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Dash’s home. Some things were different this time. Jack
was in her arms, Daisy at her side, and Dash behind them, carrying their bags. They
looked like a regular family.
    The older woman who opened
the door had been there yesterday, too. She had to be one of the aunts Dash had
mentioned, although which one Annie didn’t know. Like Dash, she was tall and rugged,
with a shock of silver-grey hair framing her face. She dressed exactly as one
would imagine a rancher from Montana—cowboy boots, plaid flannel shirt
tucked into high-waisted jeans, and a serious belt buckle.
    “I’m Marjie,” she said. “Elaine
is waiting in the kitchen.”
    They walked through, and
Annie set Jack down. He seemed brighter than he had in weeks, running off to
explore the large family room that the kitchen overlooked.
    At one end towered a
massive stone fireplace that rose to the cathedral ceiling, which was lined
with wood. The place had the feel of a hunting lodge, and she half-expected to
see taxidermy hanging from the walls. Instead, huge framed photographs of the
wilderness decorated the room.
    Another older woman—presumably
Elaine—stood behind the kitchen counter, putting cookies onto a plate. She
was the shortest member of the family Annie had seen to date, although she
stood about as tall as Daisy. Elaine was as soft and round as Marjie was tall
and rangy. Her hair, shiny pewter grey, hung in a long, smooth bob below her
ears, behind one of which perched a pink flower. Where Marjie wore a plaid
shirt and jeans, Elaine had a floral blouse and pale pink pants.
    Despite all that, Annie
sensed steel in both these women. Dash treated them with deference and so would
she. She plastered on her best diplomatic smile, usually saved for responding
to questions about why she wasn’t married or explaining to graduate students
that their research wasn’t particularly innovative.
    Elaine brought the cookies
over to a low table in the living area, and sat down, patting the couch next to
her. “Come on, dear,” she said. “I don’t bite.”
    Marjie snorted and flung
herself down in a battered leather armchair. “That’s what she always says. Don’t
believe her for a second.”
    Annie caught her mother’s
eye. Daisy gave her the beady-eyed look with a capital L she knew meant trouble
later. She hadn’t been Daisy’s daughter for thirty-two years without
recognizing that look when she saw it.
    Regardless, she took the
invitation and carefully seated herself on the edge of the cushion. Dash folded
himself into the couch next to her. Daisy made herself at home in an armchair,
while Jack continued exploring the big room.
    A very odd tea party,
indeed.
    Dash began, “This is
Annie, Jack, and Annie’s mother, Daisy.”
    “We’d guessed who you were
as soon as we saw you yesterday,” Marjie remarked, bouncing the foot she hung
over one of the chair arms. “Dash still talks about you.”
    Annie couldn’t control her
eyebrows from shooting to what felt like her hairline. “Really,” she said.
    “Of course, it’s not as
often as when he first returned from his vacation. But it has been three years.
Cookie?” Elaine said, proffering the tray.
    “Thank you.” Annie took a
chocolate chip cookie and turned to Dash, who was now staring out the window. Her
self-control, trained from birth and legendary even in their stiff-upper-lipped
family, slipped even further. “Is that really true, Dash?” Emboldened, she
added, “After only three days?”
    He made a sound somewhere
between a grunt and, “Mmm.”
    Well. That was
interesting. Perhaps she had more chance of salvaging this situation than she’d
first thought.
    When Annie had the cookie
half way into her mouth, Marjie said, “So you think Jack is Dash’s son?” Annie
took the cookie from between her lips and looked for somewhere to set it down. Elaine
handed her a napkin, smiling sweetly.
    “Don’t worry, dear,”
Elaine said. “We want to understand what’s going on.”
    Dash,