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I studied Homer, who appeared completely uncomfortable around his family. Brielle bounded to him and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“What’s his deal?” I asked.
She didn’t pretend like she didn’t understand my question. “He’s always been like that. Even years ago when I met him. That’s just how he is. Quiet. Separated from the rest of us.” She paused. “He’s an insanely talented tattoo artist though.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh my God. You don’t know who they are.”
“Who, who are?”
“The Jacksons. Homer, Virgil, and Roman all own Three Kings.”
I raised my brows. “That tattoo parlor in Waco? Seriously?”
“Seriously. Horace started it, but he retired several years ago. Now he owns an auto garage, but that’s mostly so he can tinker with engines. The three brothers run the tattoo shop. It’s the best in all of Waco. Maybe even the whole state of Texas.”
“You didn’t think to tell me that when I met with Horace and Angie? Tattoo artists are some of the most talented people on the planet. What if I’d done something lame with the cake?”
“I didn’t think it was important. Besides, you made them a masterpiece and you did it with your gut instinct.” She sighed.
“What’s the sigh for?” I demanded.
Someone clinked a knife against a champagne flute, signaling everyone to be quiet.
She pressed a finger to her lips. “The speeches are starting.”
* * *
It was a little past ten when the party began to wind down. The bar was still open, but the bartenders were discreetly cleaning and packing up. The food trays had stopped being passed around hours ago. Guests started to leave, taking home leftover slices of wedding cake.
“There’s no way we can eat it all!” Angie exclaimed when people tried to refuse. “I’ll be eating this cake for breakfast for the entire week!”
Horace wrapped an arm around his wife, who was swaying.
“Sorry, I’ve had a lot of champagne.” She grinned up at him.
The gaze he gave her was full of love and amusement. “Never apologize.”
She collapsed against him.
“That’s the ball game,” Virgil said. “It’s time to put Mom to bed.”
“You kids make sure everything gets taken care of, yeah?” Horace asked.
“I will,” Roman announced.
“Ah, ever the responsible eldest child,” Virgil quipped.
I snorted out a laugh. “And judging by your carefree attitude, I assume you’re somewhere lower on the sibling totem pole.”
“Roman is the oldest, followed by Homer, then me, then Brielle,” he explained.
Homer had disappeared sometime after the speeches. Brielle had spent most of her time on the dance floor. Virgil and Roman had mingled with guests, talking and laughing.
“Come on,” Horace said. “Let’s get you up to the house.”
“Mmhmm.” Angie snuggled against her husband, her eyes closing.
