see the doggie antics.
This was not good. Would I be arrested for showing doggie pornography to minors? What would my oddball neighbor Ed Monday think of all the yipping and racing about? Would he murder us for disturbing his peace? I hoped not. At least not until after dinner. I was starved.
I hugged Dudley’s older son. Artie blushed furiously. Mostly because he was fourteen but also because he seemed embarrassed to be caught watching the dogs go at it. “When are you going to talk your mom into moving back to Hogan’s Glen so that we can see more of you?” I asked as I ruffled his wavy hair.
Artie had gotten the best combination of his parents’ physical features. From his father, serious gray eyes and dark poetic hair; from his mother, a cherubic face and lush eyelashes. He was as handsome as sin and looked as innocent as a lamb.
Artie’s voice was as deep as Dudley’s had been. “Mom said we might be moving back.”
Charla squealed with glee. “Really? That would be so cool. Mama, Artie plays football. He’s the starting quarterback on his JV team. If they moved back, that’d be awesome.”
Artie seemed fairly enthralled by Charla’s exuberance. Charla was four months older than Artie, but because of their birthdates, they’d been in different grades throughout their education. I’d be worried about his potential attraction to my daughter if I didn’t know Artie.
He’d sooner cut off the nose on his face as do anything with a girl. But maybe that was the old Artie. Now that his voice had changed and peach fuzz adorned his chin, maybe hormones ruled his mind, in which case, Charla should watch her step around him.
How much of Dudley’s philandering ways had his son inherited? I shuddered to think of a second generation of Dudleys let loose on the general populace.
Were my daughters in danger from these potential womanizers? Would there be a repeat demonstration of what was going on out in the backyard in a bedroom upstairs with Artie and Charla as the participants?
Not if I had anything to do with it. “Why don’t we all sit down to supper? I’m sure you boys must be starved.”
“Yes ma’am, I’m right hungry,” Grant answered as he slid into a seat.
I started for the kitchen to help bring the food out but Mama stopped me with a curt look. “Cleo, sit down and rest that foot of yours. We’ll get the food out here. Where’s Bitsy?”
Bitsy was becoming intimately acquainted with my office toilet, but I wasn’t going to mention that. “She’ll be along in a minute.”
I glanced over at the table. The bases of all the silverware were perfectly aligned, the floral patterns on the gold-rimmed china plates were precisely oriented in the same direction. The linen napkins and the tablecloth looked like they’d been freshly pressed. And the centerpiece of massed candles was absolutely stunning. Charla had outdone herself.
Her usual idea of setting the table was to throw things down as she dashed around the table. She deserved praise for making the effort to achieve such a wonderful presentation. “Nice job on the table, Charla.”
“Lexy did it,” Charla said as she placed a basket of rolls on the table while Lexy filled the crystal glasses with iced tea. Charla gave me her best two-hundred-watt smile.
“We switched jobs because I wanted to cook with Grandma.”
I noticed Artie reeled under the force of that smile, and I made a mental note to keep close track of that boy. Charla didn’t need to experience the joy of motherhood at fifteen.
Another jolt of anxiety shot through me as I complimented Lexy on her elegant table setting. I’d counted on Lexy keeping Mama on track with the cooking. Surely Charla wouldn’t have helped Mama prepare something inedible for company?
Bitsy came in and sat down next to me. She took a roll and pinched a bit off the edge to eat. She still looked a bit pale. I felt sorry for her, but I couldn’t quite forget that insurance money. Bitsy had
This was not good. Would I be arrested for showing doggie pornography to minors? What would my oddball neighbor Ed Monday think of all the yipping and racing about? Would he murder us for disturbing his peace? I hoped not. At least not until after dinner. I was starved.
I hugged Dudley’s older son. Artie blushed furiously. Mostly because he was fourteen but also because he seemed embarrassed to be caught watching the dogs go at it. “When are you going to talk your mom into moving back to Hogan’s Glen so that we can see more of you?” I asked as I ruffled his wavy hair.
Artie had gotten the best combination of his parents’ physical features. From his father, serious gray eyes and dark poetic hair; from his mother, a cherubic face and lush eyelashes. He was as handsome as sin and looked as innocent as a lamb.
Artie’s voice was as deep as Dudley’s had been. “Mom said we might be moving back.”
Charla squealed with glee. “Really? That would be so cool. Mama, Artie plays football. He’s the starting quarterback on his JV team. If they moved back, that’d be awesome.”
Artie seemed fairly enthralled by Charla’s exuberance. Charla was four months older than Artie, but because of their birthdates, they’d been in different grades throughout their education. I’d be worried about his potential attraction to my daughter if I didn’t know Artie.
He’d sooner cut off the nose on his face as do anything with a girl. But maybe that was the old Artie. Now that his voice had changed and peach fuzz adorned his chin, maybe hormones ruled his mind, in which case, Charla should watch her step around him.
How much of Dudley’s philandering ways had his son inherited? I shuddered to think of a second generation of Dudleys let loose on the general populace.
Were my daughters in danger from these potential womanizers? Would there be a repeat demonstration of what was going on out in the backyard in a bedroom upstairs with Artie and Charla as the participants?
Not if I had anything to do with it. “Why don’t we all sit down to supper? I’m sure you boys must be starved.”
“Yes ma’am, I’m right hungry,” Grant answered as he slid into a seat.
I started for the kitchen to help bring the food out but Mama stopped me with a curt look. “Cleo, sit down and rest that foot of yours. We’ll get the food out here. Where’s Bitsy?”
Bitsy was becoming intimately acquainted with my office toilet, but I wasn’t going to mention that. “She’ll be along in a minute.”
I glanced over at the table. The bases of all the silverware were perfectly aligned, the floral patterns on the gold-rimmed china plates were precisely oriented in the same direction. The linen napkins and the tablecloth looked like they’d been freshly pressed. And the centerpiece of massed candles was absolutely stunning. Charla had outdone herself.
Her usual idea of setting the table was to throw things down as she dashed around the table. She deserved praise for making the effort to achieve such a wonderful presentation. “Nice job on the table, Charla.”
“Lexy did it,” Charla said as she placed a basket of rolls on the table while Lexy filled the crystal glasses with iced tea. Charla gave me her best two-hundred-watt smile.
“We switched jobs because I wanted to cook with Grandma.”
I noticed Artie reeled under the force of that smile, and I made a mental note to keep close track of that boy. Charla didn’t need to experience the joy of motherhood at fifteen.
Another jolt of anxiety shot through me as I complimented Lexy on her elegant table setting. I’d counted on Lexy keeping Mama on track with the cooking. Surely Charla wouldn’t have helped Mama prepare something inedible for company?
Bitsy came in and sat down next to me. She took a roll and pinched a bit off the edge to eat. She still looked a bit pale. I felt sorry for her, but I couldn’t quite forget that insurance money. Bitsy had
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