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“And Dad automatically said, let’s stay up and have cocoa and cookies in the middle of thenight?”Janey asked.
Wow. Showing off for her friend, probably. Quinn tried to think,What tactful thing would Bam do here?She didn’t have time to figure it out, because Beckett said, “Yeah, I did. I’m the dad, so I get to decide things like that. Come on. Everybody back to bed.” Which was good enough, Quinn supposed. Not tactful, but definitely Dad-like.
Janey stared at him. Only word for it. “Why is your hair so mussed? And why is your shirt on inside out?”
Beckett looked down and shrugged. “I must’ve put it on that way earlier.”
“It wasn’t that way before we went to bed,” Janey said. She looked at Quinn, opened her mouth to say something, and closed it again. Quinn looked down. You couldn’t tell if a ribbed turtleneck was inside out, surely.
No, but youcouldtell if a person wasn’t wearing a bra. Also, she was fairly sure her own hair was sticking up as much as Beckett’s.
Violet said, looking a little flustered, “We should go to bed. Sorry, Mr. Hughes.”
Janey said, “You said you and Quinn were friends, Dad. You said thatagain.You said that you were friends, and … What exactly were youdoing?Because I think you were kissing!”
Beckett said, “That’s not your business, but we’ll talk about it tomorrow, when we’re alone. Right now, it’s time for bed,” in a tone that would have had Quinn retreating fast if it had been her dad. When her dad had talked like that, you shut up and did what he said, and Beckett wasn’t far off.
“They were talking,” Troy said. “In Quinn’s bedroom, and the door was locked. There were scary noises that were weird, like crying, and it was dark, and that’s why I was scared and we had to have cocoa. But then Dad showed me how to make a fire and we had cocoa and cookies, and now I’m not scared anymore.”
“Oh. My.God,”Janey said.“Dad.”
“And Dad says maybe we don’t have to go to Mrs. Hobarts anymore,” Troy said. “That’s good, because you always say you hate Mrs. Hobarts and you wish she was dead. Because she’s really old,” he told Quinn. “So Janey says she should just go ahead and be dead now.”
“I do not say that!” Janey said.
“Yes, you do,” Troy said. “You said that two times. The first time was—”
“Why do you have to tell?” she demanded. Her face was flushed, and there might be some tears coming. “You always have to tell!”
Troy said, “I didn’t know it was a bad thing to tell, though!”
“When I said I wished she wasdead?”Janey asked. “Like Mum died? You didn’t think that was a bad thing?”
“Then how come you said it?” Troy asked. Troy might make an oddly effective prosecutor someday.
Beckett had his hand in his hair again. Quinn couldn’t blame him. Violet said, “We should go upstairs,” and looked extremely uncomfortable.
Janey said, “I was angry! I didn’tmeanit!”
“Oh,” Troy said. “But you said—”
Beckett raised his voice, “Right. Time off.” Both kids shut up, and Beckett said, “Sometimes people say things they don’t mean. I didn’t talk to you again about Mrs. Hobarts, Janey. That’s on me. I heard you, though, and I’m doing something about it. We can talk more about it tomorrow, while we’re cleaning.”
“I don’t—” Janey began, but Beckett shot her something that could only be described as a glare, and she shut up.
“Right now,” Beckett said, “it’s bedtime.”
“Fine,” Janey said with a sigh, and then, because Janey woulddefinitelybe a prosecutor, “But I still don’t see why we couldn’t have had cocoa.”
* * *
It wasn’t ideal,Beckett thought, pulling on his jeans at seven-thirty on Saturday morning, to have no post-sex conversation at all with a woman. It was especially not ideal when you were living in her house. How had that happened?
First, Quinn had said, “Well, good night! I’m thinking you’ll sleep well now, Troy,” and Troy had said, “Yes, because I’ll have Bacon and be in the attic, which is very cozy, and I’ll know Dad is breathing this time.” Which was bad enough, but Beckett had thought,Put him to bed, give him a few minutes to fall asleep, and then go back downstairs.
After that, Janey had said, “Of course Troy is going to be asleep. Since it’smidnight.”And looked meaningfully at Beckett. Which was still fine—he didn’t plan to run his life based on the rules laid down by an eleven-year-old—except that Quinn said, “I imagine everybody’s tired. It’s very late. I was planning on overnight French toast, which I should’ve put in the fridge already, but I got distracted. Breakfast at eight, and then our cleaning party.”
Beckett said, “I’ll help you,” and Janey looked at him and muttered, “Right,” then exchanged a speaking look with Violet, who giggled a little before straightening out her face with a major effort and choking back another giggle. Hardly off-putting at all.
