"Mouth, too," I added.
For a split second, I thought I'd strummed that chord too soon. But then Magnolia laughed, saying, "Adding it to the list now."
"Perfect," I said with a smile. I pointed to the door. "I should get back out there."
"That's a good idea," she said.
We went our separate ways—not without a supremely strained moment where we exited the pantry but then walked in the same direction, side by side, for thirty seconds, not saying a word. We kept peeking at each other and forcing smiles until I "remembered" that I needed to visit the ladies' room on the opposite side of the house.
When I returned to Lauren and Will, I saw Shannon, Matt, and Sam at the other end of the hall. It looked like their interview was finished, and they headed straight for us.
"I'm ready," Shannon said to Will, a hand pressed to her abdomen.
"What's wrong?" Will asked. He pulled her close, folding her under his arm and pressing his lips to the crown of her head.
"I don't know. My stomach feels off, and I want to go home," she said. "I think I'm getting Andy's food poisoning."
"Then say your goodbyes, peanut," Will ordered. "Five minutes, and then I'm throwing you over my shoulder."
"Sweetie, I don't think it's contagious," Lauren said to Shannon. "Patrick doesn't have it."
"I want some sparkling water and my pajamas, and I don't want to analyze the origin of my belly ache," Shannon said, a slight whine creeping into her voice. "And don't you dare hurry me, commando. I'm done when I say I'm done, and your meathead ass isn't carrying me anywhere."
Sam appeared, his hand settling on my waist. We stepped away from the group, moving just beyond the immediate conversation. He lowered his lips to my ear, and whispered, "It would be wrong to tear this dress off, right?"
"You maynottear this dress," I said. "I'm not even comfortable wearing something this expensive. Ruining it would be insanity. I'm going to keep it, and tell stories to our grandchildren about the time their grandfather insisted I buy a dress roughly the same price as a low-end used car. It will be a little family folktale, and I'll show them the dress, and they'll ooh and ahh all over it. Or, I could make miniature quilts out of the dress, and hand them down to our children and their children as heirlooms."
"Right, so here's what I heard: dress intact, panties ripped, ass slapped."
I glanced up at him, smiling coyly. "I'm not wearing any panties."
13
Sam
March
"After a yearand a half of work, I think it's fair to say that we're all pleased to change the status on the Turlan project tocomplete," Patrick said, and a chorus of agreement went up around the table. "But there's another thing we need to handle with that property."
"If you tell me they want even one more change," Riley said, "I will eat my goddamn shirt. Then I'll move to Brazil and live among the people of the rain forest. At least they won't demand that I re-stain their floors five times."
"Don't eat your shirt yet," Patrick said. He stepped away from the table, and returned with a large paper-wrapped frame. "This arrived Friday afternoon, but I wanted to wait until we were all together." He placed it on the table and held out his hand to Riley. "Open it."
With a heavy sigh, Riley started tearing the protective covering. "We should really get an intern or someone who can open your mail for you, Patrick, because this is a little—" His voice vanished as he took in the four-page spread inHomes New Englandfeaturing the extensive project.
"The magazine hits newsstands today," Shannon said.
Riley leaned in to read the text, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow wrinkled. He didn't say anything for several minutes, instead studying the up-close photos of his intricate plaster and tile restorations, and sweeping shots of the kitchen and parlor.
"This is nice," he mumbled.
"Nice?" I repeated. "It's fucking incredible." I stabbed a finger toward the layout. "You did this, RISD. And you see that? That section titled 'In the Blood'? It says in no uncertain terms that you kicked this restoration's ass just as well as any of us could, and maybe better."
"There are three more articles running in the next month," Shannon said. "Plus several more interview requests coming your way."
"Sam designed Turlan," Riley protested. "Matt did all the structural. Patrick managed the entire timeline, and I don't even know what the budget was on that property. I didn't do anything. The credit doesn't belong to me."
"That's okay," Patrick said. He moved the frame off the table and leaned it against the brick wall. "For what it's worth, your version of not doing anything was damn good, and you should do it more often."
