“He’s the butler, Dad. He came with the house. Head to the kitchen, Austin.” I jerked my head to get him going. “Yes, Mr. Tom, they came with coolers. They get worried I won’t have the things they want, so they bring them. I thought maybe they’d trust me now, since I am no longer twenty, but here we are.”
“That’s your mother. I try to tell her, but she just won’t listen.” My dad set the cooler down just inside the door, opened the lid with a loud creaking noise, pushed aside a head of lettuce, and grabbed a can of beer. He held it out to me. “Wanna beer?”
Apparently we would not be waiting to get everything sorted in the kitchen.
“I would.” Niamh lifted her hand as she came up the walk, leaving my mother behind to continue rooting through the car. Lord knew what she was looking for, or why she didn’t just take everything out so the rest of us could help carry it in. “I’ll take one of them, if ye please.” Niamh stopped in front of my dad. “How’re ya? How’s it goin’? I’m Niamh from across the street.”
He passed over the can of beer before reaching down to grab another. He squinted at her. “Are you Irish?”
“Guilty. Leave that there,” she said as Dad started to mess with the cooler. “Come inside and sit down. Earl can handle all that.” She said it with the authority of one who lived there, an authority she deserved given she sat on the Ivy House council, but my parents didn’t know that. Still, my dad went with her willingly enough, muttering about her excellent aim and “punk kids.” Thank God she knew where I’d set up his TV lounge.
“A butler?” My mother finally caught up, rolling one suitcase and carrying another. “The house came with a butler? What sort of house comes with a butler?”
“It’s just…he had the job of caretaker, and when I bought the house, I didn’t want to turn him out.” I took the suitcase she held.
“Kinda weird with the cape, though,” she murmured as we finally crossed the threshold. “Does he always wear that, or is he trying to impress us somehow? Though I don’t know who would be impressed with a cape…”
“It’s…a long story. Go and sit down. Do you want—”
“Oh no, no, I’ll just see to the things I brought. I made deviled eggs. And clam dip. I figured that since you couldn’t make it down for Christmas—”
“I know, yeah. You said. Seriously, Mom, relax for a minute. It was a long drive. Do you want a beer? I’ll help Mr. Tom get things organized.”
She paused, looking up at the bloody scene Ivy House had left on the wood carving area in the foyer. While only I could see the carvings move, anyone could gawk at the still images.
Great. I’d hoped the house would change the scene before they came in.
“My goodness, that is horrific. Just what sort of place is this, Jacinta?” my mom asked.
She had no idea.
“Just…here.” I went back to the other cooler and grabbed out a beer. “Here. Go check on Dad. Niamh can be colorful.”
“Well, we need a tour, don’t we?”
“We…will,” I said, leading the way to the lounge. “We’ll get to that. Go check on Dad. The TV and cable box are new—I’m not sure if he’ll be happy with the setup.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” But she went in anyway.
I met Mr. Tom in the kitchen, standing over the cooler Austin had taken in, staring down at it like it was a dangerous bug with too many eyes. Austin had the same look.
“It’s just a cooler, you guys,” I said.
“It’s simply that…I have not heard of grown adults showing up to stay at a house with their own food and drinks, as though suspicious of the food and drinks they are liable to be given. Do they assume I will poison them?”
“There’s just certain stuff they prefer. My mom didn’t know I have a butler who shops and makes food.”
Austin bent to pull out a plastic bag of dried cranberries. He arched an eyebrow at me.
“It’s for salads. Seriously, you guys, this isn’t that weird. I mean…it’s a little weird that they would bring a cooler instead of just getting here and going shopping as needed, but…” I shrugged.
Austin put the cranberries on the island. “What is…clam dip?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “It sounds gross, but it’s actually good.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” Mr. Tom said, removing items from the cooler as if they might explode at any moment.
“It’s cream cheese and, yes, canned clams, and other stuff. It’s good, seriously. Anything with cream cheese is good.”
“Cream cheese and seafood. Hmm, can’t wait.” Austin laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll grab the other cooler.”
“Yes. Because they brought two,” Mr. Tom murmured, lifting a roast and looking at me. “An entire roast? She is planning to cook dinner for everyone, I presume, since my cooking is so lacking?”
“Oh my God, Mr. Tom, stop making this about you, would you? I thought you were happy to meet the people who made me.”
“That was before they attempted to replace me.”
I stared at him for a solid beat. It hadn’t occurred to me that my mother might try to wrest the control of the kitchen, cleaning, and laundry away from Mr. Tom. Nor had it dawned on me that Mr. Tom would be affronted by this very standard behavior of hers. I tended to like when she did dinners and cleaned for me. That meant I had less to do. But the inevitable friction between Mr. Tom and my mom added a whole new layer of tension to my parents’ visit.
When Austin came in with the second cooler, I grabbed his arm in desperation. “Can I borrow your cabin for a couple weeks? Please?”
He laughed softly. “This is going to be a lot more fun for me than it will be for you.”
Four
I awoke, as I always did, to Mr. Tom’s face looming over me, his hands up to ward off an attack should I startle and react. I hadn’t in months, but he still hadn’t forgotten those early magical days when I’d accidentally flung him across the room. Using his hands as a shield hadn’t helped then, either, but you couldn’t fault the guy for trying.
“What are you going to do if I ever bring someone home?” I asked, the smell of bacon wafting through the air. My stomach growled.
“One can only hope I will eventually be faced with that conundrum, miss.” He straightened up to give me more space now that I was awake. A steaming cup of coffee waited on my nightstand.
I picked it up and took a sip. “What are the parents doing?”
I struggled to sitting and glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning, early for him to be in here. Magical people tended to move around more at night and sleep in late. It was a schedule I’d grown used to, although my parents adhered to a very different norm. Case in point—after their travels, a few beers, and a large snack that Mr. Tom had made before my mother could get into the kitchen, my dad had fallen asleep in his new chair, seemingly oblivious to all the other people in the room. My mom had insisted on ushering him to bed in embarrassment. I’d helped get them situated in their room, and that had been the end of it. They hadn’t come back down, opting instead for an early bedtime.