I never thought that one day I would be afraid of a thirteen year old.
But here I was frozen by the door, right smack in the middle of a Gibbs family war.
Carson and Joni were locked in this silent battle of wills. He had his arms crossed, she had hers mirrored perfectly to a T.
Mini Carson was not backing down.
"How could you do this to me?! I had to find out from my friend, Kelsey that my Dad got married to a Nepo baby" She screamed at him.
"Joni..."
Lorraine moved closer to me to whisper. "A Nepo baby is an entitled child with rich parents that —"
"Thanks, Kid." I smiled awkwardly at her. "I think I got it" I told her.
"Joni, we will discuss this. Privately," Carson said, his voice was so different from what I remember, this must be the 'Dad' part of him.
He turned to me, his eyes full of a weary apology. "Emilia, would you excuse us? We need to have a family meeting."
"Of course!" I chirped, a little too eagerly. I would have gladly run back to New York if I actually had a place to stay there.
I turned to make my escape to the porch.
"Wait" Carson called out, stopping me. "Lorraine, show our guest where she can put her bag."
Lorraine, who had been spinning in circles, skidded to a halt. She looked from her dad to me. "But we don't have a guest room." She pointed out.
Joni laughed. Teenagers! They can be so mean.
"She's our new mommy, idiot."
"Hey!" Lorraine yelled. "I'm not an idiot, dummy. But daddy?" She turned to her father, her little hazel showing how much was going through her head. "Doesn't mommies and daddies sleep in the same room?"
"Eww, gross" Joni commented. "Take her to the stable. She should bunk with the horses. I have been doing it since you turned three, Lorraine"
"Joni!" Carson's voice shook the room.
"I don't mind the couch," I offered quickly, my face burning. I would take the bare floor if it meant the mean thirteen year old would stop picking on me.
"Lorraine," Carson said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "My bedroom. Now."
Joni looked like he'd slapped her. She stormed off down the hall without another word and Carson went after her.
"Joni!"
"Urghh! I hate you!" She slammed the door, Carson opened it and followed her leaving just Lorraine and I there.
Lorraine shrugged, grabbed my hand with her sticky one, and declared, "Tour time!"
She dragged me down a short hallway, giving me the seven year old version of a house tour.
"That's Reya's room. She's the baby. She snores." She told me.
"How old is Reya?" I asked. "More importantly how old is your Dad?"
Carson conveniently forgot to mention the letter 's' in daughter. He had DaughterS!
When he mentioned Joni earlier, I thought she was a cute two year old I could bribe with toys and sweets to like me not a thirteen year old who puts Lark's temper to shame.
Lorraine pointed to another door, which was covered in hand-drawn cats and what looked like a mud stain. "That's mine and Joni's room. She hates sharing." Finally, she stopped at the last door at the end of the hall. She pushed it open with a dramatic flourish. "And this… is the parent's bedroom."
She ushered me inside like a little real estate agent.
The room was… clean. Simple.
A big bed with a faded comforter . A delicate perfume bottle on the dresser. A silk scarf draped over a chair. And on the nightstand, right next to where Carson would sleep, was a portrait.
Lorraine marched over, picked it up, and brought it to me, holding it with a surprising tenderness.
"This is Mom. She's Pretty, right?" she asked, her voice softer than I'd heard it. This was an emotion I recognize... longing.
Poor baby.
I took the framed photo. The kid wasn't lying. Liliana wasn't just pretty; she was breathtaking. She had warm, laughing eyes and a smile that could probably stop traffic.
Carson's dead wife could pass for a swimsuit supermodel. She was everything I was insecure about.
Great! Now, our marriage would make even less sense. No man would ever go from marrying this green eyed real life breathtakingly gorgeous soul to...me.
But I had the good sense to keep that part to myself.
"She was pretty, isn't she? Everyone says I look like her. It drives Joni crazy. I like driving Joni crazy" Lorraine smiled, her small finger tracing the curve of her mother's glass-covered cheek.
The lump in my throat was the size of a baseball but I swallowed it. It felt like I was being put on trial by a seven year old.
"She sure was, kid" I managed to whisper.
Lorraine gave me a satisfied smile, then her expression turned business-like. She took the portrait back and placed it carefully on the nightstand.
"Where's the wardrobe?" I asked her.
She walked up to the little door by the side and opened it. Carson's clothes weren't the only ones there, Liliana's clothes were there too. There was literally no room for me.
"Don't bother unpacking," she said, brushing her hands together. "You won't be staying long."
Great!
At least, she Inherited her father's inability to be coy.
"Oh?"
"No offense, but If Joni wants you gone, you'll be gone. She's stubborn. Like Dad."
I decided to go for broke. "What about you? Do you want me gone too?"
She assessed me with a critical eye, hands on her hips. She was a really ball buster.
"I don't know. Can you bake?"
"No," I admitted.
"Cook?"
"No."
"Clean?"
"Not really, no."
She tilted her head, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. "Saddle a horse? Or pick eggs from the coop?"
I felt like I was failing the most important interview of my life. "No. And… no."
Her little face scrunched up in genuine confusion. "What can you do?"
It was a spectacularly good question. What could I do? I could spend money. I could cause a scandal. I could identify designer knock-offs from a mile away. None of which seemed useful in Willow Creek.
"I'm a writer—" the disappointment on her face made me stop talking.
I gave her a weak smile.
Her eyes lit up, as if she'd just solved a puzzle. "Does that mean Auntie Carrie is right about the mean thing she said?"
"What mean thing?" I asked her.
"That you are absolutely useless to Dad."
The word useless hit me right in the solar plexus.
It was Preston's voice, my grandmother's voice, my own inner voice, all echoed by a beautiful, honey-haired woman and now delivered by a seven-year-old. The fake smile I'd been holding onto disappeared.
I leaned down, looked her straight in her big, innocent eyes, and let the sugar-coated venom drip from my lips.
"Your auntie Carrie," I said sweetly, "is a b-i-t-c-h, kid."
Lorraine's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. A slow, delighted, utterly wicked grin spread across her face. "Ooooh," she sang, pointing a finger at me. "Someone said a bad word—"
She was cut off by a sharp, horrified intake of breath from the doorway.
I slowly, painfully, turned my head.
Carson was standing there. He'd heard every word.
The family meeting was clearly over, and I had just declared war on his lifesitter in his dead wife's bedroom.
Well. So much for making a good impression.
It's fine. I haven't unpacked yet.