Skinny Dipping (31 page)

February

Mimi set the short stack of mail on Prescott’s kitchen island and pulled off her gloves. At the other end of the island, Prescott sat with his chin in his palms studying the newspaper’s Sudoku. She doubted he’d even noticed she’d come in. In the nearly five weeks since Sarah and Prescott had both arrived, Prescott’s social eagerness had quickly lapsed into relaxed casualness. He took her daily look-ins for granted. Rather than be insulted by his lack of ongoing gratitude, Mimi found it oddly endearing. She found the whole arrangement oddly…nice.

She felt important to the workings of this little commune, but not essential, and she liked the feeling. In part for the very reason that she wasn’t essential; she knew that all of them were perfectly capable of functioning without her, that they did not depend on her for their ultimate happiness (except maybe Wiley), and that’s exactly how it should be. Still, that she contributed greatly to it…pleased her. Without her, they wouldn’t have gotten by so well.

Yup. Pretty much everything was perfect.

Except that Joe…Nope. Not going there. She would continue to ignore Joe and the physical attraction that was escalating by leaps and bounds every time they were together. She knew Joe felt it, too. If she’d been of a more dramatic or egocentric bent, she might even have imagined that Joe had gone skijoring yesterday—a full two weeks before the doctor had said he could—with the express purpose of making himself too sore to be able to act on that attraction in the very short—Nope. She was not going there.

The happy mood in which she’d entered the Piney Palace was disappearing, taken over by restlessness and discontent. Where was Sarah anyway? She shed her coat and flung it over a nearby stool and ripped open the end of an expensive-looking envelope addressed to her. Inside was a single sheet.

She read. It didn’t take long. When she was done, she crumpled the paper into a ball and rammed it into the bottom of the garbage can.

The Peterson, Peterson and Petersen law firm could go screw themselves. Mimi didn’t care that they were only doing what the majority of heirs of Ardis Olson wanted by “requesting” they all meet at their Fawn Creek offices to sign the papers that would put Chez Ducky on the real estate market. She hated the law firm of Peterson, Peterson and Petersen.

It was better than hating her family.

Yes. She’d known it was coming. Birgie’s cell phone message some months before had been substantiated by an apologetic phone message from Vida, which Mimi had picked up a few weeks ago. In a nutshell, Vida had explained what Mimi already knew: there were so many reasons to sell Chez Ducky and so few to keep it. The decision had not been made lightly. They felt terrible about it, but practically speaking, it only made sense, and the Olsons were an eminently practical people.

It was out of her hands now. It had never been in her hands, she reminded herself. The idea, rather than consoling her as it would have in the past, for whatever reason, now just pissed her off.

She dropped the lid on the garbage shut and, as she did so, spotted an expensive set of luggage in the front hall, which the lid had hidden. All hopes of not thinking about Joe vanished. The luggage was waiting for Joe because Joe was leaving tomorrow. He was returning to Singapore to handle negotiations because apparently
no one else
was capable of putting paid on the bill. That’s what happened when you were essential to something. Today, Fate seemed intent on smacking her in the face with the inevitability of all good things coming to an end.

It was a good thing. She didn’t want Joe to leave. Both facts further fouled her mood. She hadn’t expressly
not
wanted someone to go away for years. Sure, she had experienced a couple moments of warm, vague “Gee, that was nice. Too bad it didn’t last longer,” but not this gaping ache. This panic in the base of her throat.

She was the absolute champion of letting go, of waving good-bye. But the thought of losing Joe—no, wait. That wasn’t right. What a terrible choice of words. She didn’t
have
Joe, so obviously she couldn’t lose him. The thought of the absence of his company, his conversation, his understated sense of humor, hurt her more than she’d have believed possible. And it was more than that. She wouldn’t be able to annoy him, challenge him, provoke and amuse him. She’d never felt so important to anyone before. And…he might be important to her. Really important. So important that if he disappeared—

Was it all in her imagination? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know how to ask him, or even if she should ask, a fact that befuddled and upset her. She supposed she should just let it slide until it slid away.

Behind her, Mimi heard Sarah’s heavy footfalls and the opening of a cupboard door. She spun around, too ready to do battle, and spied Sarah pulling a carton of Little Debbie frosted minidonuts from the shelf. Mimi grabbed for them.

“Dr. Youngstrum said you should lose some of that weight,” Mimi snapped, giving voice to the first excuse she could think of as she tried to wrest the box from Sarah. She’d insisted that Sarah see the family practice physician in Fawn Creek at least once if she were to remain up here, on the threat of calling Solange.

“It’s my choice!” Sarah growled. “And I haven’t gained any weight in two weeks.”

“You
waddle.
”

Abruptly, Sarah’s eyes welled up with tears. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“Oh, no. No, you don’t,” Mimi said. “Do
not
play the pregnant-lady card. It’s not working anymore. You’ve been here four weeks and in that short time you’ve doubled your size.”

“I have not!”

“You are huge. It’s not good for your blood pressure.” Feeling Sarah’s grip on the box loosen, Mimi jerked the carton from her hands. The top popped open and Little Debbie frosted minidonuts flew around the kitchen.

Prescott ducked, barely avoiding being hit by the flying carton. “Hey,” he said. “Watch it.”

Dogs shot from out of nowhere, scooping donuts up like humpback whales through a school of krill, then disappeared again to await the next culinary windfall.

Sarah plopped down on her stool with a “now look what you’ve done!” air and crossed her arms, resting them on her Baby Bulge, expanded in the last month from the original Baby Bump and now well on its way to Mount Baby stage.

“Mimi says I am fat, Prescott.”

“Um.” Prescott’s initial giddiness over adding Sarah to the household had detoured into nonchalance over the last month. At first, Mimi had worried that he might have transferred his crush on her to a more romantic one on Sarah. Deciding her usual course of letting things slide might not best serve the situation this time, she’d confronted Prescott and had asked point-blank if he had a thing for Sarah.

He’d turned bright red. “No! No, she’s pregnant.”

“Some men find that sexy.”

“Ew.”

Mimi hadn’t felt it necessary to pursue the subject.

“Prescott! Defend me,” Sarah commanded. “I’m not fat, am I?”

Prescott glanced up. “Not fat. Really big.”

Mimi shot Sarah a triumphant look.

“That’s because the baby is big,” Sarah sniffed.

“The baby would have to be the size of a hay bale to account for all that weight. Look at your legs. You’ve got cankles.”

Sarah recoiled at this charge, her gaze flying to Prescott for support. “Pres?”

He looked down at Sarah’s legs. “Canklish,” he pronounced sadly. The talk of legs must have reminded him of his own, because he lifted his left one in its new walking cast up on the stool beside him.

“Fine. I didn’t want any donuts anyway. And, by the way, your cookie dough is gone.” Sarah whirled around and stalked out of the room.

The night Sarah had arrived, Mimi had been delighted to wave good-bye to her as she drove her Lexus away from Chez Ducky on her way to the Piney Palace. In fact, she’d rubbed her hands together. Finally things were going to be the way she’d imagined them to be when she’d arrived.

As soon as the taillights were out of sight, she’d turned back into the parlor to wallow in nostalgic bliss, fully expecting to find her ancestors waiting for her. She’d turned to find an empty room. Surprised, unhappy, confused, she had nonetheless refused to give up. When she wasn’t up at Prescott’s taking care of things, she’d spent the last weeks puttering around with the albums, poking through the cottages, doing a little sketching, and being monumentally bored. She could have relocated to Prescott’s, too. She had a good excuse in Sarah. But that would be admitting there was nothing here for her. And maybe it would be admitting to something being at Prescott’s.

“Where’s Joe?” she asked.

“Outside,” Prescott said.

Mimi pounced on this bit of intel. “He’s not skijoring again? That would be criminally stupid. With that knee, I can’t believe he was dumb enough to go skijoring yesterday. He’s lucky he didn’t do more than bruise his other knee. He—”

“Calm down, Mimi.” Prescott twisted on the stool and looked out the window. “He’s just sitting on an overturned pail about fifty yards off shore. How weird is that? Joe Tierney sitting on a pail doing nothing.” Prescott squinted thoughtfully out the window at his father. “I think there’s an End of Days prophecy about that.”

“Well…good,” Mimi grumbled. She should just go back to Chez Ducky and not return until he was gone. That way she could avoid good-byes.

“It’s hormones,” Prescott said without looking up.

“What?”

“Sarah’s moody because of hormones.”

“Oh. I knew that.”

“What’s your excuse?” Prescott asked, setting down his pencil. “You’ve been as touchy as Bill Gates at an Apple convention. You’re not a moody person. What’s up?” His face reflected both puzzlement and concern.

He looked so earnest and young. A regime of fresh air and dog-induced exercise and dealing with an emotionally unpredictable pregnant woman had done wonders for Prescott. Mimi doubted he’d ever be the belle of the ball (he was still awkward and prickly), but he was certainly easier in his own skin these days. And his heart was good. And true…
Shit
! Why was she getting all maudlin over Prescott?
He
wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well?” he asked.

She plopped down on the stool next to him. “I dunno,” she said. “Stuff.”

“Like what stuff?”

She considered whether or not to tell him. Blurting out her little frets and stews was decidedly not her way. In fact, she generally eschewed acknowledging them to herself. But…what the hell? She wasn’t asking anything of him. She was just answering his question.

“Like Sarah. She won’t call Mom, and I think she ought to.” He still looked questioning, so she decided to elaborate. “But I don’t feel it’s my place to press the issue. And…”

“And?” Prescott prompted mildly.

“And I am really concerned about her. She won’t make a decision about the baby. She won’t even look into any options.”

At this, Prescott looked appropriately taken aback.

“She won’t take any birthing classes. Can you believe that? She’s in this massive state of denial—not to mention a massive state in general. Do you think that’s healthy? I don’t. But she keeps saying, ‘Just let it slide.’” Mimi’s voice rose with irritation and worry. “I can’t figure out if she’s mocking me or if she’s lost her mind. You can’t let a baby ‘slide’!”

“Have you told her that?”

“All the damn time! I really wish Mom was here.”

Prescott nodded sympathetically.

“And Joe,” Mimi went on, amazed at how cathartic all of this felt.

Prescott shot her an inquiring glance.

“His knee,” she hastily explained. “It bugs me he was that dumb about it.”

Before Prescott could ask why, she diverted his attention. “
And
I got a call from Ozzie yesterday asking me when I was coming back, and I told him I couldn’t for at least another couple months, because I have to stay with Sarah until she delivers. He said he’d need to hire a replacement and he was sorry and I told him not to kick himself because, well, lately Those Beyond the Veil have been staying there and not making with the chitchat.”

Prescott’s eyes alit with sly interest. He had the same blue eyes as Joe.

“Oh?” he said a little too casually. “The ghosts aren’t talking to you anymore?”

“Good try, Pres. Do you want to know if I talk to ghosts?”

“Yeah.”

“So do I,” she said and smiled at his chagrin. She was starting to feel better. “And the wiring at Chez Ducky is falling apart. I was trying to put the albums together last night, and I blew five fuses. I had to drive all the way to Fawn Creek to get more. But I did.”

“You’re a tough woman,” Prescott said. Something amused in his tone made Mimi regard him more closely. He returned her inspection with guileless wide eyes. Could he be mocking her? Nah. Prescott had come far, but he hadn’t come that far yet.

“Better believe it.” Tough and resilient. That was her.

“Anything else?”

Yes.
Oh, yes. The runaway train of verbosity came to an abrupt end. Suddenly she simply felt deflated again. “I got a letter this morning.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a notice. Tells me when I have to be at the lawyers’ office to sign the papers so they can sell Chez Ducky.” There. She’d said it out loud. Chez Ducky was going to be sold. After this weekend Debbie would stick it on the market and that would be that.

She smiled at Prescott, hoping she didn’t look as ill as she felt. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Prescott, bless his soul, looked stricken.

“Have you ever seen a prettier day?” Joe asked, emerging from the lower level and stopping at the top of the stairs. He beamed at her and Prescott, content, at ease, satisfied with the world and his place in it. Which was
her
role, and she wanted it back. She was the one who was supposed to be gorging herself on raw cookie dough, doing Sudokus all afternoon, sitting on her butt in the middle of a frozen lake while time parted around her and flowed on by. Or just left her behind. She resented Joe at that moment more than she could have thought possible.