Page 103 of Corkscrew You
Amazingly for this time of the morning, the bathroom is empty. I may have sung a little in the shower. My head’s still slightly woolly, but an iron jab will sort that out. And the ECG is just Doc being cautious. No biggie at all.
Look, I could be facing a hangman’s noose and I’d still be chipper. The girl of my dreams loves me. The sun is shining, and if a cartoon bluebird landed on my windowsill right now, that would be totally natural.
I jog downstairs to find the kitchen full, and Izzy making pancakes. Max has his hi-tech headphones on but pushes them off one ear when he sees me enter. Uh-oh. Here it comes…
“How are you feeling?” he says. No trace of accusation, or, as would be me if I were in his shoes, disgust.
Mom chimes in. “Did you sleep well, sweetheart?”
I glance at Max, but his expression is suspiciously innocent. I feel a potential blackmail threat brewing.
“Like a log,” I say. Which is true for the last hours, at least.
“Doc Wilson phoned,” Ava informs me. “Says nine sharp at his clinic. Make sure you eat beforehand.”
“That’s why I’m cooking bacon, too,” says Izzy, unnecessarily, as I smelled it halfway up the stairs. “It’s notredmeat, more pink, but…”
“You get first helpings,” Danny tells me, with a hint of resentment.
I take a chair round the big wooden table. There are two people missing, I note. Dad, no surprise. And Shelby. I wonder if she’s still in—?
“Hey, Shelby,” says Max.
I turn to smile a greeting, in time to see her blush. Max’s face isstillentirely innocent. Man, he’s got that Durant poker facenailed.
“Hi, everyone,” she says, slipping quickly into the chair next to me. I feel her hand reach for mine, and I take it and squeeze tight.
“Hope you like pancakes,” Izzy says to her.
“What kind of weirdo doesn’t like pancakes?” Shelby replies.
“Our father,” says Ava immediately. “But he’s not here, so he gets no vote.”
Shelby blushes again. Not sure why – because she accidentally implied Dad was a weirdo? She should know by now that nobody at this table would disagree withthat.
Izzy places a plate in front of me, on which is a tower of pancakes surrounded by a wall of bacon.
“Do you have plans for my liver?” I ask her. “Stuffing me solid, so you can have Natefoie gras?”
“I hope youneverate that in France,” Izzy shudders. “It’s sadistic. The poor geese.”
I reach for the syrup, instead of answering. My sister need never learn that I consider pan-searedfoie grasone of the greatest delicacies on earth.
Shelby nudges me with her elbow. “That’s why Dylan doesn’t like you. Geeseknow.”
How didsheknow, is more to the point. I must be losing my own poker face. Maybe Max has stolen it from me?
“You really going to eat all those?” Danny scowls at my pancake tower.
“Yup.” I’m starving. No points for guessing why.
“Don’t have a cow,” Ava says to Dan. “Izzy’s a pancake-making machine.”
To Shelby, she says, “Did your brothers compete over food? Dan and Nate used tomeasureeach other’s portions with aruler.”
Mom laughs, and we all turn to look at her. It’s been a long time since she evensmiled.
“It’s why I bought cookie cutters,” she explains. “To prevent arguments.”
