“You brought your dirty laundry to my house and shoved half of a load in the washer.”
“Isn’t that where it goes?”
“Not when there’s already washed laundry in there that needs to go in the dryer.”
Luke cringes.
“Really, Luke?” I ask.
“I didn’t see it.”
“How could you not?” Mom asks, her voice rising. “Lucas, I love you. I’ve loved you since the day you were born. But you’ll have to grow up at some point.” She looks at me. “Where did I go wrong with him?”
Luke gasps. “Excuse me, Mrs. Marshall?”
“You call me Mrs. Marshall again, little boy, and see what happens?—”
“Hey, Uncle Luke!” Kennedy comes in from the mudroom and taps my brother on the back as she walks by. “Pap and I aregoing fishing.” She lowers her voice. “It’s not what I want to do today, but he’s acting like he’s never going to see me again after tomorrow, and I feel bad.”
We all laugh.
“Wanna come?” Kennedy asks, taking three water bottles from the refrigerator.
“Yeah, I’ll come down there. Gavin tried getting me to go dirt biking with him this afternoon. Maybe I can talk him into fishing instead.”
Kennedy grabs another water bottle. “Cool.” She looks at me with a little grin as she walks toward the door. “I can’t wait to tell you about my new babysitter.”
My stomach drops. I fire her a look to be careful, but she ignores the warning in typical Kennedy fashion.
“Oh, that’s right,” Luke says, suddenly interested in my parenting decisions. “She was starting today. Is she here?”
“Nope,” Kennedy says. “She just left. You should ask my dad about her. She’s hot.”
“Ken…”
She ducks out of the room, laughing. “See you at the lake, Uncle Luke! I’ll tell you all about it. Love you, Gram!”
“That kid,” Mom says, chuckling.
That kid, all right. I heave a breath.
Discussing this with Luke was not on my agenda today—or ever. But now that he’s been clued in on ahot nanny, there’s no way to avoid the conversation.
“Okay,” Luke says, smirking like the bastard he is. “Let’s talk about this nanny.”
“Yes, let’s,” Mom chimes in.
“Let’s not.”
“She’s hot?” he asks, taunting me. “She must be smokin’ hot to elicit this kind of a response.”
“You’re wrong, Luke. She’s not hot—she’s beautiful.” Mom’s mocking tone is as irritating as my brother’s. “You should see her. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Built like a … what do they say? A shit house? A brick house?”
Luke snickers.
“Mom,” I say, exasperated. “Please don’t do this.”
She turns to me. “Don’t do what? Tell your brother how delightful the woman is? The same woman you ran off from here, for some reason unbeknownst to me?”
