Page 27 of The River in Spring
“My brother and Jimmy are very protective of Dove. They all are. It’s totally annoying most of the time,” she says with a dry delivery.
Tony plays a waa waa on the guitar and it makes me chuckle.
So Tony is her brother. Okay. Putting the puzzle together piece by piece.
“Lunch is ready! Everybody grab a bowl, help yourselves, and let’s take it out back. There’re plates for our bread and salad on the table,” Dove calls.
“Sounds good,” Tony says, getting up and putting the guitar down.
“It’s such a pretty day. Has everyone met?”
Dove’s return could not have been better timed. This room and the company need to be aired out. Outside sounds great.
“They met all right. How do you think it went?” Deborah’s sarcasm hits the mark.
Dove points a finger in the keyboardist’s direction. “Play nice.”
So, she identified who would have a problem with me. Why him? Interesting.
“Come on. Jimmy open the wine, will you?”
I follow her into the kitchen and come up against the latest in the day’s revelations. It’s a small space with a cat sitting on the table, grooming itself. There’s a big pot on the stove and what is in it is unidentifiable at this point. But it’s red and boiling.
“Get a bowl of my infamous chili,” Dove says.
Aha. Chili.
“Get your cat off the table!” Jimmy commands Tony. “That is unsanitary!”
I guess he’s not all bad. The cat and his human completely ignore the order. Instead, Tony gives one of his own.
“Pussy, ignore the haters. What’s a little cat hair between friends?”
“Pussy is shedding like a motherfucker! I’m putting her down!” Jimmy takes the reins and does what he said.
“What the hell crawled up your ass?” Tony says, scooping a bowl of chili.
I head outside as quickly as possible, mindful of the fact I’m on Jimmy’s team as far as the cat goes. There’s no reason to divulge that information. I don’t have a dog or cat in this fight. I’m playing the guest and don’t think anyone has figured out I hate animals around food prep. When Pussy licked herself in the nether regions while sitting on her table throne, I had to look away. It was puke worthy.
Only Dove knows my ways. No one else knows I’m pretty much a minimalist when it comes to décor, or that there’s something about order I like. This first look at Dove’s habitat is a shocker. I sound like the fucking tight ass I have turned into.
The backyard puts on a show before we make it outside. This time it’s a good one. French doors open to a different scene than I expected. Thought there would be more of the same as the front. Maybe more vegetables in the sunlight. Instead, it’s all about the natural beauty of the shady setting. There’s one wind chime and pots of flowers, but they are the only extras. No garden elves to be seen, not a gnome in sight.
The American Sycamore trees lift to the sky and surround the large patio. You could get fifty people out here comfortably. At least fifty. It is wider than the house. A round ten person table, with a blue umbrella, takes center stage. The patio full of loungers and chairs take up the rest.
“Wow. This is great,” I say, trying not to sound surprised.
“It’s where we hang out in the spring and summer. You like it?” Dove asks.
“I love it. Great place for a party.”
“We have had some outstanding ones. Remember your grandmother’s birthday?” Deborah says.
“Oh God! Don’t remind me!” Dove chuckles.
As we take our seats, Tony adds his two cents. “The best one was when we all got soused and did the fucked up line dancing. That wasyourbirthday, Deborah.”
“No,” Jimmy says.
