Chapter Four

It was fifteen minutes before the kids stormed in from school. Libby used the downtime to her advantage and called Sean. In his defense, her brother had never campaigned to be Mae’s favorite, but wore the crown nonetheless.

On top of his inability to do wrong, Sean was supermodel handsome. While Libby and Kevin swam in the red hair and freckles end of the McGinn gene pool, Sean’s shocking blue eyes and ink black hair had Libby’s childhood friends begging to be her lab partner. The exception to this rule was Caroline—coincidentally, the only one to see him naked. Granted she was nine, and the nudity was the result of an ill-fated belly-flop/swim trunk accident. Once the goods came out, the magic died.

Libby settled at the kitchen table and dialed Sean’s office.

“Mae Day Construction, how can I help you?” Debbie Rugger kept Mae Day running. Originally a part-time bookkeeper, she signed on as office manager when Mae discovered constant togetherness was a sure fire path to murdering Bernie.

“I’m looking for the golden child,” Libby said.

“Hi Lib,” Debbie laughed. “How goes things in your camp?”

“Still standing,” Libby answered. “How’s Walt doing?”

Laid off as a mechanic, Debbie’s husband Walt had decided to be useful and clean the gutters. He ended the chore with three broken bones in his right leg.

“He’s moaning about the ladder having a faulty rung,” Debbie said. “Heaven forbid the old fool admits he screwed up.”

“But you adore him?”

“I do. Guess I’m the bigger fool. Hang on a second and I’ll grab Sean for you.”

Smooth jazz filled the receiver, a definite improvement from Debbie’s early cover-the-mouthpiece-and-scream method.

Sean’s baritone picked up. “Hey.”

“Hey to you, too.” Ever the conversationalist, Libby thought. “I wanted to let you know I’ll cover Mom’s doctor appointment next week.”

“Thank God. I owe you.” Sean loved his mother, but her appointments ate up a sizeable deal of his time.

“You make it sound like I saved you from a burning building,” Libby laughed. “It’s not that bad, you big wimp!”

“You didn’t draw the short straw last time! It was the gynecologist, for Pete’s sake! No man should take his mother to the gynecologist. It’s not natural.”

“Come on, you didn’t go in the examination room. All you had to do was read old magazines and wait.”

“You weren’t there, Lib, it was a nightmare.” She could hear the frown in his voice. “Twenty women talking about birth plans, stretch marks, and some crap about mucus corks or something like that. There was nowhere to run.”

“Oh, that’s priceless. The man who gets dry heaves changing a diaper surrounded by body fluid talk. I bet you went home and showered.”

“It gets worse. On the way, Mom started blathering on about The Change. I got a twenty-minute unsolicited lecture on creams for vaginal dryness. Swear to God my ears bled. She has no boundaries—”

“Stop before I hear something I can never unhear,” Libby interrupted. “You win a Get Out of Gynecologist Free card. Out of curiosity, did Mom say anything more about this neurologist thing to you?”

“No, just left a message on the machine about needing a ride. Why?”

“Nothing I can pinpoint, but I have this weird feeling there’s more to the story she’s not sharing. Mind you, I’m not borrowing worry until she sees the doctor, but I got the feeling she’s not telling us something.”

“Don’t make too much of it. We know she’s nuts, but it’s happy nuts. I’m sure the doctor’s just covering all the bases. We all lose it at some point—aging is not for the weak.”

“True.” Libby checked the clock. “I better get dinner started before the savages arrive. Don’t stand a chance when they double team me. Are you going to Kevin and Suzanne’s this weekend?”

“Like I have a choice?” Sean moaned. “It’s a christening; Mom will crucify me if I don’t go. No pun intended. Hell, she still harps on the fact that I didn’t fly back from spring break for Uncle Al’s funeral, and that was twenty-five years ago.”

Religious events were mandatory in Mae’s book. She took attendance and prayed for the souls of the absent. “I feel sorry for the baby,” he continued. “Who names a kid Saratoga? She’s a week old, is it too late to change it? Poor kid’s going to get the snot beat out of her in school.”

“I know,” Libby agreed. “But at least they shorten it to Sara. Did Suzanne share their icky conception story with you?”

“Lib, I’m getting a little tired of women in this family sharing their fertility junk with me. Am I wearing an I Love Estrogen T-shirt?”

“Suck it up, this is priceless. On their way home from Suzanne’s cousin Rita’s wedding—”

“Rita?” Sean tried to put a name with a face. “Floating eye?”

“That’s Emma, Rita’s the pitchy giggle. Anyway, the car breaks down outside Saratoga Springs, and Kev and Suzanne decide to spend the night.”

“Got it.”

“Suzanne was pushing for a baby, but Kev wasn’t quite on board. Long story short, wedding, open bar, Kev’s low alcohol tolerance, Suzanne thinks the car is fate’s way of intervening and bam, Saratoga’s in the oven.”

“Are you telling me Suzanne got Kev loaded and tricked him into knocking her up? Then named our niece after a racetrack?”

“Suzanne’s a ditz, but far from an evil mastermind. It could be a lot worse than Saratoga.”

“How?”

“The car might have died in Yonkers.”

“Bad,” he chuckled. “Very bad, Lib.”

“Yes, but you know I’m right,” she said.

“Scary,” he agreed. “Listen, I need to run, but if something happens and you can’t go to Mom’s appointment, call me. Fill me in later on the details, you know she’ll never tell me if it’s something big; vaginal dryness, yes, major stuff, no.”

“I’ll touch base after, but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Libby knew under the rough exterior, Sean was a momma’s boy at heart. “Go build some yuppie an overpriced house, and I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks for taking this one. See you at Staten Island’s baptism.”