I’d put two small matching buffalo-plaid armchairs in front of the glowing fire, with a small antique white table between them for the times I wanted to enjoy my morning coffee. Phil’s cat tree was to the right of the fireplace so he could enjoy the warmth, but was far enough away from food preparation and well, us.
I plumped the pillows sitting on the chairs before I wandered over to Phil and gave my ungrateful rescue cat a stroke to his head.
As per usual, he gave me the evil eye and inched away from me.
“Is that worry I hear in your voice, Atti? Wasn’t it only last week you gave me that long sigh of aggravation when I told you Uncle Darling was coming for a few days?”
“As if the day will ever come when I worry about that over-bedazzled wanderer.”
I grinned. Atti, as always, had a gripe about Uncle Darling. Let’s face it, Atti had a gripe about everyone, but he was especially sore with Uncle Darling for taking Mom on so many of his “pointless meanderings,” as Atti called them.
But there was one meandering he had with my mother Atti would probably forever grudge about.
Uncle Darling had been a nomad for most of his life, touring as a drag queen, landing wherever the road or an airplane took him. Atti didn’t like that Darling didn’t have a permanent residence until he and Monty bought a place in Cape Cod five years ago.
Atticus also thinks my uncle is responsible for encouraging my mother to have an impromptu summer fling with my father. My father, Hugh Granite, is a movie star—well, in Japan. He’s sort of what David Hasselhoff is to Germany, and he’ll tell you so—even if you don’t ask.
Anyway, my mother, Keeva, met him when he was here in our little town, filming a movie. From what I understand, they had a whirlwind romance, but he left when the movie was done and never looked back.
She never looked back either, but she also never told him about me, or me about him. I didn’t know until the reading of my mother’s will and I didn’t go looking for him. I was too wrapped up in my grief. However, he came looking for me.
I think it might have to do with aging and atonement, but it’s not for me to judge, I suppose. I’m honest when I say, I wasn’t one of those kids who wondered where her father was all the time or felt like I’d missed out on having a father. I had my grandfather and two incredibly strong women in my life. I never lacked for guidance and love, even when I didn’t want either of the aforementioned.
When Hugh located me, I was shocked, but I knew he was telling the truth about who he was when Atti all but turned him into a bullfrog the moment I opened the door. If my father hadn’t blocked his spell, I shudder to think what the aftermath would have been.
Also, we look a bunch alike. There’s no denying Hugh’s my father. All in all, he’s really a good guy, if not vain and almost comically superficial.
To say there’s no love lost between my father and Atti is an understatement. However, meeting him led me to find my sister, Stevie, who’s technically my half-sister (my dad was a busy, busy guy in the romance department), but I couldn’t be more pleased to still have a relative I can count on if things get tough. My life has become so much richer for having Stevie in it, and her familiar, Belfry.
Anyway, my uncle’s whimsical, devil-may-care nature never sat well with my hummingbird familiar, and he hasn’t a single qualm about sharing his displeasure.
“Listen, Atti, if not for that fling Uncle Darling encouraged Mom to have, you wouldn’t have me. Are you saying you’d rather she didn’t have a summer romance and didn’t end up knocked up by the famous-only-in-Japan star of stage, screen, and TV, Hugh Granite?” I teased.
He pecked at my ponytail with his long beak before landing on my shoulder. “Don’t be so crass, Halliday,” he drawled. “She was not knocked up. She became impregnated by a two-bit, D-list actor who happens to look like Cary Grant and Rock Hudson all rolled into one vain, muscled package. Of course I’m not saying that. I’m saying, your Andrew encourages poor behavior. That’s what I’m saying. I worry he’ll encourage you to do the same.”
I grinned. “So you think I’m going to have a summer romance and get knocked up because Uncle Darling’s here? It’s winter, in case you hadn’t noticed. Too cold for a fling—no matter what Uncle Darling says.”
“Says you. How quickly we’ve forgotten your gentleman caller, Hobbs.”
I sighed, maybe a little too breathy to hide. I liked Hobbs. I liked him a lot. I liked that he rented the cottage behind my house and I liked his dog, Stephen King. But I really liked that we’d spent a lot of time together since we were almost killed last week.
I know that sounds a little off-kilter, but we’d bonded over having to run for our lives. In fact, we’d spent a good portion of our days together since, sharing meals, and decorating, and talking about everything from my life in New York as an interior designer to his prior job as a financial advisor.
“He’s not fling material, my funny feathered friend. Hobbs is a fine Southern gentleman who’s never been anything other than respectful.”
“As he should be, or I shall turn him into something dreadful like a gargoyle or a hedgehog.”
“Do gargoyle’s really exist, Atti?”
“I’ve seen many things in my time, Halliday. I’m certain I’ve seen one or two.”
“Your time as in when the dinosaurs roamed the earth?” I teased.
He scoffed. “Aren’t you quite practiced for your stint at the comedy club performing standup, Miss Witch?”
My phone beeped a text then, and I grabbed it off the counter to see if it was from Uncle Darling. In my haste, I almost knocked over the mini Christmas tree I’d just placed next to a long wooden dough bowl filled with greenery and ornaments. I’d begun to worry. The roads were probably a mess of ice and visibility was undoubtedly low.
Also, Uncle Darling really was a hideous driver. Atticus hadn’t been kidding. I hoped Monty had taken the wheel.
As I began to read, my eyes went wide and I had to grab ahold of the countertop, letting the cold quartz ease my suddenly hot palms.
I gasped. This was bad. This was so bad.
“Holy—”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Atti warned, cutting off my penchant for using foul language as he landed on the island counter. “Halliday? What’s wrong, Poppet?”
“Stiles… he just texted me on Uncle Darling’s phone. It’s Monty,” I barely murmured, my head swimming.
“What is it? Did that wanker land in a snowbank? It’s just as I told you, Halliday, that man is treacherous behind the wheel of a car. He shouldn’t be allowed to drive a remote for a battery-operated car, let alone four thousand pounds of steel on icy roads.”
I squeezed my temples before texting him back and shoving my phone into my back pocket, looking for my jacket and my hat and gloves. I ran to our long walnut-stained dining room table next to the fireplace and grabbed my jacket from the back of a chair.
“Halliday? What is happening? You have me quite worried! Answer me, please!”
Pulling on my coat and hat, I dug in my jacket for my gloves. “It’s Monty. He’s been hurt, Atti. Uncle Darling’s at the convenience store just outside of town. I have to go get him. He’s hysterical.”