Page 24 of Handful

“Holden,” Handful said. “Road captain. His old lady, Bea.”

Holden nodded once and looked away. Bea sent me a smile that could have lit the room.

“Austen!” Indira appeared from somewhere, Maya on her hip. She was currently gripping Indira’s hair with both hands and pulling. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Indira said, untangling herself. “There’s still time to change your mind, for what it’s worth.”

“How many people are going to say that to me tonight?” I asked.

“Depends how long you stay.” She looked at Handful. “Dutch is on the porch.”

Handful didn’t move. “I’ll find him in a minute.”

“Handful.” Indira used the tone. “I’ve known Austen for four years. She’ll be fine.”

He looked at me. “You good?”

“I’m good.”

“If you need anything—”

“I know where to find you.”

He held my gaze for a second longer before he crossed the room to find Dutch. He looked back twice before the door to the yard swung closed.

“Come on,” Indira said, turning for the kitchen. “I’ll introduce you to Betty before she comes to find you herself.”

The kitchen was its own country.

Indira steered me in by the elbow. “Betty, this is Austen. Handful’s girlfriend. Lilac you’ve met.”

Lilac glanced up from the cutting board. “Briefly.” Dark hair pulled back, apron tied over a sundress, knife still moving. The first time I’d seen her she’d been very pregnant with what I now knew was her second set of twins, parked at a corner table with a plate of cake she had no intention of sharing. She looked considerably more comfortable here. “Sorry about Colt. But the offer still stands, just say the word.” She went back to her chopping. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

Betty was at the kitchen table. Seventies, white-haired, the kind of woman who radiated authority without raising her voice. I remembered her too, holding court at the end of a table while grown men thought twice before they swore in front of her. She looked at me over her glasses.

“You’re the bartender.”

“I am.”

“Good. This family needs more women who know how to handle drunk men.” She went back to her work.

Through the kitchen window I could see the backyard — if you could call it that. An open area of grass that ran up against the newer wing, with tables set up end to end and covered in mismatched tablecloths. A soccer ball was in play, and two boys were running a pattern around the tables while a Labrador chased them in increasingly wide circles.

The ball hit the window right in front of me, rattling the glass in its frame.

“Luca! Knox! If that ball hits the window again I will end your soccer careers permanently!” Lilac called without looking up.

The boys didn’t slow down. The dog barked.

“They can’t hear me,” Lilac said to no one in particular.

“They can hear you,” Betty said. “They’re choosing not to.”

“They take after their father.”

The kitchen door opened. Handful.

Lilac didn’t look up from her cutting board. “She doesn’t need rescuing.”

“I wasn’t—” He looked at me. “You good?”