FOURTEEN
Absentee Kings, Helpful Father-In-Laws, and Big-Mouthed Wives
Arthur
“Knock knock!”
Oh, Christ. It’s my father-in-law again. He’s made a habit of showing up in my office every day since they moved in. He doesn’t bother to actually knock but instead opens the door and says ‘knock knock.’ I’m not the only one to find that rude, no? I mean, what if I was naked in here? I can’t imagine why I would be now that Tessa’s lost interest in sex, but still, it’s a possibility, like say, she suddenly has some miraculous hormone shift and finds herself in the mood...I shouldn’t let myself go too far down that road in my mind—it only leads to a very ‘uptight’ Excalibur.
Anyway, back to Ruben. What if I’d been in the middle of a very important conference call or a meeting with our national security adviser? Or imagine if I were in the middle of important national business and was extremely busy—oh wait, I am.
“Ah, Ruben, are you and Evi finding the apartment suitable?”
“Yes, we are indeed. This is quite the nice shack you’ve got here,” he says with a wide smile. “That bed is absolute perfection. My back hasn’t felt this good in years. We may never leave.”
Oh, yes, you bloody well will leave. The moment your house is ready.“In that case, I’ll arrange to have the bed sent to your house when it’s all ready. How’s that coming along, by the way?”
“They haven’t started yet. The insurance company is still tallying the damage.”
“Goodness, that seems like it’s a longer process than I’d have thought. Doesn’t it seem long to you?”
He shrugs and walks over to my drink cart and lifts the lid on a carafe of thirty-year-old scotch, sniffs it, then winces and puts it back down. “Nah, Evi’s friend Grace from next door said when her sister-in-law’s house burnt out, it took them about six weeks to even get through all the paperwork. They were out of their place for over a year.”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Ruben smiles and winks. “Getting sick of having the old in-laws around already?”
“No. Heavens no. Tessa and I would keep you here forever if we could. We just know it must be terribly inconvenient for you to be so far from your friends and the rest of the Sharpes.”
Picking up a priceless two-hundred-year-old clock off my shelf, he tests its weight while I try not to cringe. He makes a low whistling sound, then says, “Now, this is an impressive clock. Where’d you get it?”
“It was a gift to my great-great grandfather from Alexander the Third of Russia.”
“Solid wood. Not like the cheap crap they make in China these days.” He puts it back down with a thump. “I didn’t know your family was in bed with the Russians.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, and it was a long time ago.” I tap my pen on my desk, hoping he’ll notice I have actual work to do.
He glances down at the papers in front of me. Oh good. Maybe he’s getting the hint. “It just occurred to me that I don’t really know what it is you do. What are you up to there?”
“At the moment, I’m having a look at some proposed changes to the United Nations Human Rights Act pertaining to access to clean drinking water.”
“Oh, that sounds pretty important.”
“Yes, it’s not a topic to be taken lightly.”
“You know what the UN should do,” he says, sticking his thumbs in his belt loops and rocking on his heels. “They should invade Canada and demand their water. They’ve got more than half the world’s water supply over there.”
“Yes, well, I’m not sure that would work. Shipping it would be rather cumbersome and expensive.”
“Nah, it wouldn’t. You just get a bunch of water bombers. You know those planes they use during forest fires? They’re probably just sitting doing nothing ninety-five percent of the time. Load ‘em up with water, fly over to Africa or wherever they run out and drop it. Voila. Water crisis solved.”
I nod. “Yes, I see what you’re getting at. I’m not sure the UN will be willing to invade Canada, though.”
“Bah.” He waves one hand dismissively. “You probably won’t even have to invade. Canadians are a nice lot, aren’t they? Easy to push around. They’d probably just give it over if someone suggests it. You should just call up Justin Trudeau and ask ‘im.”
“I just may do that.” Glancing out the window, I spot the one thing that may get Mr. World Adviser out of my office. “Ruben, does the gardener have the blades on that lawn tractor set too low? Maybe it’s just me, but it looks like he’s cutting the grass awfully short.”
He turns to the window and narrows his eyes. “Yes, Artie, I think you may be right about that. And with the hot spell we’re expecting, that will prove to be ahugemistake.”
