Long Night; 13

This is the last one I have written. of the long night stuff, that is, not the last vignette ever, oh my goodness, no. I have plenty of other shit yet to come!

But this is the last bit of that dinner, though it certainly leaves the dinner incomplete. But, If I want to move on i figured I'd better go ahead and post this, finished or not.

So enjoy!

************

“Mr. Delaney?” 

Jonah dragged his eyes away from Viola, feeling a mixture of irritation and shame.  It wasn’t the first time that evening that he’d been more or less caught staring at his teenage daughter.  He swallowed, adjusted his glasses automatically, and pulled his expression into one of polite interest for his daughter-in-law.

“Yes, Maggie?”  He asked genially.  “You don’t have to call me that, by the way, Jonah is just fine.” 

She smiled shyly, though Jonah suspected that outside of the Delaney mansion she probably wasn’t half so timid and skittish.  She had to have a spine of steel to have wrangled Grey into that gold band, after all.  His smile deepened at the thought.

“May I ask—do you have any photos from Grey’s christening?”

Jonah didn’t know what he’d expected her to ask, maybe perhaps ‘would you pass the peas’, but nothing even remotely in the realm of what she’d just asked.  He blinked several times.

“Because I didn’t see any in the beautiful album Mrs. Delaney gave to me—“ she pressed gently when he failed to respond.

Jonah smiled once again, but his mind was reeling.  Grey’s christening?  So many lines of thought were jockeying for position in his head he found it most difficult to form a verbal response.  That day had been awful.  He hadn’t even wanted to christen the boy.  He eschewed organized religion and Velvet had expressed her ambivalence about the archaic ritual as well, but then, everybody has parents and aunts and even grandparents, each with firm beliefs on the subject, each with sets of vocal chords that never seem to rattle louder or more incessantly than when they’re lecturing you on how to raise your first child.

“Photos.”  He said ponderously, hoping his mask resembled an aging father trying to recall if they had such an album and where it might be.  “Hmm.”  Out of the corner of his eye he caught her fiddling with the saint at her neck.  She was nervous.  He sensed she wasn’t  interested in the photos at all.  Not really.  She needed to know if her new husband had been baptized a Christian.  Jonah’d studied the world’s major religions for years, which is how he’d settled on his own agnostic tendencies. 

His new daughter-in-law needed to know if she could make the sacrament with Grey before a priest.  Jonah groaned inwardly at the thought of this poor little thing dragging his recalcitrant son off to a chapel and coercing him into a ritual he would neither respect nor adhere to.  But, he reminded himself, it had been Grey that had offered.  It had been his son who had, unprompted, made the willing concession to recite vows once again before the Ramirez’s family priest.

“I’d ask Grey’s mother, but she’s already put together such a wonderful photo collection, I don’t want her to think I’m ungrateful or that it’s wanting for anything.”  The young woman rushed, rather self-consciously.

Jonah nodded conspiratorially.  “Of course, of course.”  He said, and made a ‘don’t worry about a thing’ hand gesture.  “But between you and me, I’d bet money that the album she gave you will be but the first volume in a series.”  He winked and chuckled, which seemed to put Maggie at better ease.

But she was still waiting.  Nervously.  Her whole world hinging on how he responded to her disguised inquiry.

Jonah reached for his wine and took a long sip to but himself time to formulate a response.  Because the truth was, he couldn’t be sure the ceremony had been successfully completed.  He didn’t know for sure if Grey had been baptized properly or not.  Because he hadn’t been there.  Because he and Nolan had had to escort a certain person from the premises about midway through the blessed event.  And it had been quite an uproar.  A scuffle.  It had stopped the ceremony dead, as he recalled.

And no.  He didn’t believe there were any photos around of that delightful little incident.

Maybe his mother had kept some?  But those would have been lost in the fire.

“You know what, I don’t know if we have photos handy—I’m never sure where Velvet squirrels these things away, but I could probably put my hands on the christening gown.”  He offered as a consolation. 

Her eyes widened a bit, before washing over troubled.  She bit her lower lip.

Jonah wondered if she’d have her baby baptized in Grey’s gown or if she had her own family heirloom for the eventual occasion.  “He was baptized at First Presbyterian on Sycamore.”  Jonah added helpfully.  “Do you need a certificate, or, um, something to that effect?”  He was educated enough to know that Grey would need to be a baptized Christian in order for the church to recognize their union, but he hadn’t studied deeply enough to have a grasp on the particulars of paperwork and other clerical requirements.

He studied her reaction carefully.  She flushed lightly and looked quickly away from him, first across to where Grey sat and then down to her plate.  Her dark eyebrows drew together in distress and she seemed to force her hand from their habitual spinning of the little medallion.  When she’d taken a breath and folded her hands neatly in her lap, she pulled her spine up, sat a little taller and then smiled pleasantly at him once more, her chin higher than before, her chocolate gaze clear and direct.

“I believe that would be a great help.”  She answered frankly.  “The record, I mean, more than the gown.”

His mouth took on a wry curve.  “You can have the gown when you find you have the need.”  He told her gently.  “But yes, I can understand that the document would be more useful in the immediate.”

“Right Dad?”  a voice was pressing, sounding as though maybe they’d already asked once or twice, trying vainly to capture his attention.  Jonah became aware that his end of the table had become very quiet and several pairs of eyes were fixed intently on him, awaiting some response.

He glanced around, an apologetic little smile in place.  “I’m so sorry, I was chattering away over here—what was the question?”

It was Avalon who spoke again, looking miffed and icy when she repeated her assertion about folk lore and wedding customs, looking to him for confirmation.  He smiled and nodded, confirmed what she’d said and then added some factoid of trivia about colonial brides and antiquated marriage law, and then the onus of the figurative spotlight passed from him once again. 

When he turned to continue his discussion with Maggie he found she’d been pulled into a rather animated conversation with Keer and Genny about some tween heartthrob or other and a scandalous celebrity wedding.

So his eyes went back to where they’d been before she’d ventured her veiled request for Grey’s baptismal record.  He lifted his wine to his lips once more and let his gaze slide slowly over Viola, who was seated at a comfortably significant distance from him this evening.  Not by her choice of course.  With so many guests her mother had made place cards and everyone knew there was to be absolutely no switching around.  Velvet Delaney was a sweet, gentle, kind-as-can-be lady, but it was a well known household dictum to avoid foiling, either intentionally or through careless accident, her plans for a proper dinner party.

One did everything one could possibly do to ensure Velvet’s best laid plans went off without impediment or detour.   Or one suffered days and days of lamentation and woe over the failed or botched event.  Suffered hours on end of hearing about how it had all been planned perfectly but then somehow it had all, misery of miseries, gone horribly wrong!

So Viola sat where her mother had assigned her, a careful and deliberate placement made on the predication of a carefully calculated algorithm of Velvet’s design, which took into account personality types, conversation style, gender, age, and the ability to tolerate Celia, among other factors known only to Velvet herself.

And he rather liked the distance for conflicting reasons.  For one, he was able to relax a little, knowing her foot would not find his below the table.  Breathe easier without her constant and cloying attention.  Think more clearly because she wasn’t near enough for him to smell her, to watch closely the mesmerizing rise and fall of her small but perfect breasts, to feel the pulsing need pouring off her, clouding his brain with relentless and wicked pheromones that muddled everything up completely.

He also couldn’t deny that at this distance he was able to appreciate how perfectly fucking adorable and gorgeous and delicious she looked this evening.  And, in a sort of circle of reasoning, he was once again glad of the forced distance and barrier between their bodies.

He glanced around the table quickly to make sure he wasn’t being watched.  He’d just about made it back around to Viola when he caught his brother’s curious and stormy stare.  Fuck.  He lowered the wine glass enough to flash Nolan a smile.

Nolan didn’t smile back immediately.  Instead he lowered his brow slightly and squinted a little. 

Jonah pointed at his glass and nodded appreciatively as if to say: ‘This is great wine you brought! Thanks!’

Nolan blinked, hesitated, and then nodded in return with a friendly-enough smile.

Christ.  Jonah looked determinedly in the opposite direction of his youngest daughter and his too keenly observant brother. 

He could hear his mother-in-law making some critical comment about the lamb, and he tried not to listen. 

“When?”  He asked Maggie when she finally emerged from the thrilling (to Keer anyway) debate over pubescent nickelodeon stars. 

She sipped her water gingerly.  Was she still struggling with nausea at this point?  He scanned her plate.  She seemed to have eaten well enough, though certainly not with much gusto.  She was forcing it down to be polite.

“When is the—“  He wasn’t quite sure of the appropriate term for a redundant wedding.  “When will you make the sacrament?”  He asked, sounding more like he was asking if he’d said that right than about the event.

“Tomorrow.”  She replied with a grateful smile.  He couldn’t read whether he’d got the phrasing right, but at least he hadn’t screwed it up to the point of offense.

Tomorrow. 

“Oh.”  He said, not able to mask the surprise.  “Should we, I mean, should Velvet and I?  Did you tell us?  That is, was Grey supposed to let us know—“

Now she blushed again.  “It won’t be, um, we aren’t doing anything grand at all.”  She apologized.  “It will be sort of, private?”  She searched the air in front of her for a better way to explain.

“A quiet ceremony?”  He helped gently.

“Not even really a ceremony, more a, well.”  She sighed.  “It’ll be fulfilling an obligation.  No frills.  Nothing fancy.”  She admitted. 

Jonah nodded and pushed a piece of asparagus around on his plate idly.  She wasn’t the only one struggling with nausea and lack of appetite.  Though his sickness was much more grim and unnatural.  His eyes flicked to Viola once again and her eyes flicked up at the same time.  She smiled slyly and tossed her hair over her shoulder to better display her slim white neck to him.  He forced his attention back to Maggie.

“Velvet will be devastated if she learns there was any kind of ceremony for the two of you, and we’d somehow missed it.”  He said bluntly.  He might have tried harder to couch that in more delicate terms.  Afterall, he was basically inviting himself to a religious ceremony to which, it seemed, neither the bride nor the groom had intended to extend a welcome.

The girl looked mortified.  Jonah felt guilty. 

“Of course you can—I’m so sorry that we didn’t—I didn’t think you’d want to—because, well, you aren’t catholic—and it isn’t going to be anything grand or—I’m so sorry, how thoughtless of me—“

Jonah opened his mouth to apologize and reassure the girl when he heard his name being called again. 

“Dad.”  The voice said firmly.  He glanced over.  It was Grey this time.  And he looked bullshit.  His eyes jumped from Maggie to Jonah and back again.  Jonah could almost hear the ‘what the fuck?’ reverberating in his son’s mind.  Maggie looked more than a little distressed, and Grey was too many seats away to know why, or how to fix it, but he looked like he had no trouble pinning the blame on his old man.

Jonah heaved a heavy sigh.  He hastened to soothe Maggie, assure her that everything was alright, that she hadn’t offended at all , and that there was no need to tell Velvet about the wedding service.  He did this all with Grey’s pale green eyes boring furious holes into the side of his skull, and Maggie’s wide chocolate irises washing over with the threat of tears, and Viola’s electric purple stare daring him to look her way, and Nolan’s curious, heck, downright suspicious stormy blue gaze monitoring most everything Jonah did. 

This evening was proving to be even longer than he’d dreaded.

Long Night; Part 12

Ay Dios Mio.  Remember my writing?  It emerges once more.

I went back and forth on this one.  Wasn't sure I wanted to reveal what I reveal here, but.  Well.  What the hell?

In case you can't remember what in the hell is going on, go back and peruse this one (long night 7) real quick.  Of course you are free to read all the entries about The Long Night, but the above mentioned should get you pretty well up to speed for this week's installment.

As ever, enjoy.

********************

Grey closed the door after Viola and stared Maggie down. 

She looked shocked and confused and a little disgusted.  “You use drugs?”

Grey shrugged.

Maggie frowned and studied him carefully.  “How often?”

Grey rolled his eyes and pushed off the door, past his wife, and headed for his closet without responding.

“Grey?”  She sounded sharp and edgy.

Still he ignored her.  He was all kinds of pissed off, and he knew himself well enough to recognize that in this mood anything that came out of his mouth at present would be hurtful, spiteful, cruel, and entirely unnecessary.  So he kept his trap shut.  He needed to get them both through this charade, and for that he needed to make sure Maggie didn’t run crying from the house.

He moved quickly once in the large walk-in closet.  He moved to the shoe collection, ran his finger down the neat rows, and automatically removed the last pair on the left.  He reached deftly into the now empty space and slid a small piece of false backing to the side, revealing a shallow cubby he’d hollowed out of the wall when he was sixteen. 

He could feel her watching him, but it couldn’t be helped.

With an enormous sigh of relief his fingers seized upon the small tin he’d left there, forgotten, for years.  With his eyes closed he pulled it from the secret hole, replaced the innocuous false back, and carefully rearranged the shoes to look as though they hadn’t been bothered with at all.

He quickly opened the tin to make sure the contraband was still within, then snapped the lid back on and pocketed it smoothly.

Maggie was staring at him, puzzled and very clearly upset with him.

“The shit she found is mostly kid’s stuff.”  He snapped gruffly.  “I don’t want her getting a hold of this.”

Her eyes widened and she looked horrified.  “Grey—“

“Spare me the sanctimony.”  He rumbled.  “What I do, and what I’ve done is none of your concern.” 

She winced.

He suddenly wished he had simply told her the truth.  Explained that sure he’d done recreational drugs—he was rich and privileged and more than a bit of a rebel against his Dad’s wholesome upbringing.  He knew how to party and had been damn good at it. 

But that he hadn’t taken anything illegal in years.  He’d outgrown it.  He was over that.  Now he stuck to good liquor in large quantities, and, okay, maybe occasionally marijuana when it was around.  He didn’t need the hard stuff. 

But the look on her face just needled him and he felt the urge to scandalize her and push her buttons and tell her to go fuck her judgment and her disappointment.  What right did she have to look at him like he’d let her down?  She wasn’t his fucking mother.  She wasn’t anything to him.

Then why did he feel like a heel?  Why did he feel guilty and ashamed?

Fuck that.

“How are we on the trimesters—is now one of the bad times to experiment?”

She set her mouth in a grim line and turned on her heel to exit the closet.

He sighed.  He didn’t want to care what she thought about him. 

He followed her out of the closet, sourly wishing the night would hurry up and end, but knowing it had hardly even begun.  He snapped the closet light off and closed the closet door just as Viola reentered.

She looked from Maggie to Grey with a mischievous little smile playing around her eyes and lips.  She was way too fucking clever for her own good.  Grey was more than a little pissed with himself that he’d left his casual collection in a place where his little sister might get a hold of it.  Of course it had been well hidden and cleverly disguised, but he should have known better.  Viola had always been smart and curious and hell-bent on misbehaving.

“What were you doing in the closet?”

Maggie looked at the floor.

“Just a quickie.”  Grey responded.

Viola laughed appreciatively and Maggie glared at him.

“What’d you dig up?”  He asked his sister, shrugging off the prickling guilt that the sight of Maggie’s welling eyes had evoked.

Viola promptly held out a baggie of assorted pills.  It was nearly empty compared with how he knew he’d left it.  Goddamn hellion.  Jonah and Velvet had their hands full with this one and they likely didn’t even realize it.  Grey almost felt sorry for his Dad.  If the poor guy ever found out what his precious little girl was really like…

“I certainly hope you didn’t take the majority of it.”  He said sternly.

Viola giggled and cocked an eyebrow at him.  “What do you take me for?”  She challenged him.  “Do I look strung out?”

She looked healthy.  And alert.  And he’d never seen her looking anything but.  He held out his hand and she delivered the little baggie to it promptly.

“Losers weepers.”  He said and pocketed it.

“Hey!” 

Grey shrugged.  “Maybe if I could trust you not to be an idiot and sell them to your little classmates—“

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Why don’t you run and cry to Dad about it?”

She pouted and glared at him.

“I’m sorry, ok?”

“I don’t give a shit about your remorse.”  He said with a laugh.  “What the fuck good will ‘sorry’ do you if you get busted with intent to sell?”

She rolled her eyes and made a disgruntled noise.  “So, what?  Now you’re all grown up and married and suddenly you’re a fucking Narc?”

Grey smirked.  “Don’t get all pissy with me because you’ve been acting like an idiot.”

Viola huffed.  “Whatever.”

“Nice comeback.”

Viola opened her mouth to retort but Maggie spoke first.

“What happened to your cousin?”

The Delaney siblings turned in unison to face her.  That was a bucket of cold water, alright.

Grey exchanged a look with Viola.  He guessed his expression probably matched hers; sobered and chastened.

“Cole?”  Viola asked quietly.

Maggie looked at Grey.

“It was a car accident.”  He said gruffly.  “Nolan was driving.”

His wife gasped and covered her mouth.

“It wasn’t his fault—“  Viola interjected weakly.

“They were hit.”  Grey kept going.  “From outta nowhere by some asshole vacationer.”

Maggie looked pained and horrified.  Grey focused his eyes on the slim gold ring encircling the finger of her left hand, which was still pressed to her mouth.  He could still remember vividly the night his dad had told him about the accident.  Remember rushing to the hospital to wait, with everyone, to wait and what, pray?  Beg? 

Remember the way his aunt had fallen to her knees right there in the place they’d been asked to wait while a team of doctors had operated on his tiny cousin.  Had fallen to her knees on the monotonous green linoleum when the grim faced surgeon had emerged, Cole’s blood on him, and delivered the awful, unfathomable news.

“Was, the other driver--?”  Maggie whispered into the hush of Grey’s childhood bedroom.  She kept her hand over her mouth.

“He was drunk.”  Viola confirmed dully.  “He was fine, too—could have walked away from the crash with a scratch or two.”

A tear slipped from Maggie’s eyes, slipped right over the gold ring.

“He killed himself.”  Grey said emotionlessly.

Maggie wasn’t the only one to gasp at that.  Viola hadn’t known that.  That’s right, she’d been pretty young at the time.  Dad hadn’t told her about that. 

“What?”  Viola whispered.  “I thought he was in jail.”

Grey rolled his shoulders back.  “He couldn’t take the prospect of prison, or maybe he couldn’t take the guilt.”  He shrugged. 

Maggie sank to sit on the bed.  Viola wandered around the room, processing this.

There’d been no trial.  Been no justice, no closure, no peace.  Grey remembered the funeral.  Remembered his Uncle’s decline into madness.

“One of the worst parts was, the guy had bought all his booze at the shoppe earlier that day.”  Grey added after a few minutes.

“No.”  Said Maggie, shaking her head as if he must have his facts wrong.

“Nolan had sold the motherfucker an entire case.  Gave him the discount for buying twelve bottles.”

Maggie continued to shake her head and weep silently.

“They found six empty in his car.”

“He closed the shop.”  Viola added.  “For a while.”

“No more.”  Maggie choked out.  “I can’t hear any more.  Not now.”

Grey reached over and squeezed his little sister’s shoulder gently.  “Give us a minute?”

Viola nodded vaguely, staring at Maggie’s tearful display, and backed toward the door without comment.

When she’d gone, when the door clicked closed, Grey crossed to Maggie and opened his arms.  She shook her head and wiped at her face desperately.  He gathered her against him and she sobbed openly, wetting his shirt and blubbering what he suspected was a litany—in Spanish—of prayers for the dead.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and rubbed her back.  He wouldn’t have expected her to take it this hard—she hadn’t ever met Cole.  But she knew and obviously cared about Nolan, and… Grey closed his eyes.  And she had family, she could certainly imagine… and.  And she was going to be a mother soon.

He didn’t entertain the notion that her becoming a mother would mean that he’d become a father.  He focused on how she must be imagining what Zahra’d gone through.  Chalked it up to her over-active hormones and her powerful tendency toward sympathy and empathy.  He held her and said some kind things.  The things his Dad would say.  But he felt empty and hollow and lonely while she wept.  She felt warm and sweet and so fragile in his arms.  He wanted to lay her down on the bed and let her curl up next to him and weep until she fell asleep.  And he had no idea where such an impulse was springing from, which irritated him.

They stood there, in the middle of his childhood room, until she managed to get a hold of herself. 

He knew his family might suspect they’d been fooling around.  He wished that were the case. 

And when she pulled out of his arms, quietly thanking him for being patient, he washed over angry and cold.  He nodded curtly, gave her terse instructions on how to locate the nearest upstairs bathroom so she could freshen up, and he strode from the room.

When the fuck would this night be the fuck over?

A Sucker for a Bet

Day one down. The rest of the year to go!

It will take a while to get into the swing of things, but it will happen.

Today we went to the wake for Aaron's student. It was heartbreaking and awful and just so grim. There's no way on earth i could have stood there and recieved the mourners the way his parents did. Forget it. It really shook Aaron up to see the kid like that. I knelt by him and said a prayer. Aaron did not.

I'mma post something quick, a non-sequitor. hope you enjoy.

You remember Phelan?  

***************

“You still dating that same chick?”  Phelan was still bitter about losing that bet he’d made with his roommate.  It had seemed like a sure-thing.  No way anyone can get a goldilocks virgin to spread her legs within a fucking month.  He couldn’t lose.  He actually couldn’t believe that the arrogant motherfucker had taken the bet.

And then the arrogant mother fucker had won the unwinnable bet. 

Maybe Phelan had miscalculated about Mexican Catholics.  Maybe they were all just horny bitches in disguise as goldilocks virgins. 

It was a Saturday night and they were playing darts in their club room at the apartment (It was supposed to be an office, but who the fuck needed one of those?). Grey didn’t answer the question right away.  “Which one?”  He responded after throwing his third dart and missing by quite a lot.  He’d nearly missed the board.  

Phelan smirked.  So he was still dating her.  It had been weeks since Grey’d won the bet and he was still dating the girl.  This spelled trouble.

“Senorita Goldilocks.”  Phelan said, retrieving all the darts from the board and strolling back to where Grey was swigging from a bottle of blended scotch.  “And what the fuck are you drinking?”

“Who the fuck knows.”  Grey responded in a gruff voice.  “And yeah, I’m still fucking her, if that’s what you mean.”

Phelan stood at the line and prepared a throw.  “But you aren’t just fucking, right?  You’re still taking her to dinner and the movies and all that other horseshit too.”  He tossed the dart and smiled.

His friend didn’t answer.

Phelan threw another, missed badly, but grinned anyway.  “Pussy got your tongue?”

“Fuck you.”  Grey laughed.  “Yeah, I’m still charming her.  So?”

“So?”  Asked Phelan, incredulous.  “This is going on three-fucking-months buddy, and you’ve already claimed the prize, so what the fuck are you hanging around for?”

“You’d give your right nut for one night alone with this girl, Dickwad.”  Grey responded, moving into place at the line.  Phelan noticed his friend didn’t meet him in the eye.  Interesting.

“A wise man once told me ‘get out before three months or you’re officially in a relationship’.”  Phelan said, picking up his beer from the bartop and taking a swig.  He watched Grey toss a dart before resuming.  “Who was that wise man?”  He asked rhetorically.

“Well that same wise man has also said ‘if she gives good head and lets you do anal then stay while the getting’s good.’”  He threw another dart and then tossed a grin over his shoulder.

“Ahh the sacred commandments of the Grey Delaney Guide to Good Fucking.”  Teased Phelan after Grey landed a dart in the goddamn bull’s-eye.

“Better Fucking.”  Grey corrected with a wolfish smile. “Besides, what’s it to you who I date and for how long?”  Grey asked, finally looking his friend in the eye.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to cut that chick loose so I can have a taste.”  Phelan admitted with a sly grin.

Grey laughed derisively.  “I hate to break it to you Phel, but I don’t think you have a chance in hell with this one.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.  Sorry pal.” But he didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

“You’ve ruined her for all other takers?”

Grey chuckled but didn’t reply, only took another swig of the whiskey.  Phelan studied him for a minute.  Why the fuck was he drinking cheap liquor?  Grey Delaney almost never drank cheap booze, unless there was nothing else available or unless he wanted to get shitfaced quick.

“You been getting some on the side too, though, right?”  He inquired, looking at the score and sizing up the board as he retrieved their darts again.  He was almost always dart bitch.  It had to do with a bet they’d made like a year ago—he couldn’t remember the terms of it now, but it had had something to do with oral and, who the fuck could remember.  Point was, Phelan was dart bitch.

“I fucked that girl you brought home last week.”  Grey answered.  He wasn’t teasing. 

Phelan felt his lips snap into a mirthless grin.  “Which one?”  He asked, forcing his tone into fraternal camaraderie.

“The tall one—Thursday night?”  Grey tossed a handful of cashews into his mouth, looking bored.

Goddammit.  “The black girl?”  Phelan could feel his blood beginning to boil. 

“I think she prefers to be called ‘bi-racial’” Grey said with a lazy smirk.

Phelan turned away so that his friend wouldn’t see him seething.  Fucking prick.  Grey knew that Phelan preferred black chicks and he was supposed to keep his hands to himself where those ones were concerned.

Plus he hadn’t had the chance to fuck that one yet.  He’d brought her home and she’d sucked him off, but she’d said she wasn’t ready for anything past oral.  Apparently sometime in the night she’d found herself ready enough to fuck his roommate.

And then she’d failed to answer the next time he’d called to make plans.  Fuck Grey Delaney.

“Nice, huh?”  He asked.

Grey fucking shrugged.  “Not bad.”

Fuck you.  You goddamn son of a bitch.

Phelan grinned and nodded but he was grinding his teeth so hard he thought he could feel his fillings vibrating.  He lined up a shot and threw, wishing he could stab the little points into Grey’s smug face.

“So how you gunna break it off with your little fish taco?”  He asked pleasantly.

Grey was quiet for a long moment but Phelan didn’t dare turn and look.  He threw instead, and waited.

“Who says I’m breaking it off?”

“Jesus Christ, Grey, what’s wrong with you?  Don’t tell me you’re in love or some shit.”  Phelan filled his tone with as much disdain as he possessed.

“Christ, no, don’t be ridiculous.”  Scoffed his friend behind him.  “The day that happens if the day I give you permission to tie me down and make me watch while you fuck the girl.”

Phelan laughed.  “Well you’re still bringing her on nice dates, you’re still fucking her, you’re still playing Mr. Perfect--next you’ll be marching down the aisle if you’re not careful.”

“Like hell.”  Grey said, stepping past Phelan to the line.  “I’ll probably have her a few more times and then tell her I’ve met someone else or something.”  He wavered a bit and took a moment to regain his balance.  Phelan raised an eyebrow.  His friend was getting shitfaced, fast.

“Where’s the little fajita this evening?”  Phelan asked.  “How come you’re here getting wasted with me instead of fucking her in her naughty Catholic ass?”

Grey missed the board by three feet and laughed.  “She’s working.”

Phelan looked at the clock.  It was only ten-thirty.  “Los Tres closed at ten.  Her shift should be just about up, right?”

Grey grunted and threw again, missing again.

“Oh no.” Said Phelan, feeling like Christmas had come early.  “Did you two have a fight?”

Grey made a dismissive sound and threw his third dart, this time at least making the board.  “What?”

Grey Delaney didn’t get in fights with girls because Grey Delaney didn’t have relationships with girls.  He wooed them, fucked them, and when he was done he moved on—he never stayed long enough to get into arguments or tiffs or disagreements.  He existed in the perfect honeymoon phase of interaction with these girls, where they believed the sun to shine out of his ass—right up until he dumped them.

“Well why not go pick her up now?  Unless she’s not happy with you for some reason?”

“Go get the fucking darts, cunt.”  Replied Grey with a condescending smile.

“Holy fuck.”  Phelan said with a wide, giddy smile.  “You are in love, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, you are, this little concha has you by the fucking balls!  You’re pussy whipped!”

Grey continued to grin.  “Not so pussy whipped that I couldn’t fuck every girl you bring home before they ever give it up to you.”

Phelan narrowed his eyes.  “Ok, so if you’re not pussy whipped, you can break up with her tomorrow, no problem, right?”

“Absolutely.”  Grey replied, obviously responding to the challenge in Phelan’s tone.  Grey Delaney almost couldn’t resist a dare or a bet.

“And I say you’re full of shit.”  Phelan said slyly.  “I’ll bet you a thousand bucks you won’t have the balls to break up with her tomorrow.”

Grey shrugged. 

Phelan nodded.  “Ok, a thousand bucks, plus a year of rent and your best bottle of scotch.”

Now Grey looked grim.  “And If I win?”

“If you win?  The same.  But on one condition.”

“What’s the condition?”  Grey blinked and Phelan knew the booze was hitting him pretty hard, though you’d have to know him pretty well to see it.

“It has to be tomorrow, it has to be here, and it has to be right after you’ve fucked her one last time.”

Phelan couldn’t be sure in the weak lighting of their club room, but he thought Grey might have just washed over pale.  Holy shit.  The guy really did feel something for the girl.  Pathetic.

“You’re a class act.”  Grey said, a chill in his voice.

“Hey, I need to see it to believe it.”

“You think I make shit up?”

Phelan shrugged and he could feel his friend fairly vibrating with rage at the impugning of his pride.  He didn’t dare say a word—he knew well enough how to avoid getting punched in the face.

“Fine.”  Grey said.  “Tomorrow.  Be here around eleven and you’ll get the pretty little scene you’re hoping for.”  Grey chugged at the bottle of cheap scotch for a long moment before slamming it down on their little bar.  “But you’re going to have to come up with a better fucking bottle than this swill to make it worth my while.”  He said, and started for the livingroom. 

“Whatever you want.”  Phelan laughed.  “Hey, where the fuck are you going?  You done with darts?”

“I’m done with you, you prick.”  Grey growled, and Phelan heard the unmistakable sound of Grey wrestling his keys off the hook by the door.  “I’mma go fuck everything I see.  Wanna come watch me put your sorry ass to shame?”

Phelan chuckled, delighted at how rattled his normally cool and collected friend was.  “I’ll drive, you shithead, you’re wasted.”

“Fine.”  Grey snapped.  “I think I’m in the mood for all chocolate tonight.”

Phelan set his jaw but forced a smile.  “Maybe I’ll call up your twin sisters then.”  He conjectured idly.  “As long as we’re going for sure-things.”

Grey responded in a weary sort of sing-song “Stay the fuck away from my sisters, you sorry son of a bitch.”  It was a familiar refrain.  “Touch any one of them and I’ll make sure you piss blood for a month.”  He clapped his friend on the shoulder affectionately before spinning on his heel and waltzing out the door.

Phelan laughed as he followed his friend out of their apartment.  It was going to be a long ass night.

Long Night; Part 7

Hey folks.  

Back from my visit to beautiful North Carolina.

happy to have two more days of vaca before slogging back to work.

Will likely have some follow up thoughts on the visit, but would rather post some writing at last.

I missed my laptop and my stories SO FUCKING MUCH while I was away.  They were on my mind so much of the time.  Ideas, scenes, characters, plot devices, tangents, origin stories, histories, motivations, psychology, secrets-- you name it! 

I misssed them.

I even wrote a little on the plane, longhand, in anticipation of getting back here and caressing these grubby keys with my fingers once again.

OMG!  This morning Aaron and I went to pick up coffee and breakfast sandwiches for the fam and stopped in at an adorable little wine shoppe at my eager insistance.  And guess the fuck what?  The shop owner (I'm pretty certain he was the owner), was handsome and charming and kind and friendly, and the shop was adorable a sweet and, since I'm insane, all I could think about was a fictional character from MY own fiction.  How ridiculous is that?

But I honestly couldn't stop grinning while we were in there, and I was inordinately friendly with the man, all because I was attributing characteristics to him that he likely does not possess!  I was totes projecting the whole time!  And I had extraneous conversation with him because I was kinda crushing on him because I was pretending he was Nolan Delaney.  How bananas is that shit?

He told me all about the upcoming wine tasting that afternoon, with a representative from a Chilean winery coming to speak about the chilen wine selections and all that.  impressive!  And when we were wrapping up the discussion--get this-- he WINKED at me and smiled and bid us have a nice day.  HE ACTUALLY WINKED!!  and not in a creepy way, I mean Aaron was right there beside me, it was just a wholesome, charming, charismatic wink.

Plus he was honestly good looking-- tall, lean, brown hair, clean cut, kinda sexy, dark blue-greyish eyes... weird wacky stuff folks.  I was a giddy mess about it!!!

ANYWAY, back to the falls...

The scene below is the next installment in the LONG NIGHT dinner scene, which I LIKE but don't LOVE, but want to be fair and finish it.

I want to share SOOOOOO MUCH!!! with you all.  I've been a writing fool lately (before NC anyway!) and can't wait to share some of the developments.  But.  All in good time I guess.  We're going in order, so read long night 1-6 if you haven't already.  (last one was lenghthy, huh?  sorry.  Just had alot to say i guess!)

For now, let's delve back into the little WASPy evening that could, shall we?

Enjoy!

**********************

Viola still couldn’t believe her brother was married.  So fucking bizarre.  It would be like finding out the Pope had converted to Buddhism or something.  Just so out of the realm of what she thought was probable.

But she well knew that when it came to sex and romance, anything could happen, no matter how unlikely.

And Grey’d been avoiding her calls and texts all week too, so she still had no idea why he’d done it, what the story was, or anything.  She decided she’d better try and get some of the answers she was seeking from his pretty little bride.

“Shouldn’t we—“   Grey’s bride was only very reluctantly allowing Viola to pull her up the stairs.  She was looking behind them at the living room arch way, and she seemed very conflicted.  “Should we, go? Help?”

“Nah.  My Dad will handle it.  He always does.”  Viola said.  Damn, she liked it when he took charge like that.  Half of her actually wanted to drop Maggie’s elbow and bounce down there to catch the fireworks.  But she knew Grey would be glad she’d had the presence of mind to escort his wife away from the conflict, so she pushed the tantalizing thought of her father being super authoritative out of her mind for the moment.  “C’mon, Grey’ll come up here and get us when my Gran’s been put in her place.” 

Viola watched Maggie furrow her brow and wondered what the girl was thinking of her family so far.

They reached the top landing and Viola finally let go of Maggie’s elbow, feeling pretty certain the girl wouldn’t bolt back down.  “So how d’you like the cottage?”  She asked pleasantly, crossing down the hall a bit and opening the door to Grey’s old bedroom.  She flicked on the light and stepped inside.

Maggie hesitated on the threshold and stared.  Viola watched with interest as the girl stood there, looking for all the world as though she wanted to soak it all in, but looking also like she wasn’t sure she was allowed inside.

“C’mon in.”  Viola prompted.  “It’s ok.  He hasn’t lived here really since he started college.”

Maggie swallowed and stepped over the threshold carefully, reminding Viola of Dorothy and her tentative first steps into the Technicolor Oz.  The room was pretty much as Grey had left it years ago.  They already had a spare bedroom since the twins preferred to share, so Velvet had been able to leave this little shrine just the way it was.

Viola waited patiently while Maggie wandered the room slowly, soaking in every poster and trophy and novelty item and souvenir.  Grey had always been a pretty stream-line kinda guy, plus, he’d lived away at the boarding school most of the time, so there wasn’t a ton to see, but Viola supposed if it was all new it must seem like a lot to take in.  She crossed to the bed, plopped onto her stomach, crossed her feet at the ankles and propped her chin in her hands.

Maggie Delaney, nee Ramirez, was a cute little piece of ass.  Viola could see how Grey’d be smitten; in so far as Grey ever got smitten.  She had great proportions, sort of in miniature, which Viola understood a lot of men found very, very hot.  She smiled to herself, thinking about how petite her own body felt in a certain someone’s strong hands.

Anyway.  Maggie.  Viola liked the curls, liked the curves, liked the creamy caramel skintone.  The eyes were just plain arresting, and her lips said ‘fuck me please’ all over. 

But the kicker, thought Viola shrewdly, was that Maggie Ramirez Delaney had no idea how adorable she was.  Had no idea that she was grade-A spank-bank material.  And.  And Viola would bet good money that Maggie had been a virgin when Grey’d met her.

She certainly got why he’d dated the little Latina beauty.  Understood why he’d want to fuck her.  But what Viola couldn’t wrap her head around was why he’d gone and married her.  Married.  Yikes.  Because fucking a girl and making the big commitment were worlds apart.

And this girl, good as she may be for some fun, some fucking, a fling; this girl didn’t seem to have a lick in common with her brother.  Weren’t people supposed to be compatible in a marriage?  Because Viola certainly couldn’t see what this couple would have to talk about at the dinner table.

It all seemed very, very peculiar.

“He told me he was a swimmer—“  The young woman commented, a note of awe in her voice as she examined medal after medal and trophy after trophy.  “He didn’t say he was so competitive in it.”

Viola shrugged.  Who gave a shit?  “Yeah.  Dad thought he could maybe make a go at the national level, maybe even Olympic trials, but Grey wasn’t going for it.”

Maggie turned, wide-eyed.  “Why not?”

Viola smiled and lifted her shoulders a fraction.  “Dunno.  Too much work maybe.  Take the fun out of it?  He’s never wanted to be known as like, a professional athlete.”

Maggie looked intrigued as she mulled that one over.  “He’s got some other sports awards here too.”  She said after a moment.

“Yeah.”  Viola agreed, already bored of this topic.  “He’s played almost all of them, and as you can see he’s pretty awesome.”  She splayed her crimson fingernails out in front of her and checked them idly for imperfections.  She’d gone with her mom for a mani/pedi today.  And a wax.  She smiled at her fingernails as she remembered the look on the little Korean woman’s face when she’d asked for a Brazilian.  Maybe there weren’t too many fifteen year olds in there asking for Brazilians. 

All afternoon she’d been unable to stop her mind from wandering to her denuded sex.  It felt naughty and fresh.  It felt provocative and powerful.  She wanted to show it off.  She wondered if she’d get the chance.  No, more precisely, she wondered how she’d arrange the opportunity to show it off.

She smiled and returned her wandering focus to her brother’s esposita.

“He’s got a bunch of more academic awards, like, scholastic stuff, but Dad’s got that sort of thing displayed downstairs.”

Maggie smiled wistfully at that, but didn’t comment.  Viola could tell the girl really liked Jonah.  They had a lot in common.  Viola narrowed her eyes a little.  She’d be keeping her eyes on that budding friendship alright.

“Is there any sport he doesn’t play?”  Maggie asked, finally coming to sit by Viola on the full sized bed.  She sat down carefully, as if it were the altar at some shrine, but she tried her best to appear casual about it.  Viola had to turn her head to hide her amusement with the girl.

“Sure.  Golf.”  She said wryly.

Maggie was quiet.  “Just golf?”  She asked hesitantly.  “Why Golf?”

Viola’s lips pulled to the side and she peered at Maggie skeptically.  This woman, this bride of her brother’s, didn’t know why Grey refused to play golf?  Refused to even so much as pick up a club, despite the fact that every other guy in his social set was raised on the sport?  Despite the fact that being a wealthy, prep school educated, Cedar Falls socialite pretty much required you to be a member of the country club and an enthusiast for the links?

“You two know eachother long before you got hitched?”  Viola asked curiously, deciding she’d go ahead and let Grey field the golf questions himself.  Far be it for Viola to open that whole can of festering worms.  If Maggie didn’t know about Vaughan Grey by now, maybe there was some reason Grey had for keeping her in the dark.

Maggie blushed like a little kid who’d been caught peeking on another student’s test answers or something.  “I guess not too long.”  She admitted.  “It was a pretty whirlwind courtship.”

“Mmmhmm.”  Viola agreed half-heartedly. 

“You two seem close.”  Maggie commented, abruptly steering the conversation away from their marriage.  Interesting.

“I guess.”  Viola conceded marginally.

“But you’re the farthest apart in age.”  She continued, trying to draw Viola out gently.

“He’s always been a really good big brother to me.”  Viola stated levelly.  “We look out for eachother.”  She added meaningfully.  She wasn’t threatening Maggie, precisely, just, sort of, giving her fair warning.

Maggie nodded slowly.  “He’s lucky to have you on his side.”  She said quietly.

Viola raised a skeptical eyebrow.  This chick didn’t know anything about her.  Coming from anyone else that last comment would have come off as complete ass-kissing bullshit.  Weirdly, though, it had sounded pretty fucking genuine when Maggie said it.

She didn’t seem like the kind of girl that would be a gold digger.  Of course, Grey wasn’t the kind of guy to marry a golddigger, either.  What the fuck was this all about?

“So you wanna be an elementary school teacher?”  Viola asked her brightly. 

An elementary school teacher--Like Jonah.

Maggie smiled a genuine smile.  “Yeah.  I’ve wanted to ever since I can remember.”

Viola did her best to mirror the smile.  “I hear you’re great at the Wine Shoppe—no interest in doing that?”

Maggie crinkled her eyebrows.  “Doing, what?  Owning a shop?”

Viola laughed.  “Is that so crazy?”  Maggie wore an expression that clearly said that such a notion was out of her imaginings.  “But, something wine related, though; ‘sommelier’ or whatever.  Uncle Nolan went to school for it.”

Maggie looked impressed and then embarrassed.  “Wow. Oh, um, no, no.  I like it a lot but I don’t think I have any particular talent for it or anything like that.”

Viola nodded.  She wanted to come right out and ask the girl about the ridiculous marriage.  She wanted the dirt, but she didn’t know how to get at it.  And Viola Delaney fucking hated stupid ass small talk.  She always had to pretend she was playing the part of her mom in order to get through it.  Smile, be perky, be pert, be pretty, be precious.  Vomit in mouth, but smile and nod and ‘mmhmm’ a lot.

“Do you have any plans?  For the future?”  Maggie asked hesitantly.

Viola resisted the immediate impulse to roll her eyes.  She didn’t give a flying fuck about plans for the future.  She didn’t appreciate the ‘what do you wanna be when you grow up, little girl?’ question, however it was couched in professionalism.

“Nah.  Nothing’s really calling me yet.  Keeping an open mind.  So hey, does it ever get to you that Grey’s dated like a hundred girls?”

Maggie’s wide brown eyes got wider for a sec, then her face was still.  “I try not to think about it too much.”  She responded quietly.

Wow.  Did this girl have a dishonest bone in her adorable Latina body?  Now Viola kinda felt like a bitch.

“I mean, he married you, so no worries or anything, right?”  Viola grinned and laughed a little, to try to ease Maggie’s anxiety.  But the girl didn’t seem eased.  She seemed to get stiffer.  Eeek.  “He’s never lived with a girl.  How’s that going?”

Viola thought there might have been a spark of amusement flicker behind Maggie’s determined neutrality.  “I’ve never lived with anyone before either.  It’s quite an adjustment.”

Wild.  Catholics.  Making them get hitched before letting them see how living together went?  Viola thought that was pretty whacked.

“He, like, a total slob or something?  He snore?”

Maggie cleared her throat and picked a string off her dress—it was an awful dress, by the way.  It did nothing for her.  It looked like something you’d wear to a funeral or something.

“Well it’s only been a week.” Maggie said tentatively.  “I think so far we’ve both been on our best behavior as far as dirty dishes and laundry go.”

Viola sighed.  Bo-ring.  Maggie, Viola decided, was way too fucking sweet.  No way Grey chose such a goddamn angel.  Maggie was too sweet to be true.  There was something up.

“So what grade, do you think?”  Viola asked, switching topics abruptly.  This girl wasn’t going to bad-mouth Grey or give her dirt.  She just wasn’t the type.  So Viola needed to figure out a secret way into the real picture of Grey’s new life.

“Oh.”  Maggie took a minute to re-calibrate herself to the shift in discussion.  “The younger ones, I think.  Kindergarten, first, maybe second.”

Hm.  “My dad taught sixth.”

“Yes, he mentioned.  Did he have you?”  Maggie asked.

 Viola blinked.

“As a student, I mean?  Was he your teacher?” the girl clarified.

Viola felt a sly grin spreading over her lips at the innocently on-point phrasing.  She cleared her throat and kept her wicked grin in check.  “Nah, he was principal already by the time I got to sixth grade.”  She wanted to burst into giggles.  Now all she could think about was that night.  About her Dad.  In very un-dad-like ways.  “But you wanna teach the little ones?”  Viola didn’t want to talk about herself, she wanted to know more about miss perfect pie over here.

“I do.  Like Lola’s age.”  She said, her eyes getting far-away as she pondered it.

“So you like kids.”  Viola said, something starting to form into an idea.

“I do.”  Maggie responded warmly.

“You want any?”  Viola asked slyly, giving her new sister-in-law a sidelong glance. 

Aha!  The girl blushed and began twisting her religious medal and swallowing hard.  Holy shit!  He’d knocked her up?!?!?  Maybe.  Viola felt the rising excitement, but she quelled it ruthlessly.  She knew things about her brother that he’d probably rather she didn’t.  But people talked.  Her sisters most of all, and Avalon had had quite a few friends that had found themselves in distinctly awkward and inconvenient circumstances after Grey had decided to give them the time of day.

Long story short, getting a girl pregnant did not equal rings and vows for Grey Delaney.

But, then, why the furious blush and the stammering?

Maggie was saying things, but all Viola could hear was bullshit.  So the girl did have a dishonest bone in her body.  And it had to do with the ole fertility hot-button.  Curiouser and curiouser.

“Does Grey want babies?!”  Viola asked in her best impression of a perky, innocent little sister.   She made her expression all exclamation points and squee!

“Why, you giving some away?”  Grey’s sardonic voice rumbled from the door way.

Maggie practically leapt off the bed.

Viola slipped her eyes from the jumpy little Latina to her newly arrived  brother, whose casual confidence was little more than a brittle veneer.  He was radiating ‘pissed-the-fuck-off’, but not with her, likely with the sitch downstairs.  She flashed him a wicked grin.  “Hey big brother.”  She said.  “I rescued Maggie from the gorgon.  We’re having girl time.”

“Not anymore.”  Grey said.  “You’re a bad influence.”  He winked at her, but he was only half-kidding. 

He turned his pale green gaze onto Maggie.  Viola watched a silent communication going on between them.  Whoa.  Weird.  She felt like she was in the fucking twilight zone. 

Whatever he was looking for, he found confirmation of it in Maggie’s face and relaxed marginally.  She didn’t.  She got more jumpy.  “Is everything ok with, with your grandmother?”

“Looking for my stash?”  Grey asked Viola, ignoring Maggie’s tentative question.

Viola laughed.  “I found that shit like, a year ago.”

Grey raised a skeptical eyebrow and crossed purposefully to a small chest of drawers set atop the desk.  Instead of opening it, he pulled it away from the wall.  Maggie watched this with great curiosity, even craning her neck to see.  He popped off the false back carefully.

“You sneaky little shit.”  He said appreciatively.

“Losers weepers.”  Viola snarked.

“What did you keep in there?”  Maggie breathed, seemingly captivated by the secret hiding place.

Grey turned his head.  “Bible passages.”  He said, dead pan.  Maggie frowned and Viola thought she saw something spark within those wide chocolate depths.  Something feisty and fiery.  Grey turned back to Viola, barely concealing a smirk.  That was the Grey Viola knew and loved.  The one who couldn’t abide goody-two-shoes types, and lived to get a rise out of the wholesome ones among us.  “Is there anything left?”  He asked, sounding a little in awe and maybe a mite concerned.

“I didn’t use everything for Christ’s sake.”  Viola rolled her eyes.  “I sold a bunch.”

“Jesus, Viola, what the fuck?”

“You want a cut?”  She asked flippantly.

“No, moron, I don’t want my sister getting busted as a fucking dealer.”

Wordlessly Grey’s little bride moved to the door.  They both halted their back-and-forth to watch her.  Was this all too much for the little saint?  But Maggie didn’t leave; instead she closed the bedroom door quietly.

“Someone’s coming upstairs.”  She whispered.

Viola gaped a little and checked to see Grey’s reaction. He looked fairly mystified by this little turn of events too.  “Magalita.”  He said, a funny quality to his voice.  “Is tu familia used to hiding things from the narcs?”

She looked deeply wounded. 

“Oh, you’d rather I leave it open for your mother or father to hear this conversation?”  She snapped.

Viola couldn’t resist smiling.  This girl had more to her than kindness and humility.  She had a feisty side.

Grey grunted.

The three of them listened for a minute.

“Who the fuck is it?”  Viola whispered.

Grey moved as silent as a cat burglar over to the door and stood mere inches from Maggie. 

There was a knock, but not on his door.

Oh, fuck.  Viola hopped off the bed.  Was her dad looking for her?  Holy shit.  She needed to get out of here.  She hustled to the door but Grey held out a hand to stop her in her tracks.  Fuh-huh-huck.  He finally comes looking for her and she’s trapped in the twilight-zone with bizarro Lucy and Desi?!

“Vienna, honey?”  Viola’s nerves tingled like live wires at the sound of her dad’s voice.  She sizzled with jealousy at hearing him seeking out her older sister.  Obviously not for sex, but still.  These days any attention he lavished elsewhere pissed her right the fuck off.  “It’d Dad.”  He said unnecessarily.  “Mind if I come in?”  He said to the door.  The sound of indie college folk rock was all he got in the way of an answer.  “Vee, love, I need to have a few words.”  Viola thought he sounded tired and largely disinterested, but she guessed to most people his tone would pass as sympathetic and gentle.  Of course, she alone knew he had more pressing drama on his mind; she hardly thought he could really give two shits about Vienna’s nauseatingly trite break-up with some Bob Dylan wannabe.

They all heard the folk get louder as the twins’ bedroom door opened, a few mumbled words, and then the music got quieter again.  She’d let him in.

Viola watched her brother rake his eyes over his wife in a very carnal way.  Yikes.  The curly-haired chica met his eyes and blushed, biting her lower lip nervously.  These two were married?

Grey seemed to struggle to drag his eyes off her.  “So, what’s left?  Do you have something? Anything?”

Viola giggled.  “Now who’s the bad influence?”  She sassed.

“I’mma kill Gran if I don’t have something soon.”  He said matter-of-factly.

Viola rolled her eyes.  “I’ll see what I’ve got.”  She sighed lazily.  “Scotch won’t do the trick?”

Grey made a disgusted sound.  “I’m not allowed to touch it till after dinner.”  He said sourly.  “You know how Nolan gets, and Mum insists I won’t be able to taste the fucking food.”

“Plus there’s the side-effects.”  Viola said with a cocked eyebrow.

Grey looked momentarily baffled.  Viola pretended to yawn broadly and made a surreptitious hand gesture as she did so, her forefinger and middle finger forming a ‘V’, her tongue dancing between them for the briefest of moments.

Grey let out a bark of laughter.  Maggie looked lost.

“Hurry the fuck up.”  He said with a grin and held the door open for her.

“Be right back you two—don’t get carried away, unless you get off on being watched.”  The last thing Viola saw before sauntering from Grey’s old bedroom was her new sister in law’s jaw drop and her eyes get all round and shocked.

Way too fucking sweet for Grey.

Long Night; Part 6

Been awhile.

There's alot of threads that get pulled into this one.  It's a Maggie scene.

enjoy.

************************

The dining room was set for eighteen.  Maggie marveled at how the table had seemed to double in size.  Or maybe it was a separate table altogether?  Would the Delaneys keep an entirely spare dining room table somewhere for larger family functions such as this?  She tried to imagine what their attic must look like, the treasures a mansion’s attic must contain.

And she noted two booster seats at the table and smiled.  So the Delaneys meant to include the children at the table.  For some reason this made her warm all over, and very appreciative of Velvet and Jonah.  While she herself had often been sent to a ‘kid’s table’ growing up, that seemed to be more out of necessity for space than anything else.  Even the adults were usually split up over several large tables, so numerous was her extended family.  Somehow seeing the younger place settings—there was even a pink plastic cup set up at one of them, alongside everyone else’s champagne flutes and crystal wine glasses—made Maggie very grateful for the Delaneys’ bottomless generosity and hospitality. 

She was glad there was no one in the dining room at that moment to see her well-up. 

After roundly cursing her silly hormones and blinking away the sentimentality, Maggie took a deep breath and headed toward the sounds of chatting and laughing.

She was nearly bowled over in the foyer by Velvet, one of the twins, and a beautiful dark skinned girl Maggie guessed must be Lola’s older sister. They’d been headed to the kitchen.

“Oh!  Good!  Maggie!”  Mrs. Delaney exclaimed and grabbed her by the shoulders, deftly dodging the pâté platter and landing two kisses of welcome on her cheeks.

“Hi Maggie!”  The twin said.  Maggie wished she could tell them apart.  She smiled in greeting but didn’t have a chance to speak--

“Did you make something?”  Velvet asked, examining the platter.  “Oh, no, this is my pâté.”  She giggled.  “But what are you doing with it?”  She giggled again.  “Oh, you’re helping?  Aren’t you sweet, thank you honey, but you’re the guest of honor!”

Maggie had barely drawn a breath and Velvet had managed to have a whole conversation by herself.

“Mum, let the girl breathe!”  Teased the tall redheaded girl affectionately.  “Sheesh.”

Velvet giggled again and she was joined in her merriment by the lovely young girl with the startling blue-gray eyes.  Velvet noticed Maggie staring at the girl.  “I’m so sorry Maggie, I’m just so excited.”  She placed a hand on the girl’s back and gently prodded her forward a bit.  “This is Keer, Nolan’s eldest.  Keer, this is your cousin’s new wife, Maggie.”  Velvet’s smile could have lit a small city.

Keer Delaney extended her hand and Maggie balanced the large pâté platter on her left palm in order to facilitate a handshake.  “Nice to meet you Maggie.  You work at the shop, right?”  The girl’s handshake was confident and it reminded Maggie forcibly of Nolan.

Maggie smiled as she shook the girl’s hand.  “Nice to meet you too Keer.  Um, yes, I work for your dad.”

“Are you still gunna, now that you’re rich?”

The twin laughed uproariously and Velvet giggled after gasping.  Maggie blushed all the way down to her toes as she met the girl’s earnest, no-nonsense gaze and searched for some appropriate response.

“Hell, maybe she’ll buy me out and I can retire early.”  Nolan spoke from the archway of the living room.

Maggie smiled at him, but found she was having trouble meeting his eyes.

“Hi Mr. Delaney.”  Maggie said.

“It’s going to get pretty confusing around here if you insist on formality tonight Maggie.”  Nolan teased warmly.  “You can call me Nolan.”  He crossed to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

Maggie smiled, but she didn’t respond. 

“Genny, be a dear and go get the brie things and, Keer honey, would you mind grabbing the fruit tray?  Genny knows where it is.”  Maggie thought her mother-in-law had a much gentler way of getting people to help than her new grandmother-in-law. 

Genny muttered something about needing a treasure map to locate the things her mother hid around that kitchen and Keer laughed as they breezed toward the dining room.

“How is business anyway Nolan?”  Velvet asked pleasantly, absentmindedly re-arranging some of the little appetizers on Maggie’s tray.

“Decent.”  He replied.  “I have this wonderful new sales clerk who seems to make the stock fly off the shelves.”

Velvet looked overjoyed as her gaze lit on Maggie.  “Really?!”

Maggie shook her head.  “He’s only teasing.”

“Am I?”  Nolan’s smile was charming and friendly.  “That week you took off was my slowest week in months.”

Velvet clapped with glee.  “I’ll have to come in and visit you when you’re working!”  She gushed.  “Maybe I’ll buy enough to give you the capital required for that baby unicorn I’ve heard so much about, Nolan.”

Nolan groaned as Velvet and Maggie shared a laugh at the poor father’s plight.

“Dad!”  A little boy raced into the foyer and darted around Nolan in a quick circle before dashing to the hall closet. 

“What’s up?”  Nolan asked with a grin.

“Tell ‘em I went that way!”  The boy whispered excitedly, wrenching open the closet and pulling the door almost all of the way closed behind him.

Maggie couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. 

Just then Grey prowled into the foyer, Lola perched atop his shoulders.  Maggie’s jaw fell open.  She’d never seen him interact with children before tonight and until this moment she couldn’t have pictured such a scenario.  Grey Delaney and kids were not two images that went together, yet here he was.

“There she is!”  Lola announced in her piping, high-pitched little voice, and pointed a triumphant finger at Maggie.

“Good work.”  Said Grey, sounding a bit like a secret agent.  “One down, one to go.”

“Daddy did you see Ajay?  Look how tall I am!”

“I see you.  If he’s hiding in the chandelier you’ll have no trouble at all.”  Nolan commented.

Lola giggled and Grey swung her down from his shoulders with an easy grace that made something flutter beneath Maggie’s ribs.

“You go check the kitchen; I’ll scout around out here.  Divide and conquer.”

Lola nodded, looking conspiratorial.  She probably didn’t really understand either of the words in that phrase, but she seemed to grasp the spirit of it just fine.

“Oh good, I’m headed that way anyhow, let’s go together.”  Velvet said.

“Okay!”  Lola agreed “But hurry!”  And she zipped through the archway into the dining room.

Velvet laughed merrily as she followed, but not before giving her son’s cheek an affectionate caress.

Grey’s eyes followed his mother out of the foyer before they snapped to Maggie.  “What are you doing?”  He asked in a quiet but sharp voice.  His eyes went to the tray she was carrying.

Maggie’s eyes widened at his abrupt mood shift.  She was being interrogated, but she had no idea what for.

“N-nothing.”  She said uncertainly.

He opened his mouth to snap back but Nolan was quicker.  “She’s not harboring a fugitive, if that’s what you mean.”

Grey’s head snapped to where his Uncle had migrated, over near the coat closet.  He seemed torn between his desire to scold Maggie for something and putting on a pleasant face for company.  “Did either of you two citizens see a small, dangerous monster run through here?”  He said after several long moments had ticked by in uncomfortable silence.

A smile spread across Nolan’s face and he nodded.  “There’s a monster on the loose?”  He asked agreeably.

“I’m afraid so.”  Grey answered, casting one last glare at Maggie before stalking toward the closet.  She was bewildered.  What had she done to offend him?  Quickly she did a hasty mental run-through of everything she’d done and said since they’d arrived, but she couldn’t figure out how she could have done something to cause him offense in the ten, maybe fifteen minutes they’d been there.

“Well, please, I have a wife and children Sir, you have to catch that monster!”  Nolan played along somewhat casually.  It sounded to Maggie as if they played this game a lot and it had become old hat to them.

“Never fear,”  Grey responded mildly.  “I happen to have a monster tracking device right here in my watch, and it can sniff out monsters wherever they’re hiding.”

Nolan was laughing silently and pointing surreptitiously to the closet. 

Grey made a beeping sound like a radar picking up an anomaly.  “I think there’s one nearby.”  He said between beeps.  Maggie was enthralled.  Who was this person?

“Don’t worry madam, I’ll protect you.”  Nolan said, scooting away from the closet to give Grey more room for the ambush, and coming to rest by Maggie’s side.

She smiled at him, but could hardly take her eyes off this bizarre version of Grey.  The one playing monster hunter with his little cousin.

“Get ready.”  Nolan muttered under his breath, his eyes on the closet and a half-smile on his lips.

Maggie opened her mouth to ask what she should expect when Grey rattled the closet door handle and a valiant effort at ferocious growling and snarling emanated from within.  Her heart seized up at the grin that spread over her husband’s face.  He was so beautiful.

“This is it, Monster.”  He announced in a stern voice that belied the grin.  “The jig is up.  Come out with your hands in the air!”

More growling followed, but it was peppered with ecstatic giggles.

“He’ll never surrender!”  Nolan called pleasantly.

“Never is not an option.”  Grey responded in a sober voice, and then yanked the closet door open after an exaggerated count of three.

The little boy charged out of the closet in a fit of giggling and growling, his face scrunched from glee and from his play at being ferocious.  Grey caught him up in mid-leap and he seemed to fly for a moment before he was pinned against his older cousin and subjected to a merciless bout of tickling.

The little boy shrieked and hollered and laughed so hard he looked like he might just explode.  Maggie grew concerned that he might not be able to draw breath.

“Mercy!”  The boy cried frantically, high-pitched giggling making it very difficult for him to be understood.

“Mercy?!”  Grey challenged, sounding affronted.

“Pleeeee-hee-hee-hee-zzzzzzz!”  He was turning quite red and the smile on his face looked like it stretched tight from ear to ear.

The uproar was drawing a crowd.  An exuberant little Lola came bouncing back in, shouting triumphantly about the capture.  Keer wasn’t too far behind her younger sister, and she looked breathlessly delighted at the scene.  From the other side Grey’s Dad appeared in the archway with a beautiful, exotic woman in tow.  Maggie recognized her from the photo in Nolan’s office, but thought it hardly did her justice.  This woman was stunning.  It made Maggie inexplicably happy to see that she was curvy.  Full figured, but well proportioned.  She reminded Maggie powerfully of her own mother, though this woman was taller.  Maggie’s Mamma hadn’t been much more than 5’2” or so. 

“I dunno.”  Said Grey, struggling to keep a firm hold on the wriggling mass in his arms, tickling all the while.  He flipped the boy over so that he was dangling upside down.  “Should we have mercy on a monster?”  He called to the foyer at large.

Lola declared loudly that no, he should not receive mercy, but the rest of the foyer outvoted her.

“I guess even monsters have mothers.” Grey reasoned, throwing a grin over at the archway where his aunt stood waiting for the little boy’s inevitable release.

“Please good sir, release him to my custody--before he passes out.”  Maggie had expected an accent, but as exotic as the woman looked she seemed to have been born or at least raised here.  She didn’t have even a trace of an accent, but her voice was surprisingly low in timbre and sort of raspy—an exciting and intriguing sort of voice; deeply female and rooted in the earth, Maggie thought.

Grey flipped the boy once more, so that he was right side up, and placed him on the ground.  He spun the boy around three times before releasing him, muttering something that sounded like a magic spell, but Maggie couldn’t catch it.  Lola was hopping around with a spatula she must have pilfered from the kitchen, waving it like a magic wand and casting her own spells into the foyer.

And then Grey let go, and the little boy, his eyes not quite able to focus, started toward his mother with a grin and a very unsteady step.  The foyer chuckled at his weaving wandering, and the boy laughed too. 

“Get the monster!”  Lola cried, and charged at her brother at full speed. 

Maggie’s eyes widened in alarm, but the little girl’s parents worked as a perfect team; moving in swift unison Mrs. Delaney wrapped her arms around her stumbling little boy as Mr. Delaney grabbed up his youngest and tossed her into the air just a moment before what would have been quite a nasty, full speed collision.  Maggie felt like clapping.  Lola did clap when at last she was nestled onto her father’s hip.  “Again!”  She demanded, drawing appreciative chuckles from the crowd.  She was a bit of a ham!

“That’s the problem with those ones.”  A cold, snide voice declared in a mock-whisper, and Maggie turned to see Mrs. Calder on the stairs behind her, pretending to speak quietly to Avalon.  “All the noise!”

The mood in the foyer immediately shifted and Maggie felt the back of her neck tingle a little at the tension.  Mrs. Calder seemed not to register the shift at all.  She continued down the stairs with a smug, false little smile.  “Come along dear—“  She said to Avalon, “The appetizers are being served.”

Maggie’s eyes flicked to Avalon, who, to her credit, looked thoroughly embarrassed and apologetic.  She trailed after her grandmother and rolled her eyes, indicating that she believed the old woman just as insufferable as everyone else in the foyer did.

Maggie wasn’t sure what the older woman had meant, but it had felt decidedly uncharitable.  The old woman very clearly did not care for children.

As Mrs. Calder sailed by her she scooped up a little crostini of pâté from the tray without so much as acknowledging Maggie with a glance.  Then she went out of the foyer toward the dining room saying something about ‘the good families’ of Cedar Falls and ‘mixed marriages’ and Maggie’s jaw fell open.  It was getting to be the default mode for her jaw this evening.

“Hello again Maggie.”  Avalon said quietly as she passed, pausing for just a moment to place two stiff kisses on her cheeks. 

“Hello—“  Maggie replied vaguely, but Avalon had already disappeared through the archway to the dining room before Maggie managed to move her tongue and vocal chords to action.  Had she misheard the woman? Or maybe misunderstood?

“I’m so sorry.”  She thought she heard Jonah mutter to his brother and sister-in-law.

Nolan lifted his lips into a smile Maggie recognized from working with him as his ‘grin and bear it’ smile.  It was the one he wore when particularly pretentious or obnoxious customers would come in and drop label names to sound impressive, or put down his shop as ‘quaint’, or murmur comments about the selection being lacking.

He shrugged and his wife waved a hand, as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’.  She looked less bothered than did her husband.  Nolan crooked a finger in the direction of his eldest daughter, who had moved out of the archway when the old woman passed by, and she obediently moved to his side.  He ruffled her hair, which she tried to dodge, and then he looked up at Maggie.

“Maggie, I’d like you to meet my family.”  He said, his tight smile slowly melting into a more genuine one, the tension slowly ebbing out of his shoulders and the muscles around his eyes.  “Lola you’ve already met, and this is my daughter Keer,” Keer gave her a little wave—they’d just met a few minutes before—“This little monster is Ajay,”  Ajay looked suddenly sheepish and moved to hide behind his mother’s flowing skirt.  “And this is my wife Zahra.  Zee, this is Maggie.”

“So glad to finally meet you Maggie.”  Zahra Delaney said with a warm, dazzlingly white smile.  “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Maggie felt her cheeks flushing.  “Thank you.”  She said, feeling shy and sheepish as well and suddenly wishing she had a mother’s skirt to hide behind.  “The same goes for you—for all of you.”

Zahra looked pleased and laughed.  “Only good things I hope.”

“Oh, yes, all wonderful things.”  Maggie rushed.

Nolan and his wife laughed.  Maggie thought back to the picture on his desk at the shop.  Something wasn’t quite right.  An older daughter, a baby girl, a younger boy—there was a son missing.

Looking from face to face she opened her mouth to say something, inquire about the boy she had yet to meet, when Grey appeared at her side.  He stared at her meaningfully but she couldn’t guess at his meaning.

“This is my wife, Maggie.”  Grey said, clearly addressing his cousins.  “We got married.”  He added, when the foyer remained quiet.

“Why didn’t we get to go to the wedding?”  Keer asked, her tone slightly accusatory.

“Yeah!”  Exclaimed Lola.  “We’re flower girls!”  Maggie guessed she was making reference to Avalon’s upcoming wedding.

“We didn’t have a wedding.”  Grey explained.

“But you just said you got married.”  Keer countered, trying to catch her cousin in a lie.

“Kiki, not every marriage has a wedding.”  Zahra Delaney said gently. 

“Whaaaat?”  Lola asked, craning around her father to stare at her mother.

“Oh, like, justice of the peace?”  Keer asked.  Maggie was impressed.  How old was the girl?  She looked like maybe she was ten or eleven.

“Exactly.”  Grey said.  “Nobody went, just me and Maggie and the JP.”

“Why?”  Keer demanded.

“Keer Delaney, watch the tone please.”  Her father said quietly.

She pouted.  “Sorry.”

The foyer went quiet again.  Maggie swallowed.  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“Hi Maggie.”  Jonah finally broke the quiet, crossing to her and kissing her cheeks gently.  “You look lovely.”  He said generously.

“Hi.  Oh.  Thank you so much.  Hi.”  He smiled.  She thought he understood how she was feeling and was grateful for his sympathy.

“I’m headed to see if I can be of any use in the kitchen.”  He said affably.  “I think I might be able to locate the cookie jar, if anyone wants to join me…”  He said striding toward the dining room with a small smile.

Lola pumped her legs in a frantic effort to get down, Ajay popped out from behind his mother, and even Keer lit up and spun to follow Uncle Jonah.

“Don’t spoil your dinner!” Zahra called after them.

“One cookie.”  Nolan was cautioning the squiggling little beauty on his hip. 

She nodded and whimpered and pushed against him, her spatula wand nearly smacking him in the face.  “Lola Jane.”  He said sternly, but Maggie thought she spied a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes Daddy.  Just one!”

He landed a swift kiss on her head before setting her loose.

“You have a beautiful family.”  Maggie said to the handsome couple remaining in the foyer.

They smiled in response and met eyes.  Maggie was moved to see how much love and affection and mutual respect could be contained in one small glance.  “Thank you.”  Zahra said at the same time Nolan said “Thanks.”

“Where is—“ She began, thinking of the older boy in the picture, but Grey cut her off.

“Did my mother ask you to do this?”  He asked shortly.  She furrowed her brow.  He looked formidable and grim.

“Do what?”  She asked, embarrassed by the tone he was using to address her.

He gestured to the tray she’d almost forgotten she was balancing on one palm.  She’d been a waitress since she was thirteen; it came as second nature to her to walk around with large trays.  Besides that, she came from a large, fairly traditional Mexican family.  There wasn’t a single family gathering that didn’t involve her walking around with a tray of something or other.

“Oh.  No.  Your grandmother asked me—“

Grey’s expression darkened.  “She ‘asked you’?”  He demanded.  “Or did she tell you?”

Maggie blinked several times and wondered at the difference.  Her own grandmother never exactly ‘asked’ when she wanted something done, she simply directed Maggie to a task.  She thought back to her interaction with Grey’s grandmother.  “Um.  I suppose she ‘told’ me—but—“

“Put it down.”  Grey said coolly.

Maggie stared at him.  He wasn’t looking at her.  It felt as though he was rather disgusted with her.  “It’s alright, I don’t mind helping—“

“Put it down.”  He repeated, this time with steel edging the command.

“I don’t understand—“  Maggie said, her voice hardening to match his.  She didn’t like being ordered around by him.

She felt the tray being lifted from her hand and she startled—being a waitress for so long made her nerves jump at the thought of a spilled platter.  But it was Nolan.

“Let me.”  He said gently.  “Once a cater-waiter, always a cater-waiter.”  He smiled.

“I really don’t mind.”  Maggie protested.

“She told you to carry it because she assumed you’re the goddamned help.”  Grey snapped.

Maggie froze.  She watched Nolan’s smile evaporate and his eyes narrow at Grey.  “You’re the guest of honor.”  He said in a forced neutral tone, speaking to Maggie but not taking his eyes off his nephew.  “Why don’t you go ahead into the living room and relax.”

Suddenly Maggie remembered the comment Mrs. Calder had made about Maggie’s ability to speak English, about the ‘also nanny’ exchange, and then about what she thought she’d heard her say about Nolan’s ‘mixed’ family and she washed over furious. 

“Thank you Mr. Delaney.”  She said stiffly.  “But I think I’d like to go offer Mrs. Calder some Pate.”

Nolan’s eyes flicked back to Maggie and he stared at her.  Then he grinned.  “I understand the impulse.”  He said.

He looked ready to hand the tray back but Grey grabbed her elbow and steered her out of the foyer without another word.  She allowed him to do it only because she wasn’t willing to have a scene in front of his family.  She wanted to pull away and give him a piece of her mind.

When they’d crossed into the living room, which was blessedly vacant at present, he pulled her around and put a finger on her lips.  Her eyes widened and she had the insane impulse to bite it.  Who the hell did he think he was?  What gave him the right to man-handle her and shush her like a naughty child?

“Nolan’s son died three years ago.” He said in an urgent whisper.  “They’re better about it now but whenever it gets mentioned he tends to go off the deep end.”

Her lips parted in shock and he removed his finger somewhat carefully.  She was startled.  Then filled with grief for them.  Then very, very grateful that Grey had so deftly circumvented her near colossal faux-pas.  “Oh my God.”  She breathed.  “I’m so sorry.”

Grey licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded.  “I figured he’d never said anything at work, and that you might be expecting four kids if you’ve seen pictures.”  He said, keeping his voice low.  “He never, ever talks about it.”  She felt his grip on her elbow soften.  “I should have told you before we got here.”

They were standing quite close.  His gentle hold on her elbow felt warm and strong, and very distracting.  Her lips felt flushed and strange where his finger had been.  She gazed into his pale green eyes and could barely draw breath.  She thought she saw a ghost of grief and pain in his eyes and she reached up, without a second thought, and gently placed her hand on his face.  His cousin.  She’d lost a baby cousin when she was maybe twelve, and it had been just awful for the entire family.  She watched him blink several times at the presence of her hand on his cheek, but he didn’t pull away.

“Like father like son.”  Said an icy voice from behind Maggie.  “Keep your paws off the help Calder Grey—I hope you signed a prenuptial agreement; I don’t want half my company in the hands of the young lady you’ve scorned when she catches you playing with the servants.”

Maggie’s jaw fell all the way open and Grey’s grip on her elbow clenched once again as her hand hastily leapt off his cheek.  She watched something cold and dark steal over his expression before he curled his lips into a dangerous smile.  Gently he guided her lower jaw back upward, his index finger curled under her chin, his eyes locked on hers.  Then he placed a hot, electric kiss on her lips.

Maggie felt hot and cold all over.  She heard the woman tisk in disgust behind her.  His tongue flicked over her lips once, then, just as suddenly as it had come, his mouth was off hers and he was pulling himself to his full height and spinning Maggie to face the old crone.

“Granny!  You’re looking radiant as usual.”  He said in a mockery of a warm greeting.  “I’d like to introduce you to my wife.  Magdalena Teresa Ramirez Delaney? My Grandmother, Mrs. Sebastian Calder Esquire.  You can call her Granny.”

Maggie stared wide-eyed at the woman and endured the woman’s pale, ice-blue eyes scanning over her from head to toe several times, each once-over proving apparently more disagreeable to the woman than the last.  “I’m not remotely in the mood for your little jokes tonight Calder.”  She said dismissively and moved into the room.  “Better let her scurry off back to the kitchen, I don’t think your brainless mother thought to hire more than one of them this evening.  Eighteen guests and only one server?  I swear that girl gets more empty-headed every day.”

Maggie heard a small, almost inaudible growl from the man beside her and his grip on her elbow was becoming bruising.

“I’m so pleased to finally meet you Mrs. Calder.”  Maggie ventured, afraid of what Grey would say otherwise. 

The woman sneered at her and looked distinctly put-off at being addressed by ‘the help’.  “What have you done with your tray?”  She demanded coldly.

“Granny, it seems your age is catching up with you.  You must not have heard me well enough. This is my wife.”  Grey repeated, his voice chilly and threatening. 

“Oh there you both are!  Good!”  Velvet Delaney rushed into the room looking flushed with excitement.  Viola trailed after her looking bored and quite beautiful.  “Oh, mother, you’ve met Maggie?”

Mrs. Calder looked faintly furious as she began to comprehend that this young, plain, Mexican girl was indeed now legally related to her.  “This enchanting creature?”  She asked, her tone dripping with poison.

Velvet grinned and nodded enthusiastically.  “Don’t they look gorgeous together?!”  She hurried over to caress Grey’s cheek once more and then squeeze Maggie’s free hand excitedly. 

“Very handsome.”  Mrs. Calder responded, her lip curled into an ungracious sneer.  “But of course we know his blood could be mixed with just about anything, afterall, so it’s likely in his nature to seek out the more, colorful, types.”

“Mother!”  Velvet looked hurt and mortified and very distressed.

“Hey Maggie, wanna see Grey’s old room?”  Viola asked brightly, wresting possession of Maggie’s elbow from Grey as he released it and began striding toward his grandmother.

“Um—“  Was all she managed as Viola steered her from the living room.  She craned her neck to try to watch what was happening behind her.

Velvet had both her hands on Grey’s arm, which seemed to be enough to keep him in check, and Mrs. Calder appeared entirely unruffled.

As she and Viola reached the foot of the stairs Mr. Delaney strode into the foyer and halted.

“You better get in there.”  Viola said with a smirk, dragging Maggie up the first few steps.  “Mum needs you.  Grey’s about to murder Granny.”

Maggie watched with a mixture of alarm and fascination as Mr. Delaney sighed, adjusted his glasses, nodded firmly, and strode toward the living room.

“So.  Having a good evening so far?”  Viola laughed as she pulled Maggie insistently upward.

“Shouldn’t we—“  but Maggie didn’t really know what she should be doing.  She wanted to be down there, with Grey, but at the same time she wanted nothing less.  She was concerned and very confused; what had all that been about?  What had Mrs. Calder meant by some of those things she’d insinuated?  Maggie recognized well enough that they were insulting, but much of what the woman had said made very little sense to her.  “Should we, go? Help?”

“Nah.  My Dad will handle it.  He always does.”  Viola sounded confident.  “C’mon, Grey’ll come up here and get us when my Gran’s been put in her place.” 

Maggie furrowed her brow.  This really was going to be a very long night.