Page 21 of Bone Dust

She rolls her eyes but reluctantly steps aside. It’s apparent she’s not happy to see me. I follow her through a hallway lined with landscape paintings. “Just so you know, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“That makes two of us.” Her tone is thick with tension.

“Hey, I brought dessert,” I say lightheartedly. I hope there isn’t anything lemon-flavored in there because her mood is sour enough.

I flick my tongue over dry lips, tasting a remnant of my morning coffee. This’ll be fun.

I lift the box and muster a smile, trying to make light of the situation. My fingers, still hooked through the red cotton cord, are turning blue beneath my tight grip. She glances over her shoulder as we walk but doesn’t miss a step.

“When Sam invited me, he said he looks forward to Sunday dinners.”

“Of course he did.” Her tone is flat, her disgust undeniable. There’s no mistaking I’ve become an interloper and have crossed some imaginary line. Her cool response affects me, and though I don’t like it, I feel the arctic air she casts.

“The kitchen is there.” She points ahead of her using an unnecessary flat tone. If the rest of the day’s going to be like this, I’ll make up an excuse to leave.

“Your guest is here.” Her voice is tense with an uncomfortable edge. When she veers in a different direction, I follow the sound of clanking dishes, looking between her and Sam for a reaction. Although her chill pricks me, Sam is unaffected. He smiles and offers his hand.

“Hey, Ian. So glad you could make it,” he says with his usual charm. I can’t help but notice the contrast between the two of them.

I take his hand and lower my voice, snatching a glance at Savannah. “That makes one of you but thanks for the invite.”

“Don’t pay her no mind,” he scoffs, his tone equally low.

I lift the box so he can see. “I remembered your sweet tooth.”

His eyes light up. “Sweetcakes?”

“Yep.”

“Well, damn! Thank ya. We can dig in after dinner.” He carries the box over to the countertop. “I can smell them through the box.” He glances over at Savannah. “Ian brought dessert. Isn’t that nice?”

She gives a slight nod, but her expression is still dark and unyielding like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“I got some fresh tea in the fridge.” Sam walks over to the countertop and pulls open the wooden cabinet door. After grabbing a glass, he fills it with ice and tea and points to the table. “Have a seat and take a load off.”

I do as Savannah disappears into another room. “Are you sure I should be here?”

“It’s my house. I invite who I want. If she doesn’t like it, she can go home.” The confidence in his tone belies any hesitation or worry. He quickly changes the subject and drops the stern attitude. “Dinner’ll be ready soon but it ain’t nothin’ fancy. Just spaghetti and meat sauce. I’m no chef, but I ain’t too bad on the grill. Next time we’ll do burgers and dogs.”

Next time? What an ambitious thought.

“Heww-o.”

A little voice comes from behind me and when I turn, I see a set of big blue eyes belonging to a miniature version of Savannah. Loops of blonde curls frame her innocent features.

“Who is you?” She asks, her words muddled but endearing.

“Are you, baby … Who are you?” Savannah instructs from a short distance away.

The little girl looks confused. “I is Gigi.”

“No, sweetie. The way you ask the question is ‘who are you’.”

“Oh! Okay, Momma.” Her head bobs. She pauses. Who ar-rr you?” she asks, placing extra emphasis as she exaggerates the word, attempting to copy her mother.

“My name’s Ian. What’s yours?”

“I’s Gigi! I’m free.” She answers exuberantly and holds up three fingers. She points towards a dozing dog nearby. “I gotto go. I’s babysittin’.”

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