I'm nodding, listening, absorbing everything he has to say. "Dom," I begin, folding my hands in my lap and sitting up primly. "I feel in this situation you are due some recompense. So, I promise you, at some point in these next few weeks, I will get a violent lady boner for which I am in agony over."
His mouth tugs up in a grin. "How can you promise such a thing?"
"It won't be without work on your part." I shrug. "But I volunteer as tribute."
He offers a hand. I place my palm in his, and as we're shaking, I say, "Did you use this hand to?—"
"This conversation is over," Dom declares, dropping my hand. "Let's go see if your family is almost here."
We make it one minute down the path when Dom says, "You didn't tell me how you made yourself laugh."
"I was thinking Dom's Bulge sounds like a landmark, but now I'm thinking it's more of a roadside attraction."
Dom laugh-coughs. "You know, Cecily, since we're making this a joke. Bulge can be turned into the anagrambugle."
I'm rearranging the letters in my head and seeing the truth to his statement when he says, "And we both know how much you love Bugles."
Dom spotted the motor home at the back of the parking lot before me, but I recognized my sister's happy shriek before Dom registered that a woman was not, in fact, being kidnapped. "That's the sound she makes when things thrill her," I warn Dom.
He frowns. "I wonder what sound she would make if she needed help."
"One would hope she'd yellhelp."
He ignores me. "Sounds like they're checking in."
We wander into the reception area and find my family straddling the tall, gleaming check-in desk. The young woman who walked us to our room an hour ago is most definitely checking out Duke. Gross, but objectively, I get it. Growing up, all my friends wanted to come to my house because they were hoping to catch a glimpse, or maybe even a frown, from my broody older brother.
From across the room, I lock eyes with my dad. He dips his chin in greeting. My mother, standing beside him, must recognize his motion, because she follows where he's looking. A feeling resurfaces, niggling and insistent and so very unwelcome. A desire for her to smile at me. To acknowledge my existence. She doesn't, of course. She stares for a beat, then looks away.
I expected nothing more of her, and by doing so, her lack of acknowledgment doesn't hurt.
"Cecily!" my sister hollers. "Was that not the ugliest drive? Nothing between here and Phoenix but U-G-L-Y."
I give her a look, hoping to communicate her comment could be offensive to people overhearing her, and how could they not, given the yelling? She makes a face.
"But it's gorgeous in here!" she trills, hand gesturing around. She comes closer, wrapping me up and whispering in my ear, "So fugly, though, right?"
"Not pretty," I whisper back.
Grandma steps from the manager's office behind the check-in counter, her caftan swaying. Rainbow, whose name might as well be Shadow, follows. Mom, Dad, and Duke make their way over to us so we form a group. Grandma looks at me and Dom, bopping her shoulders a couple times before saying, "Did you two settle in ok?"
"We did, thank you," Dom answers smoothly. I try not to smile. Any expression of mirth will be perceived as recent razzling and dazzling.
"I was speaking with Garth, the manager." Grandma indicates behind her. Garth, a man in his fifties, gives us a perfunctory wave and smile. He might be the manager here, but I'm certain Savage Grandma is the boss right now.
"We're happy to have you all here with us," he says, slipping into hospitality mode. "Please let our staff know if we can make your stay more enjoyable."
Kerrigan plucks a trifold brochure from a table and peruses it. "Does the trail ride come with this cowboy?" she asks, to nobody in particular. I lean over, finding there is indeed a handsome cowboy positioned on a horse in that cowboy way, hand perched on his thigh and reins loosely held in his grip.
The manager smiles knowingly, like this isn't the first time he's been asked the question. "That particular cowboy will not be leading the trail ride, but I'm sure you'll find Quint a satisfactory replacement. He's extremely knowledgeable about the area."
"Great," Kerrigan chirps. She replaces the brochure in the sleeve. When she sees me looking at her, she juts her lower lip out, whispering with certainty, "Quint is most definitely a grizzled old fart."
I do my best not to laugh, but beside me, Dom's shoulder moves.
Likely scared of more questions, Garth beats a hasty retreat into his office.
"Good job terrifying the manager," Duke says to Kerrigan.
