Page 75 of Pieces We Keep

“Very much so.”

“Did you kill her?”

“I wish but no. Did you kill her?”

“I didn’t even know she existed.”

“That’s what you claim anyway.”

Fiona shrinks under Wynonna’s teasing. I struggle between wanting to please these people and needing to shove them away.

“I’m kidding, Fiona,” Wynonna explains. “I know you didn’t kill her. No one did. She just died of stupidity.”

“Oh.”

“I like to play around.”

“You sounded serious. How will I know when you mean what you’re saying and aren’t playing?”

“Um, I’ll need to figure out a signal.”

Wynonna goes through a bunch of options before corralling me away from Fiona.

“Are you pregnant?” she whispers to me.

“What?”

“Did Eagle knock you up?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I have a sixth sense about these things.”

“Leave me alone,” I blurt out when I can’t think of a casual response.

Wynonna laughs. “That’s just never going to happen, but I won’t tell if you want to keep it a secret. But I feel like others are bound to notice. Wait, are your boobs normally this bodacious?”

“Yes.”

“Score,” Wynonna says and looks down at her chest. “Mine got bigger after Ralph Junior. But they didn’t budge with Esther. I was a little disappointed. I was hoping for double D’s.”

“Is this serious or are you still messing around?”

“Am I that difficult to read?” Wynonna asks the sisters who nod in unison.

“Not really,” Landry says.

The blonde wife of the largest biker named Nomad smiles at me. I return the gesture as I try to remember all her kids’ names. I think it’d be easier if they didn’t all start with a “B.”

Eagle returns to my side and frowns at Wynonna. “Your brother told me to tell you to lay off.”

“I’m a fricking angel. Did he tell you how I’m organizing a charity event for poor children? I’m probably going to be nominated for sainthood.”

Eagle doesn’t respond to her words. He looks at me, wearing his usual scowling expression. Except I sense him thinking of us naked. I fight a grin as I remember all the fun we had upstairs in his room.

“Did you dye this poodle?” Goose asks Fiona.

“No,” I answer when Fiona doesn’t realize anyone’s talking to her. “They’re bred to be this color.”

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