you know—”
“Nah,” she clipped out before he could finish. “We don’t rub elbows with the McMansioners.”
Ouch.
“How long are you staying?” she asked.
“If I don’t get kicked out, the weekend.”
“Do you get kicked out of a lot of places?” Her face tilted up toward his. It was a piquant face. Definitely used to being au natural. Scrubbed and tanned and a little weathered. Unlike any of the few women he’d dated in the last decade, she didn’t have a bit of style to her.
He shrugged. “It’s the karaoke machine. People go crazy jealous when I break it out.”
She snickered. “Michael Bublé?”
“Paul Anka.”
She laughed, a full-throated and infectious sound, and glanced at him from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. They didn’t need any mascara to exaggerate their length. She was flirting, he realized. And so was he. When had he last casually flirted? But she was so distracting, and the circumstances of their meeting so bizarre, and the whole wake setting so odd, it seemed completely natural.
“Tell me more about your family,” he asked.
“What do you wanta know?” she replied around another mouthful of bar. “They’re just…family.”
She was wrong. There was no such thing as just family. “Who is who?” He angled his head toward the crowded picnic area. “How are you related?”
She blew out her cheeks and looked around. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay. Ardis, the deceased, was the oldest of six sibs. The next oldest is Birgie, another maiden lady. That’s Birgie over there, the one that looks like a truck driver.”
He followed Mimi’s gaze to where a square figure with short white hair sat splay-legged across the table from a tall, raw-boned woman with a single long gray braid streaming down her back.
“I thought she was a truck driver.”
Mimi pursed her lips and ignored this comment. “Believe me, the fact that neither of the girls married and that both spent their childhoods—and I use the term loosely—taking care of four younger brothers has not been lost on anyone. After Birgie came Emil, who is dead but survived by half a dozen grandchildren. The oldest one of his grandchildren is Gerry, the big guy who wanted me to play volleyball. He’s married to—forget it. Let’s stick with the principals.”
“Okay.”
“After Emil were the twins, Charles and Calvin. Calvin, too, is dead, but Charlie is one of the guys trying to improve Morris’s never-again-to-see-a-fairway swing.” She pointed to a tall, skinny old man wearing mirrored aviators, his hands on his hips as he stood silently watching Morris take another imaginary swing. “Charlie is a bachelor.”
Mimi then nodded to the woman with the long gray braid. “Sitting across from Birgie is Calvin’s widow, Johanna. Johanna of the water-packed ham? Charlie and Johanna have lately become an item. They think none of us know.
“After the twins came my grandpa John. He died a while back after marrying twice. The first one produced my father, John, and the second marriage, to Naomi…” She looked around. “She’s the one wearing a bedsheet.” She shrugged. “Anyway, the second marriage to Naomi produced my half-uncle, Bill.”
“Is your father here?” Joe asked, curious.
Her expression didn’t change an iota, but suddenly where there had been a relaxed, easy candor, there was a distance. “Nope. My parents were divorced when I was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Happens a lot,” she said brusquely.
“Anyway, my grandmother passed on early, and after a couple decades, Grandpa married Naomi and promptly got her pregnant with Half-Uncle Bill.”
“Which one is your half-uncle Bill?”
She looked around again. “Not here. But there’s his wife.” She pointed at a well-packaged brunette in a dark, short-sleeved dress. “Debbie.” Her upper lip curled as she said the name. “She’d be the one in obligatory black,” she said. “I suppose we should be thankful
“Nah,” she clipped out before he could finish. “We don’t rub elbows with the McMansioners.”
Ouch.
“How long are you staying?” she asked.
“If I don’t get kicked out, the weekend.”
“Do you get kicked out of a lot of places?” Her face tilted up toward his. It was a piquant face. Definitely used to being au natural. Scrubbed and tanned and a little weathered. Unlike any of the few women he’d dated in the last decade, she didn’t have a bit of style to her.
He shrugged. “It’s the karaoke machine. People go crazy jealous when I break it out.”
She snickered. “Michael Bublé?”
“Paul Anka.”
She laughed, a full-throated and infectious sound, and glanced at him from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. They didn’t need any mascara to exaggerate their length. She was flirting, he realized. And so was he. When had he last casually flirted? But she was so distracting, and the circumstances of their meeting so bizarre, and the whole wake setting so odd, it seemed completely natural.
“Tell me more about your family,” he asked.
“What do you wanta know?” she replied around another mouthful of bar. “They’re just…family.”
She was wrong. There was no such thing as just family. “Who is who?” He angled his head toward the crowded picnic area. “How are you related?”
She blew out her cheeks and looked around. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay. Ardis, the deceased, was the oldest of six sibs. The next oldest is Birgie, another maiden lady. That’s Birgie over there, the one that looks like a truck driver.”
He followed Mimi’s gaze to where a square figure with short white hair sat splay-legged across the table from a tall, raw-boned woman with a single long gray braid streaming down her back.
“I thought she was a truck driver.”
Mimi pursed her lips and ignored this comment. “Believe me, the fact that neither of the girls married and that both spent their childhoods—and I use the term loosely—taking care of four younger brothers has not been lost on anyone. After Birgie came Emil, who is dead but survived by half a dozen grandchildren. The oldest one of his grandchildren is Gerry, the big guy who wanted me to play volleyball. He’s married to—forget it. Let’s stick with the principals.”
“Okay.”
“After Emil were the twins, Charles and Calvin. Calvin, too, is dead, but Charlie is one of the guys trying to improve Morris’s never-again-to-see-a-fairway swing.” She pointed to a tall, skinny old man wearing mirrored aviators, his hands on his hips as he stood silently watching Morris take another imaginary swing. “Charlie is a bachelor.”
Mimi then nodded to the woman with the long gray braid. “Sitting across from Birgie is Calvin’s widow, Johanna. Johanna of the water-packed ham? Charlie and Johanna have lately become an item. They think none of us know.
“After the twins came my grandpa John. He died a while back after marrying twice. The first one produced my father, John, and the second marriage, to Naomi…” She looked around. “She’s the one wearing a bedsheet.” She shrugged. “Anyway, the second marriage to Naomi produced my half-uncle, Bill.”
“Is your father here?” Joe asked, curious.
Her expression didn’t change an iota, but suddenly where there had been a relaxed, easy candor, there was a distance. “Nope. My parents were divorced when I was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Happens a lot,” she said brusquely.
“Anyway, my grandmother passed on early, and after a couple decades, Grandpa married Naomi and promptly got her pregnant with Half-Uncle Bill.”
“Which one is your half-uncle Bill?”
She looked around again. “Not here. But there’s his wife.” She pointed at a well-packaged brunette in a dark, short-sleeved dress. “Debbie.” Her upper lip curled as she said the name. “She’d be the one in obligatory black,” she said. “I suppose we should be thankful
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