Page 57 of Faking All the Way
“Oh, I forgot the marmalade I made last week! It’s perfect with these biscuits. Let me grab it from the kitchen.”
She heads out, and the second she’s gone, the atmosphere at the table shifts, turning a bit heavier. Daniel stares into his coffee with a petulant, annoyed look on his face as he rubs at his jaw.
“I should’ve risked the fucking snow and gone home last night,” he mutters, not quite under his breath. Loud enough for us to hear but quiet enough that he can pretend he was talking to himself. “Maybe then I could’ve gotten some actual sleep.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee, keeping my expression neutral. “You didn’t sleep well?”
He glares at me over the rim of his mug, and there’s real anger in his eyes. “The walls in this place are pretty fucking thin. You can hear everything that happens in the rooms next door.” His gaze cuts to Kat, and something mean cuts across his face. “Although I have to say, Kat, you never used to be that loud when we were together.”
The tone of his voice makes it clear that he’s trying to embarrass her, to make her feel uncomfortable and small. To get some control back after whatever he heard last night rattled him.
All the shitty things Kat told me he said to her pour through my mind in a rush. About her being boring in bed. Too quiet. Not enthusiastic enough. Making her feel likeshewas the problem when he was just a selfish asshole who didn’t know what he was doing.
I set my coffee down with a dullthunkand look right at him. “That’s probably because she was faking it with you.”
Kat nearly chokes on her orange juice, coughing into her napkin. Her eyes go wide, darting between us.
Daniel’s face cycles through several shades of red. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.” I keep my voice even, almost casual. “If a woman is never loud with you, it usually means she’s not actually enjoying herself. She’s just going through the motions, waiting for you to finish—which I doubt takes long—so she can move on with her day.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Daniel says, his voice tight. “Kat and I?—”
Before he can finish whatever bullshit he was about to say, Beverly comes back in, carrying a jar of marmalade with a hand-written label. She’s humming to herself, completely oblivious to the tension crackling in the room.
Daniel stands up abruptly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor loud enough to make Beverly jump slightly.
“Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. Sanders,” he says stiffly, not even glancing at the full plate of food in front of him that he didn’t touch. “But I need to go. I’ve got some work to take care of this weekend. Briefs to review.”
Beverly looks surprised but recovers quickly. “Oh. Well, alright then. Drive safely. The roads should be better now but still be careful.”
“Will do.”
Daniel shoots one more glare at us, his jaw tight, before walking out. We hear him in the front hall, the rustle of him getting his coat, then the front door opening and closing with more force than necessary.
Beverly gazes after him for a moment, then shakes her head. She sits back down, setting the marmalade on the table with a small, satisfied smile. “Well. Now we can actually enjoy our breakfast in peace.”
“Grandma!” Kat says in a scandalized tone. But she’s laughing a little, trying to hide it behind her napkin.
Her eyes dart to me, and I can tell she’s still thinking about what I said to Daniel. There’s surprise in her expression, and gratitude, and something else I can’t quite figure out. But it makes me even more glad that I said what I did.
We settle in to eat, and the food is as good as it smells. Beverly really is a hell of a cook. She tells us stories as we dig in, about the town’s history and people she’s known over the years. Kat listens with interest, nodding and laughing as if she’s never heard any of it before, although I’d bet anything that she has—maybe even multiple times.
After we’re all full, Kat stands up, gesturing toward the stairs. “I’m just going to run up quickly to strip the beds and bring the linens down. It’s the least I can do after everything you did for us. No arguments.”
Beverly tries to tell her it’s not necessary, but Kat is already heading toward the stairs with a determined look on her face.
“She’s stubborn,” Beverly says with obvious affection.
That draws a chuckle out of me. “I noticed.”
While Kat is upstairs, I help Beverly carry dishes to the kitchen. As I wash plates and cutlery, I glance around, noticing that there are several framed illustrations and sketches on the walls—some that look like they’re from published children’s books, others that seem more personal. There’s a woodlandscene with animals having a tea party, a detailed sketch of what looks like Maplewood’s main street, and a watercolor of a fox in a winter forest.
“Are these Kat’s?” I ask after I finish the dishes, drying off my hands as I move closer to get a better look.
Beverly’s whole face lights up like I just gave her the best gift. “Yes! All of them. You recognized her style?”
“Um, yeah. They’re really good. Incredible, honestly.”
