Life and Other Inconveniences(70)

I was glad Miller was coming. I still felt awkward about almost planting tomatoes on Ashley’s grave.

I’d had eight clients today, and I could use cocktail hour. My brain was a little sore. Pop was already here, nursing a beer, idly petting Valkyrie as she gnawed on his hand. We were in the conservatory (or sunroom, as Riley had mistakenly called it)—a giant, beautiful room complete with an iron-paned glass dome and floor-to-ceiling windows, which were open to the soft evening air. There was a fireplace in the corner, a walnut bar and half a dozen huge ferns and potted palm trees. The floor was polished stone, and in the winter, it resembled a Russian palace. It had been my favorite room as a kid.

Riley and Genevieve came in, and my daughter smiled at me. She looked so grown up, dressed to kill, holding on to Gigi’s hand, and a lump came to my throat. She was kind, my child. So patient with my grandmother.

“About time,” said Pop. “I thought you said five thirty. It’s quarter till six.”

“Paul. So glad you began without us,” Gigi said.

“I brought my own.”

“I’m well aware,” she said, her voice as dry as she liked her martinis. “Old Milwaukee is not a brand with which I’m familiar. Donelle, would you kindly see if the girl is ready to serve hors d’oeuvres?”

“You bet, Gen. Shaylee!” We all winced as Donelle bellowed from the couch.

The bell rang. “I’ll get it,” I said and went without waiting for permission. Down the hall past the library, the formal dining room (not to be confused with the breakfast room or eat-in kitchen, where Helga lurked like a gargoyle), into the vast foyer.

When I opened the door, I blinked. “Jason! Hi.”

“Hey, Emma,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “You okay with me being here? Riley asked me to come.”

“Um, sure. I don’t mind. Come on in.”

We heard a scream from the driveway. “Jesus, what’s that?” Jason asked.

Miller was getting out of a Volvo station wagon. “I’m guessing that’s your cousin and his child,” I said.

“Oh, God, you haven’t met Tess yet, have you?” Jason said with a grin. “Run.”

“By the way, you forgot to tell me Ashley died, Jason.”

He blinked. “No. I couldn’t have. It was horrible.” I gave him a pointed look. “Seriously? I didn’t tell you?”

“Seriously. I would’ve remembered. I loved them.”

“Yeah. The golden couple.” His handsome face was regretful, and his hand went to my back, idly rubbing between my shoulder blades.

Miller was still hunched over, trying to get his child out of the car. More screams filled the air. “Go see Riley,” I said. “I’ll help with the baby.”

“Great idea. See you inside.” He kissed my cheek and left, and I went down the path.

“Hey, Miller,” I said, the shells of the driveway crunching under my feet.

He straightened. “Hi, Emma.” He needed a haircut and a month of sleep.

“I not going! I not going!” the child inside shouted.

“Hi,” I said, leaning down to see her. “What are you yelling about?”

“I not going!”

“Not going where?”

“Here!”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “There are five dogs inside.”

“I hate dogs.” She kicked the back of the passenger seat.

“There’s also a secret fort,” I said, referring to the cedar closet, which was bigger than my bedroom back home.

“I hate forts.”

“Tess,” Miller sighed, “please don’t say ‘hate.’”

“Why don’t you go in, Miller?” I suggested. “Tess and I will stay out here.” I gave him a nod. “We’ll be in soon.”

“No!” said Tess. “I go home soon.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Okay. Come get me if she . . . if you need me.”

He went up to the front door, glanced back over his shoulder, then went inside.

“I’m Emma,” I said. “And you’re Tess.”

“No, I not.”

I smiled. “Really? What’s your name, then?”

She looked around. “Driveway.”

“Oh! What an interesting name! Nice to meet you, Driveway.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, unsure of my game.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked.

“I hate color.”

“So white, then. I like red myself. Do you want to come inside and run around and play and hide and maybe eat some food?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Being three was hard (though Riley had been an angel, quite frankly). Kids had little control over their lives, so tantrums were usually an expression of that frustration. Accepting her answer (because in this situation, I could) was a way to let her feel she had some control. “We’ll just stay here.” I sat in the front passenger seat.

“Where my daddy?”

“He’s in the house.”

She craned her neck to look, her little brows furrowed. She was awfully cute, if a little grimy.