Separate Lives
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Twelve
After the meal was finished and seven satisfied people were lounging in their chairs, wondering if they could possibly eat anymore, Honey stood up and started collecting plates. She didn't say anything but she didn't have to. Within seconds, others were up and about, helping clear the table. They brought everything into the kitchen where they quickly began cleaning up. Mart, with a little prodding from Di, helped Trixie clear off the dishes. Di accepted everything that was dishwasher safe and carefully put it into the brand new appliance. Brian and Jim wrapped up the few leftovers, with Dan volunteering to wipe down the dining room table. Since not all of the items were able to go into the dishwasher, Honey washed them at the large double sink.
"You have to love these modern conveniences!" Di closed the dishwasher with a satisfied thud and pressed the buttons. Instantly, the machine was readying to clean the many dishes inside. She pretended to wipe away the nonexistent sweat off from her forehead and added, "I know I love mine. Do you have one of these, Trix? I seem to remember that you always hated washing dishes when you were a teenager."
"Hmm, yeah, I have a dishwasher," Trixie answered absently. She grabbed a paper towel and cleaner and started wiping down the counter. "I don't use it that much, though." She didn't need to. She was rarely ever there to need it.
"You used to complain up and down about the lack of a dishwasher at home when we were kids," Mart reminisced with a teasing glint in his blue eyes. "Especially in the hot summer months. We never needed one, though. We always had you."
She wrinkled her nose at him but didn't rise up to the challenge, much to his visible disappointment. She had heard the same thing, or a variation of it, for years now, and found that it was easier, if not quite as much fun, to let it roll off of her. Sometimes it was even more enjoyable to witness a chagrinned Mart than to engage in a battle of almost-twin insults. She had trouble biting back a sly smile, feeling as if she had won this particular round.
With pretty violet eyes sparkling Di leaned against the window, hiding her own chuckle when Mart started grumbling under his breath. She stared at the gathered friends, thought that it was the best thing ever to have all of them together, and then remembered the interesting item she had discovered yesterday. "Oh!" she squeaked out loudly, shocked that she hadn't thought to bring it up sooner, and blamed it on those damn pregnancy hormones. Every head in the room swung towards her except her sister-in-law.
Trixie looked down, continued to wipe circles on the top of the already sparkling counter, and calculated the distance between her spot in the kitchen and the door. Unfortunately, she didn't stand a chance. She couldn't get there without drawing everyone's attention. Sighing, Trixie stood stock-still, resembling a fox on the hunt, and waited for Di to break the news to the interested and curious group.
Having put away the last of the dishes in the cabinet, Honey glanced towards Di and carefully folded the dish towel. She asked the question that was on almost everyone's mind. "What's wrong, Di? Is everything all right?"
"Oh, there's nothing wrong," Di insisted, laughing at herself and the way she had gained everyone's attention. She smoothed a hand over her black hair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Really, Honey. I only just remembered something new I learned yesterday. That's all."
Focused entirely on Di, Mart didn't notice Trixie or how ultra-still she had gone. He skirted around the counter and came closer to his wife, hoping nothing was wrong. Then her words sank in. Something she had learned yesterday? She hadn't shared anything new with him, other than their latest visit to the doctor's. "What do you mean, Di?"
Beaming with delight, absolutely excited that she was going to tell them something no other Bob-White knew, Di answered dramatically, "I found it out yesterday when we were getting fitted for our dresses. You're never going to believe it, guys. I was absolutely shocked, myself."
To hell with it. Not caring if it branded her a coward, Trixie started to move away from the counter. The door was as far away as it could get. She moved towards it but knew in her heart that she didn't stand a chance of getting there before Di spilled the news to everyone. Tiptoeing, hoping that no one noticed her attempt at a speedy and stealthy departure, she gave it a gallant try.
Of course Jim caught it. Frowning, he watched Trixie start to try and sidle her way out of the room. She moved sideways, slowly, carefully, and deliberately, as if she wanted to leave the kitchen as inconspicuously as possible, without anyone the wiser. The only logical conclusion came to him. Whatever Di found out had to do with Trixie. What could it be? His imagination wasn't as strong as some of the others in the room. He couldn't come up with a single possible answer, especially when it looked like Trixie wanted to be anywhere but here at this possible moment. He felt immediate sympathy well up within him for her, as well as some worry. Slanting a glance at the others, he noticed that no one else had caught Trixie's extremely slow and methodical meander towards the door.
Trixie would have been astounded to realize that Jim had read her moves so accurately. She inched her way forward but didn't come close to making it to the doorway before Di called out her name. She couldn't ignore it, not without calling extra attention to herself. Shoulders drooping, she stopped and turned to face Di, feeling as if she was getting ready to face the guillotine instead of a group of her beloved peers. She was not looking forward to everyone's reaction.
"Trixie!" Di said gaily, oblivious to the fact that Trixie clearly did not want to share the news with everyone. She motioned her forward and smiled becomingly, wanting to share her discovery with everyone. "You've got to show them," she pleaded, her smile winning and wide, and practically jumping up and down in her excitement. "They are going to be so surprised."
Caught, left with no other recourse that couldn't be considered rude, Trixie moved in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go, her feet heavy and reluctant, unable to do anything else. She didn't want to hurt Di's feelings and, she realized fatalistically, it was better to get it over with. Now that Di knew, it was going to come out sooner or later. She was actually surprised that Di hadn't shared it with Mart already. Judging from the expression on her brother's face, he was as clueless as the rest of the group. She accepted her fate with as gracious of a smile as she could pinned to her lips, although it felt fake and unnatural, and slowly came forward.
"Show us what?" Mart inquired, sliding an odd look towards Trixie. He tapped a finger along his lips, started considering, and came up with a few unflattering ideas right off the top of his head. "Has my sister suddenly grown a sixth toe on her foot on her foot? Or maybe, since she lives near the beach, she's suddenly developed webbed feet from all the time she spends in the ocean?" The possibilities were endless. Warming up, beginning to get into the spirit of what he considered a new and insulting game, he was brought to a sharp and disappointing end by Dan, who had returned from his chore in the dining room.
In deference to Trixie, Dan reached over and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. "Shut up, Mart," he ordered him lightly but forcefully.
"Thanks, Dan," Trixie murmured, almost giggling when Mart threw him an annoyed glare and rubbed the side of his head. Almost. She was too conscious of what was going to come next and blew out a small breath. The waiting was the worst part.
"Anytime," Dan replied easily, winking at her to lighten her mood a little.
"Like I said, you're never going to believe. Our Trixie has a tattoo!" she yelled excitedly. This time she did start jumping up and down, delighted to be the one announcing the news to the flabbergasted group. "I saw it for the first time yesterday when we were getting fitted for our dresses. It's right here!" She whirled an unsuspecting Trixie around and, because the group had been friends for many, many years, lifted up the red shirt without a second thought. She exposed the tattoo for one and all to see, all without realizing that Trixie was practically dying of mortification and that her face was nearly the same color as her shirt. "See, everyone? It's right here!"
There was no stopping Diana Lynch Belden when she got a plan in her mind. Because she loved her, because she understood her, and because she didn't have any other option, Trixie endured it without grousing, complaining or planning a revenge of equal or higher value. "It's not that interesting," she said when the room went unnaturally quiet, right before their friends started to close in on them.
Honey clasped her hands together, seriously impressed. The dish towel floated down to the counter, to land in a heap. "Wow! Trixie! I had no idea," she said and sprinted forward to get a first row look at it, cutting off her fiancé without a second though. With all of her speed, Mart still managed to beat her to it. She made a face at him and made room for herself. She pretended not to notice the flush that was staining her best friend's face or that fact that Trixie looked decidedly uncomfortable and was definitely wishing to be somewhere else, anywhere else, but in that room. Instead, Honey looked down at the tattoo with extreme interest.
Intrigued himself, Dan inched forward. Although Trixie didn't look too happy about being put on display for all of their friends, he, like the rest, couldn't pass up the chance to see it. While he was sympathetic with her plight, he stood on his tops of his toes, looked over Honey's head at the revealed patch of skin, and then did a double-take. He shook his head as if to clear it and then leaned in closer, almost bumping into Honey. He didn't notice. It was there, exactly what he thought he saw. Staggered, he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His eyebrows snapped together. His face lost its curious look, became stunned and tinged with something akin to awe, before he drew back from the fold and quietly faded into the background, a specialty of his. He left the room without a second look, rocked to the core by what he had seen and what he knew it to mean. Using the time alone to think, he began running through everything he knew about Trixie and her life from the time she had moved out to California, which, he had to admit, wasn't that much, and wondered quietly to himself when she had become such an accomplished liar. What she had managed to hide from all of them astonished the hell out of him. His footsteps faded down the hall and he slipped into the quiet dining room to contemplate his suspicions further. His absence wasn't missed from the group within.
Jim had a much different sort of reaction than Dan, one he should have been getting used to by now. More skin, exposed above the waistband of her hip-hugging jeans, and knowing that she had a permanent design on her body, made her even more appealing to him than she already was. As if he needed anything else to do that, he thought sarcastically. The urge to shoulder Honey aside so that he could take her place and touch the tattoo was strong, much stronger than he wanted it to be. He clamped down on it, stuck those damn, infuriating, twitching hands of his into his pockets, and slumped back against the wall. God, if this week didn't kill him, he didn't know what would. Forgetting that the coffee had just been brewed, he knocked back a deep, fortifying sip only to have it burn a hot trail down his throat that made him gasp and cough and his eyes start to water. Lucky for him, no one saw, all too intent on Trixie. Mart would have had a field day with that.
Brian was the first male to snap out of his shock. Ever the doctor, he began by asking the medically appropriate questions. "Who did the work, Trixie? Was it a sterile environment? Did they use the right needles?" He looked at her the only way a true doctor could while he waited impatiently for her answers.
Because she was self-conscious, Trixie went for a flippant answer. "No. I had it done in an old trailer by a member of a biker gang. I'm pretty certain that the needle was old and rusty and had been used on the person before me," she quipped with a straight face before dissolving into a fit of hysterical giggles, her amusement brought on more by the fact that everyone seemed to be in shocked because she had the nerve to get a tattoo. When he frowned at her, quite severely, her laughter stilled and she sighed deeply. More seriously, she answered, "You don't have to worry. It was a very safe and reputable place, Brian. A few friends from work recommended it to me."
"Who recommended it to you?" Honey tapped a star and lifted her head.
Trixie studied Di covertly. For one long moment she contemplated returning the favor and putting Di and her brother in the spotlight, but she couldn't let their cat of a secret out of the bag, not even if it was justified. Di was only being Di. She didn't mean any harm, certainly had no idea that the tattoo would have been better kept hidden than revealed. "Jocelyn," she said, sharing only one of the people who had recommended the tattoo shop to her. Most of the agents at her agency had gone to the same place. The tattoos were all different but they all had two identifying signals on them in case they ever needed to prove their status.
Uncaring if it wasn't the most proper thing to do, Di lifted Trixie's shirt a little higher and pulled her closer. "Let's not worry about that. Let's look at the tattoo instead. See, Honey? The stars are shaded in at the edges with different colors. That's cool. I noticed that yesterday when I first saw it."
Uncaring if her actions weren't the most polite or refined, Honey elbowed Mart out of the way. She ignored his grunt of protest and bent down for a closer look. She tucked her long honey-colored hair behind her ears, wanting to get as unobstructed of a view as possible. "You're right, Di." She reached down and touched the different stars, copying Di while Trixie dropped her head back in resignation and stared up at the ceiling.
"Help me," Trixie grouched. She looked imploringly at the others over her shoulder. Brian folded his arms and leaned against the counter, with Mart copying his pose. They held their hands up, telling her plainly that she was on her own. Jim was closer, right by the wall, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. She couldn't tell what he was thinking but at least he wasn't looking in disapproval or anger at her. It escaped her attention that Dan was no longer in the room.
"Don't look at me," Mart informed her cheerfully. He picked up his cup from the counter and took a long sip. "I'm not going to be of any help to you. I hate to use this word in front of you but I'm curious, Trix. I'd like to hear the story behind your tattoo."
Jim eyed her over the rim, watched the skin start to turn even more pink, if that was even possible, and wished that he had the nerve to move closer to inspect the tattoo himself like Honey had done. The current state of their relationship didn't allow for that kind of a liberty, especially when it involved a patch of unclothed skin. He stayed where he was, watching the proceedings, and attempted to puzzle out another way to get a closer look. Unfortunately, there was none, not unless he was called forward by one of the girls. Since that wasn't likely to happen, he was stuck where he was, right by the wall, and wishing for a closer look.
"I want to know more, too. When did you get your tattoo?" Brian continued his line of questioning, ignoring the girls who were ohhing and ahhing in quiet, excited tones over the different shades Trixie had used in design, and innocently obstructing the clear view of the others.
"Right after I graduated from the university," Trixie answered, her eyes looking forlorn, and unable to lie to them. Being the center of attention tied with housework. She hated both of them with a vengeance. Worse, she realized they wouldn't be happy with her answer. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself for their reactions.
"You've got to be kidding me. That was four years ago." Mart lifted his head, a little shocked that she would have done something so permanent and almost irreversible, and not share it with them. Disappointment and hurt flashed briefly in his eyes before he hid it. She was an adult, perfectly capable of making her own decisions, he tried to tell himself…but it still hurt.
Trixie read the look on his face correctly. When she swung her eyes towards the other men in the room, she saw that it was mirrored on their faces, too. She imagined if Honey's and Di's heads weren't bent down in their contemplative study of her side, it would also be reflected on theirs. She kept her features bland although her thoughts were racing. What would they think if they ever found out the truth about her vocation or the true meaning behind her tattoo? Even if she had the official clearance to share everything with them, she wasn't brave enough to find out. She had a feeling she would be seeing much more than disappointment or hurt. "It was a bit of a celebration," she began slowly, knowing that they wanted more than the meager amount of information that they had managed to ferret out from her. "I had just graduated from CU and had been hired at the agency. It was for fun. Really." She hoped her words rang true for them. It was tough lying about it, especially when there was a much stronger reason behind her tattoo. It had meant that she had been accepted into the CDA as a full agent and that her training period was officially over.
Di drew back from her study and declared, choosing to overlook the fact that Trixie hadn't willingly told them about it, "Whoever did it was very artistic. I told you yesterday that I like your choice, Trix. Seven stars, placed in a circle configuration, and each with their own unique color. It's simple and very pretty."
"Why seven?" Honey wanted to know although she had a pretty good idea.
"There's power in the number of seven," Trixie said with a small shrug, unwilling to admit aloud that each star stood for a Bob-White. It had been the only way she could take them with her into each mission, the exact way they had stood beside her during her early years of mystery-solving, when they were a huge part of her and Honey's fledgling detective agency. She needed them with her, even if only through a sentimental, symbolic gesture. Part of her strength had always been derived from them. And it always would be. She couldn't deny it or overlook it. It was simply the way it was supposed to be.
"Don't look at your sister like that, Mart," Di chastised her husband softly, unknowingly interrupting Honey's next question, which had been about the three initials adorning one of the stars. "Trixie certainly has the right to do what she wants. She doesn't need to share all the details of her life with us, you know."
Mart flushed under his wife's words. She was right but it didn't make him feel better. To him, it was more than just a tattoo. It meant that Trixie had a whole life, possibly even a more fascinating one, than she had ever cared to share with him. But he couldn't overlook the determined look in his wife's violet eyes. Giving in, he ran a hand through his short blonde hair, cut close enough so none of the Belden curls would have the chance to appear, and declared evenly, "You're right, Di. Since you and Honey have a front row view, you're going to have to tell us what else you see."
Di gifted him with a dazzling smile of pure approval. She turned to Mart and explained, pointing to each star as she did so, "The stars are all the same shape and size and in that circular shape. They're also tattooed in black. But she picked different colors to edge them out, to make them all a little different. I saw that yesterday. We've got two stars done in differing shades of blue, another star is in green. Then there's a brown star, a black one, a purple one and a yellow star. They are all beautiful and perfectly drawn."
Jim's gaze immediately shot to hers, wouldn't leave it. He held her captive with it for a good minute. He understood completely, even if Di or the others hadn't made the connection yet. While not the biggest fans of tattoos, the symbolism of hers was touching. Seven stars, seven Bob-Whites, and all with the colors that matched their personalities. He didn't say a word but nodded once, a silent acknowledgement. Then he helped her out before Di could tell them about the initials or the infinity sigh. His words surprised her even more. "Didn't you mention something earlier about dessert, Di?" She hadn't but he was willing to use it as an excuse. Trixie looked as if she had handled as much as she could. "I can hear your husband's stomach rumbling all the way over here. It's been over half an hour since we finished dinner."
"Dessert! That's right! We were in charge of the dessert." She whirled around and made her way to the counter, thoughts about Trixie and the tattoo completely gone. "I have to correct myself. We brought the dessert. Your mother made it, Brian," she said, smiling. She pulled the apple pie out of the oven where it had been warming, and laid it on the counter, next to the containers of whipped cream and vanilla ice cream that Honey pulled out from the refrigerator.
Thankful that the interrogation appeared to be over, Trixie moved back and rested against the wall. She watched as Mart zeroed in on the pie, with Honey and Brian bringing up the rear, and allowed herself to relax. Her hands tugged her shirt down, making certain it was hanging the way that it should, and that all signs of her tattoo were once again covered up from view.
"Relieved?" Jim asked lowly from nearby.
Startled, Trixie lifted her head. "You can't even begin to imagine," she replied dryly and let out a long, freeing breath. It wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be but it felt wonderful to have it over and done with.
"You've always hated being in the limelight," he noted, recalling the many times where she had wanted to shrink away from it. There were too many to count and were as vibrant in his mind as if they had happened only yesterday instead of in their shared teenage years.
"You've got that right. Thanks for diverting their attention." Trixie smoothed her hands over her shirt, grateful that her tattoo was once again hidden from view, but well aware that none of them would forget about it. She kept her hands pressed against her thighs. "Bringing up dessert was a perfect idea. I only wish I had thought of it myself."
"My pleasure." He gave her a nudge on the shoulder, more so he could touch her again than to urge her on. "Go accept your piece of pie and get into the dining room before they start questioning you again," he suggested knowingly, well aware that once the task was taking care of, the group would remember the topic and attack it again with vengeance, if they weren't successfully diverted. Dessert was the way to do it. "I'll bring a cup of coffee in for you, if you'd like."
That was exactly what they would do once the dessert was served. Tossing him a grateful grin, momentarily lost in the friendly emerald eyes staring back at her, she grabbed a plate from the counter. "Thanks again," she murmured lowly and meandered her way out of the room, barely resisting the urge to look back over her shoulder at Jim.
She entered the dining room with a thankful air. Only Dan was present. "Hey, Dan," she greeted him, surprised to see him standing in the corner, with a look on his face she couldn't decipher. When he didn't answer her right away, only stared back at her with an inscrutable expression on his face, the momentary feeling of relief that her questioning period was over evaporated. He made her defenses go on red alert, even more so than the others in the kitchen had, which was really stupid since she couldn't ever remember Dan making her feel like that, not since the first time he had moved to Sleepyside and she had misjudged him so dreadfully.
He stared straight at her, almost positive that his conclusion was correct. He had used the time to try and talk himself out of it but he hadn't been able to, not one tiny bit. She needed to be the one to confirm or deny it. He would make certain that she had the chance to do that. "Trixie," he replied coolly, his eyes darker than normal, and his mouth a thin, unfriendly smile.
She stopped dead in her tracks. For the first time, Trixie realized he hadn't stayed in the kitchen to witness it. Her mind rapidly assessed the situation. He didn't look too pleased. In fact, he was looking decidedly…disappointed. No, that wasn't right. Mad? Again, not quite that. Upset? Maybe. She inclined her head to the side, tried to put her finger on the correct term but couldn't settle on one. She sucked in a deep breath, wondered if maybe he had something against body art. It could bring back memories of his time in the gang, she mused quietly but knew from deep within that wasn't the reason for his odd look. She sank down onto a chair on the far side of the table, keeping as much distance between them as possible, and smiled gratefully when Mart sat down next to her.
"I didn't get a chance to tell you that I like your tattoo," Mart mumbled under his breath. He set his coffee and his pie down. She had to grin because there was already a healthy bite taken from it. "Leave it to you to do the unexpected. But, next time, don't keep it a secret, okay? At least tell me about it."
"It wasn't a secret. Exactly," she tacked on, going for the truth. "It simply never came up." She focused on Mart but could feel Dan's eyes on her the entire time. She just knew that he heard every word that they said. She fought back the urge to shiver and made her smile that much more brilliant and happy, just to counteract the dark mood their friend was in.
"Ah, well," Mart shrugged it off. He leaned closer and whispered so only she could hear, "I'm going to let you off the hook. After all, you know something that only Di, me and her doctor know, don't you? We'll call it even…this time. But don't let it happen again." He wagged a finger at her.
Trixie crossed her heart. "If you leave my tattoo alone, I won't say a word," she bargained with a cheeky grin.
He gave a short bark of laughter, drawing everyone's attention their way, and said, "You've got it." He reached out and tugged on a curl that had escaped her pony tail.
The last one in, Jim deposited her mug of coffee in front of her and gave an answering grin to her smile of thanks. He accepted a chair at the far end of the table, away from her but where he had a good view, and sat down next to Dan. "How's the pie?" he inquired conversationally, more interested in Trixie than in his friend.
Dan lifted narrowed eyes from his prey and grunted in response. He hadn't taken a bit out of the dessert, had absolutely no idea how it tasted, and lifted up his mug to his lips, hoping to deter Jim from trying to invite him to join in any other kinds of conversations. He wasn't in the mood.
Jim's eyebrows shot up. He stared at Dan, who was hiding behind his cup, and then glanced down at Dan's plate. The pie sat, untouched. Puzzled, he studied his friend's face but couldn't come up with a reason way Dan looked different or seemed incapable of rational, coherent speak. Brian chose that moment to ask Jim a question about the house he wanted to build. Jim turned to him, lost the thought that Dan was acting unusual, and immediately became engaged in the conversation about his house.
Dan listened to the conversations around him but chose not to participate. He drummed his fingers along the table, never taking his gaze off of Trixie, who succeeded admirably well in ignoring him. It didn't bother him. He was more content to wait for the right moment. It finally came, during a lull and when everyone but him had finished their pie. "Trixie promised to let me drive the Mustang," Dan announced suddenly to the group, the first words he had spoken since they had retaken their seats at the table. "Now sounds like a good time. What do you think, Hollywood? We'll leave everyone to the clean up, take a little spin around the block, then you can drop me back off at the Manor House to get my truck. I'd like to see what that baby can do." His tone was manufactured. It was light and easy but it didn't deceive her, not for one minute.
For the life of her she couldn't remember ever promising that to Dan. Some strong feeling of self-preservation told her that she shouldn't say yes, that she definitely should not agree to it. She should make as much of an effort not to spend any time alone with him as she could. Trixie moved her chair a little closer to Honey, remembering that there was safety in numbers, and explained regretfully, "I drove Honey over, Dan. I promised I would bring her home, too."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Honey waved the flimsy excuse away airily. "I'm certain someone here will be able to bring me home." She fluttered her eyes in the direction of her besotted fiancé, who grinned winningly back at her.
"No problem," Brian agreed without hesitating. "I'll drive you home, Honey."
Okay, that way was blocked. Nothing she could do about it but accept it. Trixie didn't waste another minute before throwing up another roadblock. "What time are we heading out to White Plains tomorrow?" she inquired, putting off what she hoped wasn't the inevitable. She turned her head on Dan, gave him her shoulder, and focused on Honey.
"Sometime in the morning," Honey replied, settling back against the chair. Brian had draped his arm across the back of it. She reveled in the warmth of him around her and had no clue that Trixie was striving for any possible way to keep from being alone with Dan. "We'll make a day of the outing. Pick up the veil and the wraps, do a few other odds and ends, have lunch. That type of stuff. It should be a lot of fun. I'm looking forward to having a day off from the rest of the wedding stuff. Mother and Miss Trask have already promised to take care of any of the last minute things that need done for me."
"You'll be having a great time in White Plains and I'll be stuck at the museum. I'm going to be missing out. I hate missing out. I had to do enough of that when we were all in high school." Di sighed with longing, recalling all the missed trips and opportunities. "It's too bad the shipment for the exhibit was coming in tomorrow and not next week. I would have loved to have gone with you."
"I'll meet you for lunch," Mart jumped in eagerly, willing to miss the trip to bring a smile to his wife's face.
It worked. Her fingers tangled under the table with his. She smiled brilliantly when he pressed a gallant kiss to the back of her hand. "Thanks, Mart. I appreciate it."
Ignoring him didn't work. It only spurred him on. Trixie felt Dan's presence behind her before she saw or heard him move. Her smile stayed in place even though the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. He put his hands on the back of the chair, helped scoot it back for her. He had to apply more pressure than necessary when she attempted to use all of her body weight to keep it in its spot. One edge of his lip curled up at her small defiance. But he had the advantage. She didn't want to cause a scene in front of the others. She would agree to anything not to have the discussion with the others present. Counting on it, he held out his hand. "What do you say, Hollywood? Ready to let me drive your car?"
She gingerly stood up from the chair. Even the way he said 'Hollywood' sounded different, almost with a mocking edge to it. Almost as if he knew…something. Something that he wasn't certain that he liked or that she wanted him to know. Her eyes flared wide for a moment before she discounted the one thought that was hiding just below the murky surface. He couldn't know, she rationalized quickly. He simply could not know. There was no possible way. She stared at his outstretched hand. He wanted the keys. She couldn't not hand them to him, not without making the others suspicious, which she definitely didn't want to do, and which he was most certainly depending on. But as she regretfully dropped the keys into his hand and met his dark, foreboding look again, she had to rethink her assessment. If she wasn't trained to handle any kind of a situation, she would have shivered. Since she would be damned before she did that, Trixie straightened her shoulders rebelliously and met his impassive face with a challenging one of her own.
Dan recognized the defiance; had a very strong feeling that she already knew why he insisted on getting her alone and was most likely coming up with any number of handy excuses or plausible reasons to counteract it. Let her try. He was looking forward to it. "Let's go," he said grimly, without a trace of his usual sense of humor. He put a hand at the small of her back, didn't take the time to appreciate the way Jim's eyes narrowed into thin green slits and darkened because he dared to touch her, and not-so-gently urged her forward.
Trixie could have dug in her heels. Hell, she could have taken him down, if she had really wanted to. Since employing her hand-to-hand combat skills wasn't exactly something she wanted to display in front of the others, left with no other recourse at all, she sucked it up, as well as a fresh breath of air, and allowed him to lead her forward, all the while with a normal, placid expression on her face. Her eyes gave her away. If anyone had taken the time to really look at her, they would have seen them lighting up with the promise of battle.
"See you later," Mart sent them a careless wave and dove joyfully into his second piece of pie.
More interested in watching his fiancé than his sister, completely unaware that Dan and Trixie had waged a silent battle right before their eyes that Trixie had lost, Brian pulled Honey closer to him. With his free hand he finished off the rest of his coffee in his mug and grinned at Honey. "If you want, we can start finding some homes for your things," he offered quietly, imagining all the fun ways they could spend the time when the others had left. Unpacking was extremely low on the list.
Honey giggled, thinking that starting to unpack would really make the house begin to feel more like hers, too. She envied Brian the freedom of already living there. If she didn't think her father would have pulverized him, she would have moved in with him as soon as the house was finished, only a few short weeks ago. Her mother had quietly and quite wisely recommended the wait, though, much to her dismay. "I'd love to."
A little more aware of the tension between the departing Bob-Whites than the Belden brothers or Honey, Di stood up and walked over to the large row of windows that let in a large amount of sunlight. She brushed back a white curtain tastefully embroidered with purple grapes and green vines and watched them walk away from the house. Trixie had her hands in her pockets and was staring straight ahead. Stony. Di imagined if she could see her face it would be stony. Dan wasn't walking so much as he was stalking away from them. The keys were clenched in his fist. Worried for some inexplicable reason, Di tapped a finger against the windowsill and kept an eye on the two. "You know, guys, Dan's acting a little funny," she noted quizzically. "Did you catch that, too?"
"Really? I didn't notice that at all. Maybe he doesn't like tattoos," Honey thought aloud, earning her some odd glances fraught with disbelief from the others in the room, as well as a few low chuckles. Then she snickered at herself. If she had ever been questioned about the member of their club most likely to get a tattoo, he would have been the very first one at the top of her list. Trixie, she had to admit, would have been an extremely close second. They both had that same sense of adventure ingrained deep within them.
The quiet, murmured conversation swirled around him, with Brian and Mart completely taken aback by Di's assessment. Each of his friends offered their own thoughts on Dan, Trixie and the tattoo. Ignoring them, offering none of his own, Jim pushed back his chair and joined Di at the window. He had something much better to do than to speculate on Dan's peculiar behavior. He watched them leave or, more accurately, he watched her leave. Ruthlessly cutting down on an irrational and definitely unneeded spurt of jealousy, he catalogued each move, noticed how Trixie got into the passenger's side of the sports car. He frowned, understanding from the stiff lines of her body that she wasn't comfortable right now. There was a good chance that Honey was right. Maybe Dan didn't like tattoos. Maybe he was getting ready to read Trixie the riot act for daring to get one. Both thoughts seemed farfetched. Whatever the reason, he wished that he had insisted on going along with the two of them, even though he knew that Trixie could definitely take care of herself. He let the curtain fall back when Dan threw the Mustang into reverse and backed up. What the hell was going on? Jim couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer.