“You and me both. Don’t forget to keep me posted, okay?”
“I will, and you keep me posted on your cottage. And tell Chloe to call me. I’d like to hear what she thinks of Exile Island.”
Emily smiled. “I think she’s pleasantly surprised. She met some kids the other day at the Lilac Festival, and she’s got about ten distant cousins here who are roughly the same age. I think she’ll be spending some time with them. And she thinks my dad’s jokes are funny, so she’s becoming his favorite, which is a huge relief. Last time I came here, he barely looked at either one of us.”
That last visit had been rough for Emily in so many ways. She’d known a divorce from Nick was imminent, and she was testing the waters to see if maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home. But it wasn’t. Harlan wasn’t done being angry, and Emily returned to Texas without even telling anyone her marriage was over. She told them about a year later, when everything was finalized. But so far, this visit was going much better, and it seemed she had Chloe’s Lilly-esque charm to thank for it.
“You’ve got Tiny Kloosterman on your work crew?” Harlan chuckled as Emily took a bite of pot roast. He was sitting at one end of the rectangular table in Gigi’s kitchen, and she sat at the other. Emily and Chloe sat on one side with Lilly and Brooke across from them. Emily looked around at the group and wondered how many dinners such as this she’d missed over the years, and it made her chest ache. She hadn’t realized how she’d stuffed away that appreciation for being surrounded by family. It wasn’t always good, of course, being with family, but it was . . . familiar, and that made it nice.
“Tiny is eager to repay his debt to society, Harlan,” Gigi said. “Give him a chance.”
Nostalgic feelings notwithstanding, Emily hesitated to ask her dad for anything, most especially his opinion, but she had to know how dependable her ragtag collection of workpeople was going to be, and if anyone could supply her with the worst-case-scenario situation, it would be her dad.
“You have a guy working for you named Tiny?” Chloe picked up the gravy boat and all but drowned her mashed potatoes.
“Tiny isn’t actually tiny,” Emily said. “He’s huge, and so is that tower of potatoes. Do you really think you can eat all that? You’ll get a tummy-ache.”
“Yes, I’m legit starving, and I’m sure I’ll burn off every single calorie since I have to walk everyplace. I wish I had a Fitbit. I’d crush those ten thousand steps in this place.”
“What’s a Fitbit?” Harlan asked. His eyebrows seemed especially bushy this evening, like he’d messed them all up when washing his face that morning and had forgotten to tame them again afterward. Lilly usually kept on him about things like that, but she’d been a little distracted, and now Emily found herself distracted, too, by those bushy eyebrows.
“It’s a wristband that counts how many steps you take in a day,” Chloe answered.
“Why on earth would you want to know how many steps you take in a day?” Brooke asked. She was wearing another cute outfit, a kelly-green sundress, and Emily wondered if her sister had stepped up her game because Emily had been overdressed that very first night. It wasn’t like Brooke to concern herself over something like that, though. Maybe she was just trying to professionalize her image for that mayoral bid.
“You measure your steps for exercise. All the girls at my school have them so they can work on their thigh gap,” Chloe answered.
Emily gasped. “Oh my goodness, Chloe. Please tell me you are not concerned about something like that. You know those girls at school are basing that on pictures in magazines that are not realistic.”
“They’re not realistic,” Lilly said, gesturing with her fork. “I’m in fantastic shape, and even I don’t have a thigh gap.”
“What the hell is a thigh gap?” Gigi said. “It sounds very naughty.”
“It’s the space you’re supposed to have between the top of your legs to prove you’re not fat,” Chloe said.
“Oh my gosh. That’s ridiculous,” Brooke said.
“It’s totally ridiculous, and Chloe, we’ve talked about this, remember? The important thing is to make healthy food choices and exercise to keep your body strong. It’s not about being skinny.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I know, Mom. I know. But Anastasia Whitcomb has one, and everyone thinks she’s the prettiest girl in school.”
“Including Anastasia Whitcomb,” Emily responded. She knew she shouldn’t criticize a twelve-year-old classmate of her daughter’s, but she’d met that kid. She and her mother were country-club snobs, and Chloe had been reduced to tears on more than one occasion by something Anastasia had said to her. “She’s not a very nice little girl, and being nice is way more important than being skinny. And besides, you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Yes, you are,” Lilly said. “And don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise.”
“A thigh gap,” Brooke murmured, shaking her head.
“So, it’s not naughty, then?” Gigi asked. She sounded disappointed.
Harlan cleared his throat. “Ladies, please. Could we talk about something other than women’s thighs?”
“Yes, Grandpa. Sorry about that. Want to hear a joke?” Chloe asked, grinning.
“Sure.”
She looked around the table to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “What do you call this? Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop. Bang. Clip-clop. Clip-clop.”
The ever-present creases in Harlan’s face deepened for a moment until he said, “I don’t know. What is it?”
“It’s a Trillium Bay drive-by shooting.”
The ensuing laughter was modest, but Chloe appeared to be pretty proud of herself, and it warmed Emily’s heart to see her daughter so relaxed and happy.
“That’s a good one,” Harlan said, taking a bite of dinner roll.
“Thanks. I heard it from a new friend. Hey, by the way, Mom, after dinner can I go hang out with some kids I met at the festival? They invited me.”
“Which kids?” Harlan immediately transitioned into his overprotective police officer voice, but now that she was a parent and not the recipient, Emily understood better where it came from.
“Carrie Crenshaw, Susie Mahoney, Mike Somebody, and some guy named something like John or Jack or Joe. Or Leo. I can’t remember. But they seemed nice.”
“Mahoney? Uh-oh.” Emily looked over at Gigi, but her grandmother just shook her head.
“They don’t get nasty until they’re adults. The little ones are fine,” Gigi said. “And those kids are all right. If it’s the Mahoney and the Crenshaw girls, then it’s most likely Mike Tupper and Joe Leonard.”