“I guess the respectful thing would be just standing there and letting you stake me in my own kitchen.” I tossed the offending wooden dagger into the garbage. “And by the way, one word, two syllables: Altoid.”
“Why, you little—” Wilbur growled. “I won’t stand here and be insulted like this. Ruthie, I’ll call you soon.”
“No, Wilbur, don’t go!” Grandma Ruthie cried as Wilbur stomped out the back door. She turned on me, lip on full tremble. “Jane, I want you to go apologize to Wilbur right now.”
“What? No!”
Grandma stomped her little foot and pointed me toward the door. “That man is going to be your grandpa, Jane. You need to make nice.”
I stared at Grandma. “Are you kidding me? I tell you that he might be the Half-Moon Hollow equivalent to Bluebeard, he attacks me with a stake, and you still want to marry him?”
Grandma pressed her lips together. “You know, Jane, if you weren’t so picky, it might be you standing at the altar.”
“Now, let’s not say something we regret later,” said Mama, who was slowly recovering from Wilbur’s abrupt departure. Jenny, while conscious, still looked a little green around the gills.
With a sniff in my direction, Grandma Ruthie grabbed her raincoat. “I will not set foot in this house again until you apologize to Wilbur and to me, Jane Enid Jameson.”
As the door slammed behind her, I yelled, “Can I get that in writing?”
Jenny stood on wobbly legs and hobbled to the table, where she carefully slipped her tote bag onto her shoulder. “This is too much for me. I’ll call you later, Mama.”
“Wait, Jenny. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I hate this. I hate feeling this way, not being able to talk to you about anything. Look, there’s been enough emotional … stuff for one evening. Why don’t you just sit down and, you know, return to a normal color, and we’ll—” I stopped as I jostled the bag on Jenny’s arm and heard a clanking noise. “What the? What do you have in here, Jen?” I laughed as Jenny’s eyes grew wide. She clutched at the bag, setting off a series of jangling and clanking.
“What the hell do you have in here, Jenny?” I demanded, pulling at the bag.
“None of your business!” Jenny yelled. “It’s for a class I’m taking.”
I jerked the bag away from her and looked inside to find a set of porcelain baby cups engraved with our great-grandmother’s initials, a heavy silver pie plate, a brush-and-comb set carved from ivory, and several pieces of lace tatted sometime in the late 1900s. These items had been kept carefully displayed in rooms all over the house. The brush-and-comb set was taken from my own dresser. I stared up at my sister, my chest tight and cold at the shock of her betrayal. “You’re stealing from me? You went into my room and stole from me? Do you have any idea—I mean, I expect Grandma Ruthie to steal from me, but you? I never thought you’d actually sink that low.”
“I-it’s not stealing,” Jenny stammered. “I’m just taking a few things that have sentimental value for me. Some of them should be mine, anyway. Grandma Ruthie says—”
“Grandma Ruthie doesn’t live here. She doesn’t have any say over what leaves this house and what doesn’t. We just talked about this, Jenny!”
“I deserve part of my family heritage!” Jenny yelled. “You couldn’t possibly appreciate all that you have. And you don’t have children to pass it on to.”
“Oh, for goodness sake. You’re right, I can’t pass it along to my children. But guess what? I’m never going to die, which means I will always be around to take care of those precious antiques you’re so enamored of. It also means your kids will never inherit them. And if anything ever happens to me, I’m leaving everything to Zeb!”
“You wouldn’t!” Jenny gasped.
“Oh, yes, I would.” I laughed. “And Zeb never uses coasters.”
Jenny screeched, “Mama!”
“Now, girls—”
“Stop calling us girls, Mama. We’re grown women, and we have real, court-documented problems,” I said. “Will you just suck it up and pick a side, already? Tell Jenny that it’s wrong to steal from me.”
“You’re the one who won’t share!” Jenny yelled, punching my arm.
“Oh, please.” I slapped her shoulder and sent her skidding into the table.
“I will treat you like grown women when you act like grown women,” Mama said, her voice edging toward hysteria. “And I will not pick a side, because you’re both being ridiculous. Now, either kiss and make up or get out of my kitchen.”
“It’s actually my kitchen,” I reminded her before turning on Jenny. “You, however, should feel free to get out. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
Mama squeezed my shoulder. “Now, Jane—”
“What?” I demanded. “She’s lucky I’m not calling the cops on her skinny ass.”