“Blast this thing. Martha, I told you, you put too much stuff in the trunk,” my dad said.
“It’s not the stuff, it’s your muscles, Pete. They’ve atrophied. You should be exercising in retirement. Lifting a beer to your mouth is not exercising.”
“Depends on how many times you do it,” my dad responded.
“Here. Let me help.” Austin lightly jogged around the car, winking at me as he did so. “Let me help you, sir.”
Dad started, his eyes widening a little when he caught sight of Austin.
“Well, my goodness.” A smile slowly spread across my mom’s face. “Jacinta, who is this?”
“Oh, this is Austin. He’s a friend of mine.”
Niamh cocked back her hand and then let fly, a rock sailing through the air in a lazy arc before slamming against the arm of the teenage boy whose mouth had dropped open while looking at Ivy House. He jumped and grabbed the spot, the skin clearly smarting. When he looked around, he caught sight of Niamh straightening, having just picked up another rock.
“What the hell?” the kid hollered.
“We don’t want Peeping Toms around here,” Niamh yelled at them.
“It’s lookie-loos, not Peeping Toms,” I mumbled as the second projectile struck home, clunking the boy’s friend on the noggin.
“Ow!” The kid rubbed the offending spot.
“Is that old woman throwing rocks at those boys?” my mother said, aghast.
“Yeah, um…” I racked my brain for a way to put a positive spin on this. Niamh would surely be hanging out at Ivy House, and I didn’t want them to hate her. “We get some vandalism down this way, so Niamh tries to head them off. Ivy House is the oldest house in the town—it draws a lot of unwanted attention.”
“Ivy House? Is that—”
One of the boys rattled out a string of foul language as Niamh threw another rock.
“Did you hear that? Disgraceful, that language. Serves them right. Clearly they are up to no good.” My dad looked around his feet, but the only rocks in the vicinity were some decorative pea gravel. “I better help.”
“Dad, no. Leave it.” I patted his shoulder. “One crazy person on the block is enough. You don’t need to help her.”
“As if he could—he has terrible aim.” My mom clucked her tongue as the boys took off running. “I should make him clean around the toilet,” she said. “It’s more than a little sprinkle with those tinkles.”
Austin’s grin broadened.
“I could hit those kids from here,” my dad grumbled. “I’ve got good aim! My softball team won second place.”
“That was twenty years ago, Pete,” my mom said.
Austin reached into the trunk and pulled out one of the coolers, his biceps popping but showing no strain. “Should I take this to the house?”
“Oh, yeah, thanks.” My dad worked the other cooler out, heaving it from the car.
I reached for it. “I got it, Dad— Niamh, would you stop throwing rocks!” I yelled. She was still trying to hit the fleeing boys.
“Grab a bag.” My dad jerked his head at the duffel that had fallen from the corner of the trunk when the coolers were taken away. I grabbed it and hurried after them.
“It’s very gloomy, Jacinta,” my mother said, pulling a suitcase out of the back seat while looking up at Ivy House. “It looks like some sort of…black cloud is hanging over it, doesn’t it? It reminds me of Halloween.”
“Your mother is going blind, Jacinta,” my dad said over his shoulder. “She keeps losing her glasses.”
“Those are reading glasses, Pete. I don’t need them to see a big house. Look! It’s not even nighttime, but the window up there is glowing.”
“Listen to that, will ya, Austin? She fancies herself Stephen King now.” My dad shook his head as he made it to the porch. “Next she’ll say she sees a bat.”
Mr. Tom waited by the front door, his tuxedo as freshly pressed as ever and his posture straight and tall.
“Where do you want these?” Austin asked him.
“What…are those?” Mr. Tom asked. “They are visiting…with coolers? Like some sort of tailgaters?”
“Who’s this?” My dad half turned to me. “What’s he wearing, a tux with a cape? Is this one of those superhero convention things where everyone dresses up like a superhero? Is he some sort of James Bond with a Superman fetish or something? I didn’t bring a cape. I don’t even own a cape.”
“He’s the butler, Dad. He came with the house. Head to the kitchen, Austin.” I jerked my head to get him going. “Yes, Mr. Tom, they came with coolers. They get worried I won’t have the things they want, so they bring them. I thought maybe they’d trust me now, since I am no longer twenty, but here we are.”
“That’s your mother. I try to tell her, but she just won’t listen.” My dad set the cooler down just inside the door, opened the lid with a loud creaking noise, pushed aside a head of lettuce, and grabbed a can of beer. He held it out to me. “Wanna beer?”