“Matthew works them to death,” Patsy said when she saw Bailey looking at the boys sprawled on a quilt in the shade of a tree, sound asleep. In sleep they looked so young and innocent—rather like six-foot-tall toddlers.
Rick snorted. “They were up all night playing video games, and on the phone to half the girls in the county,” he said. “Their laziness has nothing to do with work.”
“Richard Longacre!” Patsy began and, smiling, Bailey walked away.
Contrary to what Matt had said, they didn’t ask Bailey a lot of questions. Instead, they seemed to want to tell her their stories, and they wanted to watch her with Matt. Twice that day everyone stopped talking and looked at her and Matt. The first time was when Matt stuck a crinkled potato chip in some cream-cheesebased dip, then held it out to Bailey. “Try this,” he said.
The four adults sitting at the picnic table fell instantly silent and watched with undisguised interest. Even the boys under the trees opened an eye each. The two little girls stopped swinging and looked at what had made the adults go quiet.
Self-consciously, Bailey bit the potato chip and chewed. Then everyone went back to what they had been doing, but she felt that she’d pleased them all. And, truthfully, it felt good to have pleased them. She was beginning to feel as though she belonged with them, as though she were part of them.
In the late afternoon, Matt leaned over and whispered, “Why don’t you ask Patsy for a tour of her sewing room? She’d love to show it off.”
So Bailey asked Patsy, and she saw Patsy’s face light up before she led the way into her house. Silently, Janic
e followed them.
All day, surreptitiously, Bailey had watched the dynamic between the two women, who looked so much alike, yet dressed so differently. Patsy wore baggy old cotton shorts and a huge T-shirt that probably belonged to her husband. Janice wore dark brown shorts that had a sharp crease down the center of each leg, an alligator belt with a silver buckle, and a crisp brown-and-green-plaid blouse. Her hair was as perfectly arranged as Patsy’s was messy. But under the clothes, the similarity between the women was very strong.
“How are they related?” she’d whispered earlier to Matt as he flipped hamburger patties on the grill.
“Their mothers were identical twins,” he said. “But one sister married rich and the other poor. Guess which one was which?”
“Janice grew up poor,” Bailey said instantly. Her own mother had been like Janice, so afraid the poverty would show on her that she overcompensated. No one ever saw Freida Bailey less than made-up and dressed perfectly.
“Pretty smart, aren’t you?” Matt said, smiling at her.
“Smart enough to know that if you don’t take those burgers off there now, they’ll be charred.”
He kissed her on the nose—and that was the second time everyone halted in midair for a count of three before resuming their activity.
Bailey did what she could to pretend that she hadn’t noticed their movements freeze, but she had to turn away to hide her blush. “Would you stop it?!” she hissed at Matt. “They’re going to think you and I are more than just housemates.”
“Couldn’t have that, now could we?” Matt said, and she could tell that he liked the idea of people thinking they were . . . well, more.
When Matt had called out that the burgers were ready, Bailey had stood back, sipping the awful, made-from-a-mix lemonade that Patsy served, and watched all of them. She watched the way Patsy and Janice worked together but never actually spoke to each other or made eye contact. They sat next to each other at the picnic table, but never spoke. Part of Bailey wanted to ask what had caused the split between them, but she was afraid she’d hear that they’d had a fight over a Barbie doll when they were nine and vowed never again to speak to each other. And, too, it was more interesting not knowing the cause.
Since everyone seemed used to the situation, it was obviously a long-standing feud. Janice’s youngest daughter, Desiree, was the funniest about it. Bailey heard her say, “Mommie, you look so lonely standing there all alone,” when Janice was six inches away from Patsy. Then the child turned big blue eyes to her aunt Patsy and said, “You look so lonely, Aunt Patsy. Don’t you wish someone was with you?” Bailey had to turn away to keep from laughing out loud at the impishness of the child.
By the time Matt suggested that Bailey ask Patsy to see her sewing room, Bailey wasn’t surprised when Janice followed them.
When she and Matt had pulled up in front of the house, she’d been impressed. The house was large and fairly new—no more than five years old, at a guess. It was what she would call “contemporary country,” with a deep, old-fashioned porch set across the length of the house, but the upper story had a tall, round-topped dormer flanked on each side by two square dormers. It was a very pleasant blend of old and new.
They entered the house through the back door, and once inside, Patsy halted and stood there in silence. Bailey wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.
Janice solved the problem. “You’ll probably want to see Rick’s house,” she said. “Or maybe I should call it Matt’s house.”
It took a moment for Bailey to understand. “Matt designed this house?”
“Yes, he did,” Patsy said proudly. “Would you like me to show you what he did?”
Bailey understood that Patsy didn’t think it was polite to brag on her own house, but she could brag on Matt’s design. It was a nice house, Bailey thought as she followed behind Patsy and Janice. As though they were a well-rehearsed duet, the two women split into different directions. Patsy showed her a room, then Janice would call, and Bailey would go to her.
On one side of the ground floor was a big, open area that was living room, dining room, and kitchen with a built-in table and upholstered bench. Although no walls separated the spaces, Matt had managed to divide them in other ways. Over both the dining room and the living room, half the ceiling opened up all the way to the ceiling of the floor above. Partitions set off the ends of the kitchen from the living areas.
All in all, the house had a cozy feeling, open but separate. She said the good things she thought, but kept the fact that she truly hated the kitchen to herself. It had the sink and refrigerator against the back wall, an island with an electric cooktop in it, then, on the other side of the island, another island with four stools. To go from the sink to where the food was served at the bar, a person would have to walk around the cooktop island. It was a kitchen that made the cook walk many extra steps. On the other hand, from the look of the shiny surfaces, the kitchen wasn’t used much, so maybe inefficiency didn’t matter.
The other half of the ground floor was a master suite with his-and-hers walk-in closets and a home office. When Patsy showed off the bathroom, she said, “Have you ever seen a bigger bathroom in your life?”