Page 121 of Wicked Pickle

“Yes, sir. Run along.”

We wait until he’s collected his clothes and turned on the shower.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Greta says. “If we show up at the house, Jude can’t talk his way out of it.”

“I’ll shut that mealy mouth of his for fucking good,” Merrick says. “And enjoy it.”

Greta places a hand on his arm. “The two of you walking in will be enough.”

“Let’s do it, then,” I say. “We can leave in the morning. It will take a couple of days to drive up the coast.”

“I don’t want you to miss your vacation here,” Greta says. “How much longer do you have this condo booked?”

“Just until Thursday,” Merrick says. “We can cut any time.”

Greta counts on her fingers. “If we stay here until Thursday morning, we can drive Thursday and Friday, then get to the house on Saturday when he’s there. That’s better than in the middle of a workday when he’s gone.”

“Done,” I say. “We’ll hang here, show the kid a good time, then plan for the invasion and extraction.”

Merrick smacks a fist into his palm. “We go in, and he goes out.”

Greta shakes her head. “You two were in the Army too long.”

“Better for you,” I tell her.

Caden returns, his hair barely wet. “Done.”

Greta sighs. “Seven-year-old boys.”

“We were one once,” Merrick says. “How about some Mickey D’s?”

“Yeah!” Caden cries. “Mom makes me get apples. Can I get cookies instead?”

“Hell yeah,” Merrick says, looking at Greta like she has two heads. “Let’s go so Mom can have a minute to herself.”

Greta’s shoulders slide down. She’s been coiled pretty tightly since she arrived. “That would be lovely.”

“We’ll bring you back a cheeseburger, no pickles!” Caden says, scrambling for his sneakers.

“You know Mom’s order,” I say. “Sign of a good kid.”

Caden grins at me, and something tugs in my chest. When it comes to family, a rowdy nephew isn’t too bad.

We arrive in Greta’s tidy neighborhood mid-morning on Saturday. Caden is asleep in the narrow rear seat. Greta has opted to sit between us for this last leg so she can give directions.

It’s been a good trip, learning everything about the family’s life since we left. Sunny married a prince, which we knew, of course, but we’ve obviously never met him. Greta’s been to the palace and attended two of the royal weddings in the family.

Grammy doesn’t travel much these days unless it’s a big event, but she’s managing her little deli in Brooklyn. About half of the cousins are married, and more are engaged.

Anthony, rather than Uncle Sherman, is in charge of the deli chain now. Sherman’s been using his retirement to work even harder building spinoffs. He has Pickle Media in Manhattan plus Dougherty in Miami. He’s also invested heavily in some of the other Pickle family’s pursuits, including our cousin Nadia’s animal rescue charity based in Colorado.

We pull up to a two-story brick house with white columns. Greta leans forward to peer out. “He’s in there. I can see the TV colors flashing on the blinds upstairs.”

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, leaving the engine running. “How do we want this to happen?” I tilt my head toward the back. We have to think about this moment for Caden.

“He’ll run to his room, I think,” Greta says. “He’s missed his PlayStation.”

“He won’t go to his dad?” Merrick asks.

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