Alex had an urge to chuckle. The way Toshiko spoke—so literal and precise—cracked him up. He resisted though, because he still wasn’t sure if she was doing it on purpose, and he didn’t want to insult her. “Uh. Right. The dish?”
“Ratatouille. It’s a recipe from Cooking for Engineers and requires thirteen minutes at two hundred degrees Celsius prior to serving.”
“Of course it does. I’d take your coat but . . .” He lifted his occupied hands.
“I know the location of the coat closet.”
“Okay. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”
Toshiko paused with her dark wool coat half on a hanger. She pinned him with a sharp gaze from her almost-black eyes. “Is your father in the kitchen as well?”
At the thought of what his father might do in the chaos of the kitchen, Alex nearly bobbled the casserole dish. “God no.”
She nodded and finished hanging up her coat. “You never struck me as a foolish man. I’m gratified my assessment was correct.”
“I aim to please.”
“Is Gideon in the kitchen?”
His face heated instantly. Thank God he didn’t blush, but from the tilt of Toshiko’s head, she probably got the picture anyway. For all I know, she can detect changes in dermal temperature. “Yeah. He’s there.”
“Then I’ll sit with Ned. You may return to the kitchen.” She pulled an oversize binder out of her leather tote.
“What’s that?”
“Something I brought for Ned.” She cut her gaze to the left, not focusing her laser-beam attention on his face for the first time since her arrival.
“He doesn’t like new stuff, and I’d rather he didn’t get agitated. We want today to be good for all of us.”
“It’s not precisely new.”
Alex set the dish and the wine bag on an end table. The last thing he wanted was for the day to explode around them. “Show me.”
Toshiko didn’t even blink at his terse order. She opened the binder and stood next to him to show him the contents. Each page was a larger-than-scale representation of an electrical diagram. Alex turned the laminated pages, which were heavier than normal paper stock.
“The purpose is to help him manage his sensory input with something to which he’s accustomed.”
“If you’re trying to show him something familiar, you need to work on your notation. You’ve got mistakes.” He pointed at the oversized diagram. “Here and here. A couple on each page.”
“The mistakes are the purpose. He can trace the diagrams. When he discovers the errors, he will feel a sense of accomplishment, which in turn will trigger a dopamine response.”
How often did his dad feel accomplishment these days? Or anything else that made him feel good? If Toshiko were the type to invite personal contact with him, he’d have hugged her, if only to hide his swimming eyes. “Thanks,” he croaked. “For thinking of him.”
“It was no hardship.” Toshiko disappeared down the hall. Alex heard her greeting Ned. The amazing thing was that Ned’s response sounded pleased. Happy. Like he was welcoming a friend. Alex had to try not to feel resentful that his father was happy to see a relative stranger when his own family rated nothing but hostility and suspicion.
But Gideon was in the kitchen, and Alex was done keeping his distance. He looked too good today—more delicious than anything on the menu. Alex might as well enjoy the feast while it lasted.
Gideon stuck his dwindling to-do list to the refrigerator with a magnet that featured Alex as a high school football player. Adorable. Magnet-Alex hadn’t grown into his ears yet, but he had a ginormous smile on his face and cradled his helmet in one elbow like an infant. The warm-fuzzy awww reaction so prized by the advertisers of every oversweetened holiday special curled up and purred in Gideon’s chest.
God, Alex was turning him into a hopeless romantic. Well, maybe not hopeless. More like hopeful, and that wasn’t a bad thing, was it?
He slapped the menu under the companion magnet—cheerleader Lindsay at her perky, pony-tailed best—and allowed the bustle of the kitchen, the aromas of roasting turkey, pumpkin pie, and cinnamon-infused mulled cider to fill his hope cup to the brim.
This could work: Him. Alex. Thanksgiving.
See? He could believe in a relationship. He could acknowledge the dreaded holiday, even participate in the pomp and food hoopla.
Maybe what it took to lay the curse of hideous Thanksgivings past to rest was orchestrating a totally awesome one in the present, with superlative trimmings, including a loving family and a superhot boyfriend.
Gideon hummed the theme from Mission: Impossible and bent over to collect his prepared garnishes from the refrigerator crisper drawer. He stood up and bumped into a wall of warm, solid muscle again. Mmm. Another return engagement by the superhot boyfriend in question. Excellent.
Alex reached over Gideon’s shoulder and nudged the refrigerator door shut. “Smells great in here.”
“Absolutely. The turkey turned out perfectly.”
“Not the turkey.” Alex nuzzled beneath Gideon’s ear. “You.”
Gideon chuckled. He’d dabbed on his Odin 01 cologne today, his “pulling” fragrance. Thank God and little green aliens, it seemed to be working; Alex was finally getting close again. Since Toshiko had arrived, he’d spent more time in the kitchen than out, never more than touching distance away. Whatever the reason for their disconnect since storage-closet sex, Gideon was sooo glad it was over.
“Have I told you how hot you look in an apron?” Alex’s voice, that deep, velvet rumble, sent a thrill down Gideon’s spine that landed square in his groin.
He wriggled, attempting to readjust his pants without the benefit of his hands. “Good thing I’m wearing one. This is a family show.”
“I like the tool belt better. Easier access to the good stuff.” Alex’s wicked fingers sneaked under the apron and toward Gideon’s crotch.
“Alex. I’m engaged in critical turkey presentation here.”
“I know. Your hands are busy, so you can’t stop me. It’s almost as good as the belt.”
Lindsay poked her head in the door. “G, did you see where— Oh, lord.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Alex, tell me you’re not feeling up your boyfriend with our mother in the next room.”
“You won’t hear it from me.” Alex chuckled and gave Gideon’s thigh a squeeze before he removed his hands from the danger zone. None too soon, because Ruth returned from setting the table, a blue-patterned china gravy boat in her hands.
“Will this do, Gideon? I have a larger one if you need it.”
“That’s perfect, angel. Thank you. Set it on the counter next to the stove, please.”
Gideon arranged a few curly kale leaves around the bird, sprinkled them with pomegranate seeds, and arranged clusters of whole cranberries in strategic thirds around the circumference of the platter. Presentation, damn it. I own it. On the web or on the table, he so knew his shit.
Ruth paused to admire Gideon’s magazine-perfect turkey. “That’s gorgeous. The bay leaves under the skin make a lovely pattern. It’s almost too pretty to eat.”
“Nonsense.” Gideon tweaked one kale leaf into a more pleasing angle. “Just because something is decorative, doesn’t mean it can’t also be functional. Or in this case,” he popped the child-proof latch on the cutlery drawer and pulled out the carving knife, “dinner.”
Ruth laughed and picked up the pot of potatoes from the stove.
“Here, Ruthie. Let me take that.” Gideon laid the knife next to the turkey platter and took the pot from her.
“You don’t need to coddle me, Gideon. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know that, my darling, but when you have all these handsome men around to do your bidding, you need to take advantage of it and break out your princess attitude.”
“Right,” Alex said. “Gideon can’t be the only princess in the room.”
“I’ve abdicated.” He marched to the sink with his nose in the air and dra
ined the water from the pot. “I’m only the Jack of Hearts today.”
“Jack-off hearts?” Alex murmured.
“Shut up.” Gideon elbowed Alex in his admirably firm abs. “Make yourself useful and let Tosh and your dad know we’ll be ready to eat soon. And see if she needs a potty break—the poor woman’s had six cups of cider. She’s probably awash.”
When Alex checked in with Ned and Toshiko, she was perfectly serene as usual, but Ned was shifting in his chair. Yep. Too much cider all around.
“Hey, big guy. Need to use the men’s room?”
Ned nodded and let Alex help him up. He grimaced and jerked his head in Toshiko’s direction. “Didn’t want to say anything,” he whispered.
“Gotcha. Come on, I’ll stand guard.” As Ned shuffled into the bathroom, Alex held back. “Need a break yourself, Tosh? I’ll hang here, and you can grab some appetizers.”
“No, thank you. I have no immediate needs.”
“Holler if you change your mind.” He walked down the hall and leaned on the wall outside the bathroom. A burst of laughter and the smell of singed marshmallows wafting through the air caught his attention.
Gideon peeked out of the kitchen and beckoned, wheezing with laughter. “Alex, you have got to see this.” He ducked back inside.
“I can’t—” Alex glanced from the bathroom door to the den, judging his window of opportunity. His dad never spent less than ten minutes in the bathroom. Maybe just for a couple of minutes.
He hurried through the dining room and checked out the scene in the kitchen.
His sister was standing in front of misshapen lumps of marshmallow, gumdrops, and graham crackers, a crème brûlée torch in her hand, giggling as she hadn’t since Ned’s diagnosis. “I think I made these better when I was eight.”
Gideon peered at them over the top of his glasses—red frames today, that matched his sweater. “Darling, what exactly are those supposed to be?”
“Turkeys. See, the gumdrops are their tails and the graham cracker is their roost.”
Gideon’s eyebrows popped up. “So what does the chocolate under their butts signify? Or don’t I want to know?”
She giggled harder. “Shut up. Alex, did their heads slide off sideways back then too?”
“Yeah. They always looked like they’d been at the cooking wine.” Alex picked one up, propping the marshmallow head in place with his fingers, and held it out for Gideon. “Here. Try.”
Gideon retreated, hands behind his back. “Oh, no. Not for me. It’s like a mutant albino zombie vulture in the final stages of decomposition.”
“Come on.” Alex crowded Gideon against the sink. “Open.” He ducked his head and rumbled in Gideon’s ear. “Do I have to ask you twice? Open. For me.”
Gideon held Alex’s gaze, opened his mouth, and engulfed the squishy head, swirling his tongue around Alex’s fingers. “Mmm. I may need seconds.”
“Anytime.”
“You two cut it out.” Lindsay smacked both of them on the shoulder. “Save that for later.”
“Where is she?” Ned’s voice, loud and harsh, froze everyone in place.
“Shit,” Alex muttered. He grabbed a napkin and tried to wipe the sticky marshmallow residue off his fingers.
“Where’s who, Daddy?” Although Lindsay spoke softly, as she always did, Ned flinched as if she’d sworn at him.
“Don’t call me that. Who are you? What have you done with my little girl?”
“Daddy—”
“I know she was here.” He pointed at the tray of pitiful marshmallow birds. “She always makes these for me. What have you done with her?”
Lindsay took a shuddering breath and stepped forward. Alex tried to catch her arm, pull her back, but Gideon was in the way. “I’m right here, Daddy. I made those just for you.”
“No. My little girl. She’s only eight. If you’ve hurt her . . .” Ned glanced around wildly, his gaze pinging from face to face with no recognition whatsoever. He stilled, focused on something on the sideboard.
“Oh no,” Gideon breathed. “Alex—”
Ned lunged, then straightened up with the carving knife in his hand. He waved it at Lindsay. “You give her back to me. Whatever you’ve done, wherever you put her, you give her back.”
“Daddy, please—” Lindsay’s voice broke on a muffled sob.
“Don’t call me that,” Ned roared. “Do you think I’m stupid? Give me back my girl.”
Geekspeak: 404
Definition: Page Not Found error; while the target server exists and responds to communication, the requested web page/resource was not at the specified address.
Toshiko, apparently the only one not freaking out, appeared at Ned’s elbow.
“Ned. Are you the only electrician in the world?”
“No,” he growled. He gestured toward Alex with the tip of the knife. “Hank over there is one.”
“Then don’t you agree it’s statistically unlikely that your daughter is the only girl in the world with this recipe?”
The scowl on Ned’s face eased, replaced by the familiar pinch-browed confusion. “I . . . She . . . What?” He lowered his arm.
Toshiko nodded to Alex, so he moved Gideon to one side and reached out, his eyes on his dad. He didn’t breathe until he’d removed the knife from Ned’s lax grasp and handed it off to his mom, who stowed it back in the drawer where it fucking belonged.
“Hey, big guy. You look like you could use a nap. What do you say?”
Ned nodded.
Ruth held out his dad’s meds, and a hint of guilt or shame or some damn thing in her face turned on a lightbulb in Alex’s brain. He clasped her hand, the pill bottles caught in both their grips. “The fire on the porch,” he murmured, careful not to let anyone else hear. “That wasn’t you, was it? That was him.” Her gaze slid away, and he tightened his fingers on hers. “Mom?”
She nodded, still not meeting his eyes, and something shattered in his chest, like broken glass piercing his heart. God damn it all to hell and back. He took the pills and made himself breathe so he wouldn’t startle his dad. “Okay, then. Come on, Ned. Let’s go.”
As Alex guided his father out of the room, he caught a glimpse of Lindsay, her gaze fixed on Alex’s arm where he’d wrapped it around their dad’s back. She wore the same wide-eyed, thin-lipped expression she’d worn in the weeks after Tuckett broke their engagement—the look of someone trying to be brave while her heart was cut out.
He led Ned through the dining room, where Lindsay had arranged bunches of yellow and orange chrysanthemums in the old cornucopia basket that they’d always used for a centerpiece. Ned didn’t seem to register the decorations—for good or ill—and he didn’t resist as Alex escorted him to his bedroom.
“It’s a man’s duty. His first and only responsibility is to take care of his family, no matter what. You understand that, right, Hank?”
“Yeah.” Alex’s hands shook with adrenaline aftershock as he settled Ned on the side of his bed and helped him take off his shoes. “Yeah, I do.”
Gideon watched Alex and his dad disappear into the hall.
Well. That happened.
Hadn’t he learned his lesson? He could never, never, never let down his guard, even in his innermost thoughts, because the holiday-that-still-kicked-his-butt was always lurking behind the door like an assassin, ready to take him out at the first opportunity.
Only this time, his butt hadn’t been the one to get kicked. This time, the universe had decided to spread the death and untold destruction to the people who deserved it the absolute least.
Ruth was sitting at the table, Toshiko next to her, holding her hand. One teeny part of Gideon’s brain goggled its virtual eyes at that, but the rest of him focused on the more immediate problems. On Ruth’s slumped shoulders. On Lindsay, pinch-faced and hollow-eyed, huddled in her chair. On Alex’s chair, empty while he waited with his father for the sedatives to kick in.
He found the biggest-ass coffee mug in the kitchen and
filled it with hot cider. Glancing at Ruth’s bowed head, he added a dollop of Jack Daniel’s. And then another dollop.
When he set the cup in front of her, she scared up a smile. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Sweetie, you don’t need to thank me. Or be nice. Or smile, or any of those things that I’m sure you’ve taught your kids to do, because Lindsay is one of the only people I know who still sends handwritten thank-you notes.” He sat in the chair next to her and scooted it close. “I’m uncivilized and bitchy, and I can take it as well as dish it. So go ahead. Lay it on me. Because this sucks and you shouldn’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”
Ruth’s breath hitched in a feeble excuse for a laugh. She cradled the oversize mug in her hands, lacing her fingers under the handle. When Gideon squeezed her wrist, she opened her mouth as if to speak.
“Ah,” he said. “That better not be a thank-you hovering in there.”
“No. Not this time. You’re right. This sucks big, fat, hairy balls.”
“Mom!” Lindsay’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Gideon waggled a finger at her, trying to ground her with his standard diva ’tude. “Watch it, little missy. Your mom has a Get Out of Jail Free card on salty language today.”
It seemed to work. Lindsay managed a wan smile. “Does that mean I do too?”
“Of course not,” Ruth said, with a hint of her usual sauce. “I raised you better than that.” She took a gulp of the cider; her eyes widened and she coughed.
Gideon shrugged. “Sorry. Should have warned you. I added a wee something extra.”
“If that’s your idea of wee—” She took a judicious sip. “Maybe I should try this more often.” Another sip, and her shoulders relaxed a smidge. Her gaze settled on her daughter. “Did I ever tell you about how I met your father?”
Lindsay nodded. “Sure. You met in the ER when he got those stitches in his arm. He always said you gave him his first scar.”
“That was his idea of a joke. I didn’t stitch him up. The doctor did that; I only assisted. But the whole time the doctor worked, your father watched me with a goofy smile on his face. I thought the admitting nurse must have given him opioids, but turns out . . .”
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