A/N Your reviews make me smile, thank you for them! I'm glad you seem to like this.
Eric and his father were able to behave as though they didn't repel each other for the duration of the funeral. Sten Northman was eulogized by his brother, and he did alright. I was grateful it wasn't Viktor. After his speech at dinner the night before, I didn't trust him anywhere near a pulpit. It was all very staid and subdued until the very end. It wasn't the whole megillah, with the parade and the parasols, but there was a small jazz band to play a jaunty rendition of "When the Saints go Marching In" for the recessional. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was stirred to tears. I caught Inge's reaction and she looked at first surprised and genuinely touched. I had brought one of Eric's handkerchiefs with me just in case, and I was glad to have it. I had barely known Sten, but I did know that he and his wife loved New Orleans. It felt like a very appropriate send off, or home-going, as we sometimes say in the South. Eric led Inge from the church and I heard her thank him as they passed me. I knew it must have been all to Pam's credit. This isn't something Ana would have arranged.
What she had arranged for was the catered wake at the Northmans' home following the funeral. A lot of guests came to have something to eat and to pay their respects. Their maid Greta was more or less permanently seated in the front hall, hopping up and down to answer the door and take or retrieve coats. It struck me as more than a little strange. Yes she worked for them, but she lived here. She had probably known Sten a lot better than most of the people who came and went. Surely she was grieving too? At one point Eric was caught up speaking with a small group from the management company and I wandered over to ask her if she wanted a break or needed to check on anything. She assured me that she was fine keeping busy there. I found myself giving her a little pat on the shoulder, which she returned with a grateful smile. I figured I was right that she was in mourning as well. She seemed to be coping by simply staying on task, which was understandable.
As grandson and heir, some portion of Eric's attention was wanted by nearly all the guests. At intervals, I stayed by his side, being introduced (as his girlfriend) but not really being included in the conversations. I found myself wandering somewhat listlessly through the house and the garden patio, collecting any discarded dishes or glasses that the catering staff had missed, or chatting intermittently to the few people I knew, mostly family members from dinner the night before. I found Patti Parker and Mitzy Pirrie sitting at a small table which had been set up outside and I stopped to say hello.
"Hello Sookie," Patti said with a warm smile.
"Patti, Mitzy," I greeted. I was relieved to see friendly faces. I smiled in earnest, a nice departure from the muted and polite airs I'd been affecting for most of the afternoon. Patti invited me to join them and I took one of the two remaining seats.
"Poor Inge is just surrounded in there. We said our hellos," explained Patti. "I think she would prefer it if we would all leave her alone, but she seems to be holding up dutifully."
I nodded. She was spot on in that assessment as far as I could tell. "She's such a strong woman," I agreed.
"Yes, when my Norman passed on I wanted nothing but to be left in peace," agrees Mitzy. "But all society wishes to console the widow in times like these. And of course, we are no different," she said, as if to excuse her own presence at the wake.
"I think it is alright to show that you care without hovering," I say.
"Very true," agrees Patti. "I am sorry I did not get a chance to call you this week, Sookie. After I heard the news of course we came back down to be here. We will have to try again and hope that luck doesn't conspire against us."
"I'd like that very much," I agree politely.
"That was very nice how they did the band," Mitzy comments. "I did not think that wife of the son's would have had the consideration."
"I think it was Eric's assistant Pam who planned for that," I say. "She did a lot of the coordinating for the family this week."
"It's so funny how they've renamed secretaries isn't it?" says Patti. "All this executive administrative assistant to the whomsoever now," she continues, baffled.
"Oh," I say, a little amused by her old-fashioned point of view. "I think it's that her job entails more than just typing and answering phones."
"I suppose so. You practically need a Ph.D. to operate the phones now anyway. But speaking of jobs, Sookie, how are things going?" Patti asks. Ah. Yes, I suppose we might as well.
"Actually yes, speaking of," I say, turning toward Mitzy. "Mitzy, I didn't know when we'd run in to each other again, but I wanted to say in regards to Hestia..." I pause taking a quick breath and the moment to collect my thoughts. "I understand that you spoke to Doug Salva on my behalf." That's a polite way to say it, yes? "And while I certainly appreciate it, I had to turn them down. I wouldn't feel comfortable starting in a job under that circumstance."
"Oh, yes, I talked to Doug," agrees Mitzy. "We had been hoping to get you situated down here, but I suppose it's neither here nor there now."
I'm sure I look puzzled, but I continue, "I am grateful for the thought of course."
"Yes," Mitzy agrees, acknowledging my thanks. "The unfortunate circumstance makes it a moot point now though, since Eric will have to be returning to the city for work."
"I'm sorry?" I query, not following her.
"Oh, you'll forgive us old ladies our little scheme Sookie," Patti says hurriedly. She sounds cheeky and unrepentant as she admits, "We meant to help you get situated here so that Eric would be inclined to be in New Orleans more often to see you, and of course then Inge and Sten as well. But it's by the by now, sadly."
"That's..." I begin. I don't even know what that is. Outrageous? Reprobate? Crazy. Crazy is what I'd thought initially and clearly I'd been dead on. Patti is patting my hand with a little smile.
"We were just trying to help everyone out," Patti says.
"Yes," I acknowledge. "Well, as I said, I am not quite comfortable with that."
"I understand, dear," says Mitzy. "Have you taken another position yet?"
"Uh, not yet, no. I'm still waiting to hear from many of the places I have applied, but I may end up going back to the Parish schools, they can always use good teachers."
"That will be nice, then," she says, politely disinterested.
I think now would be an excellent time to go and check on Eric! I stand and excuse myself from the two women, and Patti assures me she will give me a call soon. She really sees nothing improper about the entire situation which just doesn't sit well with me right now, so I simply smile my goodbye, unable to tell her I'm looking forward to getting together. She's a nice old lady, but suddenly I've got a far greater inkling of what Eric has meant about the extents to which they will toy with people's lives in order to have their way. It might be well meaning, but it's flat out inappropriate.
I find Eric in the front parlour chatting stiffly to an older couple. He reaches out to take my hand as I approach and introduces me. This seems to effectively end whatever other conversation they've been discussing. After a few more pleasantries exchanged, wherein they remarked on the lovely food and the touching service, they excused themselves.
"You have wonderful timing," Eric says, leaning down to speak softly right next to my ear. "They were telling me about their daughter. We'd get along famously, you know," he smirks.
"I'll bring you to church with me some time so you can return the favour then," I say, thinking of the many grandsons in and around Bon Temps just waiting to strike up a courtship with me. Yup, church, funerals, the frozen foods aisle at the grocery store. For the determined matchmaker, nowhere is out of bounds.
He gives my hand a little squeeze at that, and I catch sight of someone we both know on approach and nod in that direction, so that Eric turns to look.
"Ah, Peter," Eric greets, taking his hand from mine to shake.
"Eric," Threadgill returns coolly. "And Miss Stackhouse, a pleasure to see you again," he says, a bit more kindly.
"Thank you so much for coming," Eric says automatically.
"I wished to pay my respects," Peter states. After a pause, "Will we be seeing you in our offices this week?"
"Yes, I should be back in it by Tuesday," Eric agrees.
"We understand perfectly of course. Will Sophie Ann be sending your replacement out this week, or will she be joining us herself?"
I see Eric's eyebrows rise slightly. "I'm afraid you'll still be dealing with me for the foreseeable future. I intend to see the merger through before leaving Area Five."
"Do you indeed? That certainly leaves you a full plate, doesn't it? Where is Pam, I didn't see her coming in."
"She's back in Seattle for the weekend. She'll be joining us on Tuesday as well," Eric says.
"Ah, interesting. And Miss Stackhouse, are you here for the week as well? Eric, you'll have to bring her to dinner again. I haven't enjoyed one of those insufferable social meals half so well as when she joined us." Peter says.
"I'm afraid Sookie is headed back north tomorrow," Eric answers for me. That's fine. He was mostly talking to Eric anyway. I simply nod my agreement and offer a regretful little smile.
"Ah, more's the pity then. I don't know what Jennifer and Pam have scheduled, but I'm sure it's something. Keep it friendly, you know," he offers Eric what was probably intended to be a rakish grin. "Ah, and here is David," he says, turning toward his son just stepping up beside him.
"Father, Eric," Peter greets them each with a nod. "Ah, and Sookie, yes?" he says to me.
"David, it's nice to see you again," I say. Not particularly, of course. Then I remember that I actually have something conversational I can say to him. "I understand we have a mutual friend," I offer, thinking of Tara.
"Do we?" he asks. That's odd. Amelia said he recognized my name.
"Tara Thornton?" I prompt. "She was in my sorority at school, with Amelia Broadway?"
"Ah, right, Tara," says David. "Yes, we've been out a few times," he says, to the men, as much as me.
Definitely peculiar. I guess she hasn't met his father, or hasn't met him as David's girlfriend anyway. They've probably met through work. Or maybe not, I don't really know how the corporate hierarchy works. Peter Threadgill may not take time to get to know random employees. That seems more likely, actually. Supposedly Tara and David are moving in together. David spares me a direct look for a fleeting moment. While I have no idea exactly what he was trying to convey, I take from it that he'd prefer to drop the subject, so I do.
"It's quite a network these girls have. I can't say I've kept up with nearly as many from my school days," says Eric. I wonder if he's kept up with any. The conversation shifts then back to the three men's work and I'm relegated to nodding politely as they effectively talk over my head. Not long later, we're interrupted by Viktor.
"Eric, your grandmother has gone upstairs to rest after her trying day. Do you believe you will be much longer conducting business? There are a number of guests you have yet to greet," his father said. It made me bristle. I wouldn't call the conversation 'conducting business', even if they were speaking on the subject of their work. I certainly didn't like Viktor scolding Eric like a naughty child, let alone in front of Peter Threadgill.
"Of course," Eric says coolly, after a pause. "Peter, David, if you'll excuse us. I'll see you next week." Eric takes my hand and leads me through to another room. As we move, Eric takes the time to give nods of greeting and the stiff little smiles expected at such an occasion as this. While not rushing to the point of being obvious, we work out way fairly swiftly to the kitchen.
"Have you eaten?" he asks.
"Here and there," I answer. I'd been picking at various trays all afternoon, but it was a cracker here or there. I could happily eat.
"Would you please fix a couple of plates for us?" he asks to one of the catering staff, speaking over my head. He sits himself down on a stool at the counter, and rests his legs on the bottom run of a second, nudging it out for me. I sit, having to hop up a bit to gain purchase. I find myself watching him intently. He seems incredibly comfortable in this space, which is very much at odds with how he has been in the rest of the house, and especially odd right at this moment, given the exchange with his father. There were several of the staff in the kitchen when we entered, milling around and tending to food or to the dishwasher or garbage, but they seemed to evaporate within moments of our sitting down. Only one older woman remained, and she was taking care of making plates up for us out of the large trays left warm in either of two ovens. I watched him stretch his ridiculously long body across the counter and fish two dinner rolls out of a basket I would have had to get up and walk to.
"Do you want one?" he asks. I nod with a faint smile.
"Now where is Greta to warn you off spoiling your dinner?" I ask, as he devours his first roll in one whole bite. He gulps it down with a grin.
"No, Greta is new. She's only been here for six or seven years now."
"Oh yes? You hardly notice. She already seems to know where everything is," I deadpan.
"What do you mean?" he asks, then he catches up to my sarcasm. "Oh, I see. No, I suppose she's not new in that sense. Before Greta though, there was Mrs. Becker. They had Mrs. Becker since they bought this house. She was the one with the son my age."
"So it is Mrs. Becker who would be here scolding you to put your elbows off the counter and your feet on the floor?" I grin. I hear the soft clatter as he instinctively drops his feet.
"...Yes," he admits, looking sheepish.
We were each served large plates of salad and pasta and vegetables and fish by the kindly looking woman who seemed content to remain and wait on us. Normally this would probably make me feel a bit strange, but given the catering service was hired just for the day, I tried to accept it as normal.
"Thank you..." I say, in that prompting way that asks someone how they wish to be addressed.
"Jeanie," she supplies with a smile.
"Thank you Jeanie," Eric echoes, and takes a huge bite of some kind of julienne carrots and zucchini dish and makes a little good food moan.
"So Mrs. Becker didn't mind you in her kitchen?"
"No, she was always very nice. For your information she often let me spoil my dinner."
"How very remiss of her."
"Not really. In the summers she just used to let me be on vacation."
"Is she still in town?" I ask.
"No, she lives in Montana now, with her daughter and her daughter's husband. He's some kind of lumberjack or something."
"Really?"
"No, not really. He is a ranger at Glacier National Park. Her daughter works in one of the hotels up there, or lodges, whatever they have."
"That sounds really nice," I enthuse. It really does. I don't know if I could stand the cold, but it must be amazing to be surrounded by all that natural wilderness and splendour all the time. Not that Louisiana is ugly, but we certainly don't have snow-capped mountains on the horizon.
"They are a bit 'granola', if you take my meaning. Nice people though. Mrs. Becker loves it up there, though she complains of the cold in a good-natured kind of way," he says. I smile. I like Mrs. Becker already. Eric doesn't seem to have an abundance of kind words for anyone he knew growing up, so I'm already more or less convinced she is terrific.
"You're still in touch with her then?"
"A bit. She sends me Christmas cards with those little letters telling what has happened in her family for the year. I send things for her birthday and Christmas. She called the house on Tuesday, Fahma talked to her a bit."
"That's sweet."
"Yeah," he agrees.
"So how did that work, did she live here like Greta does? With her children?"
"Mm, sort of. They lived in the carriage house. Mr. Becker was the outdoor man. Uh. Gardener, I guess. Greta lives in here though. Back through there," he says, pointing toward an unobtrusive hallway on the far side of the kitchen.
"They don't keep a gardener anymore?" I ask, not really sure where else to go in this weird little upstairs/downstairs conversation. I'd only met Greta, and I didn't even know her last name. I just try to go along, as though practically everyone grew up with a family of live-in servants, so he doesn't feel weird about it, or so I don't feel weirder about it, or something.
"I'm sure they have a service for the lawn and such. Fahma does a lot in the garden now as you know. No, after Mr. Becker died, they just didn't replace him. And then after Mrs. Becker retired, Grandfather took over the carriage house."
"What, he was living out there?"
"No, just as his place to be and go. Like a man cave, I guess."
I let out a peal of laughter at the idea of Sten Northman having a man cave. That's what my brother started calling his den after he got the big television. He'd taken the old mini-fridge I had gotten way back when for my first dorm room and put it in there, so he wouldn't have as far to walk for a fresh beer or soda. He'd fitted it with a big comfy sectional couch with seats on each end that reclined. I tell him about Jason's setup and he chuckles, trying to picture his grandfather making a similar place for himself. He tells me that it's more in the order of a semi-home office, though there is a comfortable sofa in his library.
I was happy to listen to Eric do a bit more reminiscing about his summers spent in this house. It seemed like appropriate conversation for the day, even if the focus wasn't all on his grandfather. In fact, very little of it was. I wanted to tell him about Mitzy and Patti and Inge and Hestia, and I wanted to ask what he made of the way David talked about Tara, or rather wouldn't talk about her, but I didn't interrupt him. I came to realize as he talked that most of Eric's childhood had been spent away at school, actual boarding school, with his summers and vacations split up between here, his other grandmother's house. No wonder he wasn't close to his family. It seemed like he had barely seen them his whole life. I had to tamp down on my inclination to pity the poor little rich boy. He sure wouldn't thank me for it.
Jeanie was handy with the second helpings and brought the basket of bread rolls closer so he wouldn't have to reach for them. We spent maybe half an hour, and it was the most relaxed I'd seen him all day, including that morning before we were even out of bed. Too quickly though, we were finished eating and the cold pall settled back over his face.
"I don't think this is going to go on much longer," he says, standing in front of me as though to spot me as I scoot off my high stool to stand up. "I figure my father and his wife will be off soon, if they haven't gone already. Some of the family is staying here, but I think it falls to me to make sure everything wraps up, and I've been hiding out long enough."
"Alright," I say.
As we left the kitchen, Eric took a moment to let Jeanie know not to send any more food out, and to shift towards cleaning and closing up. Viktor and Ana were not to be found, so it seemed they had indeed excused themselves and returned to the hotel, or else gone out dancing, or whatever tactless thing they were up to. Gather up stray kittens into a sack to throw in Lake Ponchartrain maybe. It was another couple of hours before the day wound down so that only family and Greta remained at the house. Eric had tipped the caterers, and the valet service. The latter had been a practical choice, not a show of opulence. The Northmans' driveway just wasn't large enough to accommodate all the cars, and many of the visitors had been elderly, so the service had taken care finding spaces around the block.
Inge had come down once everyone else was gone. She looked as though she had gotten a couple of hours of rest, and was wearing a powder blue sweat suit. It was an odd look for her. She and Greta were packing up the food when we left. They planned to take most of it back to the church, which also ran a shelter. Inge set aside a couple of choice things that her friends had brought, but most of it was going. She didn't want to keep it in the house, and I couldn't blame her. After Gran's funeral, I threw out more taco salad and peas casserole than I care to remember. It was nice that Inge and Greta had somewhere to donate. Eric and I said goodnight. It wasn't particularly late in the evening but it had been a long day. We'd be doing it all again for brunch in the morning. When Eric hugged his grandmother she clung to him for a long time before letting him go. She thanked me as well, which was kind of her.
It was a quiet night for us back at the hotel. Despite Eric's avowal that we'd be working out the day's frustrations with passionate sex, we were both of us just exhausted, mentally and physically. I fall asleep in a bathrobe on top of the bed. I find the book I'd been reading was on the nightstand next to me when I wake up. Eric is curled up next to me with a blanket slung over us both. He's snoring lightly so I shirk the robe and snuggle back against him. It occurs to me that I will miss him when I leave this afternoon. I try to put the thought aside. I wasn't laying there for long before I felt him stir and nuzzle into my neck. I let out a contented sigh and let my hands wander. It had become apparent that as a general rule, Eric did not wear clothes to sleep. I found it convenient.
Brunch consisted of the same large group of Eric's family. We didn't have a private room today, just a single large, long table stretched out along the side of the dining room. It was a buffet style service, so the waiters were really only needed for drinks. Eric's grandmother was at the head of the table and his father was at the foot. I didn't bother waiting in the line where people were queued up for fresh waffles and omelettes. I got a plate piled with fruit which I set in front of me to share with Eric and those sitting around us, and helped myself to some biscuits and sausage gravy. It wasn't as good as homemade of course. The setting reminded me a little bit of the big church breakfasts we used to have a couple of times a year.
Eric must have done his 'I'll take the check' manoeuvre again. I'd missed it. When the server brought the bill to him however, Inge reached right across and took it while he was reaching for his billfold. I smirked as he started to object and she treated him to the high eyebrow. He secured his wallet back in his pocket and held up his hands briefly in a show of surrender. The saying goodbyes took some time. Eric was treated to handshakes and hugs from his great uncles, aunts, and cousins. Most were departing today to return to their homes, wherever their homes were.
"Eric, my office will be calling this week," Viktor called out over the heads of many family members, before he left through the doors of the restaurant. I felt his grip tighten around my hand, crushing my knuckles together to the point where I had to reach over and pinch his arm so he would realize he was hurting me. He instantly released me.
"Fahma," he said, leaning down toward Inge. "At some point soon we need to get together to discuss business matters."
"Eric, you know my wishes," I hear her say wearily.
"I do, but there are still some things that you need to be aware of. It would be best if your lawyer were present, as well."
"Must we? Couldn't you just come for dinner on Wednesday night? You could bring Sookie," she says.
"Sookie is going home this afternoon, Fahma, but yes, if you prefer, we can do it over dinner. If you would not mind entertaining Cataliades as well," he finishes.
She gives a little sigh and nods her head at him. It's so painfully obvious to me that all she really wants is his company. I have to bite down hard on the impulse to nudge him.
"I'll have Pam arrange it then," he finishes. He leans down and gives her a perfunctory peck on the cheek, and says a final goodbye to everyone, and then, we were off.
I caught myself literally biting my tongue in the car as I stared out the window while he sped through the city back to the hotel. We hadn't said much of anything. We were both lost in thoughts. We were back in the room, and he was sprawled on the bed watching as I moved back and forth between the bathroom and the closet and the little luggage stand, gathering up my things.
"What are you thinking?" he asks. I paused in my scurrying.
"Honestly? Because you won't like it," I warn him. He gestures me to continue so I do. "I'm thinking about your family. The entire situation just makes me sad."
"Ah," he says, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. "I was thinking that I did not wish for you to leave."
I came and sat on the edge of the bed, to look at him, since he was deliberately no longer looking at me.
"I'm going to miss you, but I'll see you soon I'm sure."
"I have to go back to Seattle after this week."
"But you'll be here even more now, yes?"
"As much as required, which will be a bit more, yes," he says with a heavy sigh. I curled up next to him and pulled his arm free, laying my head on his shoulder with my hand on his chest. "I don't understand why you can't just stay," he says, nuzzling into my hair.
"Because I have to go home," I say, feeling the same melancholy.
"To your farmhouse, but why?" I pulled away to look at him as he continues, "I mean I know you have things there to keep you busy, but you're not really working, and you could not work from here just as well. And then you'd be here already when schools call you for interviews," he says, explaining.
I frown. "I'm still subbing a few days a week. I had to turn them down on Friday, and I don't want them thinking I am unreliable. And the things I'm doing at the house are things that need doing. It's not just busy work."
"But it's not exactly pressing," he argues.
"Eric, it's my house," I say.
"I know that, but you could take care of it any time. Why not next week?"
"Because," I say, biting my lip. It's not that I don't want to be here with him, but that's not what he's proposing. He's going back to work this week. Even if I did stay, I'd only see him late in the evenings. My time actually with him would be minimal. "You're going back to your life tomorrow, and, so, so am I," I finish.
"Fine," he sighs, throwing his head back into the pillows again.
"Um, fine, then," I say, getting off the bed. Retreating back to my suitcase on the other side of the room I throw out, "You should be nicer to your grandmother. All she wants is to spend time with you, and not just for business and the funeral," because I've been not saying that for about an hour, and now, I'm annoyed.
"Fuck, Sookie, seriously? You're going to nag me about my family?"
I don't say anything, because he's cursing at me, and this is about to turn into a fight, if it hasn't already.
"First you tell me I'm not going to see you for two or three weeks," he continues. "Then you have to bring this up right now, of all moments?"
"I'm saying it now because I've wanted to say it all weekend. Maybe because I don't want to go home and get another call about a fake job that your grandmother's friends have orchestrated as some convoluted way of baiting you into her proximity. Maybe because I miss my grandmother every day and watching you ignore yours makes my heart ache. Maybe because I am just annoyed at the way you completely disregarded my life right then, and watching you disregard every part of yours that isn't work-related as well disturbs me greatly." Yup, that about sums it up.
He doesn't say anything or move, so I just finish putting my things together and bring my suitcase and my garment bag and purse out to the hall. I pull my cell phone charger from the wall and hastily bundle it into the front pocket of my bag. His continued silence serves only the ratchet up my level of irritation. Suddenly it seems, I'm all packed and ready.
"I'm all packed," I say, standing in the doorway. Nothing. I move over near the bed again. I stand there, torn, and it occurs to me right at this moment that maybe I just blew it, and he won't want to see me again in two weeks or three weeks or any amount of weeks. So I stand there with my arms wrapped around myself, three feet away from Eric, staring at the wall like it has answers.
It offers me no more than Eric does though and finally I breathe out a sigh and turn to leave the room, and in a flash he's leapt up and pulled me into him in a tight hug.
"Don't go like this," he says. I let my arms come up around him.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I say. I hadn't actually yelled, but it was really only a question of volume. The sentiment was the same.
"I'm sorry I am selfish and disregarding," he says.
"You're not," I tell him, pulling away so he can see me shake my head and understand that I don't really think he's like that in general. "Just..."
"It's fine," he assures me. I hope he only means that he's not upset with me. "Do you have to leave this minute?" he asks. I shake my head again, and he leans down and kisses me, then slowly pushes me back to the bed. It was two hours later when I finally left him, and he walked me down to the Rabbit in the parking garage and gave me the mother of all goodbye kisses. He looked a little glum as he waved me off, after I promised to call him when I got in.
Once I reached the highway, I called Lafayette. I told him all about the sad and hectic week, up to and including the little mini-fight Eric and I had had that afternoon, before the marathon I'm-not-going-to-see-you-for-a-while sex.
"Hmmm," he says ponderingly, once I'd finished.
"Hmm?" I query back.
"Well Miss Sookie, I ain't no doctor yet, but I'm afraid I'll still have to diagnose you with a serious case of sprung," he tells me. I chuckle. "Course, it seems we'll be sufferin' together."
"Oh yes? Has Mister 'boyfriend-material' become a material boyfriend?" I ask.
"You could say that. He's laying right here," I hear him grin.
"Oh my God!" I exclaim, going full high and girly. "Laf why didn't you tell me, I'm so sorry to interrupt. Hi Boyfriend Material!" I call out, hopefully loud enough that he can hear me through the phone. I hear them both laughing.
"You didn't tell her my name?" I hear someone asking playfully.
"Rasul says hello, Sookie," Lafayette tells me. He lingers over the consonants. Rahsssssoollll.
"Well hi back at you Rasul," I say, my smile evident in my tone.
"So are we going to be meeting this Mister Man come the summer?" Lafayette asks me.
"If all goes well," I grin. "Is that the royal 'we' or the you and Rahssssoooolll 'we'?" I ask.
"If all goes well," he answers coyly.
"Aw, I'm so happy. Everyone is happy." I sigh my contentedness.
"Mmhmm," he agrees. "Are we all happy then? How are things with the job and the legal stuff going?"
I feel myself slump. "They're going I guess. Or not going. No news is good news I guess, on the legal side. And the job, oh my God, I have to tell you. You're going to say 'crazy white ladies'."
"Crazy rich bitches," is what he actually said, once I finished telling him about Inge, Mitzy Pirrie, and Hestia Academy.
"But isn't it just kind of sad though?" I insist. "I mean she just wants contact with him and he acts like he's shunning her."
"You need to stay out of it, Sook," he warns.
"But it's not right," I whine.
"Not e'erbody's grammy is a Miss Adele, Sookie," he says back. "I ain't seen mine since she called us a faggot, as you well know." I did know that. Lafayette came out to his family when we were still in college, and his mother and grandmother had condemned him to hell, effectively disowning him. It still made me furious how anyone could dare call themselves a Christian and behave so un-Christ-like. It had a lot to do with his decision to move across the country for graduate school. He still talked to his aunt and his uncle, that's where he stayed when he was home, but he wasn't welcome at family gatherings. He'd been spending Thanksgivings with us for almost as long as Amelia. Most Christmases, too.
"She's not like that," I say quietly, thinking that whatever her faults, Inge would never disown a child or grandchild. Heck, Viktor was proof positive of that, cause if anyone deserved it...no. I stopped myself right in the middle of the thought. Nobody deserved that. "She might be sneaky, but it's out of love, not hate," I finish.
"Well I don't know the woman, but it sounds like nothing I'd get involved in," he says.
"Seems to some extent I'm not getting a say about being involved though," I reply.
We chatted a bit more about his graduate work and the interviews that I'd been on, and then about Amelia, who had apparently called him three times over the weekend, to complain about the time she was spending with her father. I felt compelled to apologize to Lafayette again for further interrupting his time with Rasul. He assured me that Rasul would simply have to accept his lady friends if they were going to work out. I heard Rasul chuckle again when he said that. We'd been gabbing for almost forty minutes in total before he finally admitted that he had to finish grading undergrad papers for tomorrow. We agreed to speak later in the week, and of course I agreed to call in the interim if anything came up regarding the Bill thing or a job.
I hung up and drove for a while longer, making my usual stop for gas and a pick-me-up snack. Jason called and asked me if I was home yet, and could I come for dinner. I didn't think I'd be home before nine, but Jason insisted that I stop by his house, because he had news. I smiled, figuring it was about the baby, and I tried to press him to tell me, but he wouldn't budge. I agreed to stop by on my way home, but warned that he'd have to take me as I was. That being, rumpled from the car ride and Eric's and my fond farewell. I would have really liked to stop home and shower before going over there, but it would be getting way too late.
It was a few minutes after eight thirty when I pulled into Jason's driveway. I must have been channelling Eric on the home-stretch of my drive. I made great time! I texted my favourite reckless driver to let him know I was safely back in Bon Temps but not quite home, as I'd stopped in at my brother's house. There were a couple of extra trucks in the driveway and I heard some music playing out back on the porch so I just went ahead and let myself in through the front door and walked out back.
"Sook!" cried Jason at my appearance, jumping up to give me a huge hug.
"Hey brother," I greeted, hugging back. "Hi Crystal!" I say over his shoulder, waving over to her where she was seated in one of the chairs. His buddy Hoyt was there with his girlfriend Holly, and another friend who Jason introduced as Rene, from the road crew.
Jason pulled Crystal to her feet and took her hand in his. "Sookie, Crystal and I are having a baby, and we're getting' married," he said proudly, lifting her hand to show off a small diamond ring that still managed to glint in the dim light which flooded in from the kitchen windows and the crackling fire going in the iron pit that seemed to be my brother's latest addition to the décor out here.
I beamed, stepping forward to hug Crystal. "That's just wonderful," I say, meaning it. Maybe it's not the conventional order of things, but hey, that's life. My brother looked thrilled, and Crystal glowing. Jason was grinning like he'd won a prize, and I guess he had. I gladly took a beer and settled down to hear the story of the proposal. Jason had been trying to get her to come shopping with him for his planned purchase of a hot tub and she'd started getting so worried about him spending so much money that she blurted out about the baby. He had dropped to his knees right then and there in the living room and asked her to marry him, and they'd gone ring-shopping instead of hot tub shopping. The most romantic love story ever told? No, it certainly wasn't, but it was simple and honest, and they were thrilled, and I was thrilled for them.
"Sookie, you have to be one of my bridesmaids," she said, and of course I agreed. Naturally they weren't planning for a long engagement. Crystal wanted to be married before she got too fat for the pictures, she said. I smiled at that. She didn't have the figure where you could hide it for a couple extra months. It was going to show early. Holly would be joining me for bridesmaid duty and Hoyt was slated to be the Best Man. Before we left that night, Crystal gave both Holly and I the phone number of her cousin, who'd happily agreed that morning to serve as her Maid of Honour. I'd give her a call tomorrow. I guess I'd have another project to help fill up my not-exactly-working time.
I didn't stay for long, and was back at my house by ten. I drew a bath before bed and called Eric as I was settling in to it to tell him happy news.
"Are you in the bath?" he asks. He must have heard the water splash.
"Yes," I sigh, luxuriating.
"You're killing me," he says, jokingly.
"I'm not sorry," I tell him. "This is wonderful. It could only be improved by your presence and a larger tub."
"Mm," he says. "Tell me more about that."
I laugh. I am not having phone sex with Eric. Well, not tonight anyway. I don't want to close that door entirely. It could be a long two or three weeks! So instead I say, "Well, I think I'll want to put one of those whirlpool tubs in here, eventually," so he understands that we're not going there right now.
"That'll be nice," he says. "Maybe mount the shower higher, so if I visit again, I won't have to crouch to wash my hair."
I laugh. "Well, I don't know if it'll be in time for hopefully your next visit," I tell him. "Jason manned up after all. Crystal told him about the baby and he proposed, so they are getting married in about two months. Crystal made a point of telling me that my boyfriend was invited."
"That was nice of her," he says, noncommittally.
"It was," I agree. "Hopefully you can come?"
"I'd like that. Let me know when it is so I can tell Pam, or you could tell her."
"Oh, I think you better tell her. She might get snippy with me if she finds out we're more than 'diddling' as she called it."
"She won't," he says.
"Is that a conversation you've had with her?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. "But not willingly. She expressed some further concern on your behalf, and I explained my honourable intentions." I smiled. Aww, Pammy.
"I'm sure that wasn't awkward at all," I guess. I may or may not be sarcastic as I say it. Really, I don't know if it would have been.
"Not as awkward as another day of me getting her full bitch would have been. She seems sweetly protective of you," he observes.
"I like her too," I say.
"Good then, always nice when the women in my world get along," he says, then after a pause. "Well, I should get some sleep, and leave you to lie there naked in the bath, thinking of me."
I feel myself flush even beyond the heat of the water as he says that. I don't know why I'd be embarrassed, but it's just instinctive.
"Are you blushing?" he asks. How is it he always knows?
"Yes," I say.
I can hear him grinning, "Good night, Sookie."
"Goodnight Eric," I reply, a little breathily. I did fall asleep that night thinking of Eric.
The following morning I was sipping my coffee in the kitchen when my phone rang. It was Maryelizabeth Norris, Crystal's cousin, calling me to say hello and set up a lunch date for us this week. She was clearly taking this Maid of Honour thing very seriously, I thought, checking the clock to confirm that it was barely nine in the morning. I was getting another call so I quickly agreed to call her back as soon as I knew what my week looked like. The other call was Mrs. Park, urgently asking if I could come in to cover classes for a teacher who had come in that morning but gone home suddenly with a violent stomach bug. That sounded horrible, and I agreed quickly before I got any details specific to the illness or the exodus, because, gross.
I was glad I'd taken time to blow out my hair the night before. I quickly dressed and went up to the high school. I stopped in at the office and was directed to one of the upstairs classrooms. Apparently it was one of the Social Studies teachers who'd gone out. The principal was up there with the class, there being no one else to watch the students. She was waiting out in the hall when I arrived and looked thoroughly grateful to see me.
"Unfortunately, Mister Roberts didn't have time to leave a lesson plan for the day, so it would be fine if you just conducted free-study periods, or you can ask the students if there is anything they would like to work on. I'll be back to check on you after next period, I'm sorry, but we just had no one else to cover. I need to get back downstairs, I have a parents' meeting and then the school board after lunch. Sookie, you're a lifesaver," she burbled out, and then before I'd fully registered her speech she seemed to be halfway down the hall.
I opened the door to the classroom to find what for a classroom constitutes pandemonium. Students were out of their desks. A pair were playing with a hacky sack in the corner. Some of the girls had makeup out, and practically all of them had their cell phones. There was a half-hearted chorus of "Hi Miss Stackhouses," from some of the students I'd met before as I enter and cross to the teacher's desk.
"Good morning, back to seats, please," I call out over the din. About half class seems to settle down, but there are a few who are determined in their free-play. I set my bag down and headed back to the hacky sack players, snatching it from the air mid-volley, and gesturing them back to their desks.
"You can pick that up after class," I say, placing it down on the desk. I turned to write my name on the board for those students who didn't know it, calling over my shoulder, "And that goes for any cell phones I see when I turn around, except those, you will pick up after the school day." I then took elaborate care writing and underlining, giving everyone time to get situated. I peaked over my shoulder to check the class and they were all settled down once again. I smiled.
"Alright then, have we called attendance?"
I was met with a negative so I called the role. After that I asked what they were studying, and it turned out to be the Civil War, which, as luck would have it, my gran had had a particular interest in. This got some laughs when I explained it to the class. It's a not too uncommon interest among the older generations down here. Gran had certainly been a history buff above the common way, but as far as I knew the Descendants of the Glorious Dead group was still going strong in town with their weekly meetings and summer excursions to Southern battlefields. So we spent the remainder of class discussing various aspects of the war and their studies which was interesting. It wasn't exactly teaching, but it was a matter of engaging them on the subject material. It worked well. I decided to go ahead and run the rest of the day like that.
When the period bell rang, I returned the hacky sack (though he called it a footbag), warning the student to keep it put away until lunchtime. I found I felt comfortable, and ran through the rest of the lessons as smoothly as I had the first, though there wasn't as much need to interfere or ask the students to settle down. The principal came by a couple of periods later. I saw her through the little window next to the door and I gave her an a-ok sign and a bright smile and she flashed me a thumbs up and was gone again.
I was mildly amused that by the end of the day, some of the students began to anticipate the discussion sessions I was running. While in the earlier periods, it had been mostly me talking to get the conversations going, later in the day the students seemed to come with questions or topics to talk about. It's funny how the flow of information works throughout the day in a school. The students who came in the afternoon all knew about what had befallen poor Mr. Roberts, as well as how I was running the substitute classes. It was like watching the effects of a real-time game of telephone in the microcosm that is the modern high school.
I turned on my phone after the last bell had rung and I'd cleared up the desk, locked the attendance book and the chalk inside, and wiped down the blackboard. It's also my habit to check the erasers. Sometimes pranksters are terribly amused by sandwiching chalk inside the felt tabs so a teacher makes a big mess when she goes to erase some notes halfway through a lecture. Hilarious. Yes, I'm speaking from experience. It had happened to me my second day student-teaching. I had a couple of voice mails but no text messages. I always find this a relief when I've missed calls, because I figure if it is a real emergency, people will also text. I was calling back my voicemail when a couple of late students walked by.
"No cell phones in class Miss Stackhouse!" I heard one hoot from outside as he continued walking down the hall. Har, har. Class is over, Michael Stanley.
My first call was from Desmond Cataliades asking me to return his call at my earliest convenience, regarding my civil dispute with William Compton. The second was from St. Francis School for Boys, asking if I were still seeking employment for the upcoming school year, and asking me to return their call to schedule an interview. I went ahead and did so, for a week from Wednesday. Mr. Cataliades, I would call from home. I walked through the classroom straightening the desks and moved the garbage can from beside the desk to over by the door. This is just my habit, just like wiping down the blackboard. I am aware that the janitor needs to come in anyway, but if there's a little bit I can do to show some consideration, I will do it. I'd always done so when I had my own classroom, and by sheer coincidence, my board was never forgotten in the washing and my bins were always emptied with fresh liners every day. Common courtesy goes a long way, wherever you are.
I dropped off Mr. Roberts' keys at the front office and Mrs. Park said she'd call me tonight to let me know if they'd need me tomorrow. Apparently Mr. Roberts had a nasty case of food poisoning but it was unclear if he'd be up for work tomorrow. I nodded, making the appropriate concerned frown. I drove home and picked up my mail on the way in. I could also see a large box on my front porch so I pulled up there to investigate. I could see that it was from a florist, and it was heavy. I carefully shifted the box into the house and then just pushed it across the floor into the kitchen. Opening it, I found a vase packed around with Styrofoam, and an absolutely enormous bouquet of roses in dark and light pink, lavender, and off white, along with a few pink peonies. It was beautiful. I'd never received anything like it. I carefully filled the large vase with water and one of the little packets of flower food that came with it. The note card was printed and taped to the inside of the box. "Miss you already. -E" I melted. I was going to text, but instead I called.
"Hi," I said when he answered.
"Hey," he said. "Did you get the flowers?"
"Eric, they're beautiful," I said.
"Good, they do you justice then."
I smiled. "Thank you." I say, for the flowers, and the compliment. "Are you busy right now?" I ask.
"I'm between things. Did they just arrive? They told me they would be there by noon."
"I just got home, I got called in to school this morning."
"Ah, good that you were up there then," he says, a little regretfully.
"They're really lovely Eric, I have no idea where to put them."
"I thought the little table in your bedroom," he offers.
"Oh, that's perfect," I agree.
"Listen, much as I would like to chat, can I call you tonight? I'll be done around eight or nine."
"Of course, I'm sorry, I just wanted to call."
"I'm glad you did, I'll talk to you later then. Goodbye Sookie."
"Bye," I say.
I gave a happy little sigh and continued putting my bouquet in order. There had to be three dozen roses, and then the peonies and the greenery. Even though the card was printed and not written out by him, I kept it and tucked it in to my correspondence drawer. I'd move the flowers into the bedroom later tonight. I wanted to enjoy them while I was out in the kitchen. I was about to settle down to getting something together for dinner when I remembered that I needed to call my (borrowed) lawyer back.
"This is Sookie Stackhouse returning a call from Mister Cataliades," I announced to the receptionist who answered.
"One moment Ms. Stackhouse, I'll see if he's available," she replied. While I waited I futzed with my flowers some more, making sure they were 'just so'.
"Miss Stackhouse?" came the lawyer's voice.
"Good afternoon Mister Cataliades, I'm sorry I missed your call earlier, I was teaching today," I say.
"Not at all," he dismisses, with his usual politeness. "I called because I've had word from William Compton's attorney, Simon Maimonides. Essentially it is the same as the initial offer, but with addition of the full cost of your medical bills. That is, in addition to his initial offer of ten thousand plus the contents of what he has listed here as your joint savings account. My office has also taken delivery of a small box of personal effects of yours that were left behind at the time you removed yourself from Mister Compton's Seattle residence. I can send them over by courier tomorrow if you like."
I had no idea what I could have left there, I thought I'd been pretty thorough, well, right up until Laf and I had found that little surprise. "Alright," I agree. "Please do send the box over."
"Now, as far as what they are asking for. It is the signed affidavit from you stating that you do not believe that Mister Compton intended to do you physical harm. Along with that, they are requesting that you lift the protective order, only because they feel it will support their case for having the charges against him dismissed. I have checked over the verbiage of the statement they request that you sign. I had a few changes made that I feel better preserve your dignity. I will also suggest that Mister Compton be asked to sign a reciprocal document yielding his right to sue you for slander or defamation over the incident. And then of course, you will be agreeing not to sue him civilly, in turn."
"If I'm following you correctly, that all seems to make sense," I sigh. "What do you mean about the verbiage?"
"I found some of the initial phrasing objectionable. The changes I made were to bring the statement in line with the one that you gave the police - rather than one that insinuated a more emotionally disturbed state following your break-up with Mister Compton. I assure you, I would not advise you to sign anything that could in any way be used to paint you in a negative light in the future."
"Can the courier bring the documents for me to review tomorrow as well?"
"Certainly," he agrees. "But if you do decide to sign them, that must happen here, so that your signature can be witnessed and notorized."
"I'll be in town again, not this Wednesday, but the following?"
"Ah, very good then. I will look forward to hearing what you decide in the next few days."
"Thank you again, Mister Cataliades."
"Of course Miss Stackhouse, good afternoon."
"Good afternoon."
We disconnected. I fixed my dinner and read for a little while as I ate. Mrs. Park called back and let me know that Mr. Roberts was anticipating being in the following day, and that was good, since I realized that I'd thoughtlessly agreed to receive the courier here tomorrow. What a miserable trip that would be, up and back to New Orleans in one day. I decided to make a big lunch so I could send something back with the poor guy, or gal, and called to invite Jason to stop by from work.