Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(7)
“I can’t believe it.”
“What’s not to believe? He’s been popping Advil like candy for two years, and the kids keep asking why Grandpa is doing an Igor imitation when it’s not even Halloween.”
“Not that. I meant the house. I can’t believe they’re planning to sell. They’ve lived there thirty years.”
“And it shows. As if a new patio will sell the place. Seriously, it has zero curb appeal, and that kitchen is disgusting.”
“I suppose some new appliances—”
“It needs gutting, if you ask me, but Dad nearly had a coronary when I suggested it. That’s probably why they called you. They figured a number-crunching computer geek would stick to their tightwad tendencies.”
“Technically, I’m a business analyst. And, frugality isn’t a character flaw.”
“If you say so. Personally, I’d rather have pots of money and not have to worry about pinching pennies ever again. Russ’ company just laid off another eight— SCREW YOU, A-hole! I don’t give a crap!”
Liz tried to smile appeasingly at the pickup’s driver even as Trish leaned across her to flip him the bird. Trish gunned the minivan, losing the pickup in traffic. “Was that really nec—?”
“That guy has no idea what I’m up against,” Trish muttered. She suddenly braked hard at the sight of a police cruiser with a radar gun.
Liz thanked heaven for a police presence and momentarily considered motioning to him for help. Surely a police escort would be safer than riding with her frazzled, half-demented sister. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t heard about Russ. So, um, where’s John? Can he help me with the house?”
“John?” Trish’s snort over their wayward brother wasn’t encouraging. “Who knows if he’s even in the state? I haven’t heard from him since he bagged out on us at Christmas.”
Lovely. “So, how long do you think this house redo is going to take?”
“One. Maybe two—”
“Weeks?”
“Months,” Trish corrected, chugging again from her travel mug. “You do have personal time coming, don’t you?”
Liz blanched. “Months? Seriously? I don’t have—”
Trish snorted on her coffee. “I’m kidding! Geesh. Lighten up. I don’t have a crystal ball. Who knows how long it’ll take? You’ll have to figure it out when you get there. Anything’s better than nothing.”
Liz rubbed her temple. This house thing could not take that long. She had to get back by the end of the week. Next week at the very latest. The Meds2u-Super Scripts merger was complete, but they were starting a whole new project, and if she weren’t there… Oh God. Then there was Grant. She had to get back and make it up to him. After the disaster the other night…
“Look, I’d help if I could,” Trish was saying, “but Ben’s acting up at school again, and they’re hauling me in Tuesday for another parent-teacher conference so they can tell me what a lousy mother I am.” She stepped on the gas to make it through a yellow light and the van lurched toward the on-ramp. “Speaking of which, you think you’d mind watching Clara for an hour or two?”
“Me?” Liz turned to look at the five-month old slumped in her car-seat behind them, her round little baby face angelic and serene in the baby-view mirror. It was a little frightening.
“It won’t be long,” Trish was saying, “Pete and Jess have preschool until three. But they’ve got the school psychologist and everyone coming for Ben, and asked if it could be ‘adults only.’ I seriously don’t want to go.”
“I... sure. I’d be happy to help.” Liz’s mouth said the words despite the low-level panic taking residence in her gut. Truly, though, she should think of it as an opportunity. She’d be smart to get a little hands-on experience for when she and Grant had children of their own—starting one year after the wedding and every other year—until she turned 35, of course, when the risks to mother and child statistically increased. Lord knew she had no plans to pop out babies willy-nilly like a Pez dispenser. “It’ll be fun,” she asserted.
Trish gave her a look. “You’ve never spent much time around babies. Are you sure? I could ask Mrs. Vanderpoel.”
“Mrs. Vanderpoel? Isn’t she like ninety-seven years old? She must be in a rest home by now.”
“Ninety-three, and I think they allow visitors.”
“Oh, for crying out loud. I’m perfectly capable. Clara looks… sweet. We’ll be fine.”
Trish looked dubious but let it go.
How much trouble could one little baby be? Liz settled in for the ride, determined to ignore her sister’s reservations. True, she didn’t have much experience with infants, but it was a tad insulting taking flak from a woman who couldn’t even get her shirt on right side out.
A while later, as they neared the outskirts of Sugar Falls, Liz began to fidget in her seat. Seeing the familiar, rolling hills and occasional cow-studded field, the quarry where the in-crowd used to go drinking… It made her skin feel tight—like fat, old Beth was trying to squeeze back in.
Maybe it was because everything looked more or less the same. There was the Connecticut River, wide and tranquil, an endless dark green mirror reflecting the budding trees on either side. They’d see the falls soon. Then Main Street.