Page 35 of Milk & Cookie

“Maybe next time,” she says. “Now doesn’t feel right anymore.”

I nod. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s an awkward situation, and I should have prepared you better. I didn’t think you’d enjoy hearing, that if I was ever under threat, my mother guarded my body with hers. There’s nothing to be done to change the past, except move on from it as best we can.” She looks at the folded papers in her hands, opens one, and smiles. “You’re an artist,” she says.

At first, I think she’s only changing the subject, but surprise and curiosity are plain on her face when she looks at me again. My cheeks flush with a more intense heat. “I dabble.”

The door opens behind her, and I try to look as non-threatening as possible when Fred’s mom steps out.

“Frederica? I was about to call the sheriff to send out a search par—” She stops short when she sees me, and then quickly moves in front of Fred. “No,” she says, pointing a warning finger at me.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I don’t want any trouble. I was just going.”

“You’re meant to be leaving town,” she says, trying to herd her daughter inside.

Fred side-steps her corralling hands with a casual ease and comes to stand between us. “Mom, meet Vince.”

“No, thank you.” She looks like she wants to go back inside but doesn’t dare leave her daughter alone with me.

“He fixed the gate,” Fred says.

Her mother frowns. “I was going to fix that this weekend.”

“And now you don’t have to.” Fred’s tone is upbeat, as if she has no intention of letting her mother assume the worst of me. “How are the girls?”

“Fine. Raven’s down for a nap and the other two are dancing, as you can probably hear.”

Fred and I tilt our heads to listen, in time to hear the song end… and then start again.

“They’ve got it on repeat?” Fred asks. “Perfect. That’ll give us time to try these introductions again. What would you like Vince to call you when he visits again?” she says with a smile. “Because if you don’t choose a name, I’ll tell him to call you Mom or Gammy.”

“He can’t call me Mom.” She twists her face in disgust. “He’s the same age as I am.”

“Gammy seems like a worse name for me to call you by, then,” I say with a wince. “How about I call you, Gail? Word around town is that’s the name you normally go by.”

“How about don’t call me at all?” She looks at Fred and gestures at me. “If you can’t see what’s wrong with this choice, I don’t know where to start telling you, Frederica. Throw this whopper back and land one of the more reasonably sized fishes in the sea. Did you know he’s the reason you’ve had to start work early enough to bake twice the number of garlic twists?”

“I suspected.” Fred gives me a wink. “It may be the reason I didn’t mind getting up earlier.”

“I appreciate the effort,” I assure them both.

“I’m sure you appreciate more than you should.” Gail’s tone is cutting. “You have no business sniffing around my twenty-four-year-old daughter.”

Fred groans. “He’s allowed to sniff, and he’s allowed to think I smell good. Age isn’t that important, and we want the same things, Mom.”

“Really?” she asks. “He wants to donate his gargantuan sperm, and then disappear? Because the giant is looking at you like he wants to stick around and watch it hatch, child, and every part of that sounds dangerous to your health.”

I reverse a little more, hoping I’ll appear smaller.

“His name is Vince,” Freddie says firmly. “And I like how big he is. I also enjoy his company and would like to spend more time with him. He’s very kind and sweet. Look what he made for the girls.” She hands her mom the first picture.

Gail looks at it, then at me, and then thrusts the paper back toward Fred. “Tricks and tokens. No.” She scowls at us. “I will not allow you to be seduced by this man. Art is just one of his weapons.”

Fred presses her hand to her head and closes her eyes. “A person’s inherent gifts are not their weapons, Mom.”

“His are,” Gail says, adamant. “I promise you. Go inside and check on your children.”

“Mom.”

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