Page 25 of Robin and Marian
It wouldn’t take long. She’d already excused herself to attend church with her Aunt Elinor after the tour to catch up with the neighbors. After all, the old ski jump was on her aunt’s property in the mountains—it was the last structure remaining of the resort that had been built there in the 60’s. It had inspired Jana Prinz to build. Well, partly. Robin had been behind that too.
Robin!He’d accused her of being Guy’s propaganda machine. Sure, she was there to write an article about Guy and how he deserved to inherit his grandfather’s business—but that was only because it was true! And she certainly shouldn’t be fixating on his irresponsible cousin.
Rolling out of bed, she quickly undressed out of her oversized pink cotton pajamas, and threw them into her suitcase. She needed tolookmore professional so that she’d act like it. Eventually she decided on a white button-up and a dark jacket and jeans. Then she attempted to brush out her curls—Robin liked those—not that it did any good, since her hair felt especially springy today with all the humidity, but it was a valiant try. The skin under her eyes looked bruised, and so she worked on that next, as well as a dab of lip gloss. After all, she still had to look human.
Picking up the notebook that she used to jot down her article ideas, she jammed it into her purse and headed out the door to the breakfast room. Hopefully it was early enough to not run intoanyone.
She barged through the French doors into Guy’s slick dining room with its dramatically colored cupboards and glossy chairs and spied Robin with his feet up on the end of what looked to be a floating table. Luck was not on her side these days. He was the only occupant in the room. His hair was messy and he looked tired. The sleeves of his gray t-shirt were short so that she caught sight of his prison tattoo with the spade on his forearm. For not the first time, she wondered what it meant. His other arm was still in its brace—no cast. He hadn’t needed her after all.
She flipped her hair behind her shoulder. He wasn’t going to get to her this morning. The staff had filled the sideboard with an array of gourmet food, and she headed over to fill her plate with breakfast. It was difficult finding anything that she wanted. Where were the bacon and eggs?
Robin looked up from the Chronicle laid out on the table. “Well, if it isn’t my Maid Marian?”
A gasp tumbled from her lips. “What can I do to make you stop calling me that?” She saw him bite down that smug smile of his and, afraid of his answer, she stomped away, trying to force herself to not be so feisty. He just brought it out in her.
Deciding on a cheese-filled croissant and a banana, she sat down at the table, a couple of chairs down from him—not the furthest from Robin that she could be, since that would look too obvious, but not too close either. With some misgiving, she watched him put his feet on the ground and push his half-eaten bagel from him so he could lean closer to her.
“Marian,” he said. “It’s not broken—just tender.”
Staring down at the brace with its separate straps around his wrist and thumb, she welcomed the diversion—she could small talk. “Is it your wrist this time?”
“No, my heart—but thanks for running down here to check on me.”
There went her vow to be calm and collected. “Waking up early had nothing to do with you.”
“No?”
Technically it had. She couldn’t sleep because of him. If he had wanted to see her blush, it had worked. “I see you are in good spirits,” she said, feeling herself surrender to their little game.
“Only because you’re here.” After she fixed him with a stern look, he reached out for her hand with a penitent smile. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Can we start again?” He was acting like he was going to be better behaved, but then why was her hand suddenly in his? “I’m trying to say that I missed you.” He turned her hand over in his to study her rings. “I didn’t know you were into rings?”
“That’s because you only knew me when I was a kid.”
He looked up at that, his hazel eyes delving into hers. “Let me change that.” He slipped off one of her rings. At her sound of protest, he explained, “I don’t like any of these.”
“Give that back.” She grabbed at it. “You little thief!”
He tucked the ring through his fingers like a magician—where’d he learn that sleight of hand? Prison?“Let me get you a new one,” he said.
She should’ve hidden her jewelry! Before she could argue further, Tuck wandered into the room, talking like he was still in the middle of a conversation with Robin. “I found the one hot spot, but it’s in town, if you want internet.” His reddish-brown hair was flattened against one side of his head, and he was in a white tank top; his scrawny arms tattooed in crosses had that muscle she’d only seen on very active children. “We could plug into the outlet like cavemen, but we’ll need a….” he stopped, staring over at her. “Oh, hi Marian.”
“If it isn’t Uncle Franco,” she murmured. “You’re awake too?”
“Prison hours,” Tuck said, snatching Robin’s forgotten bagel. “We keep early hours there or you don’t eat.”
She nodded, hoping that was the end of the prison talk. With Robin’s eyes on her, she felt uncomfortable.
Tuck was oblivious to that. He sat on the other side of her, crowding her like the ladies’ man he thought he was. “You never know who you’re sitting next to—the old guy in a walker could rip out your lungs. Personally, I’m more scared of the quiet guy with the glasses mumbling to himself than the guy covered in death tattoos who’s in for writing bad checks.”
“Okay, Tuck,” Robin tried to get him to stop.
“What? She’s gotta know what I’m talking about. I mean, you guys are crying about small potatoes out here—this politician had an affair, that celebrity hurt your feelings, but you hear nothing about the guys driving trucks through roadblocks when the chain gang takes a water break. Nobody cares.”
Marian saw the opportunity to get Robin back for all his teasing. “Is it as bad as grown men fighting with mops and brooms on tables?” she asked.
Tuck thought a moment. “No, we don’t have handles. They’re a choking hazard.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Seeming to sense her unease, Robin smiled broadly. “Guys get real creative in jail. “You want to hear more?” his voice had a hard edge to it.
