Page 11 of Pretty Relentless

I fire off one last congratulations and Merry Christmas message to the group before pocketing the device and meeting my grandma at the door. We walk together to my dad’s Explorer, and once I have her securely tucked inside, I move around to the driver’s side and start up the SUV.

“It’s such a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Grandma asks, smiling out the window at the night sky.

“It is. Do you think we’ll get more snow?”

“I don’t think it’s forecast, but that’s one of the things about Wisconsin weather. It can be unpredictable,” she states with a chuckle. “Just turn up here and head south on Hooper Street.”

I follow her directions, driving to where we’re meeting Zelda for dessert. Of course, my mind replays Gavin’s invitation for dessert and coffee, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re doing just that—sitting around the table and laughing over cakes and cookies.

“Right here, dear. The one on the left.”

I pull into the driveway she indicates, and realization hits me.

I know this place.

It’s not Zelda’s home, but that of her son’s.

Gavin’s dad.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, gaping at the brightly lit house.

“We’re going to have pie with Zelda and her family.”

“But…”

“Let’s go, slowpoke. I don’t want all the good pie to be gone,” Grandma says before climbing out of the vehicle.

I’m left feeling overwhelmed by what’s happening, but quickly get out of the driver’s seat and meet Grandma around at the side of the SUV to escort her inside.

To Gavin’s childhood home.

The plot thickens…

Chapter Four

Gavin

“How’s it going?” my brother, Paul, asks, taking the empty seat beside me at the dining room table.

“Pretty good,” I reply, sipping water and glancing at the kids all playing games in the living room with their grandparents.

“Business doing well?”

I nod. “Winter is always slower, but I have plenty of indoor jobs to keep us busy for a while.”

“That helps. At least you’re not framing up a garage right now,” he says, taking a drink of his beer.

“No shit,” I mutter, grateful to be working inside for a while. We’ve had those types of jobs before, and they’re never fun this time of year. “How’s everything with you?”

“Good. Getting ready for tax season, which means I’ll be working crazy hours for the next four months, so trying to enjoy a little downtime before all hell breaks loose.”

My brother, Paul, and his wife, Tina, own a CPA firm in St. Paul and are pretty successful. They have six accountants under them, some who only work during tax season, while others stay on full time to handle year-round needs for customers and corporations.

“Math,” I grumble, throwing in a shiver to make my point. “Why anyone would want to do math every day is beyond me.”

Paul chuckles. “Says the man who uses math in measurements all day, every day.”

“Not the same,” I insist.

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