Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

“Hey, guys,” I greeted them as they swarmed me, whining, jockeying for position to be rubbed and petted, wagging their tails like crazy. “Take a knee, Nick.”

He got down on both, and they were all over him, smelling him, licking him, and when Louie, the big male, the pack leader, knocked him over, the others took that opportunity to stick their noses in his ears and eyes, lick his mouth, smell his hair, and make nuisances of themselves. Bruja had given me the once-over, decided she liked me, and tried to sit in my lap.

My mother was laughing as she reached us, and I stood up to greet her, feeling the calm wash over me just looking at her.

“Why are you gray?” she asked me seriously, making a face. “I couldn’t tell at all on the video chat that you were gray.”

I groaned, grabbed the basket, set it on the hood of the rental car, and then hauled her forward into my arms. I squeezed her tight, lifting her up off her feet, and she looped her arms around my neck and hugged me back just as tightly.

“I’ll fix you up,” she crooned softly, her sigh long. “You just need to eat and lie in the sun and, well, I’m not going to lie, there are some tiny little things that need to be looked at.”

The list of things that needed to be repaired was always long. I really needed to find her a good, reliable, honest handyman to see to things between my visits.

Putting her back on her feet, I turned to Nick, who was still chuckling after his escape from the dog onslaught he’d been subjected to.

“Mom, this is Nick Madison. Nick, this is my mother, Sherri Barnes.”

He was beaming at her, tousled, a bit sleepy, and now rumpled from being mauled by her mutts. Instantly, he held out his hand to her.

She ignored that completely, brushed it aside, and walked into his arms, lifting to her toes to put her arms around his neck. He bent quickly, since she was shorter at five-four, and after a moment, I heard her whispering to him but couldn’t make out the words. He was nodding, though, biting his bottom lip, and when he released her, she did the same. Always, my mother was good about that. She never let go first; she let whoever was hugging her make that decision.

“Well,” she said, smiling at us. “Grab your stuff, come inside. I made non-alcoholic micheladas, guacamole and empanadas, and of course, my world-famous spicy chicken taquitos.”

She whirled around then and headed for the house.

When I turned to look at Nick, he looked sad. “What’s with the face?”

“You told your mother I couldn’t have alcohol?”

“Sweetheart.” Nick looked to where she was standing in the doorway. “I don’t drink, love. Alcohol makes it hard for me to interpret my visions and to be one with the goddess. I didn’t want you to be disappointed that you couldn’t get your drink on, so that’s why I announced that there was no alcohol in them.”

“Oh,” he said with a sigh, looking at me. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” I assured him.

He grunted then, looking back at my mother. “I keep screwing up where your son is concerned, ma’am.”

“Well, the important thing is to clear the air,” she declared. “And please, for the love of whatever deity you hold dear, do not call me ma’am. You can call me any endearment you like except old lady or sugar, never liked either of those,” she said, her voice dipping low. “But you can call me Sherri, Cher—like the singer—or Loc’s mom, even though that gets tedious; or Selene, because, well, mother moon; or Gidget or Gidge, because that’s what my grandfather called me; Rhiannon, because of the goddess and, of course, the Fleetwood Mac song; Mama Charlotte, because I love that name; Regina, meaning queen, of course; or Mele, which means song or poem in Hawaiian, because my goodness, isn’t that just lovely?”

Nick turned slowly to look at me.

I shrugged, and he returned his focus to her, because she wasn’t done.

“Also Iona, which was what my father wanted to name me, or…oh, you know what, I think that’s it.”

“I’ll go with Sherri.”

She made a face and grunted. “It’s a bit dull, but all right.”

When I went and opened up the back of the Rover to grab our luggage, he was right there with me.

“I think she’s disappointed,” he said, looking distraught.

“No, she was just hoping for the Gidget or Gidge thing. Her grandfather liked that movie, and they watched it together more than a few times. I’ll use it at some point while we’re here, and that’ll make her happy.”

He was staring at me.

“What?”

“No, nothing.”

“Spit it out,” I demanded.

“Okay, but there’s no way to say this and not sound like a dick.”