That earned her a laugh as Jude removed the cover from the container of chicken. He’d asked them to cut it up for him, and he took a flowered china plate from the sideboard and began to serve her. “I have an office full of people who would highly disagree with you.”
The dog yipped at him, and he glanced at her. “Don’t even think about it. You have your own food.”
“Well, coworkers will always think you’re a bastard. Perks of being a boss. If they’re not complaining about you, you’re not doing your job right.”
Jude set a piece of the breast on the plate along with a scoop of mashed potatoes and a helping of sautéed string beans. “There. That looks good, right? And as for it being a perk? I’m not sure.” He placed the food in front of her along with a napkin, then left to get the bottle of tonic water from the refrigerator and two glasses of ice. The dog trailed after him, and he glanced down at her. “Nope.”
She whined, but he ignored her and returned to the dining room. He set everything on the table and cracked open the bottle of gin.
“Don’t be stingy with that, either.” She kept her eye on him as he poured.
“Edith, I’m not going to be responsible for getting you drunk.” He added the tonic water and put the glass before her.
She took a sip and smacked her lips. “Delicious.”
Only after she started eating did Jude take a seat on a chair next to her.
“Tell me all about the wedding. I’m dying to hear. I hate that my legs were too swollen for me to attend. Damn that fall.” Edith cast a withering gaze downward, and Jude knew it had devastated her to have to miss the affair. “Ilana looked so beautiful when she put on the dress for the last fitting. Stunning, no?” Her voice brimmed with satisfaction.
Jude had introduced his sister to Edith when Ilana got her job as a buyer for Macy’s, and the two women had spent hours talking about the fashion industry. When Ilana announced her engagement, Edith took out a sketchbook, and despite her arthritic fingers, designed a dress for her, and even Jude could see how beautiful it was.
“Believe me, you were missed. And she was. Look.” He opened his phone, and for the next few minutes, Edith scrolled through the pictures.
“You must be thrilled she’s so happy, but it’s a little sad too. Am I right?” Her sharp eyes found his.
“I’m fine. Ilana is where she should be, and I’m happy for her.”
“So now you’re planning to spend all your time with me?” She cackled. “Not for nothing, but I have more of a social life than you.”
Sad but true, Jude mused. Edith had a weekly book club, a sewing circle, and Friday night get-togethers she liked to call “salons,” where her industry friends would gather to drink and gossip the night away.
“Eat your dinner, Edith. Did you do the stretching exercises your physical therapist gave you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I did, and a fat lot of good they’re doing me. I’m never going to be what I was.”
Jude took her frail hand in his. The pads of her fingers were rough from cuts and stickpins, and he could feel the ridge of a scar where she’d told him a sewing machine once ran over her thumb. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re fine as is. And you know you love having everyone come visit you and entertaining them here. Besides”—he freed her hand—“you don’t want to go outside. It’s hot as hell. Even the short walk home left me feeling like a wet sponge.”
She gazed at his phone again. “You need a boyfriend.”
“What I need is a drink.” He opened his bottle of Scotch and poured himself a double.
Edith, about to take a sip, halted with her drink in midair and peered at him through her glasses. “Stop BS-ing me. You’re too young to sit home every night. Unless you want to join me and the girls for sewing night again.” She hooted with laughter and slapped the table with her hand.
One time Jude got stuck late at the office, and when he arrived with groceries, he found himself caught by Edith’s crew. Five sets of interested eyes gleamed as they surrounded him like a capturing army homing in on their prey and interrogated him about his personal life. Jude only escaped after promising to take the numbers of Virginia’s great-nephew and Della’s grandson, but he drew the line at Lorna’s hairdresser. He’d never called any of the men.
“God help me,” he muttered and finished his Scotch. Gazing longingly at the bottle, he decided to hell with it and poured another, albeit more judicious, glass.
“This is New York City. The mecca for good-looking, successful gay men. You should be out having fun every night. Now who isthis?” Her pink-tipped finger tapped his phone screen.
“Let me see.” Jude spun the phone around and saw her pointing to Mason in the family picture he’d asked someone to take. “Oh, that’s Mason. Doug’s brother. He’s been away for years.”
“He’s gorgeous. And into you.”
Jude snorted. “Edith, what on earth are you talking about? You can’t see all that from a simple picture.”
“Not that one.” She slid her finger along the screen. “Here.” She pointed. “These.” With a smirk, she pushed the phone to him. He picked it up and felt the blood drain from his face.
How the hell had he missed these photos?
