Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(42)

Further, she was scared silly at what was about to happen at the same time she couldn’t wait.

If all that didn’t make you want to get drunk indeed deserve to get drunk, Abby didn’t know what did.

“I hope you can handle sick. Men, it’s my experience, can’t handle sick. Or poo.” Mrs. Truman, who likely was also a little intoxicated if her new conversational gambit was anything to go by, said to Cash. “Sick and poo and men do not mix,” she declared. “If you need me later, call me. I can handle sick. My dogs get sick all the time.” She paused and added as an informational afterthought, “They also poo.”

“Where are your dogs?” Jenny asked, leaning toward Mrs. Truman as if her answer would cure world hunger, proving it was highly likely she too was less than sober.

“They’re locked in my room. Probably pooing on my bed,” Mrs. Truman answered then cackled loudly as if this comment was the height of comedy.

Abby and Jenny apparently agreed because they giggled right along with her.

“Why are we talking about poo?” Kieran muttered to Cash and Cash’s response was to shake his head. This caused more gales of laughter from the women.

At that Cash got to his feet. He did so with his hands on Abby’s waist, pushing her up in front of him.

Once she was standing, Abby gazed up at him and asked, “Are we leaving?”

“Yes, darling, before you get any more wine in you and pass out on Mrs. Truman’s floor, we’re leaving,” Cash replied.

“Ooo, he called you ‘darling’,” Jenny burst out, drunkenly forgetting that Abby’s place in Cash’s life didn’t exactly garner endearments then in a colossal mood swing she turned a glare at Kieran. “Why don’t you call me ‘darling’, darling?”

“Because you’re not my darling,” Kieran replied on a grin, “you’re my pumpkin.”

Jenny’s glare darkened ominously. “I don’t want to be a pumpkin. A pumpkin is a vegetable. A darling is…” she faltered then declared, “a darling!”

“How about ‘sweetheart’?” Kieran suggested.

Jenny appeared to be considering this then she grumbled, “Darling’s better.”

Kieran’s grin didn’t waver as he explained, “I’m not a darling type of guy, pumpkin.”

“Well, I’m not a pumpkin type of girl, darling,” Jenny shot back.

“Time to call it a night,” Mrs. Truman decreed, slowly getting to her feet, “marital tiffs always herald time to call it a night.”

At this Abby burst out laughing.

Cash started to manoeuvre her laughing form from the room but Mrs. Truman interceded.

“You men, get the coats. We’ll wait here where it’s comfortable,” she ordered bossily.

Kieran got to his feet muttering, “Your wish…” and he bent to kiss the top of his still-irritable wife’s head.

With a smile on her lips, Abby watched this but her attention was diverted when Cash’s hand came up, curled around her neck and he gave her an affectionate squeeze before he left the room.

She had to admit, she really liked it when Cash did that.

Abby watched him leave then forgetting her audience, she sighed.

“He’s luscious,” Jenny proclaimed, her eyes on the door Cash just went through.

For one beautiful moment, forgetting herself and her circumstances, in the direction of her friend Abby breathed a very girlie, “I know.”

Mrs. Truman broke into this exchange by starting, “When Morty died,” and Abby and Jenny’s eyes turned to her, their drunken glow slipping at the older woman’s words, “I promised myself never again. Never again.” Abby and Jenny kept watching as her face changed to an expression neither of them had ever seen, not just from Mrs. Truman, but on anyone. It was forlorn, full of regret and difficult to witness. Abby watched as Mrs. Truman’s attention focused on her. “After your man died, Meg and I talked about you. We talked about you all the time. She worried so much. She told me how grief-stricken you were. She thought you’d never recover. Meg worried you’d end up just like me,” Abby’s throat closed and Mrs. Truman’s voice got soft when she went on. “I like him, this new one. Your grandmother would be pleased, Abigail,” her voice dipped to a whisper, “so very pleased.”

Abby felt tears well in her eyes as guilt tore at her heart because, even though it wasn’t her idea to have this dinner, her “new man” wasn’t her new man at all.

The entire situation was a deception and she was inadvertently making a fool of her new friend.

Her voice was hoarse when she started, “Mrs. Truman –” but she didn’t get to finish not that she knew what to say.

The men came in bearing coats and the mood and moment was broken.

It was broken further when Abby tried to give Mrs. Truman a hug, not only as a thank you for dinner, but as a gesture of newfound camaraderie.

Mrs. Truman was having none of it.

“I do not hug,” she announced, rearing away from Abby and putting her hand up at the same time to ward her off. “Americans hug. Englishwomen kiss cheeks and even then they do their very best not to touch,” she said her last word as if the thought of touching was repugnant.

Abby was for the first time not offended or irritated by her cranky neighbour.