Binding the Shadows (Arcadia Bell #3)(24)

I really didn’t know her intentions at all, so I just didn’t say anything.

She’d taken her jacket off and was walking around in her stocking feet. She had firm, slender arms and incredible legs, which wasn’t fair. She was in her sixties. Her legs should be . . . well, I don’t know, but they shouldn’t look like that. Mine didn’t. I was sort of relieved when she put the blackberry bars in the fridge and moved her too-good legs out of my sight, standing behind the curved kitchen island as I washed my hands in the sink.

“I don’t believe in couples living together outside the bonds of marriage.”

My hand slipped on the soap pump. A streak of green gel sprayed against the white subway tile behind Lon’s sink. “Is there somewhere you’re going with this?” I said as I aggressively lathered my hands. “Or is that just a general comment?”

“Lon told me it was none of my business when I asked if you were living here, which is probably true. But Adella told me that Jupe said you rent a house in Morella.”

“I own a house in Morella,” I corrected.

“Well, regardless of whatever arrangement you and Lon normally have, I’d like you to stay at your own house while I’m visiting.”

I slammed the faucet handle off and spun around halfway, flinging droplets of water into the sink. “Let me get this straight. Are you telling me—”

She held up both hands. “It’s not a demand, but a request. I don’t like Jupiter thinking that couples living together without strings is okay. And if I consent to stay here while you’re living in sin with Lon, then that sends a signal to Jupiter than I approve of this. And I don’t. I’d like you to respect that.”

“Well, I think that’s pretty ballsy of you to ask.”

She took off her glasses and wiped them on the corner of her striped, sleeveless shirt. “No one’s ever accused me of being timid about speaking my mind.” Without looking at me, she fit her glasses back in place. “Regardless, it’s either you or me. If you stay, I’ll go to a hotel in town. But I’d appreciate it if you decide soon, because it’s half-past nine. That may not mean much to someone who works the graveyard shift at a bar, but I’ve spent the afternoon standing in security lines at the airport. I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed. And I’d also like for Christmas to be a happy time. His mother ruined one too many holidays for all of us. I hope you don’t do the same.”

And as I stood there with my mouth hanging open, she turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Dear God, that was some nerve she had.

First, it was none of her damn business what arrangement Lon and I had. And what did she think my leaving would accomplish? If I left for a few days like she wanted me to, I’d just be back when she went home after Christmas, shoving my wanton ways in her grandkid’s impressionable face. It made no sense. I wasn’t leaving. Forget it. Decision made. I had other things to worry about than her moral compass. Like stupid punks with impossible knacks and whether my serial killer mother was trying to make my life miserable again.

Putting a lid on my anger, I exited the kitchen and headed to Lon’s photography studio.

My fingers found the light switch and flipped it on. Bright white light illuminated an expansive room ringed on three sides by wide windows. In the daytime, it was warm and golden in here, lit up by natural sunlight. But at night, the glass made a dark, constricting bracelet around the white walls.

Various light stands, diffusion umbrellas, and scrims stood in a corner next to loops of cord hanging on the wall. Long, pale wood tables bordered by rolling stools held multiple computers and screens, a large format photo printer, and some other equipment that was lost on me. A couple of areas of the room were staged for shoots.

I liked it in here. It was both organized and messy at the same time. Quiet. My gaze flicked over a wall of recent photographs, some of them for work, some personal. One was of me, asleep on the couch with Jupe. When I’d first seen it, I was embarrassed: I looked half-dead, mouth open and lax. Seeing it now pinched at my heart. I forced myself to look away and headed to an area where Lon stored photography paper and framing supplies. He strolled into the studio behind me.

“I need some sketch paper,” I said, all businesslike.

He didn’t ask me why, just bent to reach an oversized pad. “Like this?”

“Perfect. I need a couple sheets.”

He tore out two. When he handed them over, he gave me a look that was all Cool Hand Luke and dismissive. “You live here. She’s family. No one has to leave.”

I stared at him.

“She just told me,” he explained. “No one’s going anywhere.”

All the emotions I’d been keeping in check flew out like a swarm of bees released from an apiary. “Apparently one of us is.” I knew she could probably hear me with her stupid clairaudient knack. I just didn’t care.

“This is silliness.”

“I agree.”

“You were right earlier,” Lon said, obviously not concerned if Rose could hear us, either. “This is about Yvonne.”

Clearly. But I still stood by what I said: I was not Yvonne. And Jupe wasn’t going to follow in his mother’s footsteps just because his father’s girlfriend worked in a bar or lived in his house without getting a ring on her finger first.