Behind us, I hear fast footsteps. Isobel is walking to join us. “Grace!” she calls out. She eyes the housekeeper with cool disdain. “Grace!” Her tone is imperious. “Where have you been? Where’s my mother?”
Grace repeats her story about the text message, and her washing machine, and forgetting.
Isobel checks her watch, pointedly. “The pig made so much noise the neighbors called us.” She looks petulant. “Now we’ve missed our seven p.m. golf slot.”
For a second, Grace’s cheery face hardens. “Right. Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. She stoops to retrieve her bags. “I’d best go fix Kevin’s dinner. He must be starving.”
“Wait,” I say. That pig sure doesn’t look starving. “I’m Toby, by the way, Ivy’s daughter.”
My smile is met with a hearty nod. “Oh right.” She beams from me to my mom. “You’re the spitting image of your mother.”
“Thanks,” I say. It’s a compliment but not strictly true. I look fine. My mom has a face off a cameo brooch. “What time did Daphne text you?” I ask Grace.
She looks thoughtful. “Just after eleven,” she admits. “I meant to come right away . . . but then . . .” She shrugs.
I nod. “Your washing machine.”
“Right.” She laughs. “It’s been one of those days.”
“She didn’t say where she was going?”
Grace shakes her head. “No, but I figured it was somewhere with Stephen.”
I glance at Isobel. Her hands are curled into tight fists. “Who’s Stephen?” I ask.
Isobel’s narrow lips pinch to oblivion.
For a moment, there’s silence. Grace looks at my mom, like she fears she’s said too much. Isobel glowers.
Finally, Grace answers: “Stephen Buxley, Daphne’s new boyfriend. I figured they’d gone off for a romantic escape. To a B&B, maybe.”
I look at Isobel, her eyes now as thin as her lips. Is it the mention of Stephen Buxley that’s made her so tense? Or does she dislike her mom’s jolly housekeeper?
Flip-flops flapping against the stone path, Lukas saunters over to join us. “Yo, Grace,” he calls out. “I needed a ride. I’ve been trying to call you!”
Grace looks worried. She starts to apologize but Lukas cuts her off. He eyes her shopping bags with a hopeful look. “Ooh. I’m starving! You cooking?”
She beams at him, then clicks her tongue. She sets down her bags. “Oh, Lukas. You’re not dressed warmly enough for this cold weather!”
Lukas shuffles closer and hugs her. Grace gives him a bear hug. She steps back to study his face, then shakes her pom-pommed head. “You okay? You look tired.” Perhaps remembering the rest of us, she clears her throat. “Your trip went well?” she asks, brightly.
“Oh, great,” says Lukas. He nods manically. “I learned so much about, er . . .” He shrugs. “Meditating and stuff. Thanks for asking.” He nods toward his sister. “But Izzie’s freaking out here. She thinks Mom’s missing.”
“Who’s this guy, Stephen?” I repeat, before Isobel can snap at Lukas.
Lukas rubs his eyes. Isobel glares at me, like she wishes I’d mind my own business.
“Her new . . . friend,” says my mom, hesitantly. “She was very excited when they first met, but then seemed rather . . .” She pauses to find the right word. “Private. Because it’s so new, I assume.” She directs her next words to Grace. “I haven’t met him yet. What’s he like, this man, Stephen?”
Grace’s smile slips a notch. “I, ah . . . I barely know him. He’s from England, I believe. Ex-RAF. Or maybe SAS? Something military.” She nudges a spray of snowy hair behind one ear. “They’ve only been dating for a few weeks.” While Grace’s tone is neutral, it’s clear she’s no fan. She described a flooded apartment with more enthusiasm than she’s describing Stephen Buxley. Her voice trails off. “He’s younger . . .”
When no one responds I have to ask. “How much younger?” I’m picturing Daphne with some hot toy boy stud. Like JLo and her backup dancer.
“He’s about fifty,” snaps Isobel. “So it’s no big deal, really.”
I bite my tongue. It seems like a big deal to her. And Daphne must be at least seventy, so it’s a twenty-year age gap.
Lukas wheezes out a peeved snort. “What? Mom’s just run off with some strange man?” He looks petulant, clearly put out that his mom’s not here to welcome him home with open arms, lend him her car, and do him all the other favors he obviously expected. He turns to his sister. “Mom’s got a boyfriend?” He sounds incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, Izzie?”
I study Isobel, too. Her arms are tightly crossed. Lukas asked a good question. Why didn’t Isobel mention Daphne’s new man to the cops? Does she hate the guy and hope he’ll just fade away? Is he embarrassingly awful?
Isobel’s eyes slide down and left. “I . . .” She shuts her mouth and changes tack. “So Mom’s dating again? So what?” she snaps at Lukas. “They only just met. I didn’t think he was important!” The tight chords in her neck belie this statement. “Does everyone need to know our family’s business?” she continues, shrilly.
She spins on her heels and calls out: “Gerard! Gerard! It’s late! Let’s go! Chéri!”
He comes bustling down the walkway.
Seeing Grace, his frown deepens. “Ah,” he says. “Where have you been?” Then, before she can answer. “The floor in the front hall. It is scratched! It will need to be polished, maybe resanded!”
While Grace’s smile doesn’t change, her eyes narrow. “Resanded? I don’t—”
Gerard cuts her off. “From now on, that pig stays outside. Understood? It is ruining the house! Outdoors only!”
Short as she is, Grace looks down her nose at him. Her smile has a dangerous edge. Gerard doesn’t seem to notice.
“Ah, bon,” he says, as if she’d agreed. He reaches for his wife’s hand and turns to go. “We must be gone. Good night, all.” They bustle off toward the street. The rest of us watch them go in silence.
My mom gives Grace a sympathetic smile. “You won’t really leave Kevin outside all night long?” she asks quietly. “Will you?”
The housekeeper snorts. “I’d sometimes like to,” she admits. “He makes such a mess. But no, of course not.” She casts a pointed look toward the gate through which Gerard and Isobel have just vanished. Her smile rights itself. “Luckily, that man’s not my boss.” She winks at Lukas. “And neither is your bossy-pants big sister.”
Lukas shakes his head. “Just ignore them,” he tells Grace. “They have some nerve.” He eyes the groceries on the ground. “What you got in there?” He bends to peer into the closest bag. “I’m starving.”
“Well, we’re off,” says my mom. “Grace, if you hear from Daphne, please call.”
“Sure thing,” says Grace, cheerily. “But don’t worry, Ivy. I’m sure she’s off somewhere nice with Stephen.”