Jen’s nervous but she knows she has to do this, she has to get him to stop calling, driving by. Things are too fragile, at any moment they’ll collapse. She wonders if it is her own guilt lashing out at Jace lately, overreacting. But that’s just what he wants her to think, wants her to toe the line on this, when it’s what’s underneath it all that gets her. Sure, it’s no big deal that he yelled at her. It’s just the idea behind it, that constant rightness he needs to define himself. No grey allowed, morally, spiritually, everything is right or wrong. No fuckups. No spills. No mess. He’s got her where he wants her too, here she is, outside it on one level, but the familiar self-admonishings have started to bubble up already. Why can’t she leave things alone? Why does she say the first thing that pops into her head? Why can’t she accept anything at face value? Men are fragile, you have to baby them a little. It’s her mother’s voice. Her mother’s voice but somehow it has wound its way around her mental vocal cords, cancerous clematis choking out the ugliness. Dressing it up for show.
She marvels at her mother sometimes. Two marriages, two decades each, and still that cheery work ethic approach to marriage. How can she be her daughter? Jen knows her mother must wonder too. In her books, Jen failed Women School. Somehow didn’t quite get the message. Maybe it was the secret admiration Jen sensed in her every time she broke the rules. Or maybe it was her open-ended parenting, letting her figure things out for herself.
But maybe she’s just her father’s daughter, the one who twenty years of patience couldn’t solve, couldn’t cajole into domesticity. And look at him now, still pining for her mom like a teen-aged boy, pathetically convinced he can get her back someday, when her husband dies. Still alone, hopelessly drunk, crying at his loss. Jen wonders if she’d be like that if she ever lost Jace. She can’t see it. Can’t see herself standing still that long, twenty years. So maybe she’s nobody’s daughter, just life given to the secrets of both. She wonders if Chris will be the same way, absorbing all their unspokeness and living it out: retribution.
Pete’s home alright, Jen sees. Car’s there, and smoke is coming out of the back yard. She cuts the engine in the driveway, and swoops the bike up on its stand. She is fumbling with the helmet when he pokes his head out the back gate. He looks surprised.
“Hi stranger,” he says, recovering. He’s hard to read now, but a little hopeful, she’s afraid.
“Hi. We’ve got to talk.” No point in niceties.
“Paul’s here, we’re barbecuing. Want to join us?” Pete straightens, hitches his thumb in the belt loop of his jeans, and ambles toward Jen.
“No, I don’t have long. It’s Alby’s party tonight. I saw your car today,” Jen says, uncomfortable. Pete is now looming over her; standing too close.
“I was thinking about popping in to say hi, that’s all,” he says quickly, red face puffing up and that grotty bottom to his voice.
“Look, I’m sorry, but we talked about this,” Jen says, looking down at her boots.
“No. You talked about this. I listened,” Pete spits, hot beer breath wafting over her. She is starting to get pissed and raises her head to look him in the eye.
“So if you listened, why the fuck do you keep coming by?”
“What’s the matter, afraid hubby will see me?” He’s sounding a little bitter, childish.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jen says, still staring coolly into his eyes.
He crosses his arms and sighs. “No, Jen. I told you I wouldn’t do anything, okay? If you want to spend the best years of your life pussy-footing around playing little miss married, that’s your prerogative. But I think you’re throwing away something special.” He touches her chin with the tip of his finger, tilting her head a little. He smiles. What bravado.
“Yeah, well maybe my marriage is special too,” Jen says.
He turns his face away. He does that when he doesn’t want to hear something, Jen thinks.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You talk big, walk the edge a little, and then run away because you’re scared and selfish.”
“I’m glad you feel you know me so well Pete.”
“I do. I’ve got your number babe. You’ll be back when you’re ready for a man you can’t push around.”
Jen is so mad she’s almost in tears. She wants to hit him, but knows better. She remembers to use her words.
“Yeah, well, if you’re so indomitable, Pete, why the fuck do you keep calling and driving by like some lovesick little puppy.”
“You arrogant bitch. Maybe it’s not me calling, maybe hubby’s out there too these days, maybe some sweet young thing is pining away for your Sensitive New Age Guy. Ever think of that?”
Jen starts pulling the helmet over her head so he won’t see the tears through her visor. She starts to turn toward the bike but Pete grabs her and hugs her real hard. She jerks upwards and bangs his chin with the top of her helmet. His head snaps back a little, and she uses this opportunity to jam her arm up between them and pry him away. He just stands there, rubbing his chin and staring at her.
Jen realizes she must have yelled when he grabbed her, because Paul comes out the gate with a basting brush in his hand, looking alarmed. Jen jams down the kick-start and zooms away, but is having trouble steering because she can’t think straight and her tears are blurring her vision. In seconds, she’s at the corner of Betrand and Labelle. She notices the U-Haul truck out of the corner of her eye. Shit, she thinks, as she skids through the stop. The truck is crawling and she’s forced to swoop around in front of it, but the driver screeches to a halt anyway. Jen is flung up the curb into the bush.
Jen leaps off the bike as it thuds on its side, wheels still spinning. She reaches down and shuts it off. The driver has climbed out of the truck and is screaming at her. She looks up, and recognizes the voice.
“You stupid fucking idiot, that was a stop sign, what the fuck…”
She takes off her helmet.
“Jen? Is that you? Holy shit, are you okay?”
It’s Gary alright – Saint’s husband. He’s a little worse for wear, but still has that lanky build, freckled face, faint remnants of his Cape Breton accent. His brown shaggy hair is now prematurely salt and pepper, but still coiffed in a mullet – business in the front, party in the back, as they say.Eight years and all Saint’s makeovers haven’t changed the essential man, it appears, and somehow Jen is glad to see it.
“Sorry, man, I don’t know what I was doing,” Jen says, grinning.
“God, what are you doing here?” He rushes over and helps her hold up the bike as she checks it for damage.
“Didn’t Saint tell you? I know she’d heard. My husband and I moved back here in the spring. We have a little guy now,” Jen says across the scooter he’s holding up.
“Yeah, I know, I mean, what are you doing here? In the neighborhood,” Gary clarifies, nodding in the direction of their house.
“Oh, a friend of mine lives a few blocks from here. I had to stop there on my way to a party,” Jen says.
“Shit. It’s been so long. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” Jen says. Her hands won’t stop trembling. She can feel the adrenalin still washing over her.
“Why don’t you sit down here for a minute to calm down while I go pull the truck off the road,” he says, and jogs over to the still-running U-Haul.
Jen puts her bike on its stand and when Gary returns they sit down together on the neighbor’s lawn.
“So, what’s new?” he asks, as if in fact, they’re old friends who just haven’t had time to catch up in a while.
Jen laughs. “Well, where do you want to start? Actually, I don’t really want to see Ann, so I’m going to get back on that damned thing and get outta here in a minute when I calm down.”
“She’s not around, don’t worry. I don’t blame you, you know. I mean, I’ve been inside it long enough to know the deal. She’s nuts, Jen. She’ll do anything to get to you, you know,” Gary says.
“Come on Gary, we’re all nuts. Besides, I haven’t heard a word from her for years until that time in Comfy’s,” Jen says.
“No Jen, I really mean it. Things have been bad since you went. I know we had our differences, but with you around, at least I got to be the good guy for a while,” Gary gives her a gentle slug and chuckles.
“I don’t think I want to talk about this, Gar,” Jen says.
“Why not? I mean, we used to talk a lot. I knew you hated me at first, thought I was no good. You were sorta right. I had my problems. I thought you were a snob, but at least you were fair about it. She’s the one who’s a real snob. You at least accepted me for who I was, even if you didn’t really like it,” he says, stretching out his legs and fishing a smoke out of his shirt pocket. He’s exactly as Jen remembers him. Blunt, but refreshingly so.
“Marriage is tough. I doubt yours is much different,” Jen says.
“You mean my ex-marriage,” Gary says, exhaling toward the sky, as if the twilight can lift his burden.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t feel bad. Neither did I. Just got a letter,” he shakes his head.
“Oh no, not a dreaded letter!” Jen doesn’t mean to laugh, but it’s so typical, it’s so, well, Saint, it catches her off guard.
Gary laughs wryly. “Yup. Yesterday. I came off the midnight shift and there it was, in the middle of the dining room table. Blah blah blah. Point being, I’m history, and I had until today to take my half of the stuff and get out.”
“So where is she?”
“Said she was going away for a few days.”
“Didn’t want to face you, huh.”
“Looks that way. It’s okay, though, I feel okay about it. It’s been coming for a long time, I think.” He looks away, and Jen feels bad for him. She thinks he’s trying not to cry.
“You’re probably in shock,” she murmurs.
“No, I feel kinda peaceful, y’know. Like I said, things haven’t been good…but hey, let’s go back to the house, there’s some of your stuff there, she keeps it in the shrine.”
“The shrine?”
“Your old den. It’s off limits. It’s where she writes, keeps all her private stuff, books, you know. Stuff she figures I wouldn’t know about, or want to know about.”
“What if she comes home?”
“Trust me, she won’t.” He stands up and tosses his cigarette to the ground, grinds it with his boot. He reaches out and grabs Jen’s hand to pull her up.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” Jen says, suddenly feeling a black dread creeping in.
“I’m sure.”
He strides ahead of her toward the house. Jen hangs back a little, almost afraid to go though the door. So many memories, ones she’s ashamed of, ones that make her feel sick.
“Come on, Jen, really, it’s okay,” Gary shouts over his shoulder. Then he backtracks and takes her hand to walk up the driveway.
Jen looks at the low-slung batten board ranch, gleaming in its domestic care. The shrubs are mounded smoothly in front of the large bow window. The grass is freshly edged all along the walk. The doorway has a gleaming red steel door with an arch of tempered glass that Jen doesn’t remember. To the right of the doorway, beside the foundation plantings, is a small bubbling pond, coi, by the looks of it. On the left side, there is a serene cement Buddha against a backdrop of fern. Saint has been having a domestic heyday.
But when Jen steps inside, it’s like passing a time barrier to another dimension. Same damned ugly wall paper. Same table, leather couch, fireplace. Walls of books. But there are holes. Holes where his stuff went, she supposes. Gary walks through a doorway into the kitchen.
“Hey Jen, you want a drink?” he shouts.
“Um, okay.”
“Gin?”
“Sure.” She walks into the kitchen. New cupboards, bleached oak. And a doorway that used to go to the garage.
“Wow, this must have been a lot of work!” she says, pointing to the new rec room.
“Yeah, we had to have somewhere for me to live, eh? Somewhere to put the TV.”
Jen laughs; it’s a familiar theme.
“When did you guys buy the house?”
“The year after you left. She bought it, her dad helped her. I had to sign a pre-nup over it when we got married. That should have been a big clue, but I was too stupid,” Gary says, pouring liberally.
“That was probably her dad at work.”
“Well, she used him as an excuse, anyway. As usual.” He hands Jen her drink.
“Let’s go to the shrine!” he says, taking a swallow of dark liquid, smells like Rye.
“Okay.” Jen follows him down to the end of the hallway. He opens the door, and it all hits her with a force that nearly knocks her down – the late-night letter-writing, the half-empty bottles, the hours she hid here, like a traumatized child under a kitchen table waiting for the tornado. The black endless spiral that took her breath away. She just stands there for a minute. She can almost see her younger self, sitting by candlelight, writing love letters that will fail. Her couch is there, so are paintings she made years ago, one still on the easel. A half-finished installation sculpture sits in the corner, lit from above by a track light. Jen walks over and rests her hand on it. Parts are smooth, but one side is all rough, holes jabbed into it.
She remembers working on it, the last time, she was so frustrated. In her mind, she saw this huge egg, with baby faces and arms trying to get out of it, stretching up toward the sky. She is now stunned to see that it is real, that half of it looked the way she meant it to. She feels proud, can’t get over it. But the other half is rough, slash marks, finger tracks. She notices a knife stuck in the back of it, part of the blade and handle sticking out. Now she remembers doing that, sticking the knife in over and over again, then just walking away from it. From the house. The street. From life.
Jen slides to her knees, still touching the sculpture, crying. Gary bends down and puts a hand on Jen’s shoulder.
“Jen, I wish you’d had told us. I mean, if we’d known, maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad,” Gary says softly.
“They told you?” Jen is mortified.
“Yeah, when you were in ICU. They said you were three months at least, by the amount of hormone in your blood,” Gary says, rubbing his hand between Jen’s shoulder blades.
“But I couldn’t have been, you know. I think the tests were wrong, that it was just the effect of all the pills I took…” She is so ashamed to be saying this.
“You mean you didn’t know?”
“No! I had no idea!”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do know, I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? Things were just all fucked up. I never would have done it if I thought I was pregnant!”
“But the sculpture…part of you must have known, Jen.”
“Yeah, maybe. You know, it’s funny, I forgot this thing existed. It makes sense now, in a way. I couldn’t admit it. God, I mean, now that I think about it, the mood swings, the depression, I was like that my first trimester with Chris…”
“Your little boy.”
“Yeah, that’s his name. God.”
“I’m sorry, Jen, I didn’t realize. I didn’t think coming here would make things worse but I wanted to talk to you…”
“No, it’s okay, it’s good. This is important. The mind is funny, it plays tricks. I’ve always known there was more to it, it was more than just an idea, an experiment.”
“It fucked her up bad, I think,” Gary says.
“I know it did. I’m sorry for that. I really am. I tried not to involve anyone.”
“It’s not your fault. You did a good job, but you forgot to take the registration from the glovebox. That’s how they figured out who you were, where you belonged.”
“Gar, I get an awful feeling when I remember these things. Sometimes I do it on purpose, go over it in my mind, but then I turn away, because I can’t make it fit and because I’m ashamed of myself. I’m not really up to talking about details right now.”
“Sorry. It was so long ago. It’s old business. We’ve all felt that way. Tell me about now. How are things now?”
“She’d die if she knew we were sitting here talking like old friends,” Jen laughs.
“Yeah, it’s funny, isn’t it? I guess we have a lot in common, now.”
“Sort of, yeah.”
“You want to go through the stuff? There’s boxes of letters in the closet, you know.”
“How do you know?” Jen says. She wipes her eyes and gives Gary a smile.
“Cause I read them all. She has them all filed by date.”
She laughs.
“I already have copies. She made me copies of them all once, before I moved in. But I didn’t give her any of hers.”
“You didn’t half to. She’s got copies of those too.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I swear. She must have made copies of each one before she sent it.”
“God, Gary, did you read those too?”
“Yeah, that’s how I knew what was going on in her head all the time. God knows she never says two words. It was the only way I could keep up. She still writes them, you see.”
“Still? And you read them? You’re awful.” Jen is only half joking. She’s impressed with his honesty.
“I know. But what’s more awful, invading someone’s privacy or withholding yourself from someone you’re supposed to love.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I can’t talk.”
“But you do talk, you always did. Sure you shift around all the time, but a person can figure out more or less what’s on your mind and where you’re headed. It’s not the same at all. We all have private thoughts, but most of us share a few of them now and then. She doesn’t. They’re all locked away on paper. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Gar, why were you here then. I mean, there had to be something between you. What am I saying, I know there was.”
“No, you called it way back then, long before I discovered the letters. You said she was just playing house, I know she said that to you a lot too, but she was wrong. At least you were curious about the men you knew. You felt something.”
“Based on my letters?”
“Based on your letters, yeah, and seeing you at work, I guess. But with me, sure, I didn’t know it then, but things were pretty surface. We talked about sports, politics now and then, orders. We fucked a lot. I thought I had an idea who she was. She loved to do things, boating, golf, you name it. We did a lot together, but she never really talked to me. She had this whole other life on paper that I didn’t have a clue about until this year. You should read the latest, help yourself.” He points to the top drawer of the filing cabinet.
“No, I can’t do that. I don’t want to.”
Jen feels sad for him because she understands that he wants someone to know what he’s going through, wants her to read Saint’s stuff and say yeah, that’s awful. And she knows it likely is, that it’s all true, but that in Saint’s own way, she loved him, got used to him or something. Jen knows she does this too, to a point, but she tries to break through it, it’s like a bad habit. Worse, Jen knows it’s got the better of her right now, and no matter what she says to Pete, the fact is that she’s pushing Jace out fast. But it’s not black or white, so how can she talk about it? How can she trust him with it? The fact that she can’t makes her angry, makes her shut him out more, adding layer and layer to the thick armor of lies.
Jen looks at Gary now, and has a twinge of irony. The one man that she didn’t want, who was ‘beneath her’ in every way, knows more about her real self than any man she knows. He’s read her line by line over the years, all the embarrassing emotions on the page, and seems to like her better for it. Maybe she’s been barking up the wrong trees. She banishes this thought, and stands up.
“I don’t think I want to disturb anything, Gar. I don’t want her to know I was here. I should be going, I have to be somewhere soon.”
“But—well, yeah, so do I, I guess. No use crying over spilled milk, right?”
“Where are you going to go?”
“Me? I’m going back east. I just quit my job. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t be near her. I might kill her or something.”
“What happened to “peaceful”?”
Gar smiles. “I’d be peaceful then for sure. But seriously, I am, I feel okay, it’s been kinda interesting. Especially the letters. I think I learned something here.”
“What’s that?”
“Watch out for the quiet ones.”
They laugh. They walk through the house to the front door. Gar hangs back a little.
“Well, good luck. I hope everything works out. And thanks, thanks for doing this,” Jen says, though it’s hard for her to put her finger on what “this” is.
“Don’t thank me. I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now. To let you know about the letters. Look, maybe I’ll write you more about it, I can’t write very good, but it’s easier, isn’t it?”
“Okay, sure. Why not. What your cell number? I’ll text you my info.”
“Yup, just a second.” He pulls out his cell, then shakes his head.
“Maybe you’d better just write it down. She controls the phone account too…it could go dead at any moment,” he says. “Let me get some paper.” He returns with a post-it note, and Jen writes down her info.
“Well, I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Yeah, I’ll drop you a line when I get settled. I’ll warn you, though, don’t expect her kind of letters.”
“Fine by me.”
“Bye then Jen.” Gar hugs her for an awkward second. “What’s that you always write, keep passing open windows?”
“God, yes, from a book I read…”
“Well, keep doing that.”
“You too. Hey, I’ll walk you back to the truck,” Jen says.
“Thanks, but I’ve got to get some things I forgot. I’m going to stay here a while longer. But I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay then. See ya.” Jen smiles and walk away, toward the corner where she left her bike. Somehow, she feels a little lighter. Luckily, the bike’s still there. She’s getting way too careless with things lately.
Jen is heading towards Rosemary’s and mulling things over in her mind. Something is bothering her. Something about Gary. The niceness. He knows something. She knew he wanted to tell her something, but couldn’t. Then again, he likely just wanted someone to make sense of it all, do some Saint-bashing. Poor guy.
Rosemary is walking down the street with a bag of groceries in her arm when Jen pull up to the curb beside her and cuts the throttle.
“Jace is looking for you,” Rosemary says, with a worried look on her face.
“Oh – Oh.” Jen walks the bike up to the curb in front of her house.
“He’s not a happy camper. What’s going on?”
“We had a fight, that’s all,” Jen says, unbuckling her helmet.
“He said to tell you you’d better come home, that he had a meeting to go to.”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” Jen says, rolling her eyes.
Rosemary laughs.
Jen reaches for one of the grocery bags that is slipping out of Rosemary’s arms.
“Why didn’t you tell me you needed stuff, I could have picked it up,” she says.
“Well, I wasn’t sure when you were coming, and this is just last minute stuff anyway. And you’re, you know, on a motor scooter. Everything’s ready,” she says, opening the door.
“Oh. Sorry, I feel shitty about all this. I really meant to help.”
“It’s okay, Jen, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. I’m glad you came early though, I’ve been wanting to talk.”
They go into the house. Jen notices there are purple and yellow streamers all over the place, and a beautiful buffet full of food still covered in saran wrap. Incense is burning somewhere, jasmine, it smells great just like the summer air.
“Wow, you did a great job!”
“Thanks. You want some wine, madame?”
“Works for me.”
She goes into the kitchen. Jen follows, and sits at the wooden farm table. There’s a big clay bowl in the center with funny-looking little balls in it.
“What are those?” Jen asks.
“Mmmm. Those are Carob Chewies.”
“What the hell’s a carob chewy?”
“Something my little chef invented. Try one,” Rosemary says.
“He’s still around?”
“He was here this afternoon. Showed up on the doorstep right after I talked to you on the phone.”
“He’s got it bad.”
“Yeah, well, I tried to straighten him out,” Rosemary says, rummaging in her fridge for the wine.
“Oooh. Poor little guy.”
“Yeah, he didn’t take it so well. I guess he thought now that he’s graduated, things would be different.” She hands Jen wine in a thick little green glass. Rosemary delights in unexpected kitchenware.
Jen pops a carob chewy into her mouth, surprised at how good it tastes.
“Wow, these are great,” she says, still chewing. “Honey, sesame, carob, what else is in there?”
“He says it’s a secret ingredient that will come to you in your dreams if you eat the right amount.”
Jen laughs. He’s certainly creative. “So you didn’t fail him then, I take it.”
“No, I couldn’t. He’s just too brilliant. You know what he submitted for his independent study?”
“What?”
“A semeiotic analysis of the meaning of food, lots of detail on binary oppositions according to Levi-Strauss and attention to anomalies.” Rosemary takes a long swig of her wine.
“Wow, and he cooks. Gotta get me one of those,” Jen says.
“I have one you can buy cheap. Going once, twice, sold to the only bidder.”
Jen laughs. “Come on, you must be flattered.”
Rosemary sits down and cradles her wine.
“At first, I was flattered. Things are getting a little ugly now.”
“You’ve got to admire his tenacity.”
“No. No I don’t.”
“I guess we shouldn’t joke about it, it’s kind of mean, isn’t it.”
“I think we’re past joking about him Jen, I really worried,” Rosemary stares into her glass.
“Worried? How so?”
“About him. He was really out of control today. Manic. I shouldn’t have talked about Paul today.”
“How are things with Paul?” Jen asks. She hopes that Pete isn’t saying a lot to Paul about her, and that Rosemary and Paul don’t have any awkwardness over it.
“Well, it’s great in a way. I mean, it’s been awhile since I’ve had someone I could get along with at all.”
“That sounds qualifying.”
“It is. He’s on a real bent about Pete right now. Pete and you, that is.”
“God, I’m sorry, Rosemary, I just don’t like the guy,” Jen says, biting down hard on her disgust. Of course he’d be a pain in the ass to Paul about it. Of course Rosemary would defend her.
“I know. I don’t blame you, he’s a horse’s ass. Paul doesn’t seem to mind this, though, is a little protective of his buddy.”
“Wants a foursome.”
“Well, I guess he thinks it’d be nice. But that’s his problem. I’m just not sure I like his viewpoints.”
“You can’t blame the guy, Rosemary. I mean, doesn’t that tell you something about him?”
“What, that he protects assholes who want to ruin my friend’s marriage?”
“Well, no, that he cares about people close to him.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
“Look, it’s my own fault. I should never have gotten myself into that mess with Pete,” Jen says.
“I guess what bothers me most is I know why you did.”
“Why did I?”
“I think you thought you were helping me out. That bothers me too. Not that I don’t need the help, but I don’t need the help, thanks,” Rosemary looks hard at Jen. She’s not mad, exactly, but Jen suddenly feels like one of her students.
“I don’t really think that’s the reason, sure, it’s convenient, but I think I was just bored,” Jen says. A voice inside her head, however, is saying ‘don’t lie to teacher.’
“Okay, you were bored AND thought it would help me out. Point is, I feel bad about it. I mean, you get bored all the time, and you don’t fuck around because of it. You usually just think about fucking around. But that morning I said something about it, about fucking Pete,” Rosemary says, sighing.
“You think I’m that suggestible?”
“Not really, I just feel bad, that’s all.”
“Well don’t. I’m a free agent. I’ll own this one, thanks.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess I’m just over-analyzing. Point is, you’re done with him now anyway, right?” Rosemary says, giving one more good teacher glare.
“Right. Actually, I think I’m really really done now. I was over there tonight. Paul was there.”
“Yeah, they were planning a guy’s night. What’d you go over for?”
“To tell Pete to stop driving by the house and phoning. It was really weird, he tried to hug me and I just got fed up and kind of hit him in the chin with my helmet and pulled away.”
“Oh-oh. Having a confrontational day today are we?” Rosemary giggles.
“Yes, we seem to be.”
“Speaking of which, hadn’t you better phone Jace?”
“So he can tell me to come home?”
“Good point.”
The doorbell rings, and the party is about to begin.