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ut it.
“I’m fine, Mama.”
“Is it still tender? Did you put milk on it?” He reached for her hands and pulled them away from his eyes. “Yes, Mama. It just happened last night, though, so it’s still a little red.”
Helen reluctantly backed off, but he could tell she was itching to start fussing over him. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him in a dark guest room with ice packs on his eyes. At the moment, that didn’t sound all bad. It would at least get him away from his siblings, but he was too old to have his mama playing nursemaid.
“Everyone wash up for supper, please,” she said instead, commanding the boys to march off toward the powder room in the foyer.
Grant was the last out of the restroom, joining a full table for supper. His grandmother Adelia, parents, and siblings were all assembled there, waiting on him. He took the empty seat in the center of the table, directly across from Maddie. As much as he didn’t like having to look at her all afternoon, at least he wasn’t looking directly at his father or his grandmother. He’d prefer they didn’t notice his injury and kick off the conversation anew.
Instead, he bowed his head and his father said grace, then focused on filling his plate. Cookie, the Chamberlain housekeeper and chef, had outdone herself today. There was a glazed spiral ham, squash casserole with a crumbly cracker topping, roasted red potatoes, green beans with bacon, cornbread, and if his nose judged correctly . . . carrot cake.
Screw pizza. He’d take the abuse from his family for Cookie’s food any day.
The older woman’s name was actually Courtney, but the story went that Blake couldn’t say Courtney as a baby and called her Cookie, so it stuck. Grant had a hard time looking at the plump, smiling woman in her sixties and referring to her as anything other than Cookie.
As he put a bite of the creamy, cheesy squash casserole in his mouth, he realized he’d call her whatever she wanted him to. Man, it was good.
Grant managed to get through about half of his plate before the conversation started rolling at the table again.
“Grant, dear,” his mother began, “tell us what happened last night. Who is it that pepper sprayed you?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it, Mama.”
“It was Ivy’s friend Pepper,” Blake added, always helpful.
Helen frowned. “Pepper Anthony? From down at the salon on the square?”
“Yes,” Grant said.
His grandmother watched him thoughtfully for a moment, thus far silent on the subject of his puffy, red eyes. “What did you do to her?” she asked at last.
It was bad enough he didn’t get any sympathy for his wounds. His family had to add insult to injury by assuming that he did something to deserve it. “I startled her. It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, for chrissakes,” Norman muttered, shoving a buttered piece of cornbread in his mouth. “Stay away from that girl, Grant. That whole family is trouble.”
Grant swallowed his bitter response. The last man on earth he’d want relationship advice from was his father. The man hadn’t drawn a monogamous breath in his life. It was an unfortunate truth he’d stumbled upon when he was only eleven, and he’d been bombarded with the signs of his father’s infidelity ever since. It wasn’t Grant’s sin, but he couldn’t be the one to tell his mother that her husband was unfaithful. He certainly couldn’t confide in his siblings and burden them with that painful knowledge, either. It was bad enough he had to know the truth and keep the secret.
Seeing that other woman in his father’s arms had been a life-shaping moment for him. Everything changed. That was why Grant didn’t lie. He was as honest as he could be about everything he could. He already had one giant secret weighing on his conscience, he didn’t want another.
“Wasn’t it her brother Logan that broke Blake’s nose in high school?” Helen asked.
“Yes,” Grant spoke up, happy not to talk about himself for a minute. “Let’s discuss Logan beating up Blake.”
“Let’s not,” Norman said, his face drawing down into a sour frown. “How are your eyes? Do you want to press charges? That’s assault, you know.”
“I’m fine, please. And no, I’m not pressing charges. It was an accident. It could’ve happened to anyone.” Grant reached out to the platter of ham and used the carving fork to stab a slice and lay it on his plate.
“Well, that’s what you get for slumming with that trash,” Maddie said.
Grant leapt out of his chair, lunging across the dining room table until the carving fork was about an inch from Maddie’s throat. He ignored the gasps and startled words of his family around him. “You take that back,” he warned with an uncharacteristically cold tone.
“Or what?” Maddie didn’t even blink. She knew Grant wouldn’t hurt her, even though she deserved it. “You going to stab me with that fork like a glazed ham?”
“You and every member of your stuck-up, condescending pack of hyenas would deserve it if I did. You’re not better than everyone else, Maddie. Now, take it back.”
Maddie bristled at his suggestion but scooted her chair back just enough to get out of Grant’s reach. Norman reached out and took the fork from Grant’s hand and stared him down until he was back in his chair.
