The World is a Stage (9 page)

Not that she’d had expectations, of course, but this—this went beyond ridiculous. The Mule couldn’t even be bothered to live in a
house
. She would have bet her life savings that the family toilet lay somewhere off in the distance, between a patch of trees in a hole dug just for the purpose.

“Maybe he just got back from a long trip,” Molly suggested. “I think it looks nice and festive. You’re going to be nice and festive too, right? You promised.”

Molly was like a giddy child, and Rachel didn’t have the heart to back down now. She could have, though—promise or not. Contrary to what the Mule might believe, Rachel didn’t technically owe him anything related to the theater, as he’d suggested. Dominic said there had never been a man more aghast than Michael at being invited to star in one of his productions.

“His exact words were, and I quote, ‘Awww hell no’,” Dominic had said with a shake of his head. “I think I may need to retire.”

No. It was the knowledge that she owed Michael O’Leary for the unspoken favor that was the real driving force behind her actions. Attending a thousand parties of his would be easier than talking to him about her mother, thanking him face-to-face for being a better friend than even her sister was.

She’d come. She’d see. Maybe she wouldn’t conquer anything, but she could at least determine if there were any chinks in the Molly-Eric armor she could exploit. Starting with the fact he hadn’t bothered to offer them a ride.

Already, the gallantry was wearing off. That was the first step. Next, he’d be texting Molly at all hours of the night and growing possessive whenever she looked at another man.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rachel promised. “But, um…is it just me, or is everyone here sort of oversized?”

Molly laughed, not the least bit disconcerted that there were giants roaming among them. A few tables had been set out behind the Airstreams, and a huge black grill was already smoking, the scent of various roasted meats filling the air. Men, all of them in incredible shape, stood around, as if awaiting the meat’s eventual arrival to their jaws, most of them in light jackets as though they were impervious to cold. Rachel couldn’t help looking around for the woolly mammoth tusks and loincloths.

“They’re probably Eric’s teammates. I’m kind of dying to see them in action. Can you imagine all these guys running around in skirts?”

“Um…I can
now
.” She turned her head sideways and took in a particularly nice pair of calves. “What did you say Eric did for a living again?”

“I didn’t.”

Rachel caught the stiffness in her sister’s voice, but the nice pair of calves turned around, providing the perfect distraction. They were attached to a rather gnarly set of knees and led up to…well, crap.

“You made it!” Michael-the-Mule said, his arms wide. Was it just her imagination or were his eyes glinting, mocking her sudden flush?

“Of course we did,” Molly said warmly, accepting the hug he offered. He moved as if to do the same to Rachel, but she snarled.

“Point taken,” he said easily, backing away. “Rachel Hewitt—not a hugger.”

“I just don’t like unsolicited hugs,” Rachel countered.

“So I can hug you if you ask?”

“I won’t ask.”

“Hmm.” His eyes glinted again. “We’ll see about that. So, would you ladies like to see the castle?”

“Is that what I’m looking at right now?” Rachel asked, nodding toward the shiny metal mobile homes. “Because I think I’ve seen all I need to.”

“Rach, don’t be rude,” Molly whispered, though they all heard her just fine. Louder, she added, “Is Eric here yet, by the way?”

“Nah. I think there was an issue with too much juice and a locked gas station bathroom. He had to turn around and grab some clean clothes.”

“Oh, the poor thing.” Molly clucked. “I hope it’s not going to ruin his evening.”

Rachel stared at her. Last week, Molly had been so upset by their mother’s impromptu stage debut she’d left rehearsal early and gone to a matinee of the latest romantic comedy. That was what she did when she was upset—not the regular things like eat or cry or take to her bed with a box of tissues. Oh no. Instead, Molly filled up on sappy plotlines and unlikely happily ever afters. After she’d lost the baby last year, it had been a nonstop marathon of Hugh Grant and his bumbling affectations.

Apparently, their mother’s inability to hold her alcohol was a disaster. In Eric, it was a point of sympathy and charm for him to pee his pants on the way to a party.

This was worse than she thought.

“Well, if my humble abode is a bit much for you right now, can I at least introduce you to a few people?” Michael asked. Rachel thought he was talking to them both, but Molly had bounded away toward a kindred spirit in the shape of a slight, pretty woman with dark blonde hair and the kind of floaty layers that always made Rachel feel like an Amazonian in drag.

“You don’t have to play the charming host for my benefit. I’m fine right here.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said with a chuckle. “But I didn’t invite you to stand here and stare my guests into submission.”

“I’m
not
staring.” She crossed her arms. “Okay. Maybe I am a little. But you have freakishly large friends.”

He puffed up and preened like a peacock spreading its feathers. He probably screamed like a peacock too. The big ones always did. “You should see us in our kilts.”

Rachel stopped. “That’s the second time someone has said that. Is that what you were wearing the other day? Are you in some sort of fetish club?”

“Now, I like the sound of that.” He beamed. “No—the truth is I’m a Scottish Highland Games athlete. Most of the guys here are. You know, caber tossing and stone put. Manly stuff. Do you want me to roar?”

Oh, for crying out loud.
“You throw rocks and sticks? And you live in the woods? In a tin can?”

“Not the woods—a lentil farm. It’s my cousin’s. I bought us the Airstreams a few years ago. I think you’ll like him.” He said the words with an absurd quantity of misplaced pride. What sort of a man bragged about living among legumes and felling trees? He might as well have one hand pounding his chest and the other liberally scratching his balls.

“I’m sure any family member of yours is filled with surprises and intellectual insights.”

“Stop. You’re making me blush.”

“Oh, go on, then.” Rachel rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. This was going to be like being led to the gallows. “Impress me with your incredible bloodlines.”

Within half an hour, Rachel was ready to admit she might have been a trifle hasty with her judgment. She’d met quite a few of the men, and they were actually a pretty interesting set of people. The pretty blonde from before was attached to a gorgeous Asian man who had a strangely large working knowledge of historical fashions. Another man named McClellan, who had an affinity for Hammerpants, volunteered to show her the steps of the Highland Fling.

“These guys are pretty amazing, aren’t they?” the pretty blonde woman asked after Rachel politely declined the dance. She introduced herself as Kate. “You’d think they’re nothing more than overgrown jocks, but they’ve got hearts of gold. Especially Michael.”

“It’s the hair,” Rachel murmured, trying not to get caught staring at Michael standing across the party.

“The hair?” Kate asked with a smile.

Rachel nodded. “It makes him seem nicer than he really is. It’s all floppy and cute and makes you think he’s twelve years old underneath all those muscles. But I’m not fooled. He’s trouble.”

Trouble that was doing far too good a job pulling down her defenses.

And Jennings, Michael’s cousin, was the biggest defense-destroyer of all. He turned out to be old, somewhere in his early seventies, and was set up on a vinyl lawn chair with a beer in one hand and a corncob pipe in the other. He also turned out to be quite articulate and was explaining Dostoyevsky’s views on nationalism when Michael pulled up a chair to join them.

“Are you boring my poor friend here?” he asked. He set a plate of food on Jennings’s lap and exchanged the pipe for a fork. “If that’s the case, then I’m going to tell you the deer are getting into the south field again.”

“Bullshit!” Jennings used his fork to stab at the air. “I was down there with my gun this morning.”

“I know. I saw the tree you were making target practice of.”

“Is that safe?” Rachel asked, taken aback.

“Not in the least,” Michael said, laughing. “But Jennings here refuses to do anything half-assed. Including scaring the deer away. Or talking about Russian philosophers.”

Jennings reached up and turned off his hearing aid. With a smile that shone just as brightly as Michael’s, he winked and busied himself with his food. Steak cut up into bite-size pieces. Corn cut off the cob.

Despite herself, Rachel softened.

“And you’re really cousins? I find that hard to believe.”

“Second cousins. Or maybe third? Removed like eight times?” Michael shrugged. “I can never keep track, but he’s been around for just about ever. I think he’s secretly a vampire. You hungry?”

Rachel wasn’t really hungry—she’d eaten ahead of time, unsure what sort of conditions awaited her here—but she nodded, her head swimming. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was enjoying herself. Maybe even feeling impressed by the Mule himself.

That can’t be right.
She put a hand on her brow.

A car pulled up then, the crunch of tires on the dirt road punctuated by Molly’s squeal. Her sister really had it bad this time around. Rachel looked up, expecting to find a miniature sports car or a truck with a pair of blue balls hanging from the hitch. Instead she saw a maroon minivan with a yellow smiley face bobbing cheerfully from the antenna.

That’s Eric’s car?

Molly pulled the sliding door open, completely at home and at ease with the strangely paternal vehicle. When she emerged, it was with two small, brown-haired creatures in miniature pink peacoats stuck to either hip.

“Oh, good. Peterson’s here. Have you met his little demons?” Michael handed her a plate with enough food to feed a small village and raised a hand in greeting. “They’re cute, but if you know what’s good for you, avoid all topics related to bugs, bears and Twinkies.”

“Twinkies?” Rachel echoed. Eric had kids? Two of them? And Molly hadn’t felt that might be a pertinent fact?

“Yeah.” Michael crinkled his brow. “I may have said something about cockroaches and Twinkies. You know, in case of an apocalypse? I’m pretty sure they think the damn things are made of cockroaches now.”

“Rachel, would you like to meet Sammy and Pris?”

Samantha and Priscilla.
The tattoos on Eric’s wrists. Oh God. The juice.

“Um…okay?”

Rachel stood there, not all of her bewilderment due to the sudden realization she’d been wrong about Eric. As she took in the pair of them, she was a hundred percent unsure what was supposed to happen next. Did she offer them a handshake? Pinch their cheeks? She might have a piece of gum in her purse.

“You’re tall for a lady.”

Rachel blinked. She couldn’t tell which one had spoken. They weren’t twins or anything, but there was something about cherubic young faces swathed in pink that blurred inside her head as one.

“Yep. I am,” she said when it seemed some sort of response was required of her.

“Miss Molly is short.”

“I think she’s more average-size. Statistically speaking, I mean.” Behind her, Michael snorted.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, silly pea, that I’m not short or tall.” Molly was cooing.
Cooing.
“I’m perfect. Just. Like. You.”

“Your hair is like Ariel’s,” one of them continued. “She’s a mermaid. You’re not a mermaid.”

Rachel blinked. Apparently, small children liked to make patent observations. She could do that.

“You have pigtails. And the other one has freckles.”

The one with freckles began crying.

Rachel was so bewildered she was on the verge of asking the girls if they wanted Twinkies when Michael placed an arm around her shoulder and veered her in the opposite direction. Under any other circumstances, Rachel would have immediately stabbed his arm with the nearest pointed object, but the way his hand gave her shoulder a little squeeze was so…so…
comforting
.

“Don’t worry. They freaked the shit out of me at first too.”

A shaky laugh escaped her lips. “Was it really bad?”

“Well, it wasn’t good, I’ll be honest. But I doubt you’ve scarred them for life.”

“Can I…?” She stopped and turned to look at her sister. Molly had set the girls down, and they were running in circles around her. It was a strange thing to see.

Molly had almost been a mother. Rachel had almost been an aunt.

But they weren’t, and they’d barely even had time to process it all, both of them still wobbling around on unsteady legs. Picking up another man’s kids and calling them silly names didn’t change what had happened. Molly had to know that.

“What?” Michael asked, rubbing his hands together. “Can I show you inside the castle? I knew you’d fold!”