My eyebrow arches. “Umm, I’m not sweaty?” I ask.
His grin deepens, reaching his gray eyes as he shakes his head. “Well, that, and the fact that you think of everything. It makes me worry less about you because I know that you’ll cover every angle before you attack a problem,” he answers.
I give him a furtive glance as I retort, “You know what I like most about you?”
“My musicality?” he asks with a straight face.
I grin because we both know he is completely tone-deaf. “Well, that,” I agree, “and the fact that you always manage to say just the right thing.”
“You liked that?” he asks me while we walk up the sloping sidewalk to the entrance of my new residence. “Good, because I practiced it in the car all the way here.”
“It sounded very parental,” I compliment him as he holds the door for me to enter.
“That’s what I was going for,” he acknowledges, approaching the wide mahogany table in the lobby.
“Evie Claremont,” I say to the perky brunette seated in a wing-backed chair behind the table.
She scans the roster before looking up and asking, “Genevieve Claremont?”
“That’s me,” I breathe nervously, “but everyone just calls me Evie.”
She glances from me to my uncle, and her smile becomes toothy. My Uncle Jim and I both pretend not to notice when she begins flirting with him: me because I'm uncomfortable and him because he's not into females my age. Anyway, I’m used to it—it happens often; I think that every one of my female friends was in love with my uncle at one point or another.
As she begins outlining all of the upcoming dorm activities for him, I take the time to gaze around at the old building. I know that it was once a home to a wealthy Crestwood family, but they had donated it to the school around the turn of the previous century. The interior is elegant, with ice blue, silken wall-coverings, crown molding, rich deep-brown wainscoting, and leaded-glass windows.
Uncle Jim nudges me before handing me my new keys and motioning with his chin toward the stairs.
“She was friendly,” I tease him as we climb up to the second floor.
He nods his head and feigns ignorance, muttering, “Very nice.”
Locating my room, we open it, and I set my purse down on the low table by the door as I enter. The room comes fully furnished with a single bed, a desk, a dresser, a bedside table, and a small lamp. A bathroom-style sink and a closet are the only other appointments to it.
“Home,” Uncle Jim says with a sanguine glance at me. He must be reading the dark excursion my mind is taking because he adds hurriedly, “Don’t worry; when we get your stuff in here, it won’t feel as strange.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, flashing him a faux grin.
“C’mon,” he says, putting his arm around me and tugging me to the door. “Let’s go get your stuff.”
We get to work unloading my swag from his truck. After bringing a few boxes up several flights of stairs, I stay in my room and begin unpacking them. “Where do you want me to put this box?” my Uncle Jim asks me, breathing heavily and staggering through the doorway.
Narrowing my eyes, I murmur, “Umm, let me think,” while looking for available space on the floor. “What’s in it?” I ask, sifting through the box in front of me.
He grunts before saying, “Judging by the weight, I’d say it has to be either your ex-boyfriend’s dead remains or…books.” Pressing the front of the box against the wall, he tries to keep from dropping it.
“Ah, it must be books—all of my exes are buried in the backyard at home, so pleasant dreams when you get there tonight,” I reply with a smirk, putting my alarm clock on the nightstand near my bed. “You can just set it down by the desk, thanks.” Shuffling across the room, he heaves the box down with a loud thump.
“I was wondering what happened to the last one. The one that took you to the movies…” he replies. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his Ramones t-shirt. Poor Dee Dee Ramone on the front of it looks a little soaked.
Giving him an ironic smile I shrug, “His name was Greg, and like I said…backyard.”
“Good, I never liked him,” he says with the same kind of smile. “Do you want help unpacking these?” he asks, indicating the boxes strewn around the room.
“I’m not sure where I’m going to put everything yet. Maybe I should just do it myself,” I say almost as a question.
“I’ll set up the Internet connection so you can send email and surf,” Uncle Jim says as he finds my laptop and places it on my desk.
“Thanks. I register for classes tomorrow, so I’ll email you—let you know how that goes,” I promise.
He bypasses the dormitory’s LAN and gives me my own Internet access and firewall so that I can maintain my privacy. I can probably do it myself because he taught me how, but I’m grateful that he is taking care of it.
Finishing the set-up, he turns his grayish-blue eyes to me, smiling in triumph. I think my mother also had the same color eyes as her brother and I do, but I have to rely on old, grainy photos of her in order to see them. As for the rest of my physical characteristics, like my auburn hair and my tall, slender frame, they could’ve come from my father’s side of the family, but since neither of us knows who he is, it makes proving that theory slightly difficult.
Uncle Jim loses some of his smile as he looks around and sees there isn’t much left for him to do now. “So, you have your cell phone,” he states as if going over a parental checklist in his head. “If you need anything, you can call me. Do you need any money?”
“You already gave me money,” I say, seeing him reach into his pocket for his wallet. I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I have more than enough money for all of the beer and drugs I plan on experimenting with,” I tease him gently. “When I blow it all on Internet gambling, I’ll call you.”
He smiles back at me, and I watch the way his eyes crinkle in the corners. I love that. I like to think that I’m responsible for most of the laugh lines around his eyes. “Did I tell you how proud I am of you, Evie?” he asks, his voice soft with affection.
I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. “Oh, once or twice,” I reply. “Anyway, with me out of the house, you can focus on all of those things you’ve been putting off—maybe check out the Internet dating scene. But…don’t do any background checks on your dates, it takes all the mystery out of it,” I tease him.
It’s sad that I can’t even remember his last girlfriend’s name. Uncle Jim hasn’t had a date in a while. I believe I know the reason for this and it has to do with his line of work. He’s sort of a computer nerd. Working primarily for private investigators, Uncle Jim handles mostly divorce cases, specifically, cheating spouses.
He gains access to the alleged cheating spouse’s computer and clones the hard drive, always with the express permission of the suspicious spouse, since it’s usually considered joint property. Then he delves through emails and bank accounts at his leisure. So, one can make the argument that infidelity keeps our little family afloat, if one is so inclined. I like to think that it’s the reason why he doesn’t really date and not that he took himself out of the game to raise me.