“I see you met Izzy,” he said.
“I did.” I managed an uncertain grin. “What a…nice surprise.”
“I recruited her help to make calls to McHenry about Margaret,” he said.
“Did you find her?” I said, happy to escape utter confusion for a moment.
“No. I want to hear what Carla had to say, but first let’s talk about Izzy’s call this morning. Your message sounded distant. I think you may have misunderstood.”
You think?
“I’m so sorry.” Blushing, Izzy took my hand between hers and said, “I must have sounded crazy, pushing Nicky so hard. I consider him family and sometimes I forget he’s not. I’m freaked out because my grandfather will be here on Monday for a visit. He doesn’t know yet.”
Neither did I. I creased my brow, still struggling to follow. The doorbell rang. Nick answered, and a slim young man in his early twenties followed him through the foyer carrying two paper bags.
Sweet-faced and well-groomed in a polo shirt and fitted jeans, the young man stopped under the living room arch and said, “Where should I put the tacos, Izzy?”
“First come and meet Liz.” She bounced to his side and tugged him toward me, her face glowing with affection. “Liz, this is my fiancé, Jorge.”
Fiancé. Well, I got the wedding invite right but miscast the groom. Relief flooded through me, then shame for doubting Nick.
“Very nice to meet you, ma’am,” Jorge said, a shy smile on his face. He set the bags on the coffee table, and wrapped a loving arm around Izzy.
“A complete pleasure, Jorge,” I said. A complete pleasure. Nick grinned at the young couple like a proud uncle. I tucked my hand under Nick’s elbow and said in a low voice, “You might have mentioned this to me a few days ago.”
“I just found out myself. I was going to tell you, but clearing up Carla’s crazy accusations toward you took priority,” he said.
“Don’t blame Nicky,” Izzy said. “Jorge and I kept our engagement a secret from everyone.” She pointed at the brown bags. “Can we tell you the whole story over lunch? Jorge brought tacos from Henry’s.”
“I would like that a lot,” I said. “I’ll get some plates. We can eat in the dining room.”
“Let us set the table,” Jorge said. “Izzy and I will get everything ready so you and Nick can talk.” He picked up the bags and scurried Izzy to the kitchen. I’d known the kid for less than five minutes yet he was scoring points by the second.
When they were out of earshot I said to Nick, “When Izzy left you that message this morning, I thought—”
“I know,” he said. “I heard it in your voice. That’s why I asked her to bring Jorge here so you could meet both of them. This is my fault for not introducing you to Izzy months ago.”
“No, I’m sorry for letting my old fears creep into our relationship. Next time—”
“I won’t try to manage you,” Nick said.
“You manage me?”
“I said try.”
Stan appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Mr. Garfield, I’m taking a lunch break. The plaster in the second bathroom is drying. I’ll be back at two.”
“We’ll see you then,” Nick said.
After he left I said to Nick, “Stan calls you Mr. Garfield?”
“Damn right he does. We had a long talk this morning. I’m not happy with the speed of your renovations or the budget he showed me. As Melvyn Douglas said in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, ‘You’ve been taken to the cleaners, and you don’t even know your pants are off,’” Nick said. “Pending your approval, Stan quoted a new estimate to finish the whole job, and then I reduced the number by twenty percent. He promised the shower in your spare bathroom would be usable tonight. Your master bath will be completed by Wednesday, on budget.”
“And if it’s not?”
“The full renovation on the second bathroom goes to another plumber.”
“Did you bully him?” I pictured Stan on his way home instead of going to lunch. After he warned the plumber grapevine about Nick, I would never have a working shower in my own house again.
“Not at all. We got along famously. I earned his respect by speaking tool.”
“Tool?”
“It’s a derivative language spoken by artisans. Ancient. Very—”
“You can name all the thingies he carries in his toolbox.”
“Correct.”