“Yes,” she said, reaching up to touch it. “Thank you for noticing. But consider this. On Friday, the whole brewery was full of bubbles, and the tanks were contaminated. Today, Georgie’s suitcases exploded in front of the house. What does that mean to you?”
He sighed deeply. “Josie, you were directly responsible for two of those things. If it’s a sign of anything, it’s that the Buchanans should stay away from you.”
He reached out for the underwear and bras, and she handed them over with a bit of a pout.
“Just wait,” she said, “Dottie knows Beau has something to say, and I think he’s going to surprise us all.”
God help him.
She made her way to the house, and River headed down to look at the damage, Georgie’s panties and bras cradled in his arms.
The bags were both unsalvageable, and one of them was full of goop from what looked like a bunch of burst bottles, but he gathered together what he could from the “Easter egg hunt” and put it in a couple of cardboard boxes he had in his trunk. He stowed the busted bags in the back seat, cleaning up the mess as much as he could with what he had on hand. While he knew Georgie would be staying at the house, he had a feeling she wouldn’t want everyone gawking at her things. It wasn’t until he finished that he let himself look at one of the silk panties. Printed into the silk was Moon Goddess. Huh, so they made underwear too. Sexy underwear. It was all kinds of hot to think of Georgie wearing panties made by her own company.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he dropped the panties like he’d been caught snooping—because he sort of had.
His heart leapt when he saw it was from Georgie.
Forget the suitcases, River. PLEASE come back!
Well, shit. A quick glance at the time told him he’d been gone longer than he’d intended. It was almost seven.
As soon as he walked through the door, he sucked in a breath. He’d been by earlier to set up the computer for the video conferencing, but his aunt hadn’t decorated for the party yet. His attention immediately shot to the far wall, which was covered in the oversized sheets of cardboard Aunt Dottie had requested. She’d painted it with the letters of the alphabet, all in caps, aligning each with the unplugged Christmas lights tacked to the wall.
He had to get his aunt to cancel her Netflix subscription.
The big-screen computer sat directly across from it, on a table high enough to ensure the Buchanans had a good view, both of the wall and the horrifying sculpture beside it. Horrifying not because it wasn’t artistically sound but because it was a life-size model of Beau—nude. Only his anatomy appeared to be carved from a crystal.
A pink crystal.
His aunt had never told him she was working on that.
The dining room table had been pushed to the side of the room, and on it sat a huge bowl of alarmingly yellow Lurch’s Pee Brew, served in a white bowl he’d acquired for Aunt Dottie, which was uncomfortably reminiscent of a toilet. The food she’d prepared was all dark brown or black—“like the earth where he should be at rest” she’d said. His aunt had always been a wonderful cook, but everything other than the brownies looked pretty unappetizing. It didn’t help that each dish had been labeled with the name of the type of dirt that had inspired it.
He’d urged his aunt not to use real candles—the last thing they needed was for the house to go up in flames—and she’d reluctantly agreed, but the tea lights he’d picked up were arranged everywhere, adding to the glow of her pink salt lamps. There were at least four of those. He even saw a pink salt night-light in the corner. A big box crowded with crystals had pride of placement on a side table constructed from a repurposed barrel. God, maybe he should talk to Aunt Dottie about seeing a therapist.
He glanced around the room, nodding to a few people he recognized, Tom and Rita and one of Beau’s golfing buddies, pretending all of this was normal, until his gaze found Georgie. She had a glass of the yellow punch in her hand while she talked to Lurch, of all people, overlooking the Ouija board arranged on the coffee table. Perhaps Aunt Dottie was hedging her bets by using every spirit communication method on record.
Georgie looked up just then, and when they made eye contact, she mouthed, “Help.”
A strangely buoyant feeling rose in him, and he made his way toward them.
“It was my idea,” he heard Lurch say proudly as he gestured to the yellow punch. “Figured it’d be better to drink it all down rather than let it turn to vinegar, don’t you think?”
Georgie set the glass down, looking like she was just this side of vomiting. Before River could interject, someone tugged on his shoulder from behind.
He turned to look at his aunt, who had donned a long black dress that trailed across the floor and a necklace with a huge crystal pendant. It was pink like the one in Beau’s statue, and he didn’t want to think too hard about what it had been carved to resemble. She had a worried look. “Do you think it’s enough, River?”
He suppressed a laugh, because she was obviously in earnest. “Aunt Dottie, I’m pretty sure a tenth of this would have been enough. But Beau would have loved every bit of it.”
And it was true, because Beau had loved Aunt Dottie. He’d always said she kept him from taking life too seriously, something he’d described as a Buchanan trait.
“Well,” she said worriedly, “we’d better move forward with the crystal selection. We’ll all need to choose one to better communicate with Beau.”
He glanced back at Georgie, who was now listening to a story about Lurch’s prostate problems with a pained expression. She met his eyes, giving him a get me out of this look. Although he had no idea what this crystal selection entailed, it had to be better than being cornered by Lurch. “Maybe Georgie should go first,” he suggested. “We can pick some for her sister and brothers too.”
That ought to take a while.
“Wonderful idea,” Aunt Dottie said, brightening. “I worried they wouldn’t feel included. Should we conference them in now so they can watch everything?”
“We gave them the number to call,” he said. “I’ll open the meeting and make sure the volume’s high enough, but they’ll dial in when they’re ready.” Although he couldn’t imagine why they’d want to watch their sister pick a few crystals from a box. It seemed like the New Age equivalent of watching paint dry. He’d be surprised if Lee called in at all—the guy didn’t strike him as a good sport, or someone who had a sense of humor.
He turned around just as Lurch was saying, “Anything can be a toilet if you’re really desperate, is what I’m trying to get across.”
“Sorry to interject,” he said, “but we need you, Georgie. We have to set up the conferencing so your brothers and sister can call in, plus my aunt’s ready to start…” He paused, working on his straight face. “…the crystal selection.”
He’d never seen someone jump to their feet faster. “Sorry,” she said back to Lurch, “duty calls.” But she paused and added, “You know, I’m pretty sure there are prescription medications that can help you with that. I’d suggest talking to your doctor.”
Lurch lit up like one of Aunt Dottie’s lamps. “You know, that might not be a bad idea,” he said, as if no one had suggested it to him before. And maybe no one had. Most people would have probably run out on the conversation right after it started.