Page 78 of Pictures in Blue
“I promise if anyone asks you questions, I will deflect. Plus, Sky actually showing up will be a huge distraction for my parents, so a lot of the heat will be on her. Not you,” I reassure her.
She looks up at me, hope springing to her eyes. “Sky is coming?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait, why is she coming? I remember the conversation in her store, not that I was eavesdropping or anything—”
“Youwereeavesdropping, but go on,” I smile at her.
“Okay, fine. I was eavesdropping. But you were arguing about her never coming. So why is she coming now?”
“You,” is all I get out before the door swings open and we are met by the biggest smile I have ever seen plastered on my mom’s face. Her eyes widen at the sight of Avery and they fly to mine, questioning, but she doesn’t ask what she really wants to.
“Mom,” I greet her with a hug and turn back to Avery. “This is Avery.”
She doesn’t hesitate to step forward and wrap Avery in a hug. The Waters are nothing if not the biggest huggers in the world. When I was a kid I hated it—like Ethan does now—but these days I live for her hugs.
“Avery, the woman hugging you is my mom, Isabelle.”
Avery is frozen, a statue of unmoving limbs and a shocked expression. Her hesitation passes and I see her visibly melt into my mom’s embrace as she blinks back more tears. My heart aches at the sight of her putting up her walls and building a facade of warmth and happiness for my family when I know she is seconds away from breaking. The image of pulling her away and up to my childhood bedroom to let her cry and close herself off from the world fills my head and I almost step toward her to do just that before she pulls away with a genuine smile on her face and looks at my mom.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Isabelle. Thank you for having me. And I’m so sorry we are late. It was my fault.”
Mom pats her cheek affectionately and looks my way. “You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart. I know Hudson is the one to blame.”
Avery laughs. “Hey, wait a minute,” I say indignantly. “Why am I to blame?”
“Don’t think I forgot that when you lived here, you’d spend over an hour in the bathroom trying to get your bun to sit just right on the top of your head.” She grabs the box of pastries and heads back inside before I can respond.
“Oh, Iloveher,” Avery says before following her through the threshold.
It’s then I realize the combination of my mom, Avery, and Sky may be a lethal one I should have avoided.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AVERY
If Hudson’s house is the epitome of cozy and clean, his parents’ house is the definition of a family home. With a huge wrap-around porch with rocking chairs, a porch swing and a hammock off to the side, it’s easy to picture Hudson and his sisters growing up here. Walking through the door, I am met with three wooden stairs to the right that break off to a small landing and lead to a full staircase, heading to the second floor. I walk down the hallway adorned with pictures I vow to come back to later as I catch a glimpse of a baby Hudson in them. I almost do a double take when I see one of him hugging a fish to his bare chest, face angled down with his lips puckered, ready to plant a kiss to its wet lips. Hudson catches me looking at it and he covers the picture with his hand and puts the other on the small of my back.
He applies the lightest pressure. “Move along, Sunshine. Nothing to see here.” I throw a grin back at him, puckering my lips like his are in the photo before we leave the hallway. We enter a spacious room with a long farmhouse table, chairs on one side and a bench on the other. Isabelle is already settled back at the kitchen island with Ethan rolling out some kind of dough. Flour is scattered on the countertop and Ethan is standing on a stool with a rolling pin in hand. I see him plant his full hand in a mess of flour before leaping off the stool to run to Hudson.
“Hey, kiddo!” Hudson beams and catches him as he jumps into his arms and hugs him tightly. Ethan giggles and places his flour-covered hand right in the center of Hudson’s back. He glances my way and puts his pointer finger to his lips. I pretend to zip mine and smile back at him, heart warming at his mischief.
“Uncle Hud! We are making sugar cookies.”
Hudson sets him down and a small, white handprint remains behind on Hudson’s black flannel. I cover my mouth with my hand, unsuccessfully trying to hide my laugh.
“I can see that. You are covered in flour.”
Ethan runs and takes his place back at the counter, Isabelle walking around him to grab the cookie cutters.
A man with thin graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose sits at the head of the table, a set of sliding glass doors behind him. He has a paper spread out in front of him, pencil in hand, the end of it pressed into his cheek.
“What’s a nine letter word for a plant that gives you an irritating rash?” The man asks.
“Poison ivy,” I answer without thinking.
“Really, Dad,” says Hudson. “You couldn’t figure that one out on your own?”
