And...curtain.
Five years later
He smoothed the wet cement carefully, bringing it to the edges of the wooden forms he had built. He was nearly to the garage now, and the sidewalk would be finished. Erik sat back on his heels and swiped at his forehead, the warm sun on this blue and gold October afternoon, a last taste of Indian summer. He glanced up at the hawks wheeling and dipping overhead in the deep cobalt sky of autumn, and hummed a little Night Hawk from the band Whitesnake.
"No, Jenny! Look what you did, you bad girl!"
A giggle behind him had Erik swinging around just in time to catch his two year old daughter walking barefoot in the cement he had just troweled smooth, her little feet caked with wet concrete.
"Da!" she cried gleefully as he scooped her up, torn between irritation and amusement. The amusement, as usual, won out.
"I instructed you to play quietly with your doll while I put the finishing touches on the walk. "Didn't I, you naughty girl?"
Jeannette nodded eagerly, before shaking her curly head in an emphatic no, and followed it up with another fit of the giggles.
"She was just sitting there, Dad, talking to herself like she always does! I thought I could leave her for one whole minute," Min cried in protest, "but oh, no, the little stinker waited for me to leave!"
"I hardly think your sister is that sneaky," he replied mildly.
"Wanna bet?" Min groused.
Erik carried the little girl over to the spigot on the side of the house and turned it on, sticking her feet under the cold stream of water. Jeannette squealed in surprise and struggled to get down. "Only when you are spotless, child, and not before," he admonished her.
Tiny feet sluiced clean, he searched for a rag to dry them off, and finding none, dried them on his pants. "You may as well add your footprints beside hers, Araminta."
"Why?"
"Then I will have both of my girls' prints in cement for all time."
Min flushed with pleasure and love for this man who had adopted her as his very own. Her biological father hadn't contested Erik's bid to become her legal father. When the adoption surrender papers finally found him, Raoul was on the Indonesian island of Rinca observing the Komodo dragon in its natural habitat.
A six foot lizard which boasted a mouthful of bacteria infested, serrated teeth, hadn't cared for his interest at all, and succeeded in chasing him through a stand of painful thorn bushes and up a banyan tree. The tree was just barely large enough to languish in for a night until a ranger found him the next morning, sweating bullets and thanking the fates that this particular lizard was too lazy to climb up after him. As it was, Raoul barely managed to cling to the limb he was perched on until help arrived. The lizard had finally wandered off just before dawn, searching for a meal he didn't have to expend much energy to catch. Signing papers to give up his only child, was small potatoes compared to that.
Min hurried to comply, toeing off her sandals, her feet sinking into the grainy wet cement. Stepping carefully, she left her footprints beside her sister's, laughing as she went. Done, she stepped out of the concrete and quickly rinsed off her feet.
"How's that?"
"Better than anything at Groman's Chinese." Erik proclaimed, studying Min's neat set of footprints beside the baby's. He kissed the riot of soft black curls on top of Jeannette's head, before putting her down. "Maybe I should hand you two the trowel and I will sit," he muttered, a finger lightly caressing his daughter's ribs beneath the pink tee shirt which proclaimed her to be Daddy's Princess. She dodged away from that finger in helpless laughter. Jeannette had inherited his ticklish side.
"Want more cookies?" Min asked her sister, and Jenny clapped her greedy little hands. She gave Erik a knowing smile. "That should keep her quiet for a while."
"She's already had two, and your mother said no more than one."
"You want to finish before dark, don't you?"
Erik could clearly see the logic in this, and took the empty plate, going up to the kitchen door. He stuck his head inside. "Hey, Girard!"
"What now?" Christine demanded as she left the table strewn with pumpkin guts.
He waggled the empty cookie plate and glanced at his youngest ladies, giving them a conspiratorial wink. "We require more sustenance. They're not working for free."
"You're all nothing but a bunch of whacked out cookie monsters!" she complained. Christine picked up a sippy cup of water and approached the door in cut off jeans and flip flops. "This is for Jen. She probably needs it now." She leaned against the door jamb and held her hand out for the plate. "How many did she have?"
"Pssst!" a voice piped up softly to their left. "Tell her just one, Dad."
He cleared his throat and tried for a winning smile. "Uh...one," he said weakly, as his wife drummed her nails against the jamb.
"One, huh? What did she do, Erik?"
Caught and bagged.
"She walked in my finished cement," he confessed. "Right up the middle."
"So now my baby has cement shoes? I knew she was going to get in trouble! She needs to come in and let you finish."
"She's fine, Christine. I'm almost done. Don't you always tell Araminta that sunshine and fresh air is good for growing girls?"
"Those, yeah. Her feet buried in wet cement? Not so much."
"She is clean now and playing quietly with her doll."
"Uh huh." She looked behind her at the kitchen table full of orange pumpkins, lined up and waiting their turn to go under the knife. "Four, Erik? Really?"
"Araminta had her choice narrowed down to a few, and you required us to be home in an hour, therefore we took them all. One for each of us," he declared proudly.
"You can not operate that way with kids! They'll eat you alive! You should have told her to just pick one. I have things to do yet, and they'll be here in a few hours!"
He slid his arms around her slender waist and nuzzled her ear. "What can I do to make it up to you?"
"Ooh!" she growled. "You're impossible!" She stood on tiptoe and pulled his hair free from the leather tie at the nape of his neck.
"If I promise to be good, will you give Erik another chance?"
"Tell him Christine will think about it," her tone suggestive. "She says it'll probably have something to do with warming oil and a massage."
"You do me and I will do you," he murmured in a voice which never failed to get a reaction from her.
"You have that backward, Girard, but you got yourself a deal," she whispered.
"No, Jen! You little..." Min growled in frustration, and let out a bellow. "Mom!"
"No, Jin," her sister parrotted gleefully. "Mum, mum, mum!"
"Precocious doesn't begin to describe your youngest daughter," as she pulled out of his arms to referee between twelve year old and toddler.
Erik gave her a gentle push. "Go finish your gourds. I have everything under control." This was unfortunately punctuated by Min's scream of outrage, and an answering crow of laughter from Jeannette.
Christine rolled her eyes. "Sounds like you have dissension in the ranks. You're lucky...she's about due for a nap." With a flutter of one hand, she went back to her carving.
Erik beat a hasty retreat outside to restore peace between the sisters.
Min had cornered her younger sibling and was peeling Jeannette's little fingers back one by one from her cell phone, which at the moment was playing an Ellie Goulding tune. "This is mine, Jenny. I don't mess with your stuff."
"Min a mess!" the toddler pouted, reaching stubbornly for the phone.
Erik nodded at the object of contention. "She's attracted to the music."
"She's in the right family then," Min said as she rescued her phone, holding it high out of her sister's reach. She glanced up at an empty-handed Erik. "She didn't buy it, did she?"
"No. I am lucky I made it out alive. She attacked me," gesturing to his hair which now hung free down both sides of his face.
"And you enjoyed it," Min replied sagely. "Can I go over to Beth's house? We're going to ride our bikes down to the ferry. I want to stay out of sight for a while."
"Whose? Jeannette's?"
"Nope. Mom's. She wants me to clean my room."
Erik shrugged. "Only because she needed a shovel this morning to find your bed."
Min snorted and tossed her head. She remained a delicate looking child, her arms and coltish legs thin in her tee shirt and shorts; she had outgrown the glasses, but now wore braces on her teeth. Erik often cited his crooked mouthful as an inducement to put up with the braces and trips to the orthodontist, but Min, like her mother, thought him way cool in spite of it.
"I guess you're going to tell me the bike ride's out."
"So wise for your age," he said with amusement. "Clean your room. And that litter box. Even Hermione holds her nose when she uses it. Your bike will be waiting."
She looked pityingly at her sister before going in the house. "Wait 'til you're my age, Jen. They'll put you to work. You'll be nothin' but their slave."
"Slaves? Who has been slaving over your Halloween costumes for Tuesday? Your mother. Who is willing to take you and your sister out to collect candy when you go boo? I am. Perhaps we are the slaves."
"Woo! Woo!" Jeannette yelled, making a scary face at her father, her chubby hands turned into claws.
"That's not how you do it, you little dope! It's boo! Boo! Great ghost you're gonna make."
"Don't call your sister names, Araminta," Erik chided her gently.
"Why does she always have to be different, Dad? No matter what I do, she won't say boo. We're ghosts, not a train!"
"Woo woo!"
"See? I know she can say boo, she just doesn't want to," Min grumbled. "It's probably my last Halloween goin' trick or treating, and I want us to look scary and cool."
"And what is wrong with different?" he asked reasonably. "I have done different myself for years. Successfully, I might add, because I now have you three."
Min shrugged. "But that's diff-" She giggled. "Oh. Put that way, I guess you're right," and she tugged gently on her sister's hair. "Woo woo it is, Jen."
Jeannette whined a protest and he swung his daughter up into his arms, giving her the cup of water. She took a sip, hoping for fruit juice, and at the bland taste, let go of the cup, Erik deftly catching it before it hit the ground. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes as he walked over to the ancient apple tree, its gnarled limbs forming a leafy canopy over the playpen they had set up, and laid her down. Almost immediately she mounted a protest, and he put a slender hand on top of her head. "You have caused enough mayhem, young miss. Sleep for a while and recharge those batteries."
She cried pathetically, reaching both hands out for her father, who was very tempted to pick her back up. He cast a furtive glance around, afraid he was being watched by his wife, who insisted that he not spoil his daughters lest they become little fiends. It was terribly hard on him when identical sets of blue eyes stared up at him with such poignancy. Even worse was when Christine added her baby blues to the mix.
All right.
He was putty.
But when he had two of his ladies curled up on either side of him on the couch, and the baby sprawled asleep in his lap, he knew what Heaven on earth truly meant.
Stoically, he turned his back on her, and grabbed the trowel, smoothing the edges of the tiny footprints. He would save the ones which were well formed, and smooth over the prints which were not. Even when his daughters left their childhood behind, he need only gaze upon their footprints to bring it all back. He worked for a handful of minutes before turning around and eying the playpen. Jeannette was sprawled on her belly, sound asleep, a thumb shoved in her mouth. He watched fondly as her cupid's bow lips sucked lightly on her thumb and stilled. He couldn't imagine life without her now. Erik snagged the peach and white blanket with the nursery rhyme characters prancing across it (her favorite) and covered her with it.
He continued his trowel work, at one point stopping to rake his hair back and secure it at the base of his neck again, realizing as he eyed the girls' footprints in the cement, how far they had come in five years.
Phil had indeed managed to get the assault charges dropped, although the magistrate had decided that a week's stint serving lunch to the homeless at one of the shelters, would be a fair thing for Erik to do. Not wishing to jeopardize his freedom any, he had acquiesced with good grace, and on a sunny day in late winter, he showed up at the shelter. But he had company. Christine, not content to let him go alone, was with him as well as Min. There they stood in the lunch line, side by side as they fed the hungry crowds which showed up everyday; Erik filling the plates with meat and vegetables, Min putting a slice of bread and pat of butter on each tray, and his fiancee, wearing her very tasteful nothing-like-Sorelli's engagement ring, handing out the drinks. Min's therapist at the time, had considered the girl's participation to be beneficial for her. Erik, used to being on his own in times of trouble, was simply grateful for their support.
Also helpful, was the visit to the hospital Christine made to Irving Gilbert, the homeless man who had tried to warn Min of danger and been attacked for it. She arrived at his room carrying a large fruit basket and an offer of employment at LipSync as a janitor. A month later, Gilly was working an honest job after years on the dole, and seemed to be settling in well. He worked his shift with no complaints, and had cleaned up enough to appear to be a different man altogether, but one day they arrived at the club to find that Gilly had disappeared. Christine lamented the fact that for some people, structure in their lives was anathema. For some, drink would always reel them back in and govern their lives.
Erik preferred to think that Gilly had finally decided to look for his daughter.
As he worked, he cast his mind back to the night nearly three years before when Christine had informed him that he was to be a father.
He had accepted a two year contract from Mark Abba, all the details ironed out by Phil. Christine had begun working with him at LipSync, and except for a few rough edges, she had merged well with the other band members. They took a brief honeymoon after their small wedding, and when they returned, had begun work on Christine's voice using the club's grand. Further work was done honing his own skills at the piano, and one evening a few months later, Abba permitted them to fit in a few songs for Christine, with Erik accompanying her.
It had been well accepted, and they continued her training, club work, and their fledgling marriage.
His mother had contacted him again, but this time she seemed willing to dine on crow. Carla had left town with Nadir, and Claire was now indeed on her own. Would he be willing to try for the sake of blood, a rapprochement? He had wondered at it, content to let the months march by without an answer, until a surprising source of enlightenment spoke up.
Christine.
One night after Min had gone to bed, she joined him in the living room and handed him a glass of Merlot. "Here. You're gonna need it," she said, sitting down beside him.
"Why?"
She took a small sip of her wine and got right to the point. "Min wants a baby brother...or sister."
Erik, not paying close attention responded with a smile, "Can't we get her one of those from Babies R Us?"
"Very funny, Erik. I meant a real one."
He swallowed his mouthful of wine with an audible gulp. "You're not joking, are you?"
"Nope. Wouldn't you like a baby?"
"This has less to do with Araminta and more to do with Christine, doesn't it?" and she had the good grace to blush.
"I want us to have a baby. I want your baby."
Erik looked at her in bewilderment. "Why?"
"Because I love you."
"And I love you... more than anything in this world and beyond it, but that doesn't make me want to procreate."
"Well, you're not a woman either."
His smile was sickly. "Thank you for noticing. I've never really thought about it, to tell you the truth, but what child besides Araminta, would want me for a father? I consider her my daughter as well as yours. I am happy," he replied simply.
"What if I told you you could be even happier? A son maybe. Any child of yours would love you, babe."
"I don't require a son, Christine. What of your hard work? My hard work? We are very close to finding another venue to perform together onstage. I am writing music again, and by next year I expect to be in a recording studio."
"A child won't change anything, Erik. I can sing pregnant. Maybe not as well," and she shrugged, "but we'd get by."
"What about this?" sweeping a hand across his mask. "Do you want a little child with this profile?"
"I've been doing some research on that. They do genetic testing now to check for anomalies. Did you know that?"
"Yes," recalling his mother mentioning that very thing.
"We would know before I got pregnant. So what do you say? Want to think about it? If you do, keep in mind the clock's ticking. I'm not getting any younger."
Erik let out a gusty sigh and quipped deadpan, "I don't know what I ever saw in you, so riddled with age as you are."
"Shut it, you," Christine retorted, ruffling his hair.
A baby. He had never thought of having a child. He had everything he could ever want. Why change that?
And yet...
He had looked closely at his wife, and knew one indisputable truth. He could deny her nothing. Not even his sperm.
"Why not?" he shrugged. "I'm not doing much for the next twenty years or so."
And Christine had squealed in his ear as she hugged him tight.
"So show me, show me everything you do
Cause baby, no one does it quite like you
Love you, need you, oh, babe
I wanna kiss you all over
And over again
I wanna kiss you all over
Till the night closes in
Till the night closes in."
He made his bows and exited the stage, eager for some alone time with his wife. She had been less than happy with him this morning. He snorted. She had climbed all over him, and not in a good way. Their arguments always blew over quickly, especially when there wasn't much more than air and pet peeves to fuel them. She made him the happiest man alive, and the little bumps along the way, well...he never took them too seriously. All the same, he still managed to get anxious when she was upset with him.
Especially when he didn't know why.
When he spied Christine, he gave her one of his patent smiles that never failed to soften her eyes. She had picked a fight with him that very morning over burnt toast, a pair of runaway dirty socks, and a raised toilet seat, treating him like the winner of the world's most slovenly man contest, and pointedly ignored him on the way in to work. Erik had kept his cool, realizing that it was time for her PERIOD. Christine had explained not long after they wed, that any time she wanted him, chocolate, and an argument, (in that order), it was no doubt caused by hormones.
So he had approached her with caution.
"Well, you've done it again," she announced, grabbing his hand and leading him unresisting down the hall to her dressing room.
"Done what?" Clueless, he went back over everything he had said to her since they had arrived at the club. Finding nothing that could have upset her, he was nevertheless uneasy when he spied the strange glint in his wife's eye.
"That damned voice," she growled, as she pulled Erik into the room. She had no sooner shut and locked the door, when she began attacking him, ravaging his very willing mouth, not even allowing him to undress. Feeling a little light-headed when the blood supply in his upper body redirected itself southward, he allowed Christine to free him from his leather trousers. She was showing no mercy to his painfully hard member, as she pulled and tugged at the button and zip until his pants were just past his narrow hips. Admiring her enthusiasm, he had eagerly jumped right in, bending her over the only chair in the room, his eyes dark and hungry as he regarded Christine's notable lack of underwear. She whimpered in pleasure as he slid into her.
"You were very certain of the outcome," Erik panted, as he clutched at her hips.
"As s-sure as I am that you caught every stolen breath I t-took during... oh, love!...during the...the last song," her eyelids fluttering shut at his forceful onslaught.
"Caught them...and uh...um...a-analyzed them. Ahh...no more talk now...no more..." as he moved inside the warm, welcoming place that always transformed him into someone better.
It had been explosive and wildly exciting, and he had wondered if make-up sex would always be this good.
They had remained in the room for a while longer, relentlessly kissing each other.
Life was good.
Erik remembered everything about the next evening. He had helped Araminta with her homework while Christine did the supper dishes. It was one of his favorite times of the day when they were all together. After the girl had gone off to bed, his wife had disappeared into the bathroom for a time. Thinking she was soaking in the tub, he contemplated joining her, when she at last left the bathroom, and approached him with a narrow strip of stiff paper in her hand.
"We did it, Erik. We did it," she crowed, her voice vibrating with excitement. "I had a sneaking suspicion the hormones were kicking in for an entirely different reason last night, and I was right!"
Her earlier words came back to him. Something about needing him, chocolate and a good fight.
No. That isn't right. Look at her...she is all smiles. No bad mood there. Maybe she's had the chocolate and now requires my undivided attention.
Erik rubbed his bony hands together in anticipation, and patted the couch beside him. "Sit and tell me what we did, because it seems to have slipped my mind," but already, he was thinking back to the way she had attacked him after the show, and couldn't stop a grin at the memory.
Hormones, indeed. Bring them on!
She dropped onto the couch and held out the strip of paper. "All that practice and hard work has finally paid off," a wicked smile playing about her mouth. "You, my darling, have earned yourself a well deserved rest."
"A rest? I don't need a...a...
"...rest," he finished weakly.
At last it had sunk in, and perversely he had taken issue with the hard part statement. "I enjoyed every single minute, Christine," Erik said through numb lips.
"So did I. I was just teasing you," her eyes sparkling with delight.
"Ha, ha," he muttered, not amused.
Father.
Dad.
Daddy.
He was going to have a child. They were going to have a child. Sperm meets egg. He felt faint. Should he put his head between his knees? No, idiot. That's only in the delivery room. Men pass out there all the time.
"I feel faint," he whispered faintly.
"I'm supposed to say that, Daddy!" she replied indignantly, before throwing her arms around his neck. "I know what'll fix you right up!"
"What?" he had croaked.
"Chocolate."
A father. He would need more than chocolate.
A few scotch on the rocks would hit the spot.
Father.
He had hugged her back, determined to be her steady anchor through the whole ordeal, and after those arduous, wondrous months of observing Christine ballooning with his child, he at last beheld his tiny, red-faced daughter for the very first time.
Jeannette Marie Girard.
She was perfect.
The baby was a few weeks old when Erik decided to inform his mother of the birth. Already over-joyed with his daughter, he had felt the urge to pass along the knowledge that her ill-conceived son could create something as lovely as Jeannette. It was pathetic on his part, a lasting bruise on his psyche that had never truly healed.
Or more like the memory of a bruise, still a little tender, but any lingering pain was long gone, replaced by the love of Christine and their children.
He tried to explain to his wife why he wanted to announce Jeannette's birth, words somehow escaping him this time, and so he said it baldly. "I want her to see my daughter. I want her to know the beauty I have created with you. I wish to take her to see Claire someday, but I don't expect you and Araminta to accompany me. I will not inflict my mother on either one of you."
Christine made a sour face. "Why put yourself through that?"
"When you are called misbegotten as many times as I was, it leaves a lasting mark. I want to show her that I am capable of something lovely."
"Oh, babe...you've already done that! You have shown everyone through your music...through the love of your family. Claire is the one who is ugly. Not you.
"But, she is your mother, and because of her, I have you." Her hand crept up to his masked cheek, "She'll have tons of regret someday... I don't want you to have any. As for us ladies, may I remind you that we can hold our own against anyone, including your mother?"
He had been floored by his wife that day, and had given what she said a good deal of thought. When Jeannette was three months old, the four of them made the drive to Hartford in their new used Highlander. Erik had sold the Phantom to Reggie, as he had planned, and put the money down on the three year old gray SUV. Their first big trip en famille, was to his mother's.
The visit was awkward, to say the least, and almost from the beginning they hit a road block.
What went down that first day, Christine was kind enough to relate to him afterward.
Claire sat regally in a slipper chair in the old parlor and cooed over the baby in her lap. A small mountain of gifts waited to be opened; she was off to a good start buying her granddaughter's love, but Christine had to stop a rude snigger at the image of the dragon lady as a doting grandmother. Small talk was attempted, the silences between subjects not quite stilted, but Christine's lighter mood vanished completely when the old woman looked up and surveyed her son with wintry eyes.
Rapprochement was over before it had actually begun.
"You're back on stage with a piano," she said with grim satisfaction, but flicked a contemptible finger at his head. "Kept the long hair, I see. Still looks terrible."
He gave her a cool nod. "Thank you. Again. Forgive me if I don't cut it off for you."
"You always were the most insufferable-"
"Babe, can you take the girls for a little walk? Show them that fishpond filled with million dollar koi. I would like to have a word with your mother," and when she gave him a slow wink, he turned and eyed his mother with something approaching pity. "Oh, and would you close the doors on your way out?"
"Really, I don't think this is necessary-" Claire's words abruptly cut off as Erik took the baby from her and led Min out of the room, shutting Christine in with his mother.
She turned and regarded Claire with steely blue eyes. "There's a new sheriff in town."
"Make sense, young woman," Claire said stiffly.
"You understand me perfectly well. Question for you, Claire. What do you think of your new granddaughter?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Christine. Aside from the fact that I detest you as her mother, I am well pleased with the child."
"No different for me then, having you as her grandmother. Erik must take after his father in the warmth department though, because you can make a blizzard feel the chill! My poor husband had to suffer through his growing years with you as his care-giver and protector. And you were awful at it."
"And you are impertinent! I don't see where it's any of your concern how I raised my son!"
Christine mentally shoved her sleeves up to her elbows, dug in her heels, and gleefully cut loose on Erik's sorry excuse for a mother. "My husband is a far better person than you could ever hope to be, and yet he obviously feels some familial responsibility toward his surviving parent. If and when he decides to come back here, it will depend largely on you! And Erik. Myself? I would just as soon make this the last visit. You give me heartburn," and when the old woman opened her mouth, Christine put up a hand.
"I'm talking now, so shut up and listen," Christine grinning wolfishly at Claire's look of horrified shock. On her face, it was decidedly comical. "Since we're being honest, let me just state that I don't like you either. At. All. The one thing I will give you credit for, is the thing you despise the most. His very existence. At least you managed to give birth to him, but mothering had very little to do with it."
Claire reared back as if she'd been slapped. "I don't think you're in any position to throw stones at me, missy! You have no comprehension of what it was like having Erik. The stares and pity. My friends whispering behind their hands, gossiping about Claire Mercer's freakish child! You, who have been blessed with two beautiful daughters, wouldn't know how it felt!"
The younger woman's eyes flashed in anger. "How do you think Erik felt being blamed for something that wasn't his fault? Perhaps it was your genes that backfired. Did you ever think of that?" Christine snapped. "It doesn't really matter though. Bottom line is... I won't have you running him down anymore. So clean up your act! ASAP."
"My, but you're disgustingly full of yourself!"
"Would you like to see more of Jeannette, Claire?"
"Well, of course I would," she returned with impatience. "The Mercer line will continue now, and someday perhaps, Erik will father a son."
"I wouldn't count on that, if I were you. Just like I wouldn't count on another visit."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Of course I am."
"And your terms?"
"Oh, that's very simple, Claire. Even for you to figure out. So here it is. You will treat my husband in the manner he deserves, or you'll never see his daughter again.
"Ever."
When he finally rejoined his wife, she was wearing a look of supreme satisfaction. Erik said nothing, but a hasty glance at his mother's white face and grim mouth told him all that he needed to know. Claire's stiffly worded pleasantries were a dead giveaway.
His mother never uttered pleasantries.
Christine had royally tomahawked Claire into playing nice with her only child...
...or else.
Jeannette managed to thaw a little of the ice with no visible effort at all. Some of the bitterness still remained, would always remain, because he hadn't had a cherubic face and rosy skin, and Claire's attitude toward baby Erik had been vastly different, but the hurt was gone, washed away by his own family.
His mother held her granddaughter close again, while the parents unwrapped the baby gifts. Martha brought coffee and cake, while they all pretended to be the image of generational amiability. Claire remarked on the child's astonishing resemblance to her namesake, and Christine had taken issue with that.
"She doesn't really look like anyone just yet, but she does have her dad's sweet smile."
Erik regarded his wife suspiciously. "I thought you said that was just gas?"
"Yes, but she still curls her lips up just like you do," she had explained fondly.
"Why that's nonsense!" Claire had snapped. "It's plainly evident that Jeannette has inherited...that Jeannette has-" She looked up hastily at the sound of the younger woman delicately clearing her throat, looking speculatively at her mother-in-law. Claire swallowed the rest of that sentence, trying for another. "Yes, I-I do believe I see it, Christine," she finished weakly.
Erik, secretly pleased by Christine's defense of him, felt for the very first time in his mother's presence, warmth and love.
But it had nothing to do with Claire and everything to do with his wife.
Claire glanced from her son to the woman he had married. Her prior notions of Christine as a cold, grasping divorcee had undergone a sea change.
Surprisingly, the woman had all the signs of being deeply in love with her son.
She was also not above a little blackmail.
"Brava! You seem to take championing my son very seriously," she noted, trying for a friendlier smile. "I will have to remember that in future, if I am to see my granddaughter again," and at the cool nod from Erik's wife, the status quo was assured.
To Christine, Claire seemed to have a touch of gas herself, if that sickly grimace of hers was any indication.
The stand-off averted, they settled in for the weekend, taking walks to the little cemetery on the hill, shopping in Hartford, and even a sing-a-long at the piano, which Min loved. At the end of each day, they tucked their daughters into bed for the night, and bathed in the large claw foot tub down the hall. Erik would gratefully slip the mask off, his skin reveling in its removal, baring his face to the one who loved him the most. They would retreat to the privacy of their own room where it was just the two of them, taking comfort in each other as they nearly always did at the end of a long and tense day.
But even with the new and improved mother-in-law, her occasional sniping couldn't be eradicated entirely. Christine mentioned to her husband that getting a hyena to change its spots, wasn't such an easy task, and finally with relief, he packed up his family and took them home to their suddenly cramped apartment.
He stood and regarded the very place he had met the woman he loved so very dearly and now called wife, surprised to remember how she had at first irritated him to no end. The place where a little girl had befriended him when he had none. Where he had found love and acceptance.
Wonder of wonders.
Happiness.
And he knew it was time to move on.
They had slowly made headway after his contract expired at LipSync. Refusing an extension from Mark Abba, they had struck out on their own when he believed Christine to be ready for the stage, and Erik was confident that they could find venues to perform their music. And they had, on stages in the city and beyond, even making a few forays into the recording studio where he was putting together a new CD.
Shortly after the birth of their daughter, an idea had begun to form, and instead of pestering his wife with false hopes, he had sent inquiries out to the place where he had spent one summer working when he was twenty-five.
The Chautauqua Institution.
A venerable education center and resort, it was renowned for its musical programs among many others, the public enjoying its symphonies, ballet, opera, and concerts. Along with classes in varied subjects, the compound held lectures on social, political and academic issues, but it offered a wider range of special courses in music, art, dance, and drama. His hope was to find a place in one of the teaching programs, whether piano, music composition, or even violin. Then with a foot in the door, he could push for concert evenings featuring classical music, as well as some of his own pieces, rearranged to include Christine. The Institution had notable visitors from around the world, and would be a good jumping off point for a singer with serious intentions.
If things went well, the possibilities were endless for him and his family, but his arrival to the dilapidated brownstone apartment that wet spring day, and the treasure he had discovered within its walls, had been a life changing event for him. He felt sad leaving it behind as he made a last check for any items they might have forgotten.
"I'll miss it too," Christine said, slipping up behind him and sliding her arms around his waist. "This is the place I found something I didn't even know I was searching for. Funny, isn't it?"
"No," and raised one of her hands, dropping a kiss in the palm. "I found it too."
On a warm June day, Erik accepted the hospitality of the Institution, and an offer of employment, teaching advanced piano for several months of the year, as well as piano recitals, including Christine performing a repertoire of songs chosen by her husband. Erik was even asked to be guest pianist with the prestigious Chautauqua Symphony Orchestra, on the evening they performed Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 23 in A major. When the event was over, Christine had approached him with a fierce pride shining from her eyes, and it humbled him to see it.
With the season's end, and accompanied by their girls, they performed in different venues around the country during the fall and winter, keeping themselves to one recital a month. The theatres and concert halls he had first cut his teeth on, were quick to line up and welcome him back as a concert pianist. To his lasting joy, the performances now included Christine. The rest of their time was spent practicing and recording music at a studio in Buffalo.
For the summer season though, work was centered around Chautauqua. For six months they had rented a house on Institution grounds, the beautiful park-like atmosphere and quaint Victorian homes, making their stay wonderfully refreshing from city life. The administration and folks at the Institution were happy to receive his talent, and approached his hidden face as if everyone should have a masked man on staff. Erik, in his black jeans, charcoal gray shirt (Christine's contribution), and fitted black jacket, lent an exotic appeal to the Institution. Add the yellow eyes and raven hair pulled back at his nape, and the simple fact that he was good at what he taught, it was no wonder that his classes were filled to capacity.
On an afternoon trip to the little village of Bemus Point in western New York where they spent their honeymoon, they had strolled along the shores of the lake and discovered at the furthermost end of the town, an overgrown one acre lot and a rundown house being slowly swallowed by weeds. It was for sale, and though it would take much hard work and a lot of their money over the years, it had been love at first sight for the both of them. They would have their privacy and room for the girls to grow.
The rest as they say, was history.
And he wouldn't change a thing, as he glanced over at the playpen where his daughter now slept.
A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He straightened up and met his wife's bemused smile. "You were so far away, I could have picked your pocket. Here," she said, handing him a glass of lemonade, the ice cubes clinking against the sweating sides of the glass. "Fresh made just for you."
Erik took the glass gratefully from Christine, downing half of it while she admired the sidewalk. "It's a work of art, starring your children's feet. Looks like you planned it this way."
"How do you know I didn't?"
"Because you didn't have to chase Jenny down. You wanted her to stay out of the cement, so that's exactly where she went."
"Perverse like her mother and sister," he smugly pointed out, mouth twitching in suppressed amusement.
Christine had to smile at this since there was some truth to it. Her and Min would often argue for the sake of it, leaving Erik to shake his head in weary resignation. Both of her daughters' footprints trailed down the sidewalk which ended at their driveway. On the other side of the drive was soft green grass, soft enough for little girls to run and play on, and beyond that was Lake Chautauqua. Home now, was the two story house made from stone and wood, accented with grooved shake siding, the wood stained a deep walnut, and all of it crouching beneath a forest green roof. The roof had set them back a pretty penny, but she had to admit, it looked good with the floor to ceiling windows facing the water.
She walked over and checked on Jeannette, the baby's lashes fanned darkly beneath tightly shut eyes. Erik and she were like any other married couple...prone to bad moods and misunderstandings, but they wouldn't allow an argument to fester for too long. They would go to bed distantly polite and lay there in the dark, carefully not touching, but awaken sometime during the night in each others' arms, having gravitated there somewhere along the way. Christine liked to think it was their sensible halves doing the thinking while they slept.
But she had often come down on him for over-indulging the children, for her husband, normally with good sense about everything else, always seemed in danger of losing it when it came to the girls, and that included herself. She loved him for it, but that's where their bickering was often centered.
And she knew the reason why.
Erik was generous and loving, but had kept it bottled up inside of him for far too many years. Finding three people for his considerable love and affection to latch on to, often had him going at it with a vengeance.
"No, you can't buy her a pony just because she wants one, Erik! She's bumped along just fine without one so far," she remembered telling him when they first moved into the house.
"But it would teach her responsibility toward others," he had replied reasonably.
"Oh, really? As in... 'can't feed Hermy now, Mom, but can you put some food in her dish?'
"She was looking for worms. We were going fishing, Christine," he pointed out, his patience wearing a little thin. "That's what that large body of water outside our door has in abundance."
"Uh huh. So if Min gets her wish from her fairy godfather and gets a prancing pony, will dear old mom have to shovel oats into its horsey mouth on a daily basis?" and her husband had mumbled something under his breath.
"Didn't catch that, Girard. Say again?"
He had steeled himself for battle. "You are simply upset because no one ever bought you a pony," he responded coolly, "or offered to take you fishing."
She had squealed in anger at his presumption that she was jealous of their close relationship and told him so. "That's ridiculous and you know it, Erik! I adore the fact that the two of you get on so well! Seeing her happy like this means the world to me! Besides...I never wanted a pony. I wanted a-"
"What?" he jumped in quickly, all ears.
"Nothing," she muttered.
"I am not going away until you tell me," he warned, a mulish set to his mouth.
She blew out a gust of air in exasperation. "I wanted a pair of songbirds, all right? Happy now? Canaries who would sing and warble all day long." She leaned into him...despite her present annoyance, Erik was her Happy Place. "My mom had just died and Dad kind of left me to myself for a while. I was...I was lonely, you know? I missed my mother." She made a soft sound. "Hell, I missed my father! He was living so much in his own head...he forgot I was hurting too. Besides he...we didn't have money for something so frivolous," she said in a low voice and shrugged. "Shit. Forget it, okay? It was years ago."
He slid his arms around her waist and bent to her ear, nuzzling it. "I will sing and warble for you all day long if it helps. Let's not argue about this. I promise to be good."
And that is how she had ended up with Hans Solo and Princess Leia on her birthday. She loved listening to them sing, and yes...warble.
Min, as it turned out, was taking riding lessons at the stables over in Celeron. As of yet though, no pony. She snorted. He was probably waiting until Jenny was old enough to make it a matched pair.
And they had lavished love on him. Their first year as a real family, they had teased his birthday out of him (November 9th), and made Erik a cake and bought presents. To this day she had remembered his reaction, making her choke up even now. Min had drawn him a picture, only this time it contained three people (the tallest still remained a stick), a gerbil and one lumpish cat. Christine had framed it and Min inexpertly wrapped it. She had pushed Erik into a chair and handed him the first present.
"Open it! Go on, Dad. You're gonna like it a lot," and he had frozen at her words, staring at the gift in his lap.
Christine observed her very quiet husband, who at the moment, refused to look at either one of them. "Min, go get us some napkins, please."
"But they're already out."
"Well then...go get some more."
"Geesh," she mumbled, but did as she was told.
Christine knelt in front of him and put a hand under his chin, raising it, not really surprised to see her husband's eyes suspiciously bright. "Hey, you," she said softly. "What's up? Can't be the gift...you haven't seen it yet. And the color ain't that bad...for purple."
"You're scaring me, Christine," he said thickly, a hitch in his voice. Ashamed of his reaction, he tugged his chin from her hand, refusing to look at her. "It startled me a bit, that's all. She called me dad," he said defensively. "I never thought... I'm very-" He fell silent when she raised a finger to his thin lips.
"I know," her thumb stroking his bony chin, paused on the slight dimple there. "Min asked me if it would be okay, and I said yes. It is all right, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course!" he answered vehemently. "I am...h-honored that she trusts me so much. Of course it's all right."
"You're more of a father to Min than her real one ever was, so why not? Just because it was Raoul's sperm who took a dip in the gene pool, doesn't make you any less her father. She loves you. I love you." Christine shrugged. "Hell, Scooby loves ya, and Hermione just lives to rub her butt up against your leg! Face it, Girard, you're stuck with us forever."
"And a day," he added quietly. Hopefully.
"And a day," she had agreed.
The rest of that birthday party was mostly forgotten, but the affect it had on her husband would last a lifetime for her. He had a family who loved him, and he knew it.
Another source of their infrequent fights were her voice lessons. But these arguments led to some very interesting outcomes. She thought the world of her husband. In her opinion, no one finer. She would never call Erik easily manipulated, but he would usually bend to whatever she wanted, whether it was something as simple as what to have for dinner, or Christine desiring him to impregnate her.
That laid-back acceptance ended where music began.
Erik was a musical genius.
He was also a musical tyrant.
Her husband had once told her, 'Music is an expression of the human condition in all of its varied moods. Done well, it is one of the most powerful forces on the planet.'
Ha! Second only to you, my darling.
He would not condone his wife's lackadaisical attitude to her voice. Erik demanded (and grudgingly received), the best that Christine could give, never satisfied with a good performance. He wanted a great one. Rehearsals often led to heated words being exchanged, foot stomping (hers), as well as tears. (also hers) His eyes would flash dull gold, his voice a low purr which usually signified that she had pushed him a little too far. In the early days of their marriage, arriving home that day, would find her giving a now mournful Erik, the cold shoulder for what Christine saw as his unrelenting attack on her.
He simply waited...
...knowing by the time they went to bed that night, he would be reaping the benefits of his take-no-prisoners stance toward her singing lessons. To put it bluntly- Christine was aroused by his ruthless teaching methods.
And she showed it in the bedroom. It was a definite win-win for him. Christine's lovely instrument was beautifully realized, and she was turned on by his no nonsense approach to it.
He was dogged in her lessons, a stern taskmaster, having her do the same exercises again and again. Assignments where she practiced breathing techniques and vowel sounds for the amount of time it took for him to see progress, before moving on to her stage presence. According to Erik- it left a lot to be desired. He never raised his voice to her, merely an unseen eyebrow, a grim mouth, or a hissed directive. He never belittled her efforts, but watched her unnervingly with head tilted, as though studying a bug specimen under glass. He was intimidating even as he remained seated at the piano, never moving, until she at last caved, promising to do better. Erik could not be swayed to allow her any fudging on the repetitious practices he set for her to do.
Loving husband offstage.
Demanding teacher on.
Two very different men, residing in the same body.
She adored both.
Little by little though, his direction and her hard work paid off. For a reward, he would play accompaniment to any song she wanted to sing, and she always opted for a duet. For Christine, her husband's voice had no equal.
Life was good.
She took one last look at her sleeping daughter and returned to her husband's side. "Are you about done now?"
"Just a little more. Let me show you," and with the edge of the trowel, began writing the girls' names in the cement, along with the date. While he worked, Christine stared at the view in front of her- the lake shimmering silver beneath the deep bowl of the cloudless sky, their dock jutting out into the water like a meandering wooden finger. A small pontoon boat tied there, was bobbing gently on the swells from the passing stern wheeler, the Chautauqua Belle. The Belle left Mayville daily, and navigated the lake from spring through fall, hauling passengers up and down its twenty-seven mile length.
She breathed deep, blissfully content, smelling lake water and the lush scent of the late blooming heirloom roses spilling over the weathered rail fence which lined their property.
She stood there a while longer, reluctant to go in the house on such a beautiful day, but she had things to do before Phil, Louise, and their one year old son Owen arrived. They were renting a cottage at the Institution for the week, and once they got settled in, they were coming for dinner. This would be their first visit since the Girards had moved here, and Christine was eager to show them around.
"This is great, Chris! You and Erik have done a wonderful job on this place so far. When you sent those pictures, I thought you both had slipped your moorings."
"You mean you thought we were non compos mentis?" Christine responded with mock innocence.
"Yeah, exactly...huh?"
"It's Latin and basically means... slipped your moorings, but in Erik-speak."
Sorelli put up a hand. "Say no more. I should have known it didn't originate from your mouth."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome," Louise grinned. "But seriously... this is great."
And it was true. The downstairs, was now wide and open, after they had decided to take some interior walls down- from the large kitchen and dining area, to the spectacular views of the lake from the great room with its fieldstone fireplace. The long windows all along the front, gave stunning views of the sun going down over the lake.
Louise paused to admire the gleaming grand piano taking up one corner of the room. Sitting in a place of honor was a framed picture with four crudely drawn figures, the tallest, drawn in black crayon, more of a stick figure than anything else. Also in the picture was a lumpy thing that sort of resembled a cat, two dabs of yellow in a cage, and a brown blob which could have been anything.
"Min drew that four years ago for Erik on his birthday. She added Jenny and the birds a year ago."
"I recognize the cat and the canaries, but what's that?" pointing to the blob.
"That's Scooby."
"Sure, I remember now. She had a funeral for it, didn't she?"
"Yeah. She loved that little guy."
Sorelli rolled her eyes. "No kidding," and gestured to the piano. "Nice."
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Christine said. "It's a used Bechstein, and Erik got it for a good price. It's great having a piano handy. Hey! I expect you and Phil to come to our first performance at Lincoln Center next year."
"When is it?"
"June."
"Did Erik ever replace his tux pants, or is he banging those keys wearing paint and grease?"
"Yep. He did. New tie and tails, shiny black shoes, and some very sexy looking trousers. Ever hear of the Ugly Duckling, Lou?"
"Sure. Who hasn't?"
"That could describe my husband. Put him in a formal suit, and he becomes a swan. Of course, he's always a swan to me, but he was made for those clothes.
"Or are the clothes made for him?" Christine pondered.
"Mm. Yeah...I can see that. Tall and super lean in your basic everyday black. Phil could give your man a run for the money though. Of course I'm slightly prejudiced, you understand," she said with a grin. "What about the female half of the dynamic duo? What's she wearing?"
"Among others...an apple green silk gown. It's my favorite."
"Sounds lovely. So Erik's singing and you're playing?" Louise asked wistfully.
"You wish."
"Get your hubby to sing and it's a deal."
"I'll be sure to tell him, you turncoat!" Christine laughed.
"When's the next concert and where?"
"Hartford, actually... in the Xfinity Music Hall next Saturday."
"So Erik doesn't like to travel without his little entourage?"
"That's right, but finding someone to watch the girls while we're busy isn't difficult; we use an agency that's available in most states, and the expense is well worth it. The release of his latest CD is going great, so we can afford it, and since his return to the stage, his older work is getting snapped up as well. The next recording is what you're looking for, Louise. Famous love duets. Everything from opera to soft rock, with a little jazz on the side. My idea, so you can thank me now or later."
"Do I get an autographed copy?"
"Well, sure I'll autograph it for you."
"I meant Erik's."
"Wait 'til I'm rich and famous! I won't know you," Christine informed her loftily.
They finished up their tour back in the kitchen, and Christine began mashing the potatoes. There was still so much to do on the house- the bathrooms' outdated plumbing had been the first thing to be tackled, for obvious reasons, and they had been replacing the fixtures a little at a time in the house built when the roaring twenties was in its heyday.
Many of the rooms featured horrendous wallpaper; their bedroom under the eaves, having a strange mix of deer and raccoon running rampant in an infectious green jungle, which eerily resembled the Brazilian rain forest on steroids. Christine would often stare for long periods of time at the ugly paper, swearing to Erik that she was seeing pale faces with wide curious eyes hiding among the flora and fauna. Ceilings with sections of mirrors occupied several of the rooms, including theirs, and her husband had insisted on placing the bed directly beneath them, allowing him to enjoy their sexual activity two-fold.
Which is why she spent a lot of time on top according to Erik. He would much rather look at her delectable behind than his own skinny backside.
When Christine attempted to reason with him, he had simply chuckled, a decadent sound, rich in timbre and innuendo. "I can look up at the ceiling anytime I wish, and see a demon making love to an angel," he had stated with satisfaction.
"Yes, but you're my demon, aren't you, babe?"
"No. You are mine," he corrected her, and successfully ducked the pillow she lobbed at his head.
He was a devil. At some point, the mirrors would have to go, but Erik intended to enjoy them until such time that they did. If she was honest, she sneeked a peek every once in a while. They had decided to concentrate on the kitchen and children's rooms first, leaving the others until time and money permitted.
"That man is seriously talented, pumpkin," Louise informed her friend as they prepared dinner.
"And kinky," she added, recalling the mirrors.
"Erik thinks the house may have been a retreat for bootleggers during Prohibition...maybe even a speakeasy in the cellar."
"No kidding! Kind of off the beaten track, wasn't it?"
"With all the small villages dotting the lake, there would have been plenty of folks looking for booze, and don't forget that this area has long been a place for people to fish, or just kick back."
"Now I know the reason for the ceilings with mirrors! This place might have provided entertainment- the horizontal kind," she said with a sly grin. "How about that! My friend, Christine Girard living in a whore house!"
"You're bonkers, Sorelli," she replied with a matching grin.
"How did The Voice do teaching this summer?"
Christine snorted. "Are you kidding? They adored him! He's good at what he does, and interesting to boot. He even had one of his students proposition him."
"You don't say? And this surprises you, how?"
"It doesn't. Not really. He's different enough to be intriguing... and he's more confident now in his own skin. Oh, he always was musically, but socially? Not so much."
"Well, I think that's part of it. There's nothing artificial about the man. Well, except for the mask. Teacher, huh? Think he'd take offense if I called him professor?"
"Nah, he's used to your lack of sense by now; his students just call him Erik."
"Well, whatever the hell they call him, just be glad he was teaching piano. If it was voice being taught and he sang for them, they'd neve let him out of that room."
Christine nodded sagely. "Confidence is attractive in its own right, I guess, but it sure helps to have a voice like sex on two very long legs." She tilted her head in an unconscious imitation of her husband. "You know...in the old days, someone like Erik would have hidden himself away... afraid to be noticed. Fortunately, most people are pretty decent about the mask and those that aren't... to Hell with 'em!"
"Here here!" Sorelli agreed. "So get to the punchline. What happened with the student who had the hots for teacher?"
"He's not interested in any extracurricular and told the woman so."
"That's all?"
"He told her to come and ask me for permission," Christine laughed.
"Ouch." Louise was busily chopping a salad for their dinner, and pointed her knife in the general direction of the road into the village. "That old hotel as we came into town is where you spent your honeymoon?"
"The Lenhart? Yeah. It's closed for the season now, but their Porch Rocker is a staple."
"I guess it would be if you want to take a load off your feet."
"It's a mixed drink, Lou. Tourists flock to the Lenhart for a Rocker and a rocker to watch the sun go down over Bemus Bay. They have floating concerts on the lake which Erik really enjoyed."
"Yeah, I guess he would," gazing out the large windows to where the man in question was standing and talking with Phil. "I dunno, the place looked like it was leaning a little, but that wide veranda is nice with all the rocking chairs."
"You would have hated it, Louise, but I loved it. There was no air conditioning, no TV, and the paper was peeling from the walls, but when we walked through the front doors, we took a step back to 1881."
"You're right. I would have hated it. I don't like steppin' back, but with you two...yeah, I can see it."
"Erik knew about Bemus Point and this area of New York when he was here one summer doing piano recitals at the Institution. He remembered the hotel, and thought it would be nice to come here." She laughed. "At first I was charmed by the old place, then appalled. I thought our house had old plumbing? You should have seen the bathrooms in the Lenhart!"
"Sounds hideous," Sorelli said with a shiver.
Christine merely shook her head. "We had a lovely dinner our first evening there, and afterward walked along the lake, and that night...well, that night was... something special. Erik really liked the music in the Lamplighter. It was the big band sound from the 1940's."
She smiled a secret smile. "He was very loving that night. We had a room above that veranda you admired, and it being a warm evening, we had our windows wide open. No air conditioning, remember? Well, it was our wedding night, and we were both very interested in each other and sort of vocal about it, I guess. Our bed was one of those old brass things...no reproduction either... with squeaky springs. Add to that, the bar downstairs makes a high octane drink called Dark n' Stormie, which the good folks staying at the hotel we're sampling after the concert at the Institution that evening, and we had us a very entertained audience. It was embarrassing after we um... finished, to hear them talking below our window, but as the saying goes- what's done, is done."
"So I suppose they gave you and Erik a standing ovation when you finally made it downstairs for breakfast?"
"Something like that," Christine replied with a chuckle. "They set plates heaped with food in front of us," she said with a wink. I'm pretty sure they thought Erik had arrived at the hotel thirty pounds heavier, and wasted away to nothing in that bed, because they gave him more to eat than he could handle. We sat at a table in the far corner with Erik expecting some of the men in the room to come by any minute and shake his hand."
"Breakfast of champions, right?" Louise quipped.
They were getting caught up on news of mutual friends, and Meg's on again off again romance with one of the dancers in the company, when Christine remembered some interesting gossip to relate. "Guess who turned up at Claire's three weeks ago?"
Sorelli snorted. "I doubt very much if it was you or Erik."
"She's easier to deal with hundreds of miles away and once a year," Christine replied, as she removed the roast from the oven, "especially after I trained her to heel, but you're right. It wasn't us." She opened a cupboard and took out a serving platter. "It was Carla."
"I'll be damned! That woman and a bad penny have loads in common. What did she want?"
"A place in Claire's will."
"That bitch! Think she'll get one?"
"Nope. Erik's mother has a long memory, but she kept Giudicelli busy looking at baby pictures. According to Claire, Carla couldn't wait to get out of there, but my brick up her ass mother-in-law, has no interest in that direction anymore; she got what she wanted when Jen was born. The Mercer bloodline to continue for another generation. She'll die a happy woman now.
"Or whatever makes someone like Erik's mother happy.
"I should say...less sour," Christine added shrewdly.
"She never had the urge to belly laugh?"
"Belly laugh? I'd settle for a weak chuckle, but someday she won't be among us, and I don't want my husband regretting any of his actions more than he already does." She carried the meat platter out to the roofed portico on the side of the house, and set it in the middle of the table.
"By the way, thanks for giving Nadir a heads up to our location. He stopped by on the way to Canada."
Louise heard the note of censure in her friend's voice, and went into defensive mode. "You never told me not to give him your address, Chris! He said he was on his way to a movie part and wanted to meet Erik's youngest lady. Did you know he was going there to make another horror movie?"
"Yeah, it's called Bride of Bigfoot."
"No kidding! I guess he's Bigfoot?"
Christine snorted rudely. "Not likely. He's the husband of the cousin of the best friend of the woman who becomes the bride of Bigfoot."
"Huh? Does that mean-"
Christine nodded sagely. "Yep. It's a walk-on drag away part. He gets ripped to shreds by an enraged Bigfoot...he doesn't even get to speak, just scream." She looked thoughtfully at Sorelli. "You know, he never spoke in Dread the Walking Dead either."
Louise snorted. "Hell, if silent pictures ever make a comeback, he's ahead of the game. So, did you have a nice visit?"
"Nope. I really do owe you one, Lou. He seemed more interested in getting a loan from Erik than anything else. He was really annoying about it."
"Did he get it?"
"Oh, he got it all right. Up one side and down the other. From me," Christine said with grim satisfaction. "He started about how lousy Carla was to him when she walked out, and I lost it. I used to be the poster child for women getting dumped on by men. Unfortunately, Erik arrived home before he left, and Nadir ended up getting the loan after all."
"Why does he tolerate Nadir?"
"Because if it weren't for him, Erik and I wouldn't be together. Don't change the subject! I still owe you one for giving us away."
"Does this mean I have to watch my back?" Louise said over her shoulder as she started for the house.
"No, you're safe," Christine replied amiably.
"Safe from what?" Phil asked, ambling over carrying Owen. "I could live here easily, I think," he stated. "I might have to look at some vacation properties in the area one of these days."
"Well, when you do, you can come and stay with us."
"Wouldn't want to put you out any, Chris. Erik said the Lenhart Hotel is a good place to stay. I want to surprise Louise for our anniversary...make it a second honeymoon. What do you think? Would she like it?"
Christine fought her evil side- and lost. "Trust me... she'd absolutely love it! She's fascinated by the place! But don't tell her about it until you carry her over the threshold. So much more romantic that way."
"That's settled then," he said with satisfaction, and Christine felt a momentary twinge of guilt. And then it was gone.
She looked over Phil's shoulder. "We're still missing one husband and two kids. I'll be right back."
"They're on the porch."
Christine mounted the rickety steps of the old porch facing the lake, slated to be replaced someday. Erik turned, smiling his singularly sweet smile. Jeannette was balanced on his left hip, and Min sat at the small card table.
"Dinner's ready," she said softly, sliding her arm around his waist. She crooked her finger at him, and obligingly, he leaned down. "How about you and me meeting up for a little canoodling later?"
"I'll bring the wine, and you bring... yourself, sans clothes," he murmured, "and I do mean nothing. Not too many days left for those mirrors," he stated mournfully.
"I know," she mock pouted. "What is Erik to do?"
"Erik will find something to replace them, never fear," and straightened up, saying in his smoothest, oily carnival barker voice, "Gather round, ladies and gents! Gather round," and when Christine looked around suspiciously for others, her husband chided her. "Help me out here, Girard!" and cleared his throat. "We have our next vict... I mean our next assistant. Pick a card, lovely lady! Any card, and slip it back into the deck, if you please," and watched as Christine chose one, before sliding it back into the pile. "Now remember your card, while my young apprentice reshuffles the deck."
"Mum, mum, mum," Jeannette squealed nonsensically, and patted her father's masked cheek. "Boo, Da."
Min glanced up at her sister. "Hey! She said it!" and looked at Erik in triumph. "Told you she knows how to say it, the little stinker!"
"Pay no mind to the wee munchkin, madam!" as he blew a gentle raspberry on the spot between Jeannette's neck and shoulder. The baby crowed laughter, and Erik looked at her in mock irritation. "No comments from the peanut gallery! As I say, madam, pay her no mind as I present my...second apprentice to you."
Christine wrinkled her nose. "Pleased, I'm sure, but I think the little miss here has become too excited for her own good, and should request a diaper change."
Erik bent his head, sniffing delicately. "Good assistants are hard to find, I assure you," he sighed with a mournful air.
"Dad means... she stinks," Min said, rolling her eyes, as she finished shuffling, and fanned the cards out on the table. She glanced at Erik, who gave her a nod.
"Go ahead. You know the trick as well as I do."
She ran her hand over the deck of cards, fingers hovering dramatically over them until she pulled one out with a flourish from the middle of the deck. "Is this the card you picked, Mom?"
"Amazing," she said quietly, her eyes softening at the card in her daughter's hand. "Simply amazing. Remind me not to play gin with any of you crooks." She slid her hand into Erik's and turned to leave the porch.
It was the time of day that Christine loved- the tang of wood smoke in the mild evening air, and the peaceful sound of water lapping at shore's edge. They often walked along the lake watching as clouds of gnats in the darkening sky were chased by whirling and swooping barn swallows seeking their own dinner.
Min sat looking idly at the card in her hand. "Dad said the Joker is a good card to be dealt."
Christine squeezed her husband's hand and looked up at him, a loving promise in her eyes as their gazes met and held.
"None better."
Fini