Page 9 of Hearts of Fairlake

"And he didn't keep you alive all these years because you're sweet."

That earned a small smile. "Well, at least there's one good thing about this visit."

"What's that?" I asked as the bell rang a second time.

"It's always a good time when you two get together without Dad playing mediator."

"I live to entertain," I said with a roll of my eyes at the third ring.

"Am I allowed to add whiskey to my coffee yet?" Ayla moaned as she dropped into a dining room chair.

"We both know you're not allowed to let alcohol touch your lips until the age of eighteen," I told her as I reached the front door.

"Yousaid that. Dad just glared at you and said he'd talk about it later."

"Yes, and guess who gets to drink when they're eighteen?" I asked, getting smug when I watched her face go blank with surprise. Of course, that came with a few caveats. Namely, she would only be drinking in the house with us or with someone we trusted, and she wasn't allowed to leave the property of whoever she was with while drinking. All in all, it seemed stupid that she should have to wait until she was eighteen to enjoy some silly drunk moments but could put herself into financial debt with the government to go to school if she wanted.

"Oh," was all she said.

I winked at her and opened the door with a wide grin. "Beatrice! What an unexpected and absolutely pleasant surprise. How have you been since I last saw you lurking around the yard...last night."

Ian's mother glared at me, using her cane to stay upright and maintain a dignified position. "No matter how often I tell you, you continue to believe that your sarcasm is the height of wit and not the least ill-mannered."

"Ah, and I will take etiquette lessons from one of the rudest, most passive-aggressive people I know when the sun sets in the east, and your son decides to divorce me," I said, opening the outer door for her to come in. "Come in, come in. Have some coffee and cool off a little. I'm sure it's nohotter outside than where you're headed someday, but you might as well enjoy our air conditioning."

"Your blasphemy could be left behind as well," she said but took the offer to come inside all the same.

"Ah well, your good book has a whole passage about killing people like me and Ian. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't put too much stock in what else it has to say," I said, closing the door.

"Anyone with a lick of sense would know that passage was translated by fools who couldn't perceive anything other than their misguided arrogance," she said with a sniff as she hobbled into the kitchen. "That passage was originally in reference to pederasts, which was a disturbingly common practice at the time, which you'd know if you read anything proper. And as for Sodom and Gomorrah, their crimes were the worst sort of inhospitality and attempting to rape others, among a myriad of other sins."

"There's still a lot of debate on the subject. A lot of biblical scholars are reluctant to admit the first but do admit to the second," Ayla said as she returned to her laptop. "So, she does have a point."

I raised a brow at her, knowing full well she was ignoring me. "Right, well, as a non-believer, blasphemy is the least of my concerns, I'm sure. Coffee, Beatrice?"

She eyed the counter where once a simple coffee pot had sat, now replaced with a machine that had made Ian stare at me like I'd lost my mind when he'd learned how much it cost. Of course, that went out the window the first time I let him try a cup after I’d learned its bells and whistles. "Who...was the one who made it?"

I thought about taunting her further, but the past five years had taught me how far I could push before Beatrice got offended. She was an...odd woman. On the one hand, she was one of the most miserable, stuck-up, overly critical, rude, andspiteful people I'd ever had to deal with. On the other hand, she had moments where you could almost think she was human, and under all those levels of ice, there was something that could almost be love and affection.

All in all, I had learned how far I could push her. We put up with one another because of Ian, most of all, as Ayla sided with me when deciding whether Beatrice should be thrown into a nice home...a retirement home, not the one next door to us. In return for knowing not to push hertoofar, she found ways to let me know she didn't completely disapprove of me and the way we lived...like correcting my attitude on biblical statements about homosexuality.

Truly, one could almost feel the genuine human warmth coming off her at times.

"I made the last batch," I said, nodding toward the machine. "Ian won't use it for anything but the most basic drip coffee. Says he's been living off police station sludge for too long to be turned onto anything else."

She wouldneveradmit to it, but I saw the relief on her face. Ian was...not as meticulous as I was when it came to some things, and making coffee was one of them. The one downside to the machine was that she showed up a little more often in the morning to get a cup in the hopes I had made it, even if it did come with the occasional comment.

"At least your overly complicated version of coffee doesn't bring to mind rotten oil and dirt," she said, and honestly, she probably thought that was the best compliment.

"Let it never be said that you are not magnanimous in your praise," I said dryly as I took a sip of my coffee and watched her making a cup. If it had been anyone else, I would have offered to make a cup for her, but this was not anyone else. This was Beatrice Reiner, and she was fully capable of making her own cup of coffee, thank you very much. And if you could not bring up her blood pressureissues on top of all of her other health concerns over something so trifling as a cup of coffee, that would be wonderful.

"I'm sure a great deal of unnecessary praise is thrown around this house like a cheap trinket without my help," she said, and I didn't miss the sidelong glance she gave Ayla.

I twitched at the inferred criticism. I couldn't tell whether it was aimed at Ian and my parenting style or at all of us in general, but it managed to finally find a nerve and tweak it just enough to make myalmostplayful sarcasm fade away. Time, parenting, and a steady, reliable man at my side had managed to wear down my flash temper, but that didn't mean it had died or gone away, and right now, I was sorely tempted to tell an old woman what I thought about her ideas of nice.

"You know what I just realized?" Ayla said without looking up from her screen, interrupting my annoyed thoughts.

"What's that?" I asked, knowing I was doing a poor job of hiding my anger. Both Ian and Ayla liked to say that reading my face was like reading a children's book; it was that clear and easy to understand. I did my best not to let it insult me.

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