Page 57 of Floodgates

He stood there obviously deciding what he wanted to say, looking uncomfortable.

“Cord?”

Still nothing.

“Maybe a skosh of a hint?”

He gave me the most pained expression I’d ever seen.

“Oh, for crissakes, what the hell is going on?” I snapped at him as Evan rolled over and nearly made me spill coffee all over him. “Jesus, be careful. I understand you actually need your face in your line of work.”

“First thing in the morning?” he complained. “Sarcasm? Really?”

“Ev, I could’ve burned you.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He had a point. I was the one drinking scalding liquid in bed.

“Where’s my goddamn coffee,” Evan grumbled irritably, which was obviously Cord’s cue, because he told Evan he’d get it and left without another word.

I turned to Alex and gave him what I hoped was a searing look. “God help me, if you do not start talking in like one second—” My threat got interrupted by my dad, who walked into the bedroom with a cup of coffee––that I assumed would be for Evan since he was the only one without one––and a homemade scone probably meant for me. “Oh.” I smiled at him, knowing that here finally was a man who would be blunt and to the point. “Dad, what’s going on downstairs?”

“First,” he said, smiling warmly at me, “try the scone.”

“New recipe?” I asked, because I was always the guinea pig, which was how I knew the scone was mine. I’d never seen him make them before.

“Yes.”

I tried it because it was my job and I knew I wouldn’t get anything out of him until I did. “It’s good, Dad.”

He nodded.

“Downstairs?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well… were you aware that Joanna was getting married?”

“Who’s Joanna?” Evan asked.

“Beth’s daughter,” I griped at him.

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a yawn. “How come I didn’t get a scone?”

“I can get you a scone,” my father assured him.

“Or coffee?”

“Dad brought you coffee,” I told him.

“No, I didn’t,” my father said, squinting at me. “This is mine; I just brought you the scone to try before I fed them to everybody else.”

“Okay, so Cord’s bringing you coffee, then,” Alex chimed in. “Will you shut up?”

“Yeah, but––”

“Oh, for crissakes, here,” I said, passing him my cup. “Will you shut up, please?”

“Is there sugar in here? I don’t like sugar, only cream.”