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At my questioning eyebrow, she said, “Jake’s going to be our ring bearer. We found a pattern for an authentic period captain’s suit. I just hope he can get down the aisle without stripping it off.”
“Have you found a figurehead yet?” Aunt Tammy asked.
“No, I’m thinking about having Uncle Deke carve one.” Jolene pouted.
“Titanic didn’t have a figurehead.”
Three guesses who said that. They all turned to me, the person who had dared to disagree with Jolene.
“I know.” Jolene shrugged. “But it’s just so nautical and romantic.”
“Actually, most figureheads on ships featured bare breasts because sailors believed that the best way to keep storms and misfortunes at bay was to have a woman sacrifice her dignity to the gods. Flash a little boob, get smooth sailing. It’s not so much romantic as Clash of the Titans meets Girls Gone Wild.”
And if they weren’t staring before, they certainly were now. “I’m the only person in the room who knew that, aren’t I?”
Jolene wrapped an arm around me. “I love it when you pretend to be normal.”
“Even when I was human, I wasn’t normal,” I admitted. I lowered my voice as the pack returned to their handiwork. “So, what’s Mama Ginger been up to lately?”
“Nothin’,” she muttered. “That has me worried. It’s been too quiet. Zeb said she’s been distracted by hatin’ your boyfriend, which is kind of nice. I know it can’t last long, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts.”
“I think that’s about as healthy as you can expect to be,” I assured her.
Mollified for a moment, Jolene measured out several lengths of ribbon, rolled it back on the spool, measured it again, rolled it back. Grunting, she yanked the entire length of ribbon off the spool in a heap of blue sateen. When she picked up the scissors, I gently took the ribbon out of her hand. “Jolene, I may be going out on a limb here, but is something else bothering you?”
“Have you noticed anything odd about Zeb?” she asked. “I know this wedding stuff has him all stressed out, but he’s just been so distant, like he doesn’t even want to talk to me. And he’s been kind of mean. Some of the things he’s been saying are just hurtful.”
When I gave her an intentionally blank look, she said, “Like that joke about me not being very smart. And I don’t think he realizes how much he talks about you. We’ll be out to eat, and he’ll talk about what sort of food you used to like. We’ll watch a movie, and he’ll say, ‘I’ve already seen this with Jane.’ It’s just hard, you know? It’s like you’re an ex-girlfriend, but you never really broke up with him.”
“I never really dated him, either,” I told her.
“I know that,” she said, nudging me with her arm. “It’s just hard to live up to you, Jane.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve already got me beat hands down on looks.”
“I know,” she said, grinning.
“Agree with me a little slower, please,” I said, smacking her arm. “And you can go out during the day, have kids, eat, tan, grow old with him. And Zeb loves you. He’s just going through a weird phase. Just watch him at the wedding. He’ll be the happiest groom ever.”
Jolene didn’t look quite convinced but mumbled, “OK.”
The conversations became even more awkward as my night wore on.
“This is just beyond the pale,” Gabriel grumbled as I opened my door for him.
I’d been halfheartedly Googling Wilbur’s name, hoping I could find some relatives I could warn about Grandma Ruthie’s marital record before it was too late. Unused to Google failure, I was thrilled to have a distraction, even if that distraction was my agitated sire waving what looked like a ransom note at me.
“I found this in my mailbox tonight,” he said, holding a slip of bright yellow paper with letters cut out of magazines and newspapers—the standard font for crazies.
“ ‘Your bustin’ up a happy home. Brake it off with Jane or else,’ “ I read aloud as he stormed inside. “Mama Ginger’s spelling is atrocious.”
“If you’re to write harassing letters in upsetting type, you should at least have the courtesy to proofread,” he muttered, stretching across my couch.
“Some people,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“She did, however, ruin her anonymity by enclosing this,” he said, handing me a check for $352.67 from the account of Ginger and Floyd Lavelle. “I think she’s trying to pay me to stay away from you.”
“What gave it away?” I asked, holding up the check with a finger on the memo section, where Mama Ginger had scribbled, “To stay away from Jane.”
