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Now Maddie was shrieking about "go-fish stea-wers" and pointing her finger at her uncle.
I watched Cormac walk into this scene, looking tired and worn out from his day even before the goldfish apocalypse had swept him into the fray. "What's all this?" he asked.
"There's no problem," Callan assured him, dumping about fifty more goldfish into the center of the table. "See? Plenty for everyone."
Cormac walked over to the table, patting each girl on the head and taking a handful of goldfish. "Hey April."
The shrieking died down as a goldfish land grab ensued, each girl piling fistfuls of fish onto her own plate.
"Some of these are for grownups," Callan said, picking one up and eating it to demonstrate.
Maddie narrowed her eyes at him, but then seemed to come around to a more generous mindset, scooping up three fish and offering them to me. "Dere's no Cwis-mas ones." This was said in apologetic tones, as if Maddie thought I might refuse the fish if they weren't properly decorated for the holidays.
I realized that the little girls probably thought I was very focused on decorating and celebrating the holiday, and for a brief moment, I enjoyed seeing myself through their eyes. What would a carefree holiday-infused April be like?
"What were you asking me?" Callan asked, interrupting my daydream. "About the pig house?"
"Pig house?" Cormac said, pulling up a chair and eating more goldfish. "You getting pigs, Cal?"
"I hate pigs," Callan said. "You know this. Remember when we were kids and Auntie Maggie's pig tried to kill me?"
Cormac shook his head, giving his brother a disappointed look. Then he turned to me. "Callan got the athletic genes." He lifted a hand and mock whispered beside it, "but he's never been too smart."
"Nice," Callan said, laughing.
"Anyway, we had an aunt who loved animals. She had peacocks, pigs, a goat, a couple sheep, some horses and a cow—all as pets out on her property. She had taken us to visit them all the day before, and Callan got up early the next day to go back out and see them. He decided to snuggle with Hamhock, the pig. In the sucker's pen."
"How big was this pig?" I asked.
Both girls were listening intently, their mouths working goldfish while their eyes stayed on their dad, fascinated.
"Huge," Callan supplied.
"It was at least a couple hundred pounds," Cormac agreed. "And it either wanted to get closer to Callan, or was trying to kill him, because it rolled over and trapped his leg."
"Oh no!" I cried, picturing a tiny Callan caught under a huge horrible pig.
"He started wailing, and every animal in the place joined him, so there was an early morning cacophony that brought our aunt out in her nightshirt, running through the yard."
"She saved you," I said, feeling oddly relieved.
"She had to roll the pig off me. Pigs are mean suckers," Callan said.
"Maybe they just don't like snuggles," Taylor suggested.
"Or don't go in his house," Maddie said, her tone scolding. "Unless you awe invited."
"That's just good manners," Cormac agreed.
"Anyway," Callan said, evidently done with the romp through the pig pen of days yore. "The pig shack?" He looked at me pointedly.
"Oh, right. Well, Annabelle has a bunch of boxes to store and nowhere to put them at the inn. Any chance she could store some stuff here?"
Callan lifted a shoulder. "Sure. I don't see myself investing in pork futures anytime soon."
"Pork futures?" Taylor echoed, confused.
“Too-mah-wo pigs,” Maddie said, as if this made perfect sense. Sure, tomorrow pigs.
