“You sighed, Mommy.”
“Just a bit tired, Billy. It was a big day yesterday.”
No one could quite look at you as thoroughly as your child.
“I liked that man Brad.”
Holy crap!
“Ah, yes, he seemed nice.”
“Can I have some more apple please?”
Such were the workings of a four-year-old mind, Macy thought, climbing out of her chair to retrieve the apple.
“He talked to me about stuff, Mommy. But you know what?”
“What?”
“I think he was lonely there, even though he was Ethan's brother.”
“Why do you say that, Billy?”
“’Cause he had a sad look on his face when he looked at Uncle Ethan. Kind of like Declan does when he looks at Aunty Branna sometimes.”
She often forgot just how much her son understood. He was an intuitive child, raised by adults, plenty of them. They usually kept their conversations light when he was near, but it seemed he'd picked up on things without her realizing it.
“Declan and Branna had a rough few years, baby, but they're all good now, okay.”
He nodded then hummed as he ate his apple, and Macy's thoughts slipped back to Brad Gelderman.
“I'll get it!”
Before she could react, Billy had leapt off his chair and raced for the door. Macy hadn’t even heard a knock. She followed at a slower pace. Her body had a few twinges today that hadn't been there yesterday. Her breasts felt tender, and muscles she hadn't used in a while were making themselves known. Swallowing the knowing smile, she went to see who was at her door.
“Macy.”
Her heart sank as she saw her mother standing on the threshold.
“Hey, Grandmother.”
“Hello, Grandmother, is how you address me, William.”
Taller than her daughter, Delany Reynolds was a woman who believed herself a step above everyone else. Always immaculately dressed, she usually looked as if she'd stepped out of some fashion magazine. Her hair was blonde, which Macy knew was from a bottle, because in the normal course of ageing she would be gray by now. Around her neck was an ice-blue scarf, because she hated the wrinkles on her neck to be seen by anyone. Her face was smooth and tight from a recent face-lift. Her eyes were brown, and she never smiled, not naturally at least. It was more a forced effort that flashed her porcelain veneers.
“Hello, Mother, what can I do for you?”
“You can let me inside, and not conduct a conversation on your doorstep.”
“Billy, let your grandmother in, and then go to your room and get ready.”
Billy threw her a look, and she knew he liked his grandmother about as much as Macy did, because he flashed her a knowing smile and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him to the stairs.
“You need to teach that boy manners, Macy. He did not excuse himself from my company.”
“This is my house, Mother. He does what I tell him to do here.”
Macy would have once been cowed by her mother, but not anymore. That was another part of the transformation of Macy Reynolds. She moved to one side and let her mother precede her into the living room.
