Page 47 of Henhouse
“Sounds challenging and impressive.”
Ellen laughed. “Challenging, maybe. I miss coding for Netflix’s algorithm honestly. That was way more fun.”
“Your brain is absolutely gigantic, isn’t it?”
“Probably about as big as your heart, Effie.” Ellen side-eyed her in a knowing way as Effie left the kitchen, egg timer in hand.
She found Dorothea and Beatrice in the hobby room. Aunt Bea put the finishing touches on a portrait of Grams. She swept her brush in delicate, deliberate strokes as she often did when she wanted to amplify the painting without taking it too far. Effie sank into the armchair that Issa perched on and stroked the bird’s head. “You two know he’ll have to walk right past here when he arrives?”
“So long as we’re not in that foyer, we’ll be safe for a bit.”
“Cowards,” Effie teased, the sensation of cottage cheese on her tongue screwing up her face.
“Doesn’t pay to be snarky, does it?” Grams chided, brow bunched.
“Stop frowning, I’m doing your eyebrows.”
Dorothea smoothed her brow. The smile she donned next was Effie’s favorite. The one that brought the ripe apples of her cheeks flush with the folds of her laugh lines and hid the edges of her acorn-hued irises in squinty joy.
“We could just close the door. It’s an old house. We could feasibly be stuck inside with a broken lock,” Effie mused, the intentions of wielding her heart against the impending doom of the night replaced by a deep desire to do anything else.
It was Beatrice’s turn to reprimand Effie with a glare.
The doorbell rang and Louisa skidded by the open hobby room door within seconds. She gushed a welcome and the crinkle of packages met Effie’s ears.More gifts. If any one of the Thatcher women had a love language of receiving gifts, Ed Norton might have a very different reputation. Unfortunately for him, they weren’t so easily bought.
Effie stiffened as Louisa hovered by the door, her arm looped through Ed’s. Effie thought he looked shorter than she remembered, only standing an inch or two above Louisa, his thick grey hair coiffed like he stepped out of a cologne ad. His blue eyes were captivating, and the cut of his sleek, olive-green dress shirt hugged his broad shoulders and trim midsection. He had the sleeves rolled to reveal his strong, veined forearms.
“Edward, good to see you,” Grams said. “We’ll be with you in a moment, just finishing up a piece.” She gestured to Bea who grinned in greeting before returning to her work.
Louisa raised her brows at Effie. “Hi.” Louisa huffed, appalled Effie couldn’t muster more.
“Ladies, lovely to see you again,” Ed said, his Irish lilt making it ever more clear why Pamela had been putty in his hands.
Louisa and Ed slipped away, and Effie thought she’d recognize his back anywhere.
The table strained under piles of food. The spread gave the impression that Thanksgiving Day had arrived. A roasted turkey sat front and center flanked with rosemary sprigs and lemon slices. Quick breads Effie had in the freezer were sliced and steaming on their platters.Green beans, boiled baby onions, mashed potatoes, honeyed ham, and two different salads took up the scant space left after Louisa had set the table with their finest plates and polished silver like they were having Christine McVie, Dolly Parton, and the Pope for dinner and not Ed.
Everyone was already seated when Pamela strode in beneath the twinkle of the thirty-light crystal chandelier. Her hair curled into soft waves that she pinned back on one side like a starlet from the nineteen forties. Dark denim stretched over her gym-perfected curves like a second skin, while the severe scoop of a worn Fleetwood Mac T-shirt left one shoulder bare. Effie admired her mother’s perfectly painted face and pitied it all the same.
Ed let out an impressed whistle. “Pam, you haven’t aged a day.”
“Just trying to keep up with you,” Pamela quipped, but there was a bite to her tone. If Ed noticed, he didn’t let on. She took her seat beside Ellen, the image of unrelenting.
Ellen leaned in, her voice an exasperated whisper that Effie hoped didn’t travel past her own ears. “Are you not wearing a bra?”
Pamela shrugged before smiling sweetly at Ed and Louisa. “So, what are we talking about?”
Pamela began filling her plate so the rest followed suit. When Ed was in town Pamela ran the show, even if it meant stealing the spotlight from the one person who actually wanted it. Louisa’s shoulders rounded with anxiety, but she said, “I was showing him pictures from Hazel’s last birthday.”
“Yeah? Did you show him the one where she drooled—literally—on the gold bracelet she outgrew in a month?”
“It was meant to be a keepsake,” Ed explained. “Youunderstood, right, sweetie?”
“Of course, it’s in her hope chest,” Louisa chimed, though Effie distinctly remembered Louisa scowling at the useless and expensive gift, wondering if she should hock it and go get diapers.
“Children need affection, security, reliability, Ed. Not keepsakes.”
“Here we go.” Ellen huffed before pouring her wineglass full to the brim. Effie nudged her glass toward her sister and Ellen obliged with a hefty pour.
