Page 67 of Mark my Words

“Do Georgia and Paul have a lot of friends who are couples?”

“Well, I guess so, but it’s pretty common for the people at the club to intermingle.”

“Oh, they’re intermingling, alright.“ With each other’s spouses.

“Kristine, I don’t appreciate the run-around. Get to the damn point already.”

“Fine,” I laughed, glancing back at the painting again. “Georgia and Paul are swingers, Nana.”

She paused for a moment, frowning, still not connecting the dots. “Well, they do like to dance. I believe they took salsa lessons last spring.”

“Not that kind of swinger.”

Her frown deepened as she looked down at her bowl for a moment, and then it was like a light bulb went off. “Oh, that’s hysterical,” she chuckled. “No wonder Georgia is always popular on the senior social nights.”

You couldn’t make this shit up. But to her credit, Nana did march over to her new painting and pull it down, turning it right side up and leaning it against the wall. “I’ll have to look into some new mounting hardware in the morning. You know us Willards don’t share well. Maybe you can help me rehang that while you’re here. If you’re not too busy with work, that is.”

“I’d be happy to help, Nan. I’ve got a few days off to relax.” Although I wasn’t sure who Nana wouldn’t be sharing.

“I’m so thrilled you were able to make it down. I’ve missed you, Chicklet.”

“Oh, God, not that, Nana,” I groaned. “That’s almost worse than Greg still calling me Krissy.”

“Yeah, well, your brother is an ass.”

“Something we can agree on,” I laughed, standing up and throwing my arms around her slight shoulders. “I’ve missed you, Nan.”

“Alright, no more being mushy,” she deflected as she sat up and smoothed down the front of her blouse. “Eat before it gets cold.”

As I dug into my warm apple-loaded treat, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, content that I’d been forced out of the office for a few days. Spending time with Nana was just what I needed to get myself re-centered before facing Sam again.

Turned out Pietro wasn’t a repair person. He was the new next-door neighbor. He was tall, nearly six feet, with almost black hair, generously sprinkled with gray, and striking light green eyes. He was over a decade younger than Nana, but he’d moved to the Cape after his wife had died, around the same time as my grandfather. He’d kept to himself for the last several years but had recently become a member of the club to which Nana and all her friends belonged.

“Kristine, would you mind handing me the level?” he asked, his voice carrying a mild Italian accent.

“Sure.” I handed him the small spirit level we’d found in the shed, idly swinging the hammer Nana had given me between my fingers. I’d been ready to rehang her painting, but Pietro was already sitting at the kitchen island when I’d come downstairs this morning, prying off the old hardware and carefully transferring it to the opposite end of the frame.

Nana claimed he’d just come over for coffee, but the hair at the back of his head was flattened, and his clothes were slightly wrinkled. The coffee pot was also suspiciously bone dry, and the distinct aroma of coffee was absent in the kitchen. I didn’t want to think about my grandmother sneaking men into the house while I was asleep upstairs, but her personal life wasn’t my business. She was single, obviously above the age of consent, so if Nana wanted to be a cougar to the handsome gentleman from next door, she could have at it.

“There we go. Perfetto.“ He stepped back, appraising his work, the painting now featuring an upright, abstract pineapple. I absently wondered if Pietro knew the symbology of the previous orientation, but I would not be the one to ask him. Nana already told me she didn’t share, so I had a feeling Georgia and Paul hadn’t gotten their hands on Pietro. “Is there anything else you need me to do for you this morning, Daphne?”

Nana had been dicing vegetables on a cutting board next to the sink, but she hadn’t gotten very far, becoming distracted once Pietro started rolling up his sleeves to get her picture straightened out. My grandmother and I appeared to share the same forearm fetish, which was hilarious and disturbing. But I couldn’t blame her because Pietro was a silver fox.

“Maybe you could look at that leaky faucet in my bathroom later today? Kristine said she needed to go into town to get a better Fi-Wi signal this afternoon.”

“Wi-Fi, Nana. Not Fi-Wi.”

She waved her hand in my direction, rolling her eyes, “Whatever you kids call that nonsense. Our generation didn’t have the interwebs and AOL to turn us into zombies.”

“It’s the Internet, Nana, and AOL hasn’t been popular since I was in elementary school.”

“Whatever that garbage Mason insisted I get was…”

My father had always kept up with the latest technology because his firm invested in several large tech companies. My grandfather had been a little more old-school but still learned what was popular to keep up with current demand.

On the other hand, Nana had an email address but never checked it. She also hated texting but finally realized that was the only way she’d get ahold of Gregory and me.

“If you want to get rid of me, just say so, Nana.”

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