limply between his fingers, hanging his head. As he reaches them, he looks around briefly for a spare lawn chair, then plops down on the grass, folding his spidery limbs.
“Hi, girls,” he says, head curved down toward his lap. “Where’s your husband?”
Irina pulls Darius’s jacket tighter around her. “Studying. He’s taking a class over the summer to finish his MBA faster.”
Katya notices Van’s shoulders slump and decides to needle him. “So you can relax, Bubba. The big scary black man has gone.”
Irina whips her head around. “Shut up, Kat! Jesus.”
“I’m just teasing. Relax already.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk about that,” Irina spits back. “Did you check the weather again in the last thirty seconds? How about your voice mail?”
Katya scowls at Irina. So she’s keeping tabs on things, so what? “I have a business to run, thank you very much. That means I have responsibilities, unlike some people.”
“I have responsibilities!” Irina wheels around in her lawn chairso fast it leans to one side, and Van sticks out his arm in case she falls. “You don’t know everything about me.”
Katya bites back a retort. She wants to ask, what responsibilities? Are you raising three kids? Running your own business? Keeping a house? She didn’t even know if Irina was working anywhere, if she was, it was yet another punch-clock job involving a counter and hairnets, or maybe rudimentary typing skills.
Irina sits back in her chair, sinking lower and scowling at the beautiful harbor.
“Can I get you a drink, Reenie?” offers Van, taking a pull from his beer.
“No,” she barks.
Irina never wants anything when she pouts. Katya is as sure as her name is Mrs. Peterson that Irina wants a drink, for the same reason Katya herself is enjoying her wine. A little booze files off the rough edges. Already her annoyance is falling away.
A gull caws in the distance, and Van startles at the sound of the Beaver Island ferry blowing its horn for the bridge.
Van says, “Barbara dumped me.”
“We know,” responds Katya, then regrets sounding so hard. She really is too tough on her brother. “Sorry.”
“What happened?” asks Irina, most likely by rote. She fiddles with the buttons on Darius’s jacket sleeve. They’ve been down this road many times before.
“I dunno,” he says, pulling on his ear with his non–beer hand. “She said she needed space. I think she wants enough space for another guy. I would have given her that. I wasn’t trying to marry her or anything.”
Katya slides her eyes over to Irina, who smirks at her behind Darius’s sleeve. They’ve heard that tune before, too. Van falls early and hard, and never, ever wants to share.
Katya finishes her wine and decides to go inside. It’s getting cold out, and too dark to see her siblings. She has a big day tomorrow, having to get her mother up and around first thing in the morning for a hairdo, and maybe a pedicure if she can talk her into it. She’ll have to get on the phone to confirm with the florists, the caterer, have to get over to the inn to supervise the setup. As she stands up, she has a sudden thought.
“G’night, guys. Reenie, let me ask you, do you love him?”
“’Course I do. I married him.”
“Just asking.”
Katya walks back to the house, casting a glance over her shoulder, half-expecting Irina to be sticking out her tongue, making a nyah nyah face.
CHAPTER 12
Ivan
IVAN RESTS BACK ON HIS CHILDHOOD TWIN BED AND CHECKS HIS cell-phone voice mail. Three messages, all from Jenny.
One: “This is an EX PARROT!” into the phone in a perfect Brit accent.
Two: “Not much of a cheese shop then, is it?” in the accent again.
Three: “You bloody well better call me back, you lousy wanker,” her accent finally breaking up over “wanker.” She recovered after her giggles and said in her usual Midwestern voice, “Just wondering how your drive was, and I had a funny story to tell you about my class
“Hi, girls,” he says, head curved down toward his lap. “Where’s your husband?”
Irina pulls Darius’s jacket tighter around her. “Studying. He’s taking a class over the summer to finish his MBA faster.”
Katya notices Van’s shoulders slump and decides to needle him. “So you can relax, Bubba. The big scary black man has gone.”
Irina whips her head around. “Shut up, Kat! Jesus.”
“I’m just teasing. Relax already.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk about that,” Irina spits back. “Did you check the weather again in the last thirty seconds? How about your voice mail?”
Katya scowls at Irina. So she’s keeping tabs on things, so what? “I have a business to run, thank you very much. That means I have responsibilities, unlike some people.”
“I have responsibilities!” Irina wheels around in her lawn chairso fast it leans to one side, and Van sticks out his arm in case she falls. “You don’t know everything about me.”
Katya bites back a retort. She wants to ask, what responsibilities? Are you raising three kids? Running your own business? Keeping a house? She didn’t even know if Irina was working anywhere, if she was, it was yet another punch-clock job involving a counter and hairnets, or maybe rudimentary typing skills.
Irina sits back in her chair, sinking lower and scowling at the beautiful harbor.
“Can I get you a drink, Reenie?” offers Van, taking a pull from his beer.
“No,” she barks.
Irina never wants anything when she pouts. Katya is as sure as her name is Mrs. Peterson that Irina wants a drink, for the same reason Katya herself is enjoying her wine. A little booze files off the rough edges. Already her annoyance is falling away.
A gull caws in the distance, and Van startles at the sound of the Beaver Island ferry blowing its horn for the bridge.
Van says, “Barbara dumped me.”
“We know,” responds Katya, then regrets sounding so hard. She really is too tough on her brother. “Sorry.”
“What happened?” asks Irina, most likely by rote. She fiddles with the buttons on Darius’s jacket sleeve. They’ve been down this road many times before.
“I dunno,” he says, pulling on his ear with his non–beer hand. “She said she needed space. I think she wants enough space for another guy. I would have given her that. I wasn’t trying to marry her or anything.”
Katya slides her eyes over to Irina, who smirks at her behind Darius’s sleeve. They’ve heard that tune before, too. Van falls early and hard, and never, ever wants to share.
Katya finishes her wine and decides to go inside. It’s getting cold out, and too dark to see her siblings. She has a big day tomorrow, having to get her mother up and around first thing in the morning for a hairdo, and maybe a pedicure if she can talk her into it. She’ll have to get on the phone to confirm with the florists, the caterer, have to get over to the inn to supervise the setup. As she stands up, she has a sudden thought.
“G’night, guys. Reenie, let me ask you, do you love him?”
“’Course I do. I married him.”
“Just asking.”
Katya walks back to the house, casting a glance over her shoulder, half-expecting Irina to be sticking out her tongue, making a nyah nyah face.
CHAPTER 12
Ivan
IVAN RESTS BACK ON HIS CHILDHOOD TWIN BED AND CHECKS HIS cell-phone voice mail. Three messages, all from Jenny.
One: “This is an EX PARROT!” into the phone in a perfect Brit accent.
Two: “Not much of a cheese shop then, is it?” in the accent again.
Three: “You bloody well better call me back, you lousy wanker,” her accent finally breaking up over “wanker.” She recovered after her giggles and said in her usual Midwestern voice, “Just wondering how your drive was, and I had a funny story to tell you about my class
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