which Jubal either missed or pretended not to hear.
“I’m sorry,” Libby said, with a note of kind regret in her voice. “I promised Tate McKettrick I’d have dinner with him.”
Julie dropped something in the kitchen, causing a great clatter, and out of the corner of her eye, Libby saw Calvin watching her with renewed interest. Since he’d been born long after the breakup, he couldn’t have registered the implications of his aunt’s statement, but that well-known surname had a cachet all its own.
Even among four-year-olds, it seemed.
“Well,” Jubal groused, “far be it from me to compete with a McKettrick. ”
Libby merely smiled. “Thanks for the business, Jubal,” she told him. “You have yourself a good day, now.”
Jubal paid up, took his Rocket and left.
The instant his utility van pulled away from the curb, Julie peeked out of the kitchen. “Did I hear you say you’re going to dinner with Tate?” she asked.
Libby tried to act casual. “He asked me last night. I said maybe.”
“That isn’t what you told Mr. Tabor,” Calvin piped up. “You lied.”
“I didn’t lie,” Libby lied. First, she’d driven her car without the emissions repair, single-handedly destroying the environment, to hear her conscience tell it, and now this. She was setting a really bad example for her nephew.
“Yes, you did,” Calvin insisted.
“Sometimes,” Julie said carefully, resting a hand on Calvin’s small, bare shoulder, “we say things that aren’t precisely true so we don’t hurt other people’s feelings.”
Calvin held his ground. “If it’s not the truth, then it’s a lie. That’s what you always tell me, Mom.”
Libby sighed. “If Tate asks me out again,” she told Calvin, “I’ll say yes. That way, I won’t have fibbed to anybody.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say ‘yes’ in the first place,” Julie marveled. “Elisabeth Remington, are you crazy? ”
Libby cleared her throat, slanted a glance in Calvin’s direction to remind her sister that the conversation would have to wait.
“Can I go to playschool if I put on clothes?” Calvin asked, looking so woeful that Julie mussed his hair and ducked out of her floury apron.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s run home so you can change.” She turned to Libby. “I put the first batch of scones in the oven a couple of minutes ago,” she added. “When you hear the timer ding, take them out.”
“Are you coming back?” Libby asked, as equally invested in a “no” as she was in a “yes.” Once she and her sister were alone again, between customers, Julie would grill her about Tate. If Julie didn’t return, the first batch of scones would sell out in a heartbeat, as always, and there wouldn’t be any more for the rest of the day, because Libby always burned everything she baked, no matter how careful she was.
“Only if you promise to take my turn babysitting Marvaso I can—” Julie paused, cleared her throat “—leave town for a few days.”
“We’re going somewhere?” Calvin asked, immediately excited. On a teacher’s salary, with the child support going into a college account, he and Julie didn’t take vacations.
“Yes,” Julie answered, passing Libby an arch look. “If your aunt Libby will agree to look after Gramma while we’re gone, that is.”
Calvin sagged with disappointment. “Nobody,” he said, “wants to spend any more time with Gramma than they have to.”
“Calvin Remington,” Julie replied, without much sternness to her tone, “that was a terrible thing to say.”
“You say it all the time.”
“It’s still terrible, all right?” Julie turned to Libby. “Deal or no deal?”
Agreeing would mean two weeks in a row on Marva-watch. But Libby needed those scones, if she didn’t want all her customers heading for Starbucks. “Deal,” she said, in dismal resignation.
Julie grinned. “Great. See you in twenty minutes.”
“Crap,” Libby muttered, when her sister and
“I’m sorry,” Libby said, with a note of kind regret in her voice. “I promised Tate McKettrick I’d have dinner with him.”
Julie dropped something in the kitchen, causing a great clatter, and out of the corner of her eye, Libby saw Calvin watching her with renewed interest. Since he’d been born long after the breakup, he couldn’t have registered the implications of his aunt’s statement, but that well-known surname had a cachet all its own.
Even among four-year-olds, it seemed.
“Well,” Jubal groused, “far be it from me to compete with a McKettrick. ”
Libby merely smiled. “Thanks for the business, Jubal,” she told him. “You have yourself a good day, now.”
Jubal paid up, took his Rocket and left.
The instant his utility van pulled away from the curb, Julie peeked out of the kitchen. “Did I hear you say you’re going to dinner with Tate?” she asked.
Libby tried to act casual. “He asked me last night. I said maybe.”
“That isn’t what you told Mr. Tabor,” Calvin piped up. “You lied.”
“I didn’t lie,” Libby lied. First, she’d driven her car without the emissions repair, single-handedly destroying the environment, to hear her conscience tell it, and now this. She was setting a really bad example for her nephew.
“Yes, you did,” Calvin insisted.
“Sometimes,” Julie said carefully, resting a hand on Calvin’s small, bare shoulder, “we say things that aren’t precisely true so we don’t hurt other people’s feelings.”
Calvin held his ground. “If it’s not the truth, then it’s a lie. That’s what you always tell me, Mom.”
Libby sighed. “If Tate asks me out again,” she told Calvin, “I’ll say yes. That way, I won’t have fibbed to anybody.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say ‘yes’ in the first place,” Julie marveled. “Elisabeth Remington, are you crazy? ”
Libby cleared her throat, slanted a glance in Calvin’s direction to remind her sister that the conversation would have to wait.
“Can I go to playschool if I put on clothes?” Calvin asked, looking so woeful that Julie mussed his hair and ducked out of her floury apron.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s run home so you can change.” She turned to Libby. “I put the first batch of scones in the oven a couple of minutes ago,” she added. “When you hear the timer ding, take them out.”
“Are you coming back?” Libby asked, as equally invested in a “no” as she was in a “yes.” Once she and her sister were alone again, between customers, Julie would grill her about Tate. If Julie didn’t return, the first batch of scones would sell out in a heartbeat, as always, and there wouldn’t be any more for the rest of the day, because Libby always burned everything she baked, no matter how careful she was.
“Only if you promise to take my turn babysitting Marvaso I can—” Julie paused, cleared her throat “—leave town for a few days.”
“We’re going somewhere?” Calvin asked, immediately excited. On a teacher’s salary, with the child support going into a college account, he and Julie didn’t take vacations.
“Yes,” Julie answered, passing Libby an arch look. “If your aunt Libby will agree to look after Gramma while we’re gone, that is.”
Calvin sagged with disappointment. “Nobody,” he said, “wants to spend any more time with Gramma than they have to.”
“Calvin Remington,” Julie replied, without much sternness to her tone, “that was a terrible thing to say.”
“You say it all the time.”
“It’s still terrible, all right?” Julie turned to Libby. “Deal or no deal?”
Agreeing would mean two weeks in a row on Marva-watch. But Libby needed those scones, if she didn’t want all her customers heading for Starbucks. “Deal,” she said, in dismal resignation.
Julie grinned. “Great. See you in twenty minutes.”
“Crap,” Libby muttered, when her sister and
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