Page 27 of Shift in the Blood
“I’ll get them. Get in, and take a breath.” Neville was out of the car in an instant, giving me no time to protest.
I watched him stride toward the apartment. It seemed to take him longer to get there than it shoulder. I waited for him to return.
He finally came back with two bags, and made two more trips. Then he took his time loading the trunk and back seat of the car. Once all the bags were stowed, he slid into the front seat. “How did you pack all of that so fast? And is the short dark-haired girl your sister?”
“Did you talk to her?”
“I wouldn’t say talk.” Neville’s cheeks held a hint of red. “More like she yelled at me, I tried to politely non-answer, and then she kept yelling as I moved your bags. Sorry.” He glanced over.
Yeah, his cheeks were definitely red.
“Don’t feel bad. She pissed me off pretty easily today, too.”
“I’m not pissed. I’m just…” He turned on the car, looking away. “I’m just trying to stay out of your business.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“What happened?”
“Basically, she doesn’t understand or appreciate all I did to keep us together. I should have been there more, or something.” I stopped. “I don’t know.” The tears came, then. I didn’t even try to stop them. “Whatever it was, I’ve been doing it all wrong. And you know what? I’m over it. I’m tired of worrying, and stressing, and dealing with assholes like Maxim. This whole patronage thing will let me just paint, and do what I want. And that’s bad? Because Didier agreed to help me take care of my sister?” I crossed my arms, making a dismissive noise.
“Well, she can go and pet fish or whatever in Seattle. I’m done being the responsible one.”
Neville wisely didn’t reply. I wasn’t looking for conversation. We drove back to the house in silence.
I got a good look at it as he turned into the driveway. It was one of those tony rich mansions you saw, but this one was older. At least a hundred years old. It was interesting. What a realtor would say had character. I liked it. I was going to love the attics once the windows and the sunroom were uncovered and the light was allowed back in.
Neville parked the car in a detached garage in the back of the house. “Go on. I’ll get these in. What rooms are you taking?”
“Um.” I hadn’t thought about it. I remembered where Didier’s rooms were, on the second floor, and that there was a powder blue suite of rooms—I couldn’t believe I was using those words—with a bedroom, a sitting room, and some other kind of room. I didn’t know what it was used for. I planned to use it to paint. In addition to a large closet and larger bathroom with a soaking tub for at least three.
Or two.
Now it was my face’s turn to go red with the strength of my thoughts. Get your hormones under control, girl.
“The blue rooms. On the second floor?”
Neville nodded. “Got it. I’ll bring them up.”
“Thanks for driving me.”
“My pleasure.” His grin was genuine, and eased my sore heart a little.
I went in, coming in through the kitchen. A tall blonde woman, her hair in a bun, and in a light blue dress with an apron turned at the sound of the door.
“You must be Clara.”
“I am. Mrs. Boudreaux?” I guessed.
“That’s me.” She had a southern accent.
With her name, and Didier’s accent, I was sure Mrs. Boudreaux would be as French as the Louvre. But not so. She was more bayou than Louvre, if I had to guess.
“Call me Mrs. B. I like it better. You hungry?”
“No, not at the moment.”
“Anything you’re allergic to? Can’t eat?”
