A Longer Fall (Gunnie Rose #2)(35)

Eli decided to shower when we returned, so I brushed and braided his hair again, to make sure it was neat. I’d pocketed the map of Sally I’d spotted in the shoe repair shop, and I’d studied it while Eli was getting dressed.

“Tucker Street,” I said. “We go out the front door of the hotel, take a left, go south two blocks, take a right, take the next left, and we’ll be there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eli said, and kissed my cheek, quick and sweet. We set out to our first engagement as a married couple.

If people stared at us when we were coming down the stairs, if an older man shrank away so we wouldn’t touch him when we passed, well… I was used to that, and I was sure Eli was too. I suppose it was one thing to know grigoris cast magic spells, and another thing to see one work. We ignored them all. By the time we reached the sidewalk and turned right, Eli had taken my hand.

No one had ever held my hand before. Somehow people in Texoma always needed their hands free. I found it a little hot, a little sweaty, and since we were yoked we had to match our pace. But it made me feel good. The sun was setting, the air was a little cooler since it was breezy, and I thought the world was a tolerable place. Eli was holding my left hand, leaving my right hand free to draw my knife, which was a good thing.

Also, I’d put a Colt in my purse. I’m a gunnie. I just needed to have it.

The Fielders had a small house with a real pretty yard. Even in the heat, it looked green and tidy, and the flowers were blooming like hell. There was a brick walkway up to the steps leading to the front porch, which was across the width of the house. The house was painted white, like almost all the other houses in Sally. The shutters were dark green. I could not imagine having a house like this. “It’s so pretty,” I whispered.

I could not read Eli’s sideways look. He’d lived in the San Diego palace, so to him it was probably the same as the hovels we’d seen in Ciudad Juárez. “I like it too,” he said. I relaxed. Eli rang the doorbell once.

Dr. Fielder—Jerry—opened the door. “Please come in,” he said, standing aside with a sweep of his hand. “Millie! Our guests are here!” he called, turning a little toward the back of the house.

Millie Fielder hurried into the living room. She was wearing a blouse and skirt similar to mine, but in a golden brown print. It really suited her dark hair and eyes. Over her skirt she wore an apron, which had seen some use. She became aware of it the same moment she shook my hand, and she looked mock-horrified. “I never remember the apron!” she said. “Excuse me.” She untied it and bundled it under her arm. “Pretend you can’t see it,” she told Eli.

“See what?” he said.

“That’s a relief.” She smiled, and you had to like her when you saw her smile. Millie wasn’t exactly a pretty woman, but that smile was a wonder. “Please have a seat, and I’ll bring you all a drink. Wine or bourbon?”

“Bourbon for me,” I said. “Eli?”

“For me also,” he said, taking a seat. He gave me a complicated look. I realized I was supposed to offer to help Millie in the kitchen. “Can I give you a hand?” I said quickly. “I’d love to see your kitchen.”

Millie looked a little surprised, but she invited me to come with her with another wonderful smile.

The floors were polished wood scattered with throw rugs. We went from the living room into the dining room, then to the right of a fireplace and through a swinging door into the kitchen. I stared around me at the gleaming countertops and the oven with a cooktop built in on top of it. The sink was white like the stove and the refrigerator. The floor was linoleum, a dark green. There was a big wooden preparation table running down the middle with a white painted chair pushed up under it.

“This is so pretty,” I said. “And it smells so good.” A pot or two bubbled on the stovetop and a chicken was in the oven. There was a small tower of dirty dishes by the sink, and a much larger tower of washed and dried ones on the other side. A platter and some vegetable bowls were set out ready to use.

Millie had her back to me while she poured our drinks, but she whipped around as if she thought I’d been mocking her. She relaxed when she saw my face. “You mean it! But I figured… when Jerry told me your husband was a grigori, I thought you must be real rich.”

“Not me,” I said. “Not us. We haven’t been married long,” I said, after another pause. “In case you wondered. What about you two?”

“Oh, for four years,” Millie said. She tried to sound like it was nothing, but she turned her back to me again and began pouring into the glasses. Her back was stiff. What did this mean?

“You must have been real young.”

“?’Bout your age, I figure. You aren’t twenty yet, are you?”

“No, a few months until then.”

“When I say we’ve been married four years, most people say, ‘And no babies yet?’?” Millie said, her back still to me.

“Not my business,” I said, surprised.

She stopped pouring and halfway turned. “Really? Because everyone else on God’s green earth believes it’s their business.”

I shrugged. “Not me.”

“Thank you,” Millie said.

“Quite a few women don’t even want any,” I said, when I should have kept my mouth shut.