Verifiably shitty. But he still was my brother and clearly not doing well. For the majority of his life, he’d had the Scotch-lady’s protection. Now that she was dead and with the introduction of Dad’s other family, including another son, Peter had been drifting further and further into the deep-end of shit he may not come back from. I went back and forth on whether or not I should be there for him. Deep down, I felt a connection to him. We’d both been used by our mother in her quest to torture her husband.
Fuck it.
I approached. “Peter?”
He turned on his heel, the snow making a bone-crunching sound. A cigarette dangled on his bottom lip. “Oh, hey.”
“What are you doing out in this without a coat?”
He smiled, kinda. “You really are becoming more and more mom-like each time I see you.”
I laughed self-consciously. “Hopefully nothing like ours,” I said, forgetting Peter had actually gotten along with her.
To my surprise, he nodded.
“So, what are you doing out here?”
“Thinking.” He took a drag.
“About anything in particular?” I held my chest tighter, doing my damnedest to retain all my body heat.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure it matters anymore.”
That was an odd answer and probably the least assuring. “Come on back inside. We can talk in the li—I mean by the fire in the living room. That’ll help warm you up. Your lips are turning blue.”
“I’m okay out here.”
I shook my head. “No, you aren’t, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
He sucked in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. Taking one last drag, he flicked the lit cigarette off the side, the snow extinguishing the red tip on impact. “I need bourbon anyway.”
Inside, Peter started to make way for the library, but I put my hand on his. “Let me get the bourbon. Go stand in front of the fire. No getting pneumonia on my watch.”
Not putting up an argument, he showed me his backside on his way in the opposite direction of Tie and George.
With my hand on the library door, I wondered if I should knock before entering. What would be best, barging in and catching them in a compromising position or giving them advance warning and entering while they were hastily pulling on their garments? Did we have a spare bourbon bottle in the kitchen for cooking? Sarah and Maddie had made a banana cake or pie that called for it. But they used cheap bourbon. Peter would know if I didn’t serve him Blanton’s Original Single Barrel.
A Woman Loved Page 8
