“I sure did,” I say. Stirling isn’t anywhere to be found, but I see a giant pot on the stove. I lift the lid with a potholder he’s left on the counter to find it filled with pulled pork bubbling in homemade barbecue sauce.
“I wish I could say the same for myself. But I’ll sleep well tonight.”
“This smells heavenly,” I say and put the lid back. I notice a casserole dish with a glass lid keeping the baked beans warm. “Believe it or not, I’m starving again.”
“You and me both,” she says, “I think we’ll eat dinner inside, though. Pulled pork is so messy. I figure we can have our ice cream sundaes out there around the fire pit later.”
We all sit down to dinner, and there’s still no sign of Sylvia. But I’m not going to ask about her whereabouts again. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking the less we see of her the better. Of course, that’s wishful thinking, because just as I’m taking my third huge bite of my pulled pork sandwich, Sylvia sashays into the kitchen.
“Oh hi, sweetie!” Stirling says cheerfully. “We just sat down a few minutes ago.”
“Hey dad,” she says noncommittally.
I don’t know why Sylvia is dressed the way she is, though. She’s wearing hot pink suede shorts and a matching crop top, which is a slightly obscene. But she’s also made up like she’s going to the club, bedecked in giant silver hoop earrings and enough bracelets to sever her wrists, and three silver necklaces of varying lengths with cutesy pendants that plunge into the cleavage between her perky little boobs. A little much for a family dinner, I think.
“Um, I think I’m actually going to eat in my room,” Sylvia says, as she fills her plate.
“Oh, come on, Syl,” says Margot. “You’ve sulked enough about having to leave what’s-his-name. And you promised your dad that you’d spend some family time with us today.”
“His name is Jordan, Margot,” snaps Sylvia. “And I’m not sulking, this is the only time he can talk to me today, especially with the time difference. Okay?”
Margot shrugs and takes a gulp of her wine.
“It’s okay. Maybe you can join us for dessert,” says Stirling.
“Yeah, sure, Dad.”
Stirling is concentrating on his sandwich now, and clearly didn’t register the outfit she’s wearing. But when he looks up, I see the same realization cross his face that I have. Sylvia’s plate is piled high with more food than she probably eats in a month. The little bitch is taking a plate up to Damon!
“Sylvia—” Stirling knows and is trying to stop her.
“See you all later,” she chimes over her shoulder.
Thank goodness Margot is oblivious. Stirling locks eyes with me for a brief instant, a deep frown creasing his brows. As for me, I want to wring her little neck. At first the notion that I could fly into a jealous rage over the man I broke up with five years ago shocks me. Until I remember that I’m still deeply, madly, hopelessly in love with him.
7
Damon
On my wayback from the store, I see Amanda and Margot getting into the car with their designer coffees.
What people fail to understand is that it’s all in how you make it. True, the roast I kept at the house was expensive, but it was a special imported blend that I only treat myself to once a year. The local coffee is inexpensive and outstanding if you know what to do with it.
I’m as quiet as I can be getting up to the studio. I can hear someone in the kitchen, but I’m hoping they don’t hear me.
No such luck. Stirling comes bustling out into the foyer.
“Oh! Damon. I thought it was Margot. She and Amanda went to the store, so I was coming out to help her.”
I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that I’d seen them in the parking lot of the coffee shop. That would just extend this conversation another ten seconds longer than I wanted it to be. Not to mention, it might lead in a direction that would prompt me to mention my little run-in with Amanda this morning.
“Uh, no. Just me,” I say and start to climb the stairs.
“Looks like you’re well-stocked for your studio now,” he says. “What are you up to today?”
“Absolutely. Got everything I need now,” I say as I keep climbing slowly. “I thought I’d get some painting done, make some phone calls. Pretty much what I do on every holiday, especially when my gallery show has been cancelled.”
And drinking, lots of drinking.
