Exposure (24 page)

"Oh, hates his guts, my fanny," Emma said a few minutes later when Clare was relating the story to her and Ruby in the kitchen. She laughed. "Gracie and I have been sharing one room or another since we lit out from home, and she threw a fit when Elvis told her I was sleeping in the bigger room with him. Instead of telling her to knock it the heck off and get over it, he tried the Progressive-Parenting-explain-all-your-reasons-in-detail approach." All three women rolled their eyes. "With a three-year-old," Emma said with an expressive snort. "Right. So, anyhow, she's naturally milking it for all it's worth because it's pretty neat to have an adult practically pleading for her forgiveness and understanding." She smiled and shook her head. "Gawd, he's such a pushover with her."

"I heard that," Elvis said, opening the screen door. "And I am not. Here"—he handed her a six pack of Clausthaler's—"Sam brought this."

"Thank you, Sam." Emma took the beer and put it in the fridge. "Sure you are," she said, going back to their argument. "You're gettin' all set to reward Gracie's bratty behavior with a trike, aren't you?"

"Hey, I asked Sam to bring the trike before any of this ever came up," Elvis protested virtuously. "Besides, she wasn't a brat, Em; she was upset. She's accustomed to sleeping with you."

"Oh, well then, perhaps we'd better not disappoint her," Emma said smoothly. She pulled silverware out of the drawer and plopped it into a cup, which she handed to Ruby. "Maybe I had better sleep in her room."

Every head in the kitchen swung around to catch Elvis' reaction to the suggestion.

"With that little brat?" he demanded incredulously. "The hell you say." He gave her a crooked grin. "Okay, okay, I get your point. So how am I supposed to treat her when she gets like this?"

"The same way you'd treat someone if this were a professional situation, cher."

"Slap her little baby butt in jail?"

"Oh, now you're bein' deliberately obtuse," she said. Handing the stack of plates to Clare, she then turned, hands on hips, to face him. "C'mon, Elvis. When I was fixin' Mrs. Steadman's car, she couldn't stop ravin' about the way you'd handled her boys when they unloaded that junk they were supposed to be haulin' to the dump. You were firm but fair. You didn't let them get away with what they'd done, but neither did you make the punishment excessive to the crime. You gotta do the same thing with Gracie, cher. Otherwise you're goin' to have a little monster on your hands. Hand," she amended.

Then she shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. "Hand and hook—whatever. You know what I mean."

"Okay, I'll put the trike in the garage until she straightens up."

"Good."

Just then, the screen door swung open and Gracie raced across the linoleum. "Mommy, Mommy, there's a box out there with a pitchoo of a twike on it!"

"Um-hmm," Emma agreed. "That belongs to Elvis."

"Weally?" Gracie swung around to face him, her eyes alight. Elvis stared back at her in an agony of indecision. "Is it a twike, Elbis? Who's it fo'? Is it fo' me? "

"Well, yeah, originally I got it for you, but your momma said I couldn't—" He broke off as three females separately smacked, poked, or pinched him on the closest available body part. "Uh, that is, you don't like me anymore," he said and then drew himself up to his full, imposing height, adding firmly, "so I guess I'll just have to have Sam take it back to the store."

"No! I yike you."

"You don't."

"Uh-huh!"

"I don't think so, Gracie. You've been treating me like dirt all afternoon."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "But you want my mommy to seep in yo' woom."

"Yeah, I do." He stooped down to scoop her up and then squatted down while he cuddled her. "I know you're going to miss her at first, but that's just the way it is, Gracie girl. Kids are supposed to have one room, and adults are supposed to have another. You were lucky to have her all to yourself for a while, but now it's time things get back to normal. And anyhow, sweetheart, she's just gonna be one door down. It's not like I'm moving her to another house. That's when you'd have room to complain."

She stared at him solemnly for a moment while she thought it over. Finally, she gave an uncertain nod and said, " 'Kay," in a little voice. She obviously wasn't thrilled with the idea, but she nevertheless consented.

"Okay, then," Elvis agreed and laughed, his teeth flashing whitely in his weathered face. He tightened his grip on her and surged to his full height. "Whataya say, Sam?" He looked across the small kitchen at his friend. "You wanna help Gracie girl and me get that trike out of the box?"

"Why not?" Sam agreed. "I can't smoke, so I might as well keep my hands busy doing something productive."

Elvis stopped dead in the doorway. "You quit smoking?" he said incredulously. "When the hell did this happen?"

"Hell this happen?" Gracie demanded in a little echo that was a perfect imitation right down to the last intonation, and Elvis grimaced, meeting Emma's eyes over her daughter's head.

"Sorry, Em," he said, and then turned his full attention on Gracie. "I can swear," he said austerely, looking down at her in disapproval. "You cannot. Not until you're twenty-one, kid; you got that?"

"Uh-huh."

He continued to stare at her sternly, and she ducked her head and blew a conciliatory little raspberry against his throat to get back into his good graces. He rubbed her back approvingly and looked at Clare over her head. "He quit smokin', huh?"

She blushed, and a slow grin spread across his face. That was pretty much what he thought it meant. Then he laughed out loud. And he'd asked her if she'd lost weight. "Well, congratulations, Sam," he said cheerfully, shouldering the screen door open. "This really is a reason to celebrate."

"Maman," Gracie called from her new bedroom. "I'm thoosty."

Emma rolled her eyes and climbed off Elvis' lap.

"This is going to go on all night, isn't it?" he said in resignation, watching Emma's long-legged stride carry her into the kitchen where he heard the faucet run.

" 'Fraid so." She appeared in the doorway, a half-filled glass of water in her hand. Giving him a lopsided smile, she said, "Sorry, cher. It's a new place and a new situation, in as much as she doesn't have me in the same room while she's acclimating to it." Emma ran her free hand through Elvis' hair as she passed behind his chair. "On the plus side, she's adaptable. She'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Maman!"

"You hold your horses, Grace Melina," Emma called back firmly. "I'll be there in a moment." Under her breath she added, "Dieu, what d'ya think this is—your great white hotel?"

Elvis shoved to his feet. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, he gave her a quick, hard kiss. "I should go in to work anyway. We've got a minisurveillance going on at Ruby's, and it's about time I relieved one of my men."

"You have a surveillance?" Emma's breath stilled as she stared up at him. "To catch my troublemaker?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his thumb up and down her nape. "I'm gonna enjoy slamming this guy's butt in jail, Em."

She gave him a speculative look and then smiled. "Of course. That's why you wanted the Chevy's cover, isn't it?"

"Yep. Ben's got an old beater about the same size he's been fixing up in his spare time. With your cover over it, parked in the Chevy's usual spot, it's impossible to tell it's not the same car unless you get right up under the cover. Anyone does that, he's gonna have one of us breathing down his neck."

"Well, you be careful, cher," she urged him. "After the rock-throwin' episode you can't be certain what sort of person you're dealin' with here."

Elvis grinned at her. He'd never had anyone expend much energy worrying about his safety before.

"I will be," he promised. Then he kissed her again and reluctantly turned her loose. "Damn. I'd better go. Don't wait up."

Emma waited until the door closed behind his back and then took the water into Gracie's room. Gracie took two tiny sips and handed the glass back to her mother, confirming Emma's suspicion that requesting it had been no more than a ruse. "How come Elbis didn't gib it to me?" she wanted to know.

"Because you asked me to bring it."

"Well, maybe he wants to wead me a stowy."

"I'm sure he'd love to, bebe, but he had to go back to work."

Gracie's mouth dropped open in surprise, and indignation darkened her eyes. "But he hassa kiss me good night!"

"He kissed you good night when you first went to bed, Grace Melina. And after the trip to the bathroom, too, as I recall. And, let's see, what about when you called us both in to tell us—again—all about the swing and the trike?" She looked at her daughter's scarlet cheeks and exhausted eyes, recognized the tantrum struggling to build as Gracie fought to stay awake. Sliding onto the bed next to her, Emma gathered Gracie into her arms, where she rocked her and murmured soothing words of affection.

Gracie's eyes slid shut.

Then they opened, and heavy-lidded, stared up into Emma's. "Is Elbis gonna be my daddy, Maman?"

Emma's heart contracted. "I don't know, angel pie," she said softly. But I hope so. Ah, Dieu, I do hope so.

"I'd yike him to be."

"I know you would, ange." Emma kissed her daughter's brow, careful of the stitches. "But it's not your decision to make. He's a grown man, Gracie. This is somethin' he has to make up his own mind about."

"Him's not ugly," Gracie murmured, and Emma knew out of fatigue Gracie was mixing and matching snatches of last night's conversation into whatever tonight's thought processes might be. Gracie's eyelids slid shut again.

"No," Emma agreed, kissing her child's eyebrow. "He's not ugly. Elvis Donnelly is a beautiful man."

The first thing Elvis saw when he pulled into the driveway at nine o'clock the following morning was Gracie riding her tricycle in circles on the apron of cement that fronted the garage. She jumped off and raced over to the Suburban to meet him. "Hi, Elbis!" she called. "I be widin' my twike!"

"Yeah, I saw that," he replied, climbing out of the vehicle and bending down to scoop her up. She threw her arms around his neck in a hug, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in her little-girl smell. "Where's your momma?"

"In the gawage."

"Let's go see her." He carried her toward the open bay door, but Gracie started wriggling to be let down as soon as they reached the apron.

"Watch me," she cried as she climbed onto the trike.

Peddling hell for leather, she propelled the little tricycle into the garage. "Watch me, Elbis, watch me!"

Elvis ambled along in her wake. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside after the brilliant sunshine, but he soon spotted Emma crouched down next to her car, masking off the chrome. "Hey," he greeted her. "What are you up to? You gonna paint the car?"

"Yes." Emma looked up at him. "I'm afraid it's goin' to be necessary."

" 'Cuz a bad pooson wighted on it," Gracie interrupted, anxious to be included in the conversation. She peddled up to the passenger door. Spelling out random letters that she recognized, she turned to squint up at her mother. "What does that wooed say, Maman?"

"Never you mind, Grace Melina. Why don't you show Elvis how you can turn your trike around without even getting off it."

Gracie was happy to oblige, and Emma soon turned back to Elvis.

"So you're going to have to paint it, huh?" he asked her again.

"Oui. The paint thinner didn't work." She indicated a spot where she'd tried it. "I'm sandin' by hand until I can find someplace that'll rent me a DA sander." She studied him closely. "You look exhausted," she said. "Any luck?"

"No." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Which isn't altogether surprising. We figured the chances of him showing himself again last night were pretty slim. It was just the night before that when he injured Gracie, and he'd have to be a fool to try anything else so soon." He rolled his shoulders. "Still. It was worth a shot. George is keeping an eye on things today. I'll catch a few Z's and go back tonight." He looked around him. "So, the garage is all right for the stuff you wanna do then?"

"Yes. I love having a place to work. Thank you." She straightened to her full height to give him a brief kiss. "Go to bed," she commanded, tilting her head back to examine his face. "You look absolutely pooped. Go on now." She gave him a small shove toward the door. "I'll try to keep Gracie out of your hair while you sleep."

A few hours later, however, when her daughter was temporarily bored with the tricycle and the swing and Emma was occupied in the garage, Gracie slipped into the front bedroom and climbed up on the bed. Elvis was sprawled out on his side, facing her. "Elbis!" she whispered loudly. "You 'wake, Elbis?"

There was no answer, just the sound of his deep breathing. Gracie patted her hand over his scarred cheek to no response. Thumbing up his eyelid only made him mumble and jerk his hook. She blew a raspberry beneath the angle of his jaw. He continued to sleep.

Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, she turned around, slid her bottom onto the spread next to his abdomen, and settled back against him. Casually, she dug her elbow into his stomach. 'How come you don't wake up?" She tricd the elbow gambit several more times. Getting no more response than a soft grunt and a mutter, she popped her thumb into her mouth to think about it awhile.