“That’s not exactly what I said,” Landon argued.
“Huh. That’s what I heard.” Aunt Tillie held up her hand to quiet Landon while remaining focused on me. “We’re not done talking about this one whining all day. You totally ruined my afternoon.”
“Then you shouldn’t have said I was worse than Clove when it came to being a kvetch,” I pointed out. “That’s quite possibly the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Thistle snorted. “Not even close. Two weeks ago she said you were the rancid mayonnaise in a whiny sandwich. That’s way worse than being a kvetch.”
“She said I was a worse kvetch than Clove,” I clarified. “I mean … Clove!”
“That is bad,” Thistle noted. “Things could be worse.”
“You guys know I’m sitting right here, right?” Clove was furious. “It’s going to be a long night if you keep this up.”
“It’s going to be a long night regardless,” Aunt Tillie countered. “I was watching my stories. You know I don’t like being interrupted when I’m watching my stories.”
Landon cocked an eyebrow. “Stories?”
“Soap operas,” Thistle supplied. “She loves soap operas. She used to make us watch them with her when we were little – even though they were beyond stupid – and I’m still traumatized by the experience.”
“Watch it, mouth,” Aunt Tillie warned, her expression serious. “You want to be very careful when you’re talking about my stories.”
Thistle snorted. “You made us watch that one where the guy had a twin brother hidden in his house and no one knew it. For like six straight months I thought we had people hidden in the basement.”
“Everyone has secret twin brothers and sisters in Pine Valley,” Aunt Tillie argued. “That show is gone, by the way. They’ve canceled almost all my stories. I only have four left and it’s criminal, quite frankly. In fact … .” She turned to Landon. “Instead of arresting poor pot growers you should focus your attention on taking out the people who canceled my soaps. That would be a much better way for you to spend your time.”
“I’ll get right on that.” Landon prodded me to sit in the open chair next to him, grabbing my hand and tracing his fingers over my palm. “Bay, I’m serious about this Brian Kelly situation. Maybe you should let me talk to him.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Aunt Tillie didn’t give me a chance.
“Bay will handle her own issues with Brian Kelly. You don’t always need to swoop in. She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”
“I didn’t say she wasn’t,” Landon countered. “I’m just … worried. He’s getting progressively worse and he seems a bit unbalanced.”
“And not in a fun way, like you, Aunt Tillie,” Thistle added, grinning.
“You’re definitely on my list,” Aunt Tillie warned.
“I’ll talk to him,” Landon announced. He was clearly ignoring the other conversations bouncing around the room. “He needs a good warning.”
“If you were in a soap opera, you’d throw a drink in his face and slap him around right about now,” Aunt Tillie said. “That would be a lot more fun than whatever you’re planning.”
“Yes, well, we don’t live in a soap opera,” Landon said. “I know it feels as if we do sometimes, but we don’t.”
“Think about how much fun it would be if we did, though.” Aunt Tillie’s eyes momentarily sparkled, but she remembered where she was and quickly turned dour again when facing off with Thistle. “I would make you the person trapped in a well for months if this were a soap opera.”
“And I would make you the person locked in a basement,” Thistle fired back. “Our lives are close enough to soap operas. We don’t need to make things worse.”
She had a point. “So … who wants to start drinking before dinner?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
A bevy of hands shot into the air, including Chief Terry’s.
“What?” he protested. “I can already see how this night is going to go. I want to numb myself appropriately.”
He wasn’t the only one. “Let’s start with chocolate martinis and go from there.”
“Now that sounds like a good idea,” Landon enthused. “Now if only you smelled like chili while drinking your chocolate martini, all would be right in my world.”
What kind of city has one serial killer, one mobster, one deranged doctor without a medical license running the hospital, the ancestor of a woman who wanted to freeze the world living on a nearby island named after a kitchen utensil, and a spy organization that doesn’t handle any of these things? Seriously, I want to start my own crime ring and move there.
– Aunt Tillie on soap law enforcement strategies
Three
I would like to say that we turned in early and drank only a respectable amount of liquor before realizing we didn’t need alcohol to have a good time.
That’s simply not how we roll.
We drank until things turned silly. Landon even decided we needed to try our hand at ballroom dancing at one point, spinning me around the lobby until we both laughed so hard I thought there was a chance we might wet ourselves.
Thistle and Aunt Tillie got into a spirited debate about soap operas, Aunt Tillie singing their merits while Thistle explained the absurdity of the genre. When Aunt Tillie wouldn’t agree, Thistle gave up and started barking at her whenever our elderly great-aunt spoke. That, of course, set Aunt Tillie’s teeth on edge and she started threatening curses.
I lost track of the conversation somewhere – probably when we started dancing – and by the time we found our way to our bedroom on the second floor it was midnight and we knew we were in for a rotten morning thanks to what was sure to be some rough hangovers. We would be snowed in, so we weren’t too worried about it.
I woke with a start, the sunlight filtering through the window. I had a headache the size of the chip on Thistle’s shoulder and I instantly reached for the bottle of aspirin I distinctly remembered leaving on the nightstand. It wasn’t there. In fact, the nightstand in question didn’t resemble the antique one I was sure I’d spied the evening before.
“Landon?” My tongue was thick, my throat dry.
Landon didn’t move. “Shh.”
I thought about letting him sleep. He was crabby when he had a hangover. Heck, we both were. Still, something was definitely wrong. I didn’t think there was any way to save him from it, so letting him escape in slumber was a wasted effort. Plus, well, I didn’t want to deal with it alone.
What? I have a hangover. I can’t be giving and selfless when I feel as if there’s an alien inside my brain and it’s knocking really loudly in an attempt to escape. It’s simply impossible.
“Landon.”
“Sweetie, I love you dearly, but if you don’t lower your voice I’m going to have to get my own room.”
I was barely talking in a rasp – trust me, I couldn’t take my voice on full volume either – so I knew he was in rough shape. “Landon, I don’t want to alarm you, but … it’s morning.”
“We’re snowed in. We can sleep all day.”
“Yes, but … the thing is … um … .” I had no idea how to broach the obvious problem. You would think after being shoved into Aunt Tillie’s memories, a fairy tale world and even the future I would know how to tell Landon we’d been transported to an alternate reality … again. I recognized the truth instinctively when I saw the nightstand – there’s no way my mother would have a marble nightstand with pearl accents, for crying out loud – and I figured Aunt Tillie had gotten her revenge after all.
“Shh. Sweetie, we’re snowed in. We can’t often say that. I have the day off. You have the day off. Let’s spend the day in bed … but let’s make it a quiet day, at least to start.”
Even though my head throbbed thanks to my personal choices from the previous evening I was strong enough to take offense. “Quiet day, huh?”