Page 15 of The Persistence of Thornes
Jeez. I live across from a nosy busybody. I have the rottenest luck ever.
“Yes,” I say, inhaling deeply and searching for patience. “They helped too.”
I search my brain for the name of the woman Caleb said lived across the street. “Are you Cynthia?”
“No,” she snaps. “I’m Thelma. Cynthia’s my wife. Well, we’re not legally married, but it sounds nicer than admitting we’re living in sin at our age.”
My brothers, unable to help themselves, keel over in laughter. And I’m even closer to giving in and joining them.
“Laugh all you want, buddies,” Thelma goes on. “I’mfinally living as my true, authentic self. I think that’s what the young ones call it these days. To think I wasted so much time onmen. They wouldn’t know what the clitoris was if you smothered them with it.”
“All right.” Cheeks heating, I take an instinctive step back. “I really need to finish up here and get back home.”
“I’m not done.” She maneuvers her cart closer again. “I wanted to extend an invitation for dinner. My girl Cynthia is a great cook. She’ll make you the best meatloaf you’ve ever had. Do you like meatloaf?” she asks, but before any of us can respond, she rambles on. “It doesn’t matter.” She waves a hand. “You’ll like this one. Dinner is at six tonight. Don’t come a minute sooner.”
“I…” My words catch, my brain scrambling to catch up.
Before it can, she whips her cart around and scurries away. I have a feeling she did that on purpose so I’ll feel too guilty not to come.
“What’s a clitoris?” Quinn asks on one side of me. “Is that part of the vagina?”
“Is it where the pee comes out?” Casen adds.
I close my eyes, and even though I wouldn’t consider myself a religious person, I send up a prayer. I’m going to need all the help I can get.
CHAPTER 4
HALLE
The box-made brownies hardly seem like the kind of neighborly thing Thelma will expect, but I hold on to them tightly as we cross the street anyway. She’d probably rather have an organ donation or a blood offering, but Betty Crocker brownies are all she’s getting.
“Not sure this is a good idea,” Casen mutters from my left.
On my right, Quinn adds, “Thelma gives ‘I might murder you and bury you under my floors’ vibes.”
Teeth gritted, I look from one brother to the other.
“We’ll be fine. She’s like ninety pounds.We could take her.” I step to the side at the closed gate at the front of their yard, and Quinn swings it open.
He exchanges a look with his twin, and they give one another identical nods.
At least that’s settled.
Caleb’s car is gone again. Or still. It was gone early this morning. Not that it matters. I never asked what he did for work, but I feel guilty to have taken up so much of his time yesterday if he had to leave so early this morning. Especially since today has clearly been a long day out of the house for him.
The porch steps don’t creak or groan as we go up. There’s even a nice doorbell.
I peer over my shoulder and assess our run-down new home.It’s a work in progress.You’ll get it all fixed eventually.
It might take ten years, but eventually the raggedy house across the street will be my pride and joy.
I ring the doorbell and hold my breath. After the encounter earlier today in the grocery store, I’m not sure what to expect.
In a matter of seconds, the door swings open, revealing Thelma. “You’re on time. I’m impressed.”
She steps aside, allowing us to enter. The house is in better shape than mine, but it’s a bit outdated. The living room to my left has pink carpet.
“I made these for dessert.” I hold up the pan I’m still clutching tightly.
