Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(40)

“Diet coke and amaretto?” Mrs. Truman snapped. “What kind of drink is that? And who crushes ice?”

Cash took pity on Marco at the same time tactfully ignoring Mrs. Truman.

While sliding his arm along Abby’s shoulders, he said, “I’m sure Abby will settle for a glass of red wine.”

To which Mrs. Truman retorted, “We’re having fish. You don’t drink red wine with fish.” Then she turned to Marco. “Get her a white wine. Go on, go.”

Marco quickly left (or, more appropriately, escaped) and Mrs. Truman settled them into her furniture.

Abby looked at her surroundings and noted that Mrs. Truman was a packrat like her grandmother. Although she didn’t have piles of books, newspapers and magazines, she had an overabundance of knick knacks, toss pillows and throws. This was all squeezed in between a crazy mix of furniture that dwarfed the room (even though Mrs. Truman’s house was the exact same as Abby’s and the room was huge).

The effect was claustrophobic.

Or maybe, Abby thought, it was all that was her life that was claustrophobic.

When Abby settled into the couch between Mrs. Truman and Cash, she caught Jenny’s eye. Cash had placed his arm along the couch behind her and, as Abby looked at Jenny, Cash’s fingers curled in to stroke her neck.

Jenny’s eyes moved to his fingers then they widened.

Abby couldn’t help it, it felt so nice she shivered.

Cash felt the shiver. He must have misinterpreted it as her being cold and his arm moved to rest around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his side.

Jenny’s eyes bugged out.

Abby’s heart skipped a beat.

Unaware of any of this, Mrs. Truman asked, “Well? Isn’t anyone going to speak?”

Surprisingly it was Cash who entered the conversational void by asking Mrs. Truman, “How long have you lived here?”

“Forty-five years,” Mrs. Truman answered, “Morty moved me in on our wedding day.”

“Morty?” Jenny asked.

“My husband, God rest him,” Mrs. Truman replied.

Abby looked at her neighbour, who she’d known (and feared) for as long as she could remember, “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“You never asked,” Mrs. Truman retorted smartly.

And Abby realised she hadn’t. She’d never made any friendly overtures to Mrs. Truman at all, not when she was young, not since she’d been living next door. She’d just put up with her.

She knew her mother, father and Ben thought she was hilariously cantankerous and thus also never engaged her in simple conversation.

Abby’s grandmother, however, often had Mrs. Truman over for tea or dinner which was how Abby got to know her and Gram liked her very much.

The rest of the family never understood it.

Something about Mrs. Truman’s reply made Abby feel uncomfortable.

“When did he pass?” Kieran asked softly and Mrs. Truman’s eyes moved to him.

“Thirty-six years ago. He married me when I was twenty-five and we were together for nine happy years. Then one day, he was gone. Hit by a bus,” Mrs. Truman answered matter-of-factly but her voice was far less severe than normal.

Even though she noticed this, Abby didn’t process it.

Mainly because she’d been married to Ben when she was twenty-five and she’d had nine happy years with him before he died.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Truman,” Jenny said gently, her eyes shifting between the older lady and Abby because this coincidence was definitely not lost on her and Mrs. Truman’s back went up.

“I’m sorry too, been sorry for thirty-six years. As I’m sure you could tell. Now, let’s not talk about maudlin things, you,” she pointed at Kieran, “why are you so tan? It’s January, no one should have a tan in January. Don’t you work?”

At that, Kieran explained his love of cycling and holidays with his wife while Marco served their drinks. Conversation, shockingly, flowed easily from there.

And this was because of Kieran and also Cash.

Both men politely asked questions of Mrs. Truman or politely answered her nosy ones.

For her part, Mrs. Truman remained crabby and curious but she was unexpectedly forthright. Therefore Abby learned more about her neighbour in half an hour than she’d known in thirty-eight years.

She also learned about Cash.

Not that he shared more than absolutely necessary when asked questions, more that he was polite and solicitous to the older woman. It wasn’t something she expected from the dynamic, imposing, impatient Cash Fraser. She didn’t know what she expected, brooding silence maybe or perhaps edgy tolerance. Not a man relaxed and at ease with his company and surroundings.

At this, Abby felt the tension ebb out of her body and she started to enjoy the evening.

Mrs. Truman wasn’t a gracious host but you couldn’t say she wasn’t an interesting one. As the conversation flowed, Abby realised that the old woman was enjoying herself and it was clear she was blossoming under the men’s attention, especially Cash’s (as would anyone, Abby had to admit). She was still grouchy but humorously so.

Abby also realised that because of her reputation it was unlikely Mrs. Truman had a lot of dinner parties. She mentally kicked herself for being so lost in her own troubles she didn’t notice that, when Abby’s grandmother died, her lonely neighbour had lost her old friend who’d lived next to her for forty-five years.