Page 58 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“That he is,” Cissy said. “So let’s get you changed, and we’ll go down and see him. But I gotta warn ya, he’s not alone. There are tons of people down there, and they’re going to fawn all over you.”

“Tons of people,” he repeated.

“That’s right.” She carried him to the changing table, and switched out his wet diaper for a dry one. He kicked and scooted, all part of the game, but eventually he was clean and dry, the new diaper in place. Once he was dressed and she’d finger-combed his curls, she carried him downstairs, where, it seemed, even fewer guests were mingling.

Good!

The Reverend Donald and Cherise were nowhere in sight.

Talk about a blessing!

“Is this the infamous B.J.?” Heather asked, grinning, her eyes sparkling. “You know, I haven’t seen him since he was a couple of months old.” To the child she said, “Come see Auntie Heather.”

“Auntie Heather?” Cissy repeated.

“Well, you know, I’m just trying to connect with the little guy. Come here, pumpkin.”

Connect with the little guy? Everything Heather said was hitting Cissy wrong today. Was it her? The funeral? Or was Heather being a little weird?

Beej grinned shyly, but allowed himself to b

e hugged and cuddled by first Heather, then Tracy, who declared him “more handsome than his father.”

Even Sara was beguiled. “What a cutie!” she said and touched his button nose with a manicured finger before lifting another glass of wine from a passing tray.

Rosa was already helping clean up, but she took the time to coo over the baby, and Paloma offered a stiff smile to a child she’d seen often enough but had never warmed to.

B.J. put up with the attention and was eventually passed back to Cissy, but when he saw his father, he went nuts. “Dad-dee!” he cried, wriggling in Cissy’s arms again and struggling to get down. She set him on his feet, and he took off like a shot, running through people’s legs until he reached his father, who swept him into his arms.

“There he is!” Jonathan crowed, standing next to Jack. “I wondered when you were going to wake up.”

Cissy saw Jannelle and J.J. exchange glances and realized that not all members of the Holt family were as thrilled with Jack’s son as their father was. The look that passed between them was more than just boredom or irritation that their father was too into his grandson. It was darker than that, an acknowledgment between allies that there was an enemy in their midst.

Cissy experienced a chill as cold as all of December, but when Jannelle looked up and spied her sister-in-law staring at her, she just lifted a shoulder. “Never was a kid person,” she admitted. “Look, Jack talked to me. I’m going to take ‘Poppa’ home. He’s been hitting the booze pretty hard, even dipped into your stash of whiskey. Apparently he knows where it’s kept.”

“Maybe I’ll have to put it under lock and key.”

“Not a bad idea,” Jannelle said, then, “Okay, Poppa, you’ve had your fun, time to go home.”

“So soon?” Jonathan seemed distressed.

“It’s been a long day. Cissy needs to chill out for a while.” She linked arms with her father while Jack retrieved his son and J.J., spying Gwen standing alone, grabbed another glass of wine and zeroed in on the trainer. He was obviously looking for another score.

Would the day never end?

Jannelle anticipated what was going on and cut him off at the pass. “Don’t even think about it, bro. You and me, we need to get the old man home.”

“I’m not an old man,” their father protested, and, it was true, he looked no more than ten years older than his oldest son. “And, damn it, I want to be with my grandson.”

Jannelle sent J.J. another warning glance.

Or did she?

There was more than a small chance that Cissy was overthinking it all, letting paranoia creep in, observing nuances that didn’t exist.

Telling herself that she was imagining things, she suffered through the next hour as the last of the mourners eventually said their final good-byes, leaving only Rosa, Deborah, Diedre, Rachelle, and Jack to finish cleaning up. Beej was in his element, tearing around the rooms, playing with anything he could find. When, eventually, the house was back to some semblance of order, the sympathy cards and donations had been picked up, the extra food either meted out to friends or stored, the candles extinguished, and all the pieces of furniture returned to their original positions, Cissy set down her wineglass, feeling as if she might collapse. She promised the tearful Deborah, the last person out the door, that she would write her a letter of recommendation. Then, as the door closed behind Eugenia’s “companion,” she turned the lock. “No more,” she whispered, shoving her hair from her eyes. She was so exhausted she couldn’t even summon up the heart or energy to suggest that Jack leave.

“Go upstairs, have a bath, go to bed,” he said as he and B.J. settled onto the couch. “I’ll watch Beej; we’ll hang out, and then I’ll get him to bed. You just take it easy.”

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