Four Times Blessed (10 page)

“Like I was telling your brother here, this is my house,” I cross my arms. “Who are you?”

Before the rude one can respond, the also-rude first one steps in between us.

“Sweetpea,” he says, and I frown.

“This is my brother, Hale. Hale, this little miss is so far unnamed, but I’m trying to find one for her. So far, she does not like beautiful, pretty, or princess. What did you think of sweetpea, Sweetpea? No? Hm, I kind of liked it. Well, ok then, no problem. I’ll think of something for you, don’t you worry. Just hold your horses, now.”

While I squint at this bizarre specimen of a man, he steps back to his brother and says, nice and low and right at me, “Now, I should warn you, she’s got a bit of a temper so watch yourself.”  Then he gets serious, like I’m about to attack them.

Apparently, a certain someone finds himself funny.

My lips unstick and drift apart. I think I’ve never been so baffled in my entire life.

“I don’t have a temper.”

If you can ignore a person while figuring out how best to fish for them, that’s what he does next.

“May I escort you somewhere, little lady?”

Dumb boy.

“Fine. To the meetinghouse. Please,” I remember at the last second.

“This way.”

“I know which way it is.”

No parrying remark, so I assume his outer dreamworld has taken up residence inside his skull, making it foggy. Instead, he just holds out his elbow, which we don’t really do around here but I’m not dumb, so I take it.

There’s a thick fluttering overhead, and I cringe slightly.

Meanwhile, the boy with my arm jumps a mile and then tries to clobber me. I loose my feet but he has the grace or maybe it’s just that his wrists are strong enough for me to hang from, that I don’t land flat-out in the kissed-cool grass.

“Bats,” I say, straining to hang on. I’d complain about this position, if for nothing else than because it makes my arms hurt, but he is a man so I can’t blame him for assuming closer to him is a safer place to be. And putting me there is kind, I suppose.

It’s just not quite vertical enough.

“They have bats where you’re from?” I ask, hoping it will remind him I’m still down here.

Perplexed, he stands and takes me with him. 

“Mostly there’s rats.”

“Bats are kind of like rats, just they fly. They’re eating the bugs now, see? That’s why we like them around.”

“He tried to eat my head.”

“You probably had a bug on it.”

Still disturbed, he drops a heavy arm around my shoulders and moves us off towards the back porch again.

“The rats we had didn’t eat bugs, that’s for sure.”

“No? What did they eat?”

He gives me a toothy grin. It’s rather close. “Dogs, sometimes. Cats. Even small little annoying people like you.”

“They did not.”

“They did, too. Hoards of them would run you down, and once you were down, they’d eat you.”

“I wouldn’t want to be eaten by a rat.”

“Not one rat. A hoard of them.”

We walk up the couple of steps onto the back porch. The kitchen door is open, so I guess he can see my pouting mouth then.

He laughs.

“Hale.”

Hale’s not paying attention. He’s on the lookout for more bats, I think. And mountain lions. And bears.

He’s very busy.

“Hale.”

“Huh?”

“Take a good look at this one and remember her. Got it? I want you to be nice to her on account of, ah hell, forget love. Love doesn’t mean anything to me. Now I worship her.”

Both Hale and I make noises. And I’d say they both fit our respective statures quite nicely.

I find one of the insane boy’s hands, which isn’t hard because it’s lolling off my shoulder, and I pat it. Then, trying to go unnoticed, I lift it.

He’s not looking down, though, so he apparently takes this as a natural cue to knot our fingers together into something worse than anything you’d find in Eleni’s knitting basket. Including the basket itself.

“Um, he’s not in love worship whatever with anyone, don’t worry.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Um, trust me. I don’t think you are.”

“How do you know? Is your name Cupid?”

Oh great. I’m confused again. Only really smart people and really not smart people can do this to me. I just can’t decide which this one is.

“No,” I give him.

“Hey, it’s a fair question. You never told me your name.” The guy shrugs, going back to smiling that fishing smile of his. Which I decide is evil.

“Have you ever met a real person whose name is Cupid?” I ask.

He hesitates. Ha.

“No.”

“Then it’s not a legitimate question, is it?”

“That doesn’t mean it couldn’t be your name, rosebud.”

I don’t like him.

“It’s very unlikely.”

“That means that it is a little likely.” He gives my hand a squeeze in his delight.

Great grandmothers. “Ok. You…are, I’m sure, very nice. But I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Neither of us knows each other. Or our names,” I motion between him and me, although there’s not a lot of room for making it emphatic.

I notice I’m steaming hot. It doesn’t help that the one with the arm has a cloud of heat surrounding him. Remnants of the dreamworld again, I bet. Matter transformed into energy, heat energy, since it can’t just disappear and E equals mc squared and whatnot.

“Tell you what, buttercup, listen good because I’ll say it to you. You’re right.”

“I know,” I say. Because it’s not my fault, I just do.

He becomes wary, “About one thing,” he says. Then watches me for a reaction, so I don’t give him one.

He doesn’t appreciate this. In fact, he looks pretty mad. I feel like I should say I’m sorry. It’s on the tip of my tongue…

“You don’t know me. All you know is that I’m the, come on, let’s face it, very good-looking guy that just came running to your little rescue. Twice. You’re the one that should be saying that
you
worship
me
.”

I start choking on my own uvula at that convolution of logic.

“
You
have a massive ego,” I point out, just because I can’t not say it any longer. “And, like we both agreed, I don’t know you! Which is why I’m not declaring my undying love for you. And, you weren’t coming to my rescue
once
before, you were coming to help a bunch of little boys. Thank you, by the way. And lastly, it’s dark and I can barely see you. How do I know what you look like? All I see is a big shadowy blob!”

Now I’m the one squeezing his hand. His fi
ngers are in the way of my fist.

I feel like screaming and stomping off, which I would definitely do if he were family. It takes all of my self-control not to. To give him the proper respect due to a guest. 

“Wow, you sound like a flying rat,” he says. 

My eyebrows go up so high, that they come back down again.

“No comeback, huh? Too bad. I was having fun.”

He brushes a piece of grass off of his sleeveless arm. With the hand that still has mine stuffed in it.

“Farewell, love.”

Great grandmothers.

His eyes are a funny color, as far as eyes go. The two thin rings of yellows, oranges, reds and browns are almost the same as the light spilling from the house. Warm. And waiting for me.

Gently, I tell those eyes, “Don’t be sad, love. I’m sure you’ll find another love tomorrow.”

“But what about you, oh worshipful princess?”

“Alas, I shall become an old spinster. Hey, maybe I’ll become a witch!”

“A witch?” He doesn’t look like he gets the genius of this idea. Though he does seem to be trying rather hard.

“Yes, a witch. And then I’ll make you love potions to give to any girls you want. How’d you like that?” It’s an excellent plan, if I do say so myself.

“Sure,” he seems pleased. “That’d be great. Let me know when they’re ready.”

“Ok, I will.”

              That being done, I notice Hale working his way out of his button-up shift. Under it, he has a t-shirt that my zizi could use as a dressing gown. I assume he’s going to use the overshirt to clothe his brother which, as far as I’m concerned, would be awesome.

Instead, this Hale character comes towards me and tries to tuck it over my shoulders. I squeak some more. It makes my inaugural witch’s brew client chuckle.

I hitch up my shoulders and pull at the dizzying array of checks and lines and seams, trying to give it back.

             
“It’s ok, I’m not cold.”

             
Hale doesn’t register this, just takes the collar of the shirt and realigns it around my neck. It’s like wearing one of the unisex, one-size-fits-all-if-you’re-Hercules lab coats they gave us at the academy. I feel like I’m eight again.

“You’re covered in blood,” Hale says.

              Confused again.

I frown and look down. Huh. So I am. Oh poor Benito, he can’t be feeling too good right now.

              “Oh, now see, Hale? You’ve gone and spooked her. Don’t worry witchy-baby, it’s only blood.”

The one who still hasn’t told me his name pats me on the shoulder and gives me what I swear is a purposefully creepy smile. Then he abruptly aims a terrifying look at his brother, who does appear to be second-guessing himself.

I wonder if it’s necessary for all of us to stand so close together.

The boys start arguing. In a strange language I don’t recognize, but still. Given my family, I know these things.

              I wince, “Please don’t worry, you guys. I’m not afraid of blood, it’s fine,” I brush at it and sigh. Then I think of something.

“I’m going to be in so much trouble for ruining this dress, though. My cousin’s going to kill me. Did you see her in there? The really pretty one. She does not like dirty ruined things. Especially dirty ruined things that are hers. Do either of you know how to get bloodstains out of this material? Feel it. I don’t even know what it is, it’s not cotton or wool, right? Is it dried in, do you think?”

I pull at the fabric, trying for a better view. Nobody answers so I check if they’re still there. Because I’m rambling and it’s totally understandable if they wandered off.

“No?”

They shake their heads. It makes them look like not just brothers but twins. I wonder if Milo and I are that disturbing to people.

             
“Um, Hale. Do you think I could borrow this for a moment? Just to get back inside.”

             
“Go ‘head.”

             
“Great, thanks.” I smile in real gratitude, and he studies his feet. So much for my charm.  “I’ll be back in a minute.” I poke my head in the door. The coast is clear, just some ladies back here cleaning up.

I stroll in like nothing’s wrong, crossing behind the picked-over banquet, slip behind my Grandpa Stonington who just happens to be wandering towards the staircase, then slip my shoes off so my footsteps are nothing but dull pats on the staircase.

A tea kettle whines. That means dessert soon. Which I should serve. Dah.

All in all, that stealth training sure comes in handy in practical life situations. Just like the field instructor promised.

I put on a new dress, this one with little sleeves, and say I was getting chilly. Our Crusa is so sensitive to the cold, my zizi confirms when I find Andrew and her downstairs. I apologize for being gone so long.

              “Dear, why don’t you take him around and make sure everyone’s met him.”

She takes a sip of the dark wine Andrew brought her. Her chest is already splotchy and I know she’ll be complaining about the heat in about five minutes, but she won’t like it if I tell her that.

              Andrew stands and takes my hand. My zizi gives me a look that’s as good as a shove. I give her a what slash sorry kind of thing and go.

             
Since the whole downstairs is wide open except for the four walls, and even those are rather porous what with the doors and windows all flung open, I can’t say our path through the clusters of chairs and tables and children playing on the floor has much sense to it.

Which is why, as far as I can tell, every little group of my relatives hovers at an equal level of anticipation whose rise is dependent on both the number of groups and the area of the room. This state is seemingly characterized by alternating whispers and bracingly voluminous comments on the weather, up until Andrew and I approach and it’s time to try very hard to not notice us there.

I want to tell them all to stop it. But they’re doing it because they want this to go well, to make me happy. And when they finally allow themselves to acknowledge us, they all light up like our arrival is the most wonderful surprise.