"Get used to it," Grandma says, turning her pointed fry in Duke's direction. "They are leaving Bernice behind in Sierra Grande and joining us on the motor home."
"We've renamed it the Road Kraken," Kerrigan tells us. There's a smear of barbecue sauce on her cheek.
"You have sauce on your cheek," Cecily tells her, and she replies, "I don't care."
Using my napkin on my face in case I'm suffering from a similar affliction and nobody is telling me, I ask, "What's with this family and naming vehicles?"
Duke drains his beer. "I have an idea. Dom, you should name Cecily's Jeep."
Glenn scrunches his nose like he's smelled something unpleasant. "Death trap," he says. "There, I did it for you."
"Wind tunnel," Duke says.
Cecily looks like she's trying not to care what they say, but I see the way she stiffens. A few weeks ago, she probably would have told everybody what they could do with their joke, but she's trying so hard for Ophelia's sake.
Last I checked, my last name isn't Hampton. I am not here to mend fences. I'm here to be Cecily's husband, and that's what I'll be.
Curling a lock of Cecily's hair around my finger, I say, "My wife's Jeep is named Miss Independence."
Game stymied, Glenn and Duke fall quiet. Neither expected my response, but I'm not done. "Cecily worked hard to buy that car. She saved up her money, and bought it outright." Casually, I look at Glenn. "What kind of car do you drive?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "A Mercedes."
"What is your monthly payment?"
"It's a lease."
"So then, you pay monthly."
"I suppose."
"Does your car have a name?"
Glenn shakes his head.No.
"May I?"
Glenn motions with an open palm, giving me the go-ahead. But then he crosses his arms in front of his chest, a sign of nervousness he's trying to conceal. He doesn't know what I'm going to say, but he does know that I'm ready to throw down for his daughter. He should appreciate my willingness, and if he doesn't, it says a lot more about him than it does about me.
"Your car's name is Teenager. It'll only be around awhile longer, it costs a lot of money, and it thinks it's better than everybody else." I wink at him, and smile good-naturedly, just to soften the blow.
The table is utterly silent. Even Kerrigan, who almost always has something to say, is shocked into quiet.
I put a hand on Cecily's knee. Squeeze gently. She covers my hand with her own, running her fingertips over my knuckles.
Marilyn picks up her half-full glass of cider. Lifts it in the air. "To Miss Independence," she says, her eyes directly on Cecily.
CHAPTER 37
Cecily
When I wakeup the next morning, I find myself draped over Dom's chest. We'd gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but during the night I gravitated toward him. It's not him on my side, or even in the middle. It is me, firmly on his half.
He breathes deeply, evenly, my head rising and falling on his chest in a peaceful rhythm. I should move, shimmy over to my half of the bed, but I fear moving will wake him.
My mind wanders to last night. The way he defended me.My wife's Jeep is named Miss Independence.And then earlier, when we'd snuck off to the motor home.There is always time to make my wife come.The man seems awfully preoccupied with calling mewife.
I don't hate it. Not one bit. Not like I did that first morning in Vegas, or the week that followed. Could Dom and I be something? In another life? In another world where he lives in the same city as me, where we weren't already married and could date like two people who meet under normal circumstances. If we hadn't gotten drunkenly married in Vegas, we could've talked about our first date faux pas. Laughed about it. Instead, we'rehere, thrust into this alternate universe where we're married and on a road trip with macabre undertones.
