Ivy followed Pescoli’s gaze. “I changed him,” she said brightly, then at a sudden thought, became more serious. “But I didn’t bathe him. Is that okay?”
“Sure. Thank you.” Pescoli hadn’t expected her niece to do anything.
“I was a babysitter for the kids down the street last summer. None of them were as little as Tucker, but one was still in diapers, so it doesn’t gross me out or anything.” She offered up a smile just as her phone chirped. She pulled it from beneath the blanket and glanced at the screen. Her expression darkened and she rolled her eyes. “My brother,” she said to Jeremy, then, “At least he thinks he’s my brother, but we’re not even related.”
“Who?” Jeremy had asked.
“Macon. You remember him? Paul’s son?”
Jeremy looked blank and shook his head.
“He’s soooo bossy. Thinks he can tell me what to do. Always in my face.” Another dramatic roll of her eyes. She ignored the text.
So where was the grief? Where was the worry? What was with all this flirting?
Pescoli left the groceries on the counter and walked over to pick up Little Tucker. “Hey, little man,” she said, and blew across his face, which made him giggle and kick. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”
“He’s a good baby,” Ivy said just as Bianca, in pj bottoms and a T-shirt, came downstairs to shoot her a look.
“Hey, did you take my flat iron?”
“Oh,” Ivy said, her eyes rounding. “Yeah, I borrowed it. Sorry. It’s in my room.”
Bianca’s eyebrows quirked a little, but she didn’t totally freak out. “Okay, but just, if you use something? Put it back.”
Ivy slid a glance at Jeremy as if she expected him to come to her defense, and like a puppet on a string, he did.
“Chill out,” he advised his sister.
“I’m not wrong. If she uses something, or wears something, she should ask. And put it back. Clean.”
Ivy sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m kinda, you know, overwhelmed. But yeah, I’ll ask next time. For sure. It’s just that I have nothing.” And then the tears began to flow again. Jeremy comforted her.
Bianca sent her mother an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening look, then filled the empty water bottle she was carrying and headed back upstairs.
“Where’s Santana?” Pescoli asked.
“Don’t know,” Jeremy said. “He left a little after you did and said he’d be back. That was . . . fifteen minutes ago?” He glanced at Ivy as if she could confirm.
“Yeah. About that.”
“So what does Macon want?” Pescoli asked, collecting Tucker and carrying him to the counter and the fresh tin of formula she’d picked up.
“I don’t know. Probably to tell me what to do. He thinks I should go back to San Francisco and talk to the police and move in with Aunt Sarina.” At that thought, her lips twisted downward. “With Ryan and Zach?” She shook her head. “Shoot me now.” And then she realized what she’d said. “Oh . . . oh . . . God.” This time when she fell apart it seemed genuine. “I didn’t mean to . . . I mean . . .”
“Shh.” Jeremy comforted her and pressed a kiss to her temple.
That seemed a little too intimate, even for the situation.
“It’ll get better,” he promised, which he had no business doing.
The girl seemed to calm, so Pescoli said, “I’m going to put the baby down, but then, Ivy, I think we’d better talk.”
“You want to talk about what happened again?” she asked, and her face twisted into a mask of disbelief.
“I just want to prepare you a bit for tomorrow. Detective Paterno called. He and his partner with San Francisco PD will be here in the morning, probably sometime after ten.”
“They’re coming here?” She appeared to shrivel at the thought. “Do . . . Do I need an attorney or something?”