Read Online No Place Like Home by Barbara Samuel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Samuel
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my ego.”
“Jewel! I’m serious.”
“I know. I’m sorry—and I know what you want.” She wanted sueded silk and black bras. Very easy stuff, that. “We’ll go shopping, just us.”
“Thank you.”
Malachi and Jasmine came around the side of the house, Danny complaining all the way. Jasmine had that grim, exhausted look she got when she had to match wills with him, and I whistled sharply to distract him. “Yo, Danny-boy. Wanna go see the street rods with me this weekend?”
“Can Malachi come?”
“Mr. Shaunnessey,” Jasmine corrected.
“Whatever. Can he?”
“If he wants,” I said. Across the purpling dusk of the world, our eyes met, mine and Malachi’s, and it was that strange, rippling thing again. Feeling him, the force of him, across a big space of grass. Purely physical, and somehow very pleasant. He was so very climbable.
My mother tsked. “Guess you don’t want to help with Jane’s new house, then, huh?”
Immediately I felt defensive. I could fool a lot of people, but my mother saw through me like cheap glass. “I just thought maybe—” I stopped. “I was just trying to help.”
She met my eyes, that clear, no-bullshit look that had made me so angry so often when I was a teen. “I know what you were doing,” she said quietly. “I thought you’d wised up a little after all you’ve been through.”
I crossed my arms, stung, but took the offensive. “If Jane’s working on her house, my dad will be there, won’t he?”
“Probably.”
“Then I guess that solves that, now doesn’t it?”
She took Nana Lucy’s arm to help her down the steps. Nana pushed my hair back. “Think about what I said. It’s time to cut your hair. You’re not young anymore.”
Ouch. I nodded in deference to her elder status and stood on the porch until they left, struggling to keep a smile pasted on my face. I felt cheap and silly in my tank top and my too-long, little girl hair.
Michael’s hands landed on my shoulders, and his body was warm against my back. “Don’t,” he said against my ear. “You look fabulous.”
I let go of a pained little laugh and surreptitiously wiped a tear from the corner of my eyes. “What do you know?”
He laughed, his old laugh, full and deep and so infectious. “I’m the king of the fairies. It is in my power to know these things.”
Even though I’d known it was coming, I laughed with him. Long ago, when we first met, Michael’s ethereal beauty had enchanted me. NaÏve and young—and made brave by the copious amounts of wine we’d all drunk—I’d blurted out one night that he looked like the King of Fairies. Needless to say, he’d roared with laughter along with everyone else, but I think the description has always pleased him. He fancies himself to be a magical being in ways, Pan or maybe Apollo.
“What’s this?” Malachi asked, coming up the steps.
“An old, old joke,” I said.
His mouth stretched up on one side. “The king of fairies?”
Michael straightened, pushing a little between my shoulder blades. “Malachi, this woman needs some wind in her hair. Y’all go get some tequila. We need margaritas.”
“But dinner must be almost ready!” I protested.
“I can hold it for ten minutes. Go on,” Michael said. “Can’t eat chicken wings without margaritas.”
“We can go in my car,” I said.
Malachi snorted, looking at the station wagon. “Nah.”
Malachi pulled out his keys. “Come on, sugar,” he drawled, “Let’s go for a ride.”
MICHAEL’S MAGNIFICENT CHICKEN WINGS
6–8 lbs of chicken drummettes, For Sauce:
washed 1 1 / 2 cups coffee
2–3 cups water 1 / 2 cup Worcestershire sauce
1 orange 1 1 / 2 cups ketchup
Worcestershire sauce 1 / 4 cup cider vinegar
2 Tb vinegar 3 Tb chili powder
Pepper 2 tsp salt
Salt 2 cups onion, chopped fine
Nutmeg 1 / 4 cup minced hot chilies,
jalapeño or serranos
6 cloves garlic
Honey
Put chicken in a large ceramic bowl. With a fork, poke holes in the skin all over
“Jewel! I’m serious.”
“I know. I’m sorry—and I know what you want.” She wanted sueded silk and black bras. Very easy stuff, that. “We’ll go shopping, just us.”
“Thank you.”
Malachi and Jasmine came around the side of the house, Danny complaining all the way. Jasmine had that grim, exhausted look she got when she had to match wills with him, and I whistled sharply to distract him. “Yo, Danny-boy. Wanna go see the street rods with me this weekend?”
“Can Malachi come?”
“Mr. Shaunnessey,” Jasmine corrected.
“Whatever. Can he?”
“If he wants,” I said. Across the purpling dusk of the world, our eyes met, mine and Malachi’s, and it was that strange, rippling thing again. Feeling him, the force of him, across a big space of grass. Purely physical, and somehow very pleasant. He was so very climbable.
My mother tsked. “Guess you don’t want to help with Jane’s new house, then, huh?”
Immediately I felt defensive. I could fool a lot of people, but my mother saw through me like cheap glass. “I just thought maybe—” I stopped. “I was just trying to help.”
She met my eyes, that clear, no-bullshit look that had made me so angry so often when I was a teen. “I know what you were doing,” she said quietly. “I thought you’d wised up a little after all you’ve been through.”
I crossed my arms, stung, but took the offensive. “If Jane’s working on her house, my dad will be there, won’t he?”
“Probably.”
“Then I guess that solves that, now doesn’t it?”
She took Nana Lucy’s arm to help her down the steps. Nana pushed my hair back. “Think about what I said. It’s time to cut your hair. You’re not young anymore.”
Ouch. I nodded in deference to her elder status and stood on the porch until they left, struggling to keep a smile pasted on my face. I felt cheap and silly in my tank top and my too-long, little girl hair.
Michael’s hands landed on my shoulders, and his body was warm against my back. “Don’t,” he said against my ear. “You look fabulous.”
I let go of a pained little laugh and surreptitiously wiped a tear from the corner of my eyes. “What do you know?”
He laughed, his old laugh, full and deep and so infectious. “I’m the king of the fairies. It is in my power to know these things.”
Even though I’d known it was coming, I laughed with him. Long ago, when we first met, Michael’s ethereal beauty had enchanted me. NaÏve and young—and made brave by the copious amounts of wine we’d all drunk—I’d blurted out one night that he looked like the King of Fairies. Needless to say, he’d roared with laughter along with everyone else, but I think the description has always pleased him. He fancies himself to be a magical being in ways, Pan or maybe Apollo.
“What’s this?” Malachi asked, coming up the steps.
“An old, old joke,” I said.
His mouth stretched up on one side. “The king of fairies?”
Michael straightened, pushing a little between my shoulder blades. “Malachi, this woman needs some wind in her hair. Y’all go get some tequila. We need margaritas.”
“But dinner must be almost ready!” I protested.
“I can hold it for ten minutes. Go on,” Michael said. “Can’t eat chicken wings without margaritas.”
“We can go in my car,” I said.
Malachi snorted, looking at the station wagon. “Nah.”
Malachi pulled out his keys. “Come on, sugar,” he drawled, “Let’s go for a ride.”
MICHAEL’S MAGNIFICENT CHICKEN WINGS
6–8 lbs of chicken drummettes, For Sauce:
washed 1 1 / 2 cups coffee
2–3 cups water 1 / 2 cup Worcestershire sauce
1 orange 1 1 / 2 cups ketchup
Worcestershire sauce 1 / 4 cup cider vinegar
2 Tb vinegar 3 Tb chili powder
Pepper 2 tsp salt
Salt 2 cups onion, chopped fine
Nutmeg 1 / 4 cup minced hot chilies,
jalapeño or serranos
6 cloves garlic
Honey
Put chicken in a large ceramic bowl. With a fork, poke holes in the skin all over
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