Purely Relative (3 page)

“I’m so sorry,” I said, staring in
horror at the mess I’d made.

“To the left,
cara
, to the left,” Sophia said. “We
always pass to the left, clockwise.”

“Oh, sorry. Let me just wipe this up—”

“Do not trouble yourself. I shall do it.” Sophia said as she
wiped the gravy off her hand. “Giuliana, do you still keep the washcloths in
the drawer on the left?”

Jon’s mother glanced first at me, her eyes hooded, mouth
drooping. “Yes. Same place,” was all she said. She watched Sophia leave then
shifted her eyes back to me.

“I’m very sorry. I made a little mess,” I said.

She shrugged. “Don’t worry another second about it. Just
enjoy.”

I forced a shaky smile into place. Jon patted my thigh.

Once Sophia finished meticulously dabbing the gravy spot
from the tablecloth, rubbing in some peroxide, and resumed eating, I relaxed
and dug in.

The food was wonderful and my appetite had been primed for
some serious gourmand demonstrations.

“She is a good cook, isn’t she?” Sophia asked me in a
conspiratorial tone. Around us, the voices grew louder and more animated,
forcing us to lean closer to hear the other. Maybe she didn’t hate me after
all. Maybe everyone had already given up on Jon and Thalia as a couple and were
relieved to be able to end the “when are you getting married” nagging.

“Oh yes! Everything is delicious!”

“You are lucky to have the metabolism of youth,” she said
setting her fork down. “Thalia too! I don’t know how she got so lucky because
all her weight goes straight to her breasts. To her hips? Just enough to add
the curves the men like but none of the ugly padding.” She snickered softly and
winked at Jon.

Okay, foolish hopes on my part. I shifted uncomfortably on
my own mattresslike padding. Food smears covered every inch of my plate. Sophia
had barely filled hers, let alone touched what she had partaken.

“Gayle, how did you and Jon meet?” Jon’s mother asked,
dabbing her napkin to her mouth.

A quick glance at Jon yielded no hints or warnings, so I
plowed ahead. “We met at work. Both of us were green newbies assigned a series
of boring tasks.”

Jon piped in. “I don’t think we were quite as productive as
we should have been. Gayle kept me laughing most of the time.”

Sophia sniffed. “Youth today! They fall in love so easily,
so quickly. It is much harder to make it last.”

“Jon says one of your brothers works at NASA?” Jon’s father
speared me with an inquisitive regard.

I had never been so happy for a change in subject in my
life. “Yes, my oldest brother, Ian. He just finished working on the Mars
landing.”

Jack Cripps straightened in his chair, eyes at full mast. “Wow!
Really? So, he’s in Houston?”

“Yes.”

“Ian Lindley? Lives in Houston and flies to Florida a lot?”
Jenny asked, her eyes even wider than her father’s.

“Yes. About twice a month,” I replied. I pushed my plate
forward, my belly uncomfortably full and a burp clawing like an alien to burst
out of me.

“I know your brother,” she said with a wide grin. “He’s one
of my regulars. Surfer-blond streaks, big, broad-shouldered guy with Caribbean
blue eyes? Devilish sense of humor with a crooked smile?”

I laughed at her Harlequin romance description of my
brother. “I suppose to a non–family member, that would be an accurate
description. I just think of him as a goofy lunkhead. I’m picking him up at the
airport tomorrow, as a matter of fact. He’s paying me a short holiday visit.”

Jenny laughed. “Really? He’s coming to Dallas? He’s so
funny. He always has us in stitches when he’s on our Houston to Orlando flight.
All the single—and married—flight attendants, male and female,
practically fall over themselves trying to wait on him.”

“Small world,” Scott interjected, his tone as dry as the
Sahara.

A chilly, unspoken message passed between him and Jenny.

Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between them before meeting
mine. He shrugged. I returned the gesture, but let the topic drop.

“Do you cook, Gayle?” Jon’s mother asked.

“Oh, yes, cooking! All the daughters of Italy are good
cooks,” Sophia interjected. She wore a cunning smile and the gloves were
peeling off. I’d have rather been stuck in an elevator with Thalia than engage
in further conversation with her mother.

“I’m afraid I’m more a daughter of the Norsemen, preferring
to pillage food lovingly prepared by others rather than to make it myself,” I
said.

To my relief, Jon’s mother laughed, not just a polite
titter, but a full belly-laugh. Jon’s father joined her. Jenny and Jon smiled
at each other. Life was good.

In the distance a door shut as if it had been kicked. “Hello?
Did you start without me?” A male voice accompanied its owner into the dining
room. A younger, fairer model of Jon loped into sight. “I hope you saved me
some.”

“Jason! We’d almost given up on you, son.” Jon’s father
jumped up from his chair and gathered the young man in a huge bear hug.

“Dad. Dad! Easy on the PDA.” Jon’s brother, Jason, wriggled
out of his father’s embrace and sought his mother in one as heartfelt as his
father’s. A mama’s boy.
Aww
. “Ma! Smells great! Am I too late?”

“Nonsense,” she said extricating herself. “Have a seat. I’ll
reheat it for you.” She swung past the empty place setting, grabbing his plate.
After heaping it with turkey, potatoes, and a wide variety of the other hot
dishes, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Jason pulled out the chair to sit, but stopped and moved my
way. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t get up.” He approached me with his hand
extended. “Hi. I’m Jason.”

We shook, but before I could give my name, Jon said, “This
is my girlfriend, Gayle.”

Jason stopped shaking my hand but didn’t release it. Eyes
full of curiosity bored into mine, so like his brother’s—brown and
earnest. “Ooo-kay. Nice to meet you, Gayle.” He shot a highly charged,
questioning glance Jon’s way. He obviously had not been told about me.

Sophia filled in the gap. “Another one who didn’t know. Jon
and Thalia are no longer engaged, Jason. I see you are as shocked as I was.”

Tia-Sophia-screw-mia was totally beginning to piss me off.

Jon’s mother emerged from the kitchen, Jason’s plate in hand.
I wasn’t the only one who released a breath at her timely interruption.

Alex Milano cleared his throat. “Now that everyone is
finally here, I’d like to propose a toast.” He stood and raised his glass. “Thank
you for friends—both old and new—who are as close as family and
loved just as much. May the upcoming holiday season bring you all joy.”

“Hear, hear, Uncle Alex,” Jenny said.

Everyone clinked glasses and an awkward lull fell over the
table.

“Who’s going shopping on Black Friday tomorrow?” Jenny asked.

“I wish I could, but Ian’s thrown a monkey wrench in my
plans!” I said, happy to move on to innocuous topics.

“Not me,” Sophia said. “I’ve already finished my Christmas
shopping.”

“You have?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself. Where was the
fun in that, shopping so early, your purchases barely felt like gifts?

Jon’s mother leaned forward. “Sophia starts the day after
Christmas and is usually finished by June 30th, isn’t that right?”

“
Si
. I cannot help it that I like to take my time to
find the perfect gift. I buy the birthday gifts then too.” She beamed as she
rattled off her shopping timetable and rules for acquisition.

“You won’t catch me within five miles of any of the malls or
block stores for the next four weeks. That’s what the Internet is for,” Jon’s father
said.

Jon nodded, as did Scott.

“I still need to get one other special gift,” Jon said in
the pause that followed. He cut his eyes in my direction, supplying the
necessary clue I needed to understand he meant me.

“Aww, you’re sweet,” I said, giving him one of my best
smiles.

He squeezed my knee in response, stroking the flesh with his
thumb. Someone was already warming up for dessert. He flashed his sharklike
smile, no doubt picturing me as the cherry on top. With a home-cooked meal in
his belly, his reserves fully charged, the evening promised to be quite
energetic once the turkey drugs wore off. My giblets warmed at the thought of a
warm and sated Jon stretched out in my bed, that same predatory smile affixed
to his face. If only I didn’t have to pee like a racehorse on steroids.

“Which way is the bathroom,” I asked Jon in a whisper.

He nodded his head back over his shoulder. “Down the hall
toward the front door, last door on your left.”

“Excuse me a second,” I mumbled for politeness. No one
really noticed. The ladies were engaged in Black Friday plans while the men
discussed bowl games for the remainder of Thanksgiving and into Friday.

I squeezed my feet back into my high heels and tottered in
the direction Jon mentioned. But did he say last door on the right or the left?
I paused. Both doors were shut. I checked the doorknob on the right. It turned
freely and I cracked it open enough to peer inside. A home office complete with
a massive twelve-point buck head stuffed and mounted on the wall and an old
Texas flag framed and hanging near that. Oops. Must have been the left one
then.

I piddled, in no hurry to return, reapplied the lipstick I’d
stashed in my pocket, and fluffed my hair. Yes, I peeked in the tiny cabinet
mounted over the toilet. Finding nothing more exciting than a crossword puzzle
magazine and pen clipped to the cover (yikes! a pro!), a supply of small
towels, soap, and toilet paper, I concluded the powder room was intended for
incidental day-visitor usage only. Before I could shut the cabinet doors,
however, the puzzle book slid forward and sent a stack of washcloths hurtling
toward the toilet. I caught them all with the skill of a juggler. As I raised
my arms with a pounding heart to restore them to rights, the crossword puzzle
magazine fluttered past yelling, “Cannonball!”

“Shhhhit!” I reached in to the
toilet to pluck out the magazine and pen. They were sopping wet and left a
watery trail from toilet to sink where I tossed them.
Crap, crap, crap
.
Well, good thing I’d already flushed, but toilet water was still pretty gross.
Who keeps facecloths in a main level powder room anyway?

Rising up, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. “Don’t
give me that look. Everybody does it. How was I to know the thing was booby
trapped,” I said to the disapproving twin in the mirror. She shook her head,
prompting a current of shame to ripple through.

What to do about the crossword puzzle book though? I flipped
the pages. Its owner had completed over two-thirds of the puzzles. The ink ran
down the pages and made a smeary mess. Ruined. I’d have to buy another one. I
checked the front cover. Special Edition from a year ago. Well, wasn’t that
dandy? I’d have to buy a new one of a similar difficulty level, at least.

The door handle rattled. I had set the lock, thank goodness.
“Gayle, are you still in there?” asked the voice on the other side. Sophia. Of
course it was. “Everything okay?”

Panicked, I checked the garbage can, but it was empty,
nothing to hide the evidence amongst. “Just fine. Almost done!” Nowhere else to
stash the evidence, either.

A small window caught my eye. The glass was opaque, intended
to let in light but keep peeping Toms out. I flushed the toilet for cover
noise, unlatched the window and turned a crank handle. The window pivoted
outward. No screen barred my way, thank goodness. A quick look outside and I
realized I faced out toward the driveway. Christine sat nearby. I tossed the
book, which landed with a sodden plop near one of her front passenger wheels.
Perfect! After re-securing the window, I washed the pen in soapy water,
checking to make sure I hadn’t ruined it, too, and returned it to the cabinet.

That’s when I noticed the folded up piece of paper lying on
the floor between the toilet and the sink.

I picked it up, unable to squelch my curiosity. Had it been
there all along or had it been in the crossword puzzle book I tossed out the
window? The paper felt dry, so it could have survived the Acapulco cliff dive
by parasailing to the side. Unfolding the paper to its full 8 1/2 by 11 size
revealed a work order from Kruger’s Jewelry. The description just said “Custom
order #4536—sizing included. Balance due: $8,900.” In bold handwriting
someone had written, “By November 27th.” A day away! Who did the order belong
to, what was it for, and why was it in the bathroom? Someone was spending a
sizeable chunk of change, especially if that was the balance due.

My foolish, narcissistic heart raced as an outrageous idea
took shape. Jon and I had only been dating a short while, had only known each
other a few months. Yet he did swear to me the first night we made love that
he’d marry me ... someday. But surely he’d just been spouting blustery romantic
stuff in the heat of the moment. Could my brush with a handgun to my forehead
have spurred him into hastier action?
Could the order be for a ring, as in
engagement ring?
Whoa
.

What would I say if he did ask me? I chewed on my lower lip
as I contemplated how I’d respond. Truth was, it was too soon. Way too soon.
Wasn’t it?

I gave myself a shake. No time to worry about the
possibility. I had a crossword puzzle crisis to remedy and a hostile on the
other side of the door.

I let myself out to return to Jon and his family and
friends. Sophia must have given up and gone to another bathroom. The immediate
threat avoided, I backtracked and took an alternate path of reason. I assumed
the paper’s owner was a visitor to the Cripps family home. Being a guest powder
room near the living room and kitchen meant it saw the most diversity in
traffic, which only broadened the field of candidates.