Page 19 of Tango

“Got it,” Filippo agreed.

“Jesus. Chili, can you believe that?” I muted the feed and spoke into the phone. “They’re scared to tell Castillo. He doesn’t know.”

Ty

“How’re they doing, do ya think?” I asked quietly as I rested my chin on Ivy’s shoulder. We watched Keith and the kids as they sat on the couch at the other end of the room and stared out the window at the snowfall. “I mean all things considered, of course.”

I slipped an arm around her waist as she sipped her coffee, and she used her free arm to cover mine.

“They’re numb.” Her emotion was thick on her words. “He told them last night, and they slept there together. They woke a bit ago, but they haven’t moved. They cry, they stare, they cry some more. It’s utterly heartbreaking to watch.”

“Has Doc Roberts tried to talk to them yet?” I knew Ivy was giving them their space, but I wasn’t sure if Doc would use the same approach.

“I don’t think so. Abby said he hasn’t been around—”

“Shit.” Mark’s curse made us both move toward the kitchen. The place was a mess. He had flour in his hair, and an egg and some milk dripped from the counter. He had on an apron, which I assumed was Abby’s, that hung loosely from his hips where it provided no protection whatsoever for his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Ivy moved a cutting board that had begun to smoke from the open flame on the stove.

He scowled at her. “I’m trying to make cookies. Savi gave me the kids’ favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe, but she failed to mention how many damn steps there are. Who uses a blender when making cookies, anyway?”

Ivy leaned over and looked at the recipe. “You only blend the oats.”

“I saw that, but I got egg on me, the flour bowl knocked over and puffed a white cloud in my face, then I knocked the milk over.” He closed his eyes. “I can make a bomb with fewer ingredients than this.” He dabbed at the counter with a dish towel. “Apparently, I’m about to be taken down by cookies.” I grinned and thought about the last time I’d tried to bake anything. I nearly burnt down Mom’s kitchen. I knew my place, and it sure wasn’t the kitchen.

“Hey,” Ivy placed a hand on his shoulder, “you’re trying to do something nice. Why don’t I help you?”

“Really?” He looked worn out but then narrowed his eyes on her. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” she swatted him, “but if Abby sees this kitchen, she just might ban you for life.”

“Okay.” He ran his eggy hands through his hair and put two new stripes of white through it. The egg made it stand straight up. Ivy fought a smile as she encouraged him to start washing the dishes while she began to look the recipe over.

“I’d ask what’s happening here,” Olivia took the stool next to me, “but one look at Uncle Mark and all my questions have been answered.” Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were red, but her sarcasm was right where it needed to be.

Ivy chuckled lightly. “Good morning. Your Uncle Mark is trying to make something special for Brandon and Reagan.”

“Well, you know what they say,” she sighed, “it’s the thought that counts.”

“Watch your six, little Logan.” Mark snickered over his shoulder while I hid my smile.

“How was your trip home, Olivia?” Ivy stepped in.

“It was hard to leave the other kids when we all knew something happened. Reagan wouldn’t let my hand go the whole way home.” Her lip trembled a little.

“And B?” Mark asked as he dried his hands. Ivy handed her two eggs to break into the bowl she set in front of the little girl. She mindlessly went to work, which I thought was Ivy’s intention.

“You know B, he’s Uncle Keith Junior.” She shrugged. “He hardly talked and listened to music the whole way back. I just let him be. When we got home, he gave me a long hug then he went to where they were meeting in Dad’s office.” She swiped at her eyes. “Mom found me in my room and told me what happened.”

Ivy handed her the chocolate chips to pour in and stir. “And how are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. I figured it out when Dad hugged me when we got home. He does this extra-large bear hug thing, you know.” She paused. “They’re my favorite.” She glanced at Ivy and got teary-eyed. “I’m just sad for a different reason.”

“Grief can hit you in different ways, sweetie.” Ivy handed her a spoon of cookie dough to eat. “Some people get mad, some get sad, some are happy. There’s no right way to mourn someone.”

“It’s different than that.” She cleared her throat and looked away. She seemed almost ashamed to speak.

Ivy studied her for a second, then a light dawned in her eyes, as if she understood. Mark and I were totally lost.

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