Settling for second best, I grabbed a box of graham crackers.
“Uh, Maggie, about dinner—”
“Whatisthat?” I asked with a glare at the pan, disgruntled enough to suggest that it looked vile.
My brother was oblivious. His own agenda carried him blithely along. With a flourish, he said,“Navarin Printanier.”
“Liam.”
“Lamb stew with spring veggies, made with ground lamb instead of roasted because I couldn’t find whole lamb at the last minute, but the turnips look great. I’ll leave a little for you, but most of it is coming with me.”
“Where to?”
“Erica Kahn’s,” he offered and waited, expectant, even anxious.
“Perfect,” I said and headed for the stairs. My brother could have madeNavarin Printanierfor thedevil,and that would have been fine. The idea of having the house to myself for even a few hours was heaven.
***
After closing the door to my room loudly enough to make a statement, I pulled up Spotify, set my phone in the dock, and climbed into bed fully clothed. Sitting against the headboard with the covers bunched under my breasts, I opened the box of graham crackers, removed a sheet and broke it in half. I munched happily, eager to redeem my personal space and relax.
But the first song was Adele’s “All I Ask,” whose lyrics made melonely. I found Rihanna’s “Stay” depressing, and Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You” made me want to cry.
I identified with these songs, and wasn’t that pathetic? My life was a playlist—sad, haunted, and filled with regret.
So music wouldn’t help. Grabbing the phone from its dock, I was about to check Facebook to see what Mom’s special had been, or Twitter to catch up on news beyond Devon. But the screen lit up with unread texts, and, even as I held the phone, another arrived.
I turned the thing off and tossed it aside.
Snapping another cracker in two, I listened to my woods, but the outdoor sounds were so low with the windows closed that I had to stop eating to hear. There wasn’t much anyway; March was perennially stingy. I heard the coo of a mourning dove, or maybe an owl, hard to tell which. I heard the rattle of branches blown by the wind, softened only by thesusurrusof pines and firs. I might have enjoyed the purr of the cats, but they were downstairs with Liam, whose cooking sounds had to be as deliberate as my door closing—the slam of a cabinet, the rap of a wooden spoon against my iron pan, the rush of water through the pipes as the sink faucet went on and off.
Call us both childish. But there was satisfaction in making noise when one was PO’d.
IMHO, I had more of a right to it than Liam did. The fact of his commandeering my kitchen for his personal cause only added to the anger of a day in which reality had seriously upset the basket of my life. The home-and-hearth smells that rose from the stove were little solace.
I waited, listened.
“Maggie?” Liam finally called.
I didn’t answer.
“I’m leaving,” he called.
Either he sensed my anger and didn’t want a confrontation, or he was that eager to be at Erica Kahn’s. He might have even thought I was asleep, though it was pathetically early for that. I mean, who went to bed atsix-thirty? Only someone who had nothing better to do, and ifthatwasn’t a depressing thought, I didn’t know what was.
Whatever, he didn’t try again. I heard the front door close and, more faintly, his engine rev. My bedroom was at the back of the house, so I couldn’t hear the crunch of his tires on the drive, but I pictured him backing around and heading out.
Only when I guessed he would be halfway down the road did I open my door. And there were my pets, lined up and waiting in a way that both warmed my heart and hit me with guilt. “Oh guys,” I said as I crouched down and reached out. “I am the worst mom.” But not for long. I had a sudden stroke of genius. “Who wants lamb stew?” The smell out here in the hall was strong.
Me, me, me, I imagined them saying, because all three ran for the stairs.
I followed but paused at the top. Immediately to my right was the loft. It overlooked the open first floor of the house and in normal times held little more than a sleep sofa and lamp. Now it was a mess of strewn clothing, empty shopping bags, and dirty drinking glasses.
Resigned, I continued on down. Liam might be a pig in the bedroom, but the kitchen was spotless. A container sat on the counter, its cover steamed and warm. The pet dishes were dripping dry on the rack, so no one actually needed food. But I had promised.
When I cracked the lid, the smell hit me hard, and it was awesome, I had to give Liam that. I spooned out bits of lamb and knelt. Hex and Jinx each took a lick before walking away. Jonah cleaned the spoon.
Me, I wasn’t hungry after eating… how many graham crackers?
